Moments later, they were asleep.
When Katy woke, it was dark. Incredible as it seemed, they had slept through the whole day. Iron Wing was still holding her close. Turning her head, she saw he was watching her. Slowly, he lifted his hand and began to caress the curve of her cheek, her neck, her hair. Gently, so very gently, he kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, the bruise on her jaw. He did not speak, and she did not protest when, with slow deliberation, he removed her dress, his eyes adoring her naked body, his mouth paying homage to the silken flesh that invited his touch.
Katy returned his kisses, feeling all her senses come alive as his hands and mouth lingered over her bared skin. She gloried in the smoothness of his taut skin and the play of muscles beneath her hands. His flesh was warm to the touch, whether from fever or passion or both she could not say.
Iron Wing’s breath caught in his throat as Katy’s hand moved down his chest, lower, lower. He swallowed hard as she boldly removed his clout, groaned with pleasure as her hand closed around his turgid manhood.
Like a drowning man, he clung to her, reveling in her touch. Her hair was soft against his chest, her skin smooth and warm like a sun-ripened peach. Ignoring the pain in his wounded leg, he rose over her, seeking the shelter of her womanhood. Katy received him gladly, and then she was adrift in a sea of passion, drowning in waves of ecstasy.
Katy could not meet his eyes in the morning. How could she ever face him again after last night? She had gone to him willingly, allowing him to make love to her, and felt no regret. What was happening to her? Why did she feel so happy, so elated, when what she should be feeling was disgust and self-contempt?
Murmuring that she had to go out and check the horses, Katy almost ran out of the cave. It was a gorgeous day, bright and clear. Untying the horses, she led them to the stream to drink, then tethered them where they could graze. That done, she went back to the stream to bathe.
The water was cold, yet invigorating, and she swam for a long time. The trees were turning color, the leaves going from dark green to gold and red and orange. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
Sometime later feeling refreshed, she returned to the cave. She could feel Iron Wing’s eyes on her back as she checked his wound. To her untrained eye, it appeared to be better. At least it was no longer angry and red and the swelling had gone down.
Iron Wing slept most of that day.
The next few days were different from anything Katy had ever known. For the first time in her life, she was completely responsible for another human being. And yet she felt equal to the task. She had proved she could do whatever had to be done, no matter how distasteful the task.
Iron Wing slept a good deal, leaving Katy to pass the time as best she could. She noticed that, even asleep and wounded, he exuded an aura of strength and power. His face was strong and handsome, his body lean and well-muscled, as near to perfection as a human male could be. Looking at him, she could find no fault in his appearance. And yet she could not help wondering why, of all the men in the world, it had to be a heathen savage who made her blood run hot and her heart pound like thunder. Why did this particular man have the ability to arouse her simply by taking her hand?
Reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead, she wondered, not for the first time, why he had never married. There were many Cheyenne maidens who found him desirable. Of course, she knew all about Quiet Water and how she had rejected Iron Wing, but that had been years ago. Surely his pride could not have been so badly damaged that he had never longed for a wife and children. Surely one rejection could not have turned him against all women of his tribe.
The question lurked in the back of Katy’s mind all the next day and when Iron Wing woke up, just before dusk, Katy put the question to him.
“Why?” she asked. “Why aren’t you married?”
Iron Wing regarded her through eyes gone cold and hard. “You must know why,” he said tonelessly. “Surely Yellow Flower or one of the other women told you about Quiet Water.”
“Yes, they told me, but that doesn’t explain why you never took another woman to your lodge. I know several who would willingly share your life.”
Surprise flickered in Iron Wing’s eyes, followed by an expression of genuine disbelief.
Watching him, Katy realized he had no idea that the women of the tribe found him attractive. Could it be that he still saw himself as he had been immediately after his encounter with the grizzly, when his scars were fresh and ugly? Head cocked to one side, Katy studied the faint scar that marred his cheek. Didn’t he realize the scar was hardly noticeable, that, if anything, it enhanced his rugged good looks? She felt a queer tug at her heart as she looked at him. He was far and away the most handsome of men. Often, at the river, he was the main topic of conversation among the unmarried women. They spoke highly of his ability as a warrior and a hunter, of his wisdom in council, of his achievements in battle. But mainly they discussed the wide span of his shoulders, the powerful muscles that rippled in his bronzed arms and legs. They admired the way he walked, the way he talked, his voice deep and resonant, the way he sat on a horse. A few speculated openly on what it would be like to be his woman and share his bed. Many of the women had tried to attract his interest, but all had failed.
“It’s true,” Katy said, wanting to convince him that she spoke the truth. “I’ve heard the young women talking about you. They have only good things to say.”
“I do not believe you,” Iron Wing muttered, remembering how Katy had gazed at him with revulsion the first time they met. It did not occur to him that what he took for revulsion had actually been fear.
Katy regarded him silently for a moment. Had she detected a note of uncertainty in his voice? Did he want to believe her? Slowly, an idea blossomed in the back of Katy’s mind, and she pondered it carefully. Perhaps, if she could convince Iron Wing that the women of his tribe found him attractive, he would let her go home to her own people.
“Well, it’s true whether you believe it or not,” Katy retorted, unconsciously fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. “Blue Willow Woman and Wildflower and Shy Eyes have all made comments about you, about how they would be honored to share your lodge.” Katy paused, bewildered by the sudden sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach when she thought of another woman making her home in Iron Wing’s lodge, cooking for him, caring for him. Doggedly, she went on. “Why don’t you spend some time with them when we return to the village if you don’t believe me?”
Iron Wing gazed steadily at Katy, weighing her words. And then he grinned crookedly. “It will not work, Ka-ty. You will not persuade me to seek a wife among the Cheyenne. And if, by chance, one of the maidens should catch my eye and I decide to marry her, I still would not let you go. You are my woman, Ka-ty. You will always be my woman.”
Katy sighed heavily. She would never convince him that she was telling him the truth, and he would never willingly release her. Whether he took one wife or twenty or none, he would not let his captive go free.
“Ka-ty?”
She glanced up slowly, too depressed to argue further, or insist that she was not his woman.
“I am grateful for what you have done. I owe you my life.”
“If you’re really grateful, you can prove it by letting me go home.”
“I cannot,” Iron Wing said softly.
He sounded almost sorry, Katy thought, bemused. But that was silly. He had never been sorry for anything.
Katy fell asleep early that night, and sleeping, began to dream that she was alone beside a still pool. Staring into the water, she studied her reflection, pleased with what she saw. Her skin was a soft golden brown, her eyes were as blue as the sky above, her hair as black as the wing of a raven. Gradually, her smile turned to horror as her skin grew stained with black and yellow war paint. Her hair sprouted two eagle feathers, and her eyes grew dim and lifeless…as lifeless as the eyes of the Crow warrior she had killed. A sob rose in her throat as the pool at her feet turned to bloo
d, and then the sob became a scream as blood poured out of her mouth in a scarlet torrent.
“Ka-ty. Ka-ty!”
The sound of Iron Wing’s voice and the touch of his hand shaking her shoulder pulled Katy from her nightmare. Groggy and confused, she sat up, feeling the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, God,” she sobbed brokenly, “I killed a man.”
With a great effort, Iron Wing sat up and put his arm around Katy’s shoulders. Wordlessly, she pressed her face against his chest, seeking the solid strength of his body as she vented her sorrow and remorse. She had killed a man, and his death would haunt her as long as she lived. No matter that it had been self-defense. No matter that the Crow would have killed Iron Wing as well. The fact remained that she had taken a human life.
“Do not weep, Ka-ty,” Iron Wing whispered, his lips moving against her hair. “Do not weep, for it was a brave thing you did.”
Iron Wing’s voice was wonderfully soothing and Katy’s sobs gradually subsided as, in a soft tone, he told her of the first time he had killed a man, a Pawnee warrior who had been part of a raiding party. It was no small thing to take a life, Iron Wing remarked sympathetically, for all life was sacred, but there was no shame in defending oneself from injury, no reason for remorse when you killed the enemy in battle.
Katy listened to his words intently. What Iron Wing said did not take the horror from what she had done, but they did take the sting out of the deed. This was a hard land, and only the strong survived. Had she been less brave, the two of them would now be lying dead in place of the two Crow warriors.
With a small sigh, Katy closed her eyes and felt herself begin to relax. It was so comforting, to be held in Iron Wing’s strong arms, to know he understood how she felt, to know he was proud of her. Feeling safe and content, she fell asleep in his arms. The dead Crow warrior did not disturb her dreams again.
At the end of two weeks, Iron Wing felt strong enough to make the journey down the mountain.
The two Crow ponies, and the Crow scalps dangling from Iron Wing’s belt, caused considerable excitement when they rode into the village. The thought of those two scalps made Katy sick to her stomach. Iron Wing had insisted on taking them even though it meant taking them from men who were dead and buried. Katy knew scalping an enemy was more than just to take a trophy of a kill. It had to do with the Cheyenne religion and their belief that a warrior who was scalped in this life would be forever bald in the afterlife.
The men of the tribe swarmed around Iron Wing as he drew rein before his lodge, eager to hear the story behind the scalps and the wound he had received.
Later that evening there was a celebration to honor Iron Wing’s victory over the enemy. Before the dancing began, Iron Wing recounted their adventure in the hills. With pride, he told of how Katy had killed one of the Crow warriors, and how she had cared for him as ably as any Cheyenne woman. He spoke of her courage in removing the arrow from his leg, and how she had stayed by his side to protect him.
When Iron Wing finished his tale, he removed an eagle feather from his hair and handed it to Katy. She had killed a man in battle and was thus entitled to wear the feather in her hair if she so desired. It was a great honor, one few women ever achieved.
Katy never wore the feather, it was such a heathen symbol and commemorated an event she would rather forget, but she was proud of it just the same.
Chapter Eleven
Winter, 1874
Winter came to the Dakotas in a violent outburst of rain and thunder. Lightning slashed across the sky in great, jagged bolts that threatened to rip the heavens apart. It was scary, Katy thought, to lie in bed in the dark of night while the thunder rumbled across the sky, and the wind and the rain hammered against the lodge skins like angry fists.
It was a little better when the snow came, although the thick white blanket that covered the ground made traveling long distances impossible. Still, bundled up in furs against the frosty cold, it was possible to go outside. Sometimes, when the sun broke through the lowering gray clouds, the snow sparkled with a dazzling brightness that was almost blinding. Iron Wing made Katy a pair of snowshoes to make walking easier for her.
Many activities were sharply curtailed in the winter, but one clear day several of the older boys made sleds out of buffalo ribs, and soon the whole camp was engrossed in racing down the long hill located behind the village. The sleds provided a welcome diversion for adults and children alike. Late in the afternoon, the warriors began challenging each other to see who could get down the hill the fastest. There was a great deal of gambling, several crashes, and some good-natured grumbling. All in all, it was a pleasant day for everyone.
As the weather grew more severe, there was no time for play. Life became a constant struggle for survival as the people fought against the wildly raging elements. Katy soon tired of jerky and pemmican, but at least they had food and shelter.
As January passed into February, food began to grow scarce. Katy was horrified when several old men and women bid their families farewell and walked out into the snow-covered hills to die, sacrificing their lives so that their children and grandchildren might have more to eat.
Horses were culled from the herd and killed for meat. When Katy asked why all the horses weren’t killed for food, Iron Wing explained that a few of the hardier animals were always spared because they would be needed for the spring buffalo hunt, and for moving the village when the time came. Not only that, but the Crows would be out raiding as soon as the snow melted, and the warriors needed horses to ride in battle.
Katy thought it barbaric to let people starve when there was meat available, but Iron Wing assured her that the horses were necessary to ensure the survival of the tribe. It was, he told her dispassionately, the law of the plains that the old and the weak died so that the strong might survive. Dogs, too, found their way into the stew pot, until there were only a handful of scrawny puppies left in camp.
As the days went by, Katy learned that Iron Wing had spoken the truth. The very old and the very young suffered the most from the cold and the meager rations. Yellow Flower’s baby sickened and died. It was a terrible thing to see so many people dying, but what was most disturbing to Katy was the way the Indian women displayed their grief. Katy watched in horror as Yellow Flower hacked off her beautiful hair, and then slashed her arms with a knife.
The baby’s funeral took place on a cold and rainy day. Katy wept softly as the baby she had grown to love was wrapped in a deer hide and placed atop a tiny scaffold on a lonely hill. A favorite toy was left beside the child’s body. A young horse was killed and left at the foot of the scaffold so the infant warrior might ride in comfort to the place of spirits. A small bundle of precious food was placed beside the child’s head to provide nourishment for the long journey.
Katy wept all that day, weeping for Laughing Turtle, who had died too young, for Yellow Flower, who would not be comforted, and for herself. She had never spent much time pondering her own mortality, but now, with so many people dying, Katy was suddenly very much aware that she, too, might die in the wilderness. For weeks, she was tormented by nightmares in which she saw Iron Wing sewing her wasted body into a deer hide and leaving it on a scaffold atop a windblown hill.
More and more scaffolds were raised against the sky as the weeks passed. There were days on end when going outside was virtually impossible. Iron Wing spent his time making arrows, or honing his knife, or simply sitting cross-legged before the fire, his handsome face impassive, his thoughts obviously far away.
Katy often studied the man who had become the ruling influence in her life, wondering what made him so eternally sure of himself, so indomitable. Nothing seemed to bother him. He endured the cold and the hardships of life without complaint. When their food began to run out, he often went hungry so that Katy might have something to eat.
Katy wished fervently that she possessed Iron Wing’s inner strength to sustain her, but she did not. She hated being trapped inside the lodge. She hated being c
old and hungry all the time. She hated everything about the Cheyenne way of life and longed for the comfort of her mother’s house, comfort she had once taken for granted as her due. How grateful she would be now if she could just sleep in her own soft bed for one night. How wonderful to be able to curl up in a big chair by the fireplace in the parlor and sip a cup of hot chocolate. She even missed the sight of her mother’s stern countenance.
In the long hours when there was little to do but stare into the leaping flames, Katy longed for a book to read to pass the time, she who had once hated reading more than anything else.
Because she was bored and homesick, she began to nag Iron Wing to take her home, even though she knew travel was impossible.
But Iron Wing turned a deaf ear to her nagging. “You are my woman,” he replied time and time again, as if that were the answer to everything.
One cold day in March, Katy turned to Iron Wing and asked, “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”
Iron Wing regarded Katy with some surprise. She had rarely asked him any personal questions. Sometimes he thought she tried to pretend he did not exist.
“In prison.” He answered her question sharply, his face empty of expression.
“Prison!” Katy exclaimed. “Where? When?”
“Ten years ago, in one of the white men’s forts.”
Katy stared at Iron Wing in stunned silence. She didn’t know how old he was, but she didn’t think he could be much more than twenty-five or twenty-six. Ten years ago he would have been a young boy.
“Why were you in a jail?” she asked when her initial astonishment had passed.
“It is a long story.”
“The day is long, too,” Katy retorted. “I have plenty of time, and little amusement.”
Love in the Wind Page 11