by Connie Mason
Impressed by her courage, Wind Rider’s grip on the blade eased. How could a little brown sparrow possess such amazing fortitude? he wondered. She had goaded him beyond restraint and still he wanted her. And, Hannah who is willing, he’d have her. Only it wouldn’t be rape. He would slowly destroy her will until she willingly—nay, eagerly—spread her legs for him, submitting to him just as she had submitted to the white men she had welcomed into her bed. He would bring her to passion slowly, with great expertise, until she panted for want of him. And after he’d had her he’d give her to his friends to use for their pleasure. He must never forget that Hannah belonged to a race he hated passionately.
Wind Rider smiled, pleased with the picture he’d just painted in his mind. Deep in his heart he knew something was flawed with the image, but he buried it deep inside him, intending to face the problem when the need arose. The knife slipped from his fingers to the ground.
Hannah knew the moment Wind Rider decided to spare her life. The pressure on her neck eased and she could feel the tenseness leave his body. “I will have you, Little Sparrow,” Wind Rider vowed. “When it pleases me. Right now you do not tempt me. Your bones are so sharp, they will likely puncture my flesh.”
Wind Rider smiled at his cleverness. He thought Little Sparrow a fitting name for such a scrawny little bird as Hannah McLin.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered curtly. “Tomorrow we ride hard to reach Red Cloud’s village.” He turned his back on her.
Hannah sought to control her erratic breathing as Wind Rider drifted toward sleep. It seemed forever before his body relaxed. Rising to her elbow, careful not to disturb the sleeping man at her side, she held her breath and reached across his body for the knife he had dropped after deciding not to kill her. There was just enough moonlight for her to see the gleaming outline of the blade. Her fingers curled around the hilt and she hugged it close to her body.
After making certain Wind Rider still slept, she sawed at the length of rope connecting their bodies. Plunging the knife into Wind Rider never entered her mind, for she doubted she could strike a killing blow, and anything less would spell her doom. Escape from the heathen devil was a driving force inside her as she felt the rope slacken and separate. In seconds her hands were free, and she knotted the rope around her waist and thrust the blade inside.
She slipped away in the early hours before dawn, determined not to walk in circles again. Instinct told her to follow the stream and she did, walking in shallow water so as to leave no tracks. Her shoes had been ruined when Wind Rider tossed her into the river the day before, and now she carefully avoided sharp rocks and stones. Later, when she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she’d gather leaves and tie them to her feet to protect the tender soles of her feet. For now, walking on the sandy stream bottom was protection enough.
Hannah trudged through the murky dawn into a dull morning dominated by dark skies and distant thunder. The roiling clouds overhead looked ominous, and she hoped the storm would hold off until she found adequate shelter. To her chagrin, a slow rain began falling immediately, turning into a downpour within minutes. Lightning danced across the sky and thunder rattled the heavens. When a bolt of fire struck a few feet away she scrambled from the stream, frantically searching for a safe haven. All she found was a small indentation carved out of the bank by high water. It appeared just big enough for her to scoot beneath.
The rain continued without respite. Rivulets of muddy water cascaded down the bank and into her shelter, dirtying her skin and matting her hair. When the storm abated an hour later she crawled from her crude shelter, so splattered with mud and filth, her own mother wouldn’t have known her. Unfortunately, Wind Rider had no difficulty recognizing her. Her untimely exit from beneath the overhang occurred at the exact moment Wind Rider passed by her hiding place. He had been searching for her since he had awoken and found her gone.
“Foolish girl,” he chided derisively. His hooded eyes made a slow perusal of her filthy state, satisfied that she hadn’t been harmed, although she was soaked to the skin and shivering. He tried not to notice the way the buckskin shirt clung to her wet skin but failed miserably. “Don’t you know by now you cannot escape from me?”
Hannah turned to run, but he was upon her in seconds as he slid from his mount and sprinted after her. Pinning her to the ground, he slid a length of rope around her neck and tugged her to her feet. “I warned you about trying to escape.”
Impetuous by nature, she knew it had been foolish to flee into hostile territory, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “What are you going to do?”
“You shall see.” He tied the other end of the rope to his waist and remounted. Hannah expected to be lifted up to ride before him, but he merely jerked the rope, forcing her to walk beside his horse.
“This is how we treat captives. Learn from it, Little Sparrow.” The name came easily to his lips, as if it was meant to be. “Next time you try to escape I will not be so tolerant.”
“Tolerant! How far must I walk? I have no shoes; my feet will be cut to ribbons.”
Frowning, Wind Rider had forgotten that Hannah’s shoes had been ruined, not that they were all that good to begin with. He reined his horse to a halt, rummaged in his parfleche, and found the moccasins one of his friends had given to him. He tossed them to Hannah. “Put them on.”
Grateful for the small consideration, Hannah pulled on the moccasins, tying the thongs securely to hold them on her small feet. She barely had time to straighten up when Wind Rider yanked on the rope and jerked her forward. “Do not dawdle; I wish to reach camp before nightfall.”
Stumbling along beside Wind Rider, Hannah wasn’t aware that he deliberately kept the pace slow and easy to accommodate her slow progress. Nor did she know that the village was no great distance away. Had he really intended to punish her, he would have forced her to run to keep up with him. But he didn’t want her hurt excessively. He merely wished to teach her a lesson, for once they reached the village she would be severely punished if she repeatedly tried to escape. White slaves were usually treated worse than dogs. Only children, and white women who were taken as wives by warriors were integrated into the tribe.
Hannah’s legs trembled beneath her as she tried to keep up with the pace set by Wind Rider. Placing one foot before the other, she concentrated on staying on her feet, fearing that Wind Rider would drag her along the ground if she fell. Her concentration was such that she had no idea they were near the village until the barking of dogs announced their arrival. She came to an abrupt standstill, until the tug of the rope reminded her that she was at the mercy of a vicious savage. Demeaning as it was, she staggered into the Indian camp at the end of a rope.
Skin splattered with dried mud, her hair a rat’s nest of filthy snarls, Hannah presented much entertainment as Wind Rider led her through the village. Children followed, shouting, pointing, laughing. Some jabbed her with pointed sticks until Wind Rider sent them fleeing with a few sharp words. The women weren’t so easily dismissed. A few pelted her with dung while others tugged at her hair, obviously making fun of her pathetic state.
Hannah ducked the dung as best she could but wasn’t entirely successful. Before long her hair and skin were splattered with filth. The people following behind her and Wind Rider had grown into a small crowd. Wind Rider reined in abruptly, and she plowed into the side of his mount, staggered, and sat down hard on the muddy ground. Derisive laughter turned her cheeks fiery red and her Irish temper exploded. Picking herself off the ground, she glared defiantly at the Indians, who were pointing and holding their noses, as if offended by her stench.
“Aiyee! Our Cheyenne brother has returned with his slave. I’m surprised you spared her life; she smells worse than the village dogs. There is no accounting for some men’s tastes.” The crowd cleared a path for Cut Nose.
Hannah glared sullenly at the ugly Sioux, aware that he was making fun of her. While he and Wind Rider greeted one another, Hannah looked curiously about h
er. The village appeared to be quite large, with more tepees than she could count spread over a flat plain. She could see hills in the distance, and a river winding through them. Dogs ran helter-skelter, barking and fighting with one another for scraps of food. The sound of raised voices brought her attention back to Wind Rider and Cut Nose. She wished she knew what they were arguing about.
“You are a courageous man, Wind Rider, to bring this wretched creature to our village. If you wish to be rid of her, I will buy her from you.” He leered at Hannah, looking through the dirt and grime to some perceived worth. He’d always hungered to taste white flesh but had never had the opportunity. “Take your pick of any of my finest horses.”
“She isn’t for sale.” Wind Rider’s harsh voice brought a sneer to Cut Nose’s ugly face.
“Can it be that you have already mounted her despite her stench? Obviously you have derived some pleasure from her or you wouldn’t turn down my offer. No man has finer horses than I, and you have so few.”
A slow flush crept up Wind Rider’s neck. He didn’t like to be reminded that he had lost his fine herd when he had left his tribe at Sand Creek and ridden north to join the Sioux. Had he wanted a wife, he couldn’t have paid the bride’s price.
“The woman is my slave; she is not for sale,” Wind Rider repeated with ominous portent. “No one is to touch her; is that clear?”
Runs-Like-A-Deer chose that moment to appear, obviously pleased to see Wind Rider looking so hale and hardy. “No one is questioning your right to the white woman, my Cheyenne brother,” he said, sending Cut Nose a stern look. Runs-Like-A-Deer was a respected chieftain whose word was rarely disputed. Though not as important as Red Cloud, he was nevertheless a wise and courageous warrior. He belonged to the mighty War Dog society, as did Cut Nose and Wind Rider. “I do not think even
Red Cloud would dispute your right. Unless,” he added idly, “he wishes to ransom her to the white eyes for one of our own.’
Wind Rider relaxed and slid from his mount. “Little Sparrow is worthless to the white eyes,” he said disparagingly. Not entirely true, Wind Rider thought but did not say. If Little Sparrow could be believed, her owner might be searching for her at this very moment. ‘I’m sure there are other more important hostages to offer to the white eyes. This one I will keep.”
Runs-Like-A-Deer noted Wind Rider’s look of fierce possession and the fact that he had given the woman an Indian name, and wondered at it. But it was none of his business; he did not inquire into Wind Rider’s motives, although he knew Cut Nose had taken a liking to the frail captive and would do his utmost to claim her for himself. Runs-Like-A-Deer couldn’t imagine what either man saw in the plain little sparrow, but that was their affair. For himself, he preferred his two plump wives, whose well-rounded flesh warmed his blankets on cold nights.
When both Cut Nose and Runs-Like-A-Deer turned and walked away Hannah steeled herself for what was to come next. She didn’t have long to wait. Wind Rider barked an order, and one of the children ran off. He returned a few minutes later with a pole about three feet long and a length of rope. Wind Rider pounded the pole deeply into the ground with a rock and fastened the end of her tether to it. He tied her hands, then stood back to inspect his handiwork.
“No, don’t leave me like this!” Hannah tugged at the rope with her bound hands.
Hardening his heart, Wind Rider turned and entered his tepee. The flap came down into place with a jarring thud. The women and children who had been watching with much amusement decided Wind Rider’s exit gave them license to do as they wished with the captive. Whooping with joy, the children found sharp sticks and formed a circle around her, taunting and jabbing her cruelly. Refusing to cry out, Hannah glared at them defiantly. But when the women joined in the entertainment she could not suppress a yelp of pain when a particularly vicious blow bruised her ribs.
Wind Rider tried to close his ears to the cries of his captive as the women and children taunted her. Many of the women had lost children and husbands to the white eyes and they deserved their fun, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. But when Hannah let out a wail of agony he reacted instinctively. He thrust aside the tent flap and burst through the opening. Legs spread wide apart, he stood over Hannah, glaring fiercely.
“Be gone!” he ordered harshly. “I will punish my slave as I see fit.” His words were met with sullen looks, but were obeyed nevertheless. When they were alone he nudged Hannah with his toe. “Are you hurt?”
Hannah glowered at him. “Why should you care? I never saw such vicious women. Will they be back?”
“They will not return. You didn’t answer me. Where are you hurt?”
”I—my ribs. The women derived great pleasure from jabbing me with sharp sticks.”
“They will not hurt you again.” He turned to reenter his tepee. He was filthy and wished to go down to the river and bathe. And he was so hungry his ribs were touching his backbone.
“Wind Rider! My brother told me you had returned. Are you recovered from your wound?” The woman who spoke carried a kettle and offered it to Wind Rider. “I thought you might be hungry after your long journey.”
Wind Rider turned, saw Spotted Doe approaching, and smiled. Though not as modest and retiring as Cheyenne maidens, Spotted Doe, an exceptionally pretty young Sioux woman, gave every indication that she favored him above other men. She was sister to Cut Nose.
“I am well, Spotted Doe. Thank you for the food. I am indeed hungry.”
“You should have a woman to care for you and cook your meals,” she hinted slyly. Her bold smile indicated that she should be that woman. “If you’d like I’ll tend to your wound.”
“Perhaps later, Spotted Doe, after I bathe and eat. But I assure you it is fine.” Wind Rider couldn’t get over the difference between shy Cheyenne maidens, who cherished their virginity, and bold Sioux women, who found no reason to abstain from sex if they found a man who pleased them. And if they were displeased with their man after marriage, they simply divorced him. All they need do was leave their mate’s tepee.
Spotted Doe smiled enticingly. “I will return later.” Suddenly she spied Hannah, huddled against the pole to which she was bound. “So this is your slave.” She placed a finger to her nose. “She stinks. Cut Nose said she was an ugly, pitiable creature and my brother did not lie. What are you going to do with her?”
Hannah stared at the beautiful Indian maiden, aware of her contempt and loathing. The woman’s large, doelike eyes held no hint of compassion, no spark of kindness. The only time they softened was when she looked at Wind Rider. Was she Wind Rider’s woman? Hannah wondered dimly.
“She is my slave and will do whatever I tell her,” Wind Rider said. “Women’s work is difficult; she will not be idle.”
Spotted Doe’s eyes narrowed. “I am glad she is ugly. If she was beautiful, you might be tempted to take her to your blankets.”
“The woman is a whore, accustomed to bedding many men. But fear not, Spotted Doe, I have no intention of bedding my slave. Little Sparrow does not appeal to me.”
Wind Rider had no reason to believe he would soon wish back his words.
Chapter Five
Hannah sagged against the pole to which she was bound, glad to see the last of the lovely Sioux maiden. The girl’s dark, glowering looks gave mute evidence to the scathing contempt she felt for the white female slave Wind Rider had captured. Had the maiden considered Hannah a threat for the affection of Wind Rider, Hannah had no doubt she would have found a way to eliminate the threat. Hannah thanked God the maiden considered her unworthy of the attention of a mighty warrior like Wind Rider. Wind Rider watched the seductive sway of Spotted Doe’s hips as she walked away. He hadn’t had a woman in a long time, and he wondered if the Sioux maiden would lie with him. He briefly considered visiting one of the camp whores, or a widow known to accommodate young warriors, but somehow the idea did not appeal to him. He glanced at Hannah, recalling how she had looked with her body free of filth and her
hair gloriously clean and shining. His body hardened, envisioning the copper-hued forest cresting her woman’s mound. He wondered how it would feel to thrust his mighty rod into the tight warmth of her sheath. He scowled fiercely, sickened by the thought of the countless men who had used her body in such a manner.
Hannah wondered what Wind Rider was thinking. He was staring at her so intently and frowning so sternly, she feared that he meant to do her bodily harm. A roll of thunder called her attention to the drenching rain that had plagued them off and on all day. Would Wind Rider leave her out in a raging storm all night?
Wind Rider heard the thunder and wondered the same thing. If he left his captive to the mercy of the elements, she might become ill and die. Yet she stank so badly he didn’t dare allow her inside his tepee. Another roll of thunder made up his mind. Turning abruptly, he disappeared into the tepee, emerging a few minutes later stripped to his breechclout and carrying a bundle under his arm. Then he bent and untied the end of the rope binding Hannah to the pole. He tugged her to her feet.
“Where are you taking me?”
Disdaining an answer, Wind Rider jerked on the rope. Hannah stumbled after him, the pressure on her tender neck propelling her forward. He took her to the river/untied her hands, and removed the rope from her neck. He frowned when he saw the ugly raw burns marring her flesh. He had had no idea her skin would be so sensitive. Once she was free of her fetters he pushed her toward the river. When she balked he removed something from the bundle he had brought along, swept her into his arms, and walked into the water. When the water surged up to his waist he set her on her feet and shoved some leaves into her hand.
“Soap plant,” he said. “Use it to wash away your stink. Take off the shirt; it smells of dung.”
Hannah blanched. “No.”
His mouth thinned. Before she knew what was happening Wind Rider grasped the hem of the shirt and pulled it over her head. Then he pushed her beneath the water. She came up sputtering, her green eyes flashing. Wind Rider smiled grimly. A clap of thunder, closer this time, reminded him of the approaching storm. With a flip of his wrist he removed his breechclout and tossed it onto the shore. Then he calmly began scrubbing his body with soap plant. When he finished he turned to Hannah, annoyed that she had made no move to bathe.