by Connie Mason
“If you are to sleep inside my tepee tonight, you must bathe.”
Hannah looked stunned. “Inside your tepee?” She touched her throat, still raw from the rope.
Though she had no desire to be tethered again to the pole, spending the night in Wind Rider’s tepee was even more frightening. He was too male, too powerful, too intimidating—too handsome by far. He did things to her that made her body yearn for something too outrageous to contemplate.
“Are you going to bathe, or must I do it for you?”
Staring at the soap plant in her hand, she slowly began to rub her skin, working up a lather. She tried not to look at Wind Rider, aware that he was staring at her in a most disconcerting manner. When she felt his hands on her back she stiffened. She relaxed when she realized he was merely washing where she could not reach. When his hands slid around to her breasts, she grasped his wrists.
“Don’t.”
He freed himself easily, sliding his hands to her back again, then down her spine to her buttocks. Hannah cried out when he boldly inserted a hand between her thighs and stroked.
“Do you like that, Little Sparrow?” he whispered into her ear. His fingers grew daring as they teased the portals of her womanhood.
She felt the thrust of his arousal against her buttocks and tried to whirl away. The resistance of water against her body made her sluggish, and Wind Rider easily captured her, pulling her hard against him. “No, please, don’t touch me like that.”
“You have been without a man’s touch a long time, Little Sparrow. Do you ache inside? Do you have a need to be ridden? If I recall, you are almost presentable when your body is free of dirt and grime.” He turned her in his arms, dragging her against him from breast to groin. “Your heart is fluttering like a captive mare, Little Sparrow. I will be your stallion.’
“Why do you call me that? My name is Hannah, and I have no great need. Not the kind you’re talking about.” She pounded on his chest. “Let me go, you heathen savage!”
The stark planes of Wind Rider’s face hardened, and he pushed her away. “I would rather bed a rattlesnake than a whore who thinks herself too good to lie beneath an Indian.”
“I’m not a whore! Why do you call me that when you know nothing about me?”
Glaring at her, Wind Rider shoved her beneath the water. When she bobbed to the surface he attacked her head with the soap plant. Not until he had worked up a rich lather did he answer her question.
“I saw you before, but you do not remember. Many moons ago in Denver. You were outside an inn; it was wintertime. Your master was beating you for running away. He called you a whore and spoke of selling your body to his customers.”
Hannah stared at him, searching her memory. Her mind traveled back in time, instantly conjuring up a tall man who had briefly joined the crowd that had gathered to watch Mr. Harley punish her for running away. Her memory was clear as a mountain brook; that man was no Indian. He was as white as she, with silver eyes that hinted at compassion. This steely-eyed Indian had no compassion in his soul. She remembered how their eyes had met briefly before he turned and walked away. Suddenly comprehension dawned. Could that man have been Wind Rider? The answer left her breathless. It had to be, or else how could he describe the scene so accurately? When the truth dawned on her she looked physically ill.
“I see you remember.” He smiled mirthlessly. “I recognized you immediately. That is how I knew you were a woman of easy virtue.”
”I-I don’t understand. There were many men watching that day, but they were white. I’d swear to it. I saw no Indian in the crowd.”
Wind Rider neither denied nor affirmed her claim. “Finish your bath. Rain will fall soon and I am hungry.” He turned and walked away.
The breath caught in Hannah’s throat. The extraordinary sight of his nude body rising slowly from the water transfixed her. The fading light revealed a body golden all over; a true vision of masculine virility, with rippling muscles and corded tendons. The notion that he might be white was more than she could comprehend. Logic told her that he was a half-breed, which seemed entirely possible. She continued to stare at him until he had fastened his breechclout about his slim hips.
Wind Rider retrieved the blanket he had brought with him and beckoned to Hannah. “Come.” He held the blanket aloft.
Averting her gaze, Hannah walked from the water, aware of the scorching heat emanating from Wind Rider’s narrowed eyes. Shielding her body with her hands, she walked directly into the blanket stretched between his arms. His arms closed around her, bringing the ends of the blanket together. Then he slowly rubbed her body dry.
”I-I can do that,” Hannah gasped, stunned by her body’s reaction to his touch.
“You have gained weight,” Wind Rider observed.
The brief glance he’d had of her nude body showed him the result of the satisfying meals he had provided for her since her captivity. A few more weeks of regular meals and he’d dare anyone to call her scrawny. And as for her being plain, nothing was further from the truth. A cloud of rich auburn hair framed a face as delicate as a lacy web with dew clinging to its silken threads. She’d never be as strong as an Indian maiden, but she had enough grit and determination to make up for it. And her lilting voice sounded like the sweet music of the gods.
Annoyed at the direction his thoughts were taking, Wind Rider’s voice was harsher than he had intended. “If you give me no trouble, I will not place the rope around your neck.”
“What trouble can I cause in a camp filled with Indians?” she replied sullenly.
Wind Rider nodded. “Come. My ribs are touching my backbone. I am anxious to taste Spotted Doe’s stew.”
“I suspect she’d like you to taste more than her stew,” Hannah muttered crossly.
“What did you say?”
Hannah started violently. What in the devil was she thinking? She didn’t care if the big buck bedded every Indian maiden in the village. “Nothing.”
“Hurry; it’s starting to rain.”
Sure enough, raindrops pelted them just as they reached the edge of the village. Holding up the blanket so she wouldn’t trip, Hannah hurried along beside Wind Rider. She ducked into the tepee just as the sky opened, grateful that he hadn’t insisted upon tying her to the stake outside. Spotted Doe was waiting for them, her face a mask of fury.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, sidling up beside Wind Rider. “I have built a fire to warm the stew I prepared. When you are finished I will tend your leg.” She sent Hannah a venomous look when she noted that Wind Rider’s slave no longer resembled the pathetic creature she’d first seen tied to the stake. Though the light was dim, she could tell that the slave was young and beautiful—too beautiful. “What is she doing here? Why have you brought her inside your lodge?”
Annoyed at Spotted Doe’s possessive manner, Wind Rider merely shrugged. “It is storming outside. She will be no use to me if she falls ill.”
“Where are her clothes? She looks different somehow.”
“Her clothes were filthy. I could not abide her stench so I took her to the river to bathe. I hoped you might have a garment she could wear. It needn’t be new. Anything serviceable will do.”
As much as Spotted Doe wanted to deny Wind Rider’s request, she could not. She wanted him to look upon her with favor. He needed a wife and she was much taken with him. Other warriors paled in comparison to the big Cheyenne buck. She had heard that Wind Rider was white, but he exhibited no signs of white blood. He rode with Cut Nose and raided with equal ferocity. He was a War Dog soldier who had proven his courage many times over.
“If you wish it, I will find something for your slave to wear. Now I will tend your wound.”
“There is no need, Spotted Doe.”
“It pleases me to do it. Coyote gave me a healing salve to apply to your wound.”
Wind Rider sat beside the fire while Spotted Doe knelt at his side, spreading the salve over his wound with gentle hands. She lingered
as long as she dared, until Wind Rider grew restive; then she rose and prepared to leave. “I will return with the tunic for your slave.”
“It is raining and she has no need of it tonight, Spotted Doe. Bring it tomorrow.”
Spotted Doe glared at Hannah, unwilling to leave her alone with Wind Rider but knowing she had no choice. “I will do as you say. Enjoy your meal, Wind Rider.”
A sigh of relief trembled past Hannah’s lips. “Spotted Doe hates me.”
Wind Rider sent her a scathing look. “Why do you find that strange? Your people have taken our lands, killed our women and children, and destroyed the buffalo that feeds us. Is it any wonder that my people hate you?”
“How can you blame me for any of that? My home is across the sea in a country called Ireland. My family has never even seen an Indian, let alone killed one.”
“You are white,” Wind Rider said with finality. “My people see nothing but your white skin.” He bent and removed the kettle of stew from the fire. From a parfleche he found bowls and spoons, then carefully divided the stew between the two bowls. He handed one to Hannah. “Sit and eat.”
Hugging the blanket to her chest with one hand and holding the bowl with the other, Hannah sat awkwardly. Then she devoured the stew with gusto, finding it surprisingly good despite the fact that it had been prepared by Spotted Doe. When every last morsel had been consumed she sat back and sighed, so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open.
Replete, Wind Rider rose and stretched. Then he pulled a thick mat of furs from a corner of the lodge and placed it close to the fire, indicating that Hannah should lie down upon it.
Hannah licked her suddenly dry lips. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I have no other mat. We will share this one.”
“I’ll sleep on the ground.”
His expression hardened. “Why are you afraid? We have shared a mat before.”
That’s why I’m afraid, Hannah thought but did not say.
Her arguments were ineffectual as Wind Rider shoved her down upon his mat. Before she could rise he whipped off his breechclout and joined her. Grateful for the protective covering, Hannah pulled the blanket tightly around her and tried to relax.
Wind Rider cursed himself for a thousand fools. How could he desire this white woman when those of her race were slowly destroying his people? He trusted no one with white skin. He had lived his life for the past fifteen years as a Cheyenne and had no desire to change now.. Turning his back on Hannah, he forced his body to relax, convinced that she was a wicked spirit who used strong medicine to make him want her. The storm raging outside was not nearly as fierce as the one raging inside Wind Rider.
Spotted Doe arrived early the next morning. Wind Rider had already arisen and nudged
Hannah out of the blankets. When Spotted Doe rattled the bones at the entrance of the lodge Wind Rider bade her enter. She ducked beneath the flap, her gaze settling on the single mat that Wind Rider and Hannah had shared. She sent Hannah a malevolent glare.
“I have brought a tunic and moccasins for your slave,” she said, tossing a bundle at Hannah’s feet. “They are old but good enough for a slave.”
Hannah retrieved the bundle and held it to her chest. No matter how old the clothing, they were better than the blanket she clutched around her shoulders. She wanted to dress immediately, but not with Wind Rider and Spotted Doe watching. Wind Rider sensed her dilemma and reacted to her mute appeal with uncharacteristic kindness as he ushered Spotted Doe toward the tepee entrance, holding the flap open so she could leave.
“I must speak with Red Cloud,” he said, hoping to speed Spotted Doe on her way.
“Red Cloud is not here,” Spotted Doe informed him. “He has gone to a great council called by the army at Fort Laramie. Many Sioux leaders will be there to negotiate peace with the white eyes.”
“Peace, bah! Have the Sioux learned nothing from Sand Creek? They should ask the Cheyenne about promises made by white eyes.”
Modestly dressed in the threadbare tunic that covered her down to her ankle-high moccasins, Hannah chose that moment to step out into the brilliant light of the morning sun. When Spotted Doe saw her, her eyes widened in disbelief. Inside the dark tepee she’d noticed the change in Hannah but had no idea it would be so dramatic. But now, in the light of day, the change in the slave was utterly astounding.
There was no disguising her slimness, but now it was enhanced by a cloud of copper-hued hair that framed delicate features and absolutely stunning green eyes. Washed clean of dirt and grime, her skin was as white and smooth as that of a newborn babe. Her lips were full, red, and lush. Long feathery eyelashes the color of rich copper made her green eyes appear even more dramatic.
“What have you done to her?” Spotted Doe gasped. “This is not the same woman you brought here yesterday.”
“I have no other slave,” Wind Rider said, transfixed by Hannah’s complete metamorphosis.
“What is she saying?” Hannah asked as Spotted Doe continued to stare at her as if she were something offensive.
“Nothing,” Wind Rider barked harshly. “Gather wood; I am hungry. I will ask one of the older women to teach you to cook the food I provide. If you do not do as she says, she will beat you.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?”
A grim smile stretched across Wind Rider’s generous lips. “You are not stupid. You will not run away.”
Seething with anger, Hannah realized that Wind Rider spoke the truth. There were no white settlements nearby, and she greatly feared Indian methods of punishment should she be recaptured. She turned abruptly and walked toward the river, where many trees grew along the bank. Wind Rider watched until she was out of sight, wondering if he should follow.
Wind Rider wasn’t the only one watching Hannah’s progress through the village. Every young buck lucky enough to be out and about turned to stare after her, including Cut Nose. The ugly warrior’s eyes bulged grotesquely and the air left his chest in an explosion of disbelief when he recognized Wind Rider’s slave. He had been willing to buy her before this miraculous transformation, but now he was more determined than ever to have her in his blankets. From the very beginning he had looked below the dirt and grime and seen something no one else had seen, but never in his wildest imagination did he expect anything so spectacular. When he saw Hannah walk in the direction of the river he followed, taking a different route so as not to arouse suspicion.
Hannah walked a short distance along the river bank, gathering sticks and driftwood along the way. When she had an armful she turned back toward camp. Fear twisted her gut when she saw Cut Nose step from behind a tree. The wood fell from her arms.
“Stay away from me!” She wasn’t certain he could understand English, but he certainly had to know what she was saying from her tone of voice.
Cut Nose laughed harshly. He understood the white man’s tongue well enough. Like most Plains Indians, he had picked up the language from traders, mountainmen, and Indian agents. ”A slave has no rights,” His words were slow and stilted but understandable.
“I belong to Wind Rider,” Hannah felt compelled to say. The crafty look in Cut Nose’s eyes told her exactly what he wanted from her.
“He will not mind. Did you not know you will become the village whore when he tires of you? It is our way. You will be sent to live in a lodge at the edge of the village, where our warriors can visit you at will.”
“No!” Hannah denied vehemently. “Wind Rider would not do that.”
“It is the custom. But I have decided I cannot wait. I will mount you now, while you are still young and desirable and before the others ruin you. My friends are not always gentle, and since you are white they will not care if they hurt you.”
Without warning he lunged at her. She whirled, attempting to flee, but she wasn’t fast enough. Cut Nose was upon her in seconds, bearing her to the ground. He fell atop her heavily, forcing the breath from her lungs. When his hard hands skimmed her thig
hs and raised her tunic above her waist she struggled valiantly but to no avail. Inserting his hand between their bodies, he tore his breechclout aside and shoved her legs apart. When she pounded against his chest, he seized her hands and held them above her head, leering at her with evil purpose.
Hannah let out a shrill screech, steeling herself for Cut Nose’s invasion. “Quiet!” Cut Nose barked. Releasing one of her hands, he clouted her alongside the face to make her more tractable. Finding one hand free, Hannah retaliated by digging her sharp nails down his cheek. Cut Nose spit out a guttural curse, drew his hand back, and prepared to deliver another blow. Hannah closed her eyes and waited, hoping he’d strike her hard enough to render her unconscious. But the blow never fell.
The pressure of Cut Nose’s body eased and then was gone. Hannah opened her eyes, surprised to see Wind Rider standing over her, his expression fierce. He had kicked Cut Nose from atop her and stood with his fists clenched, his magnificent body tense, ready to strike again as Cut Nose picked himself up from the ground. Though Hannah had no idea what they were saying, their harsh tones and loud voices led her to believe the situation was explosive.
“The slave is my property. I have said no one is to touch her,” Wind Rider challenged.
“And I have offered to buy her from you,” Cut Nose returned. “I will give you three horses instead of the one I offered before. I am being most generous to my Cheyenne brother. Besides,” he added slyly, “the slave wanted me. She enticed me here and offered herself to me.”
“You lie!” Wind Rider denied vehemently. “The blood on your face tells me she was not willing. For the last time, Cut Nose, Little Sparrow is not for sale.”