Say You Love Me

by Patricia Hagan

  They rode into a creek, water splashing about them. She could feel Black Serpent's knife against the inside of her right forearm. It was tucked at his waist. All she had to do was twist her bound hands sharply to the side, then jerk backwards, grab the knife, yank it out and plunge it into him. She would have but one chance and one chance only. If she failed, he would kill her.

  Over and over, Jacie played the scene in her mind but could envision no other ending except him falling off the horse and taking her with him due to how her arms were tied around him. There was nothing to do but wait until later, when they were alone.

  The night wore on. They left the water, and Jacie wondered if they were ever going to stop. At last she felt them slowing just a bit and dared hope they had reached their destination, but great shadows hovering on both sides told her otherwise. They were apparently going through some kind of ravine that seemed to be bordered by rocky outcroppings. Soon it was necessary to ride single file and allow the horses to pick their way over the rocky terrain.

  The last thing Jacie wanted to do was fall asleep, but with the horse walking so slowly, almost rhythmically, and her exhaustion, she could not help herself. Her head fell against the Indian's back, and she went limp.

  He smiled. It was good that she slept. He was also tired. They would camp soon and count their loot before resting. But he would keep the woman from the others, for he was not about to share. She was his. He would not take her for a wife; he had more pride than Great Bear and would never make a white woman his wife. She would be his slave, do his bidding, and he would teach her a thousand ways to please him in his blankets.

  At last the Indians, outlaws from their own people, arrived at the campsite, where they could feel safe. Situated among rocks, there were many little caves and overhangs where they could take refuge. Black Serpent untied Jacie's wrists, grinning as he whipped about to grab her in his arms and take her with him as he dismounted. With the sun having leapt from the horizon he could see her face and noted she did look something like Sunstar, but he would think about that later. His comrades were shouting happily to each other as they began to unpack their pillage from the fort. Rifles, pistols, ammunition; it was a bountiful harvest.

  Hoisting Jacie over his shoulder again, Black Serpent carried her to his favorite place—a big cave in the face of a rock, far away from the others. He had taken women there before and known many hours of pleasure.

  As he lay his newest prize on the ground, he paused to run his hands over her breasts in delicious anticipation. "Soon," he promised, "I will have you again and again."

  Fiercely, bravely, she dared to plead, "Why have you done this to me? If you are a Comanche, I beg you to hear me out and help me. My mother—"

  "Your mother," he spat. "Forget your mother. Forget everything about your old life. You are mine now, I say."

  He walked away, and she thought it just as well, knowing it was useless to beg. Now she focused on the fact that he had not retied her, probably thinking she was too scared to think of running out into the wilderness.

  She started to rise up to investigate her surroundings, but then she heard someone coming and lay very still, pretending to have fainted. Watching through lowered lashes, she saw one of the Indians throw her satchel down and walk away. No doubt he had looked inside but found only the blanket and decided there was nothing worth stealing.

  When all seemed safe, she crept out to peek over the rocks and watch as the Indians danced around, whooping and hollering and waving some of the newly stolen guns. She hoped to spot the one who had come to her earlier, wanting revenge against him as well for making her believe she was in no danger, but she did not see him.

  One of them was searching through a box and suddenly let out a shriek that drowned out all the others. He held up a bottle, and as the Indians began to push and shove to get at it, Jacie saw they had found a cache of whiskey. Perhaps a soldier had hidden it, sneaking drinks when no one was looking. But it made no difference how liquor had gotten into the arsenal, all Jacie knew was that now the Indians had something that could make them even more dangerous.

  She watched as the bottle was snatched back and forth between them, each man gulping long and deep. The merriment continued, and Jacie settled back in the cave to wait. As she did so, she contemplated her situation.

  She was certain the Indians would not be awake for long. They had been up all night, riding hard, and with their senses numbed by the whiskey they were guzzling they would sleep deeply and long. If she could slip away without being seen and take one of the Indian ponies, she could be far, far away before they woke and discovered she was gone.

  For the time being she was not going to worry about which way to go. Mehlonga had taught her how to read the stars for direction, and she knew Fort Worth was up the Trinity River at the confluence of the Clear and West forks. When she was sure she was not being followed, she would head that way.

  The sounds of revelry grew louder.

  Jacie chanced another look and saw that Black Serpent was right in the middle of it all, slapping his hand against his mouth and emitting a strange, yodeling kind of whoop. He stomped about in circles, lifting his legs up and down frantically, knees almost reaching his chest.

  She took a good look at his costume, as well as those of the others. Mehlonga had told her as much as he knew about Comanche garb—the trouserlike garment they wore, edged with beads and nickel rivets, was called leggings. And the apronlike cloth with fringes and tassels at the end was a breechclout. The faces were painted red, and their hair was parted in the center and braided on each side, with a scalplock at the top of the head. A few had a single yellow or black feather stuck in their scalplocks, but she saw that Black Serpent had donned a headdress with buffalo horns.

  She counted sixteen Indians dancing and decided Black Serpent was definitely the most ominous-looking of the bunch. Ever so often he would whip his knife from his breechclout and make vicious motions as though striking out at an invisible enemy. He was also large, with a barrellike chest, shoulders like shank hams, and forearms like hocks. The long jagged scar on his face made him appear even more fearsome, and Jacie cringed to think of him touching her. She had to get away, she thought, biting into her lower lip. Dear God, she just had to.

  Finally, their dancing grew less spirited. A few were stumbling, and one fell flat on his face. But Black Serpent was still jumping about, apparently able to hold his liquor better than his followers. Holding a bottle, he continued to drink.

  Soon, everyone else had passed out. Black Serpent staggered forward a few steps, lifted the bottle to his mouth, then apparently changed his mind as he belched and hiccupped, trying again to walk, lurching from side to side.

  "Just hang on to that bottle, my horn-headed friend," Jacie muttered under her breath as she parted the leaves of a shrub to see him coming her way. "Just hang on to it, and don't drink it all, because I've got something to make it a little more potent."

  She was clutching the pouch containing the morning glory seeds. She had already beaten them into a powder with a flat rock, but there had not been time, or facility, to soak them or strain them. She would just have to find a way to get them into the bottle Black Serpent was carrying—and pray he was so drunk he would not know what he was drinking.

  Chapter 16

  Black Serpent stumbled into the clearing, which was ringed on three sides by rock.

  Jacie was trapped.

  She had backed as far as she could, holding the powdered seeds behind her, wondering frantically how she was going to get them into the bottle. He was still holding on to it, a bit of liquid sloshing around in the bottom.

  He looked her up and down hungrily, his tongue darting across his lips. "I did not at first want to learn the white man's language," he said, voice slurring. "But now I am glad, because I can tell you how to please me." He set the bottle on a ledge and commanded, "I want you naked! Now!"

  She could only stare at him in horror.

 
His hand snaked out to clutch her throat. "Do as I say or I will punish you with pain as you have never known."

  Jacie squirmed in his grasp. "Don't do this. Have mercy, please..." she whispered.

  A dark, brooding hatred flashed in his black eyes. "Mercy?" he echoed with deadly menace. "When have your people ever shown mine any mercy?" He yanked her against him, and she could feel the hard heat of his chest. She fought to keep her hand behind her as he bent her head back. Her eyes locked on the red, raw scar that swept across his cheek, and she could not control the shudder of revulsion that shot through her.

  With a shriek, he slapped her. "So you cannot stand the sight of my face? My scar sickens you? Perhaps you would like one of your own, then you will know what it is like."

  She had staggered from his blow, but he grabbed her again, only to slam her head back against the rock so hard she felt a dizzying pain and had to fight to hang on to consciousness. From out of nowhere came the knife; he held it ominously above her. Jacie closed her eyes and prayed as she had never prayed before, sure that any second she would feel the cold steel slashing into her flesh.

  "Answer me!" he screamed. "Would you like a scar so you will not find me ugly?"

  Jacie opened one eye and later wondered how she could have been so bold as to taunt, "I would find you ugly without a scar, damn you."

  He laughed at her bravado and returned the knife to his belt. "No. You would find Black Serpent the most handsome warrior of the Comanche, like the girls who crept into my tepee night after night. They taught me well, as I will teach you. And it will make no difference that you cannot bear to look upon my face. You will look upon my body, instead, for it is still glorious as a man's should be. And I will look upon you. All of you."

  Jacie's arm ached terribly, bent back against the rock, but still she clung to the seeds, hoping he would pass out. His eyes were getting bleary, and he seemed to be having difficulty staying on his feet.

  "You want me to tame you, little she-wolf?" he taunted. "Is that what you want? I have ways to make you obey me and no one cares about your screams..." He trailed off, suddenly unable to ignore any longer the annoying pressure from all he had drunk. He would have to relieve himself before taking his pleasure.

  Spinning about, reeling as he did so, Black Serpent turned his back on her, directing himself toward a clump of bushes as he lifted his breechclout.

  Jacie knew she had but one chance. Snatching up the bottle, she opened her hand and released the powder. She gave it a quick shake, wiped the residue from the rim, and set it back down.

  He turned back around, annoyed to feel so heavy-headed, so sleepy. Perhaps another swallow of the firewater would make him feel better. But where had he left it? The world was spinning. And then he saw the bottle. With a grunt of satisfaction, he lifted it to his mouth.

  Jacie felt an excited rush.

  He drained the bottle, then sent it crashing against the rocks. "Now I will have you," he yelled, beating on his bare chest with his fists.

  He lunged, and she ducked and tried to dart under his arms but was not quick enough. Grabbing her hair, he yanked her back, but she fell against his legs, knocking him off balance, and he went down, taking her with him. He caught her wrists, rolling to the side to pin her beneath him. "You will beg to die before I am through with you, bitch," he vowed with a snarl of menace. "And you will never refuse me again."

  He was all over her, fingers digging, mauling, tearing at her clothes. She screamed again and again, horror searing wherever he touched. She managed to free one hand and brought her nails raking across his cheek. With an oath, he whipped out the knife to press against her throat and threatened, "I will take you after you are dead if you keep fighting me."

  Jacie caught her breath and held it, her struggles ceasing. She had put a heavy dose in the bottle but had no idea how long it would be before it took effect. Combined with the whiskey she hoped it would work more quickly than usual and dared believe her hunch was right when she saw his eyes begin to roll back in his head.

  He dropped the knife, his hands clawing first at his throat, then his stomach, as he made a thin whining sound. Then he dropped to his knees, still holding his belly, and pitched forward onto his face.

  Jacie wasted no time. Grabbing up her satchel along with Black Serpent's knife, she made her way quickly down from the rocky alcove and on past the other Indians, who appeared to be sleeping deeply.

  She went to where the ponies were tethered and selected a pinto that looked a bit stronger than the rest, leading him a short distance before throwing a blanket over his back. Tying on the satchel, she walked him farther from the camp before mounting and galloping away.

  ***

  The sun was high in a cloudless sky and seemed to melt into a shapeless bed of golden flame as it stretched to touch the faraway mountains.

  Jacie shielded her eyes and tried to figure out where she was. The Trinity River ran from northwest to southeast; she knew because she had asked Tehlwah its course when they had made camp that last night. She did not know why she wanted to know, except that since leaving home, she had the need to have some idea, at all times, of where she was. It made her feel less apprehensive, somehow, about constantly being in new surroundings.

  Jacie made a mental note of when they had crossed the river, estimating they had ridden an hour or more after doing so before entering the shadowed ravine. She had dozed after that but guessed it had been another hour's ride before they got to the camp. Several times she had glanced upward to find the north star and suspected that they had gone through the ravine to keep parallel to the river so they would not pass directly by the settlement of Fort Worth, which was where she wanted to go.

  Her stomach rumbled. Many hours had passed since she had eaten at the fort. She was weak and weary but plodded onward, knowing that when the Indians finally woke up to find their leader drugged and sick, they would come after her. She had to get to the settlement as fast as possible or they might overtake her—and God help her if they did.

  Back in Georgia, Jacie knew, signs of autumn would be everywhere, the hills and ridges burning with red and yellow and orange as the leaves offered a spectacular farewell before falling to the ground. But here the earth shimmered with waves of heat. Her dress, soaked with sweat, clung to her, and her hair hung limp and damp. She could feel her skin burning from the relentless sun.

  She tried to push thoughts of food from her mind but wondered how long she could go without proper sustenance. She felt herself growing weaker as the day wore on, and it was getting harder and harder to stay on the pony's back. She would feel herself slipping, about to fall but mercifully would rally at the last instant to wrap her fingers in the pony's mane and haul herself back into position.

  To get her mind off eating, and the heat, and the seriousness of her situation, she tried to turn her thoughts to Michael, and how perhaps she should have told him everything.

  No. She shook her head firmly. She had to do it her way. Still, she drifted to think how protected he made her feel when he held her in his arms, and the sweetness of his kisses, and what a comfort it had been to hear him vow that she would never have to worry about anything ever again in her whole life once they were married. He would always take care of her. She'd not have to worry her pretty little head, he would laugh and say, because he would do everything for her. To be sheltered and cherished, that would be her life as Mrs. Michael Blake.

  Jacie could not help laughing aloud—a weird sound in the barren wilderness—to wonder what Michael would think if he could see her right then. She had journeyed all the way from Georgia to Texas with a Cherokee medicine man only to be abducted by a Comanche Indian and threatened with rape and death. Now she was weak and racked by hunger and, God help her, completely lost. But she was still alive, undaunted and determined to survive. Hardly the image of a genteel planter's wife in ruffles and lace. Michael would be amazed. And surely he would be impressed by her courage. She was certainly impressed with
herself, and when it was all over, she would tell him and describe it all in detail, and he would know her for the strong woman she was and surely respect her all the more for it.

  Her head began to loll. It was getting harder and harder to sit on the pony. He was moving slowly. She dared not urge him into a faster gait for she could never hold on then. She could see green in the distance, a cluster of trees. If she could make it there, she would rest, if only for a little while. But then she felt herself falling again. This time, she was unable to rally in time to hold on.

  She was unconscious by the time she hit the ground.

  * * *

  Luke knew something had happened when he came in sight of the fort. The gates were wide open and a patrol was riding in, met by one headed out. He could see a hubbub of activity inside and could feel an air of tension all around him.

  Riding toward the departing soldiers, he recognized Sergeant Major Ward Stackhouse and hailed him to ask what was going on.

  "Damn Injuns made a hole in the southeast corner of the fence and broke in to raid the arsenal. They got away with a hell of a lot of guns. Ammunition, too."

  Luke's teeth ground together to think of what it meant. "Any idea which tribe was responsible?"

  "Comanche," Stackhouse said flatly, aware some of his men were casting hostile glances at Luke.

  While they knew he was a good scout, they were wary of him, especially now, after what had happened.

  "How can you be sure?"

  "Hell, Luke, I know a Comanche when I see one. We caught one as he was scrambling through the hole."

  "Is he still alive?"

  "No. Had to shoot him. He wouldn't surrender. Kept swinging a tomahawk. He's Comanche, all right. And it's worse than just stealing, by the way," Stackhouse added. "A soldier was killed. Stabbed."