Forbidden Caress

by Colleen French

  Falling into stride with the others, Katelyn let her mind wander to ease the pain in her back and the ache in her arms from carrying the hefty headdress. She wanted to leave it behind this morning, but Tipaakke had insisted she keep it. It reminded the Mohawks of what they'd seen. Besides, she might need it. Her rabbit-hide cloak had burned in the cabin.

  As the Mohawk raiding party moved through the forest at an unrelenting pace, Katelyn tried to figure out where they were. If only she'd paid more attention to what direction they had followed when Hawk had taken them to the cabin in the fall.

  The sun began its slow westwardly descent as the hours ticked by, and still the Mohawks moved on. Without the burden of the weak white woman, they were making up for lost time.

  Katelyn stared at Green Coat's back, trying to think about anything but the endless walking. How could the leader keep this pace up? They were practically running. How could she keep this pace up? How could a man ask his men to walk fifteen hours a day and then sit up part of the night on sentry duty? She watched curiously as Green Coat's head bobbed up and down with the rhythm of his step. At least he'd washed off the war paint from his face. Her eyes came to rest on the stick embedded in his ear. She remembered seeing it the day before, when she was still safe in the chimney. It seemed like years had passed since then. What was that in his ear?

  A sickening feeling crept from Katelyn's stomach upward. That wasn't a stick. She swallowed hard, dropping her head and squeezing her eyes shut. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. Keep up or he'll kill you. Don't look . . . . It was a human finger bone that pierced his ear!

  As the hours passed, Katelyn began to move more slowly. Somewhere among the needled pines and huge oaks, she lost all track of time. She was too tired to attempt loosening her bindings, too tired even to think. She moved mechanically, pushing one foot in front of the other. Nothing mattered at this point but survival. All she could do was walk on endlessly behind Beaver Hat, knowing she must keep up.

  As the afternoon passed and the sun began its slow descent in the sky, the Mohawks began to talk among themselves, moving back and forth within the line. Katelyn didn't know what they were getting so excited about, and she was too exhausted to care. When several braves grouped together and disappeared into the forest to the east, she barely looked up. She didn't know where they were going—straight to hell, she hoped.

  A little further down the worn deer path, Green Coat led the remaining Mohawks and their prisoners to the west, cutting through a thick hedge of thorned blackberries. The briars tore at Katelyn's hair and scratched her face unmercifully, but she trudged on. Once through the briars, she heard the sound of running water off in the distance. It wasn't the sound of the fast moving streams of the mountains, but just the trickle of a tiny fresh-water spring.

  Finally, the group came to a halt in a narrow clearing just beyond the spring, and Katelyn turned to catch the first glimpse of Tipaakke she'd had in hours. Though his sun-bronzed skin was scratched and bleeding, he looked good. Even with his hands tied behind his back, he had kept up well today. He seemed to be barely winded.

  Good, Katelyn thought wryly. He seems to have had an easy day; maybe he's thought of a way to get us out of here. Her eyes came to rest on Joseph and the remaining woman prisoner. They looked bad. Joseph was sporting a black eye and a swollen jaw —both results of this morning's tussel, she was sure. The woman looked much the same as she had earlier, only her eyes were a little glassier, her skin a little paler. Though she wore no evidence of physical abuse, Katelyn could see her pain ran deep. Could anyone ever recover from an ordeal like this? She suddenly realized how lucky she was to have been captured by the Delawares last summer and not by the Mohawks. A year ago she could not have come as far as the dark-haired woman. She would have been the other — lying dead in the middle of nowhere — tortured and left for the wild animals to devour.

  Patiently, Katelyn waited until all of the Mohawk warriors had washed their hands and faces and had taken their fill of water. Only then, did Beaver Hat allow her to drink. Dropping her headdress, she drank and then refilled her water bag, keeping her wrists under the water. Though she hadn't had the energy to struggle with the ties for hours, she knew they were growing looser. When Beaver Hat pulled viciously on the line, she moved reluctantly from the water and followed him to a tree on the edge of the small clearing. For a moment Katelyn panicked, fearing he would untie her hands and retie one wrist to the tree. Then she would have to start all over again. But the Mohawk was in such a foul mood that he just shoved her to the ground and secured the tether strap to the tree. Without a word, he turned to join the group of Mohawks near the spring.

  Katelyn slid to the ground, relieved that Beaver Hat had left her alone and thankful to be off her feet. Making herself as comfortable as possible on the hide of her headdress, she leaned back to rest her head against the ancient poplar. Through the low brush and patches of spring wildflowers she watched Tipaakke drink and then be led across the clearing in her direction.

  "Put Lenni Lenape brave here," Katelyn called, smiling at Pocket Watch. " . . . Where I can keep eye on him." She narrowed her eyes, making them glisten.

  "No." Tipaakke shook his head, drawing back at the sound of her voice. "No wolf-woman." He struggled to get away.

  Pocket Watch laughed, giving Tipaakke's line a good snap. "I put prisoner where I want," he answered in broken Algonquian. He stopped, looking from the wolf-woman to the Delaware. "Here." Stepping up, he tied Tipaakke's line to Katelyn's tree. "I no believe story of wolf-woman." He glared at Katelyn. "But Lenni Lenape brave believe." He nodded his head in Tipaakke's direction, laughing at his own cleverness. Securing the lead line to the tree, he patted Tipaakke on the knee as he went by. "Maybe my friend no feed wolf-woman tonight. She say she like tender Delawares." He laughed again and disappeared into the forest.

  Katelyn couldn't figure out what the Mohawks were up to. Why had they made camp so early? Where had the other braves gone? Somehow, the air seemed different among them tonight. It was an air of anxious anticipation.

  Katelyn and Tipaakke sat side by side, his bare leg pressed against hers as they waited apprehensively. It was getting dark. The other Mohawks had been gone quite a while now.

  Katelyn glanced up to be sure no one was watching them. "I can't figure it out, Fox." She shook her head, trying to chase away a buzzing mosquito. "I don't think that was a hunting party that was sent out earlier. They wouldn't be this excited over a deer."

  Tipaakke shook his head. "They hunt, but not for animals. We're near a settlement." His brow was furrowed deep with concern. "They've gone raiding again."

  Katelyn was silent for a moment, wondering who had fallen prey to them this time. Then she looked up. "I got my ties wet again."

  "Good. Keep working it; keep them wet. It could be . . . " Suddenly, Tipaakke tensed. "Listen . . . " he told her, his voice hushed. "They're coming."

  Katelyn listened to the faint sound of boisterous laughter and thrashing brush. "I hear them. Why are they so loud?" She stole a glance at Tipaakke's concerned face. He's so handsome, she thought.

  "The raid was well rewarded." His voice was taut. "Whiskey. Take care. No telling what they will do now. Our people do not drink well. It makes them crazy."

  Katelyn and Tipaakke sat in silence, both caught up in their own thoughts, as they waited for the marauders to emerge from the woods.

  When the Mohawks entered the clearing, Katelyn recoiled in horror and disgust. The men were laden with guns, food and assorted loot, and reeked of whiskey and fresh blood. The braves' clothing was covered with splotches of deep red, and their movements were frenzied with the excitement of a fresh kill.

  "It will be a long night, love." Fox rubbed his legs against hers, caressing her the only way he could. "You rest. Try to sleep. I'll keep watch."

  "Sleep?" She laughed. "Who could sleep with that going on?" She motioned in the Mohawks direction with her chin. They were dancing now. Arou
nd and around the campfire they went, singing and hooting as they passed around the bottles of scotch. "I just hope we're not the entertainment." She glanced over at the other two prisoners who slept fitfully. "Maybe it would be better that way."

  Tipaakke's head snapped around to face her. "Don't say that," he commanded in Algonquian through clenched teeth. "Do not ever say that. Life is a gift. The life that lives within you is a gift. You must fight for life." He stared through the darkness, his eyes caressing her heart-shaped face.

  Katelyn's throat tightened and she fought back the tears that threatened to spill. A sob escaped her sunburned lips as she tried to gain control of her emotions. He was right. She was being silly. Why was she crying?

  "I'm sorry." His voice came through the darkness to envelope her weary body. "I don't mean to be harsh. I love you Katie-girl. You and the child are my life." The soft syllables of the Lenni Lenape tongue caressed Katelyn's senses. After not hearing his language for days, it filled her brain like the sweet song of the harpsichord. Or, was it just his voice . . . his vows of love that comforted her?

  "I love you, too," she managed with another sob. "I just want this to be over. All I want is to be safe with you in your wigwam. You're the only one who's ever made me feel safe." She worked at the bindings on her wrists, wrenching them back and forth as the words spilled from her mouth. "I'm tired of being tough. I just want to be warm and safe. I just want you to love me." She spoke in Lenni Lenape, using English when she didn't know the words.

  "Shhhhh . . . " Tipaakke crooned, as he flexed his fists in frustration. If only he could just hold her. Why had this happened to them? Why couldn't he protect his woman as he should?

  "Fox . . . " Katelyn sniffed, twisting her wrists. "I've almost got it . . . . My hands are almost free!"

  Tipaakke turned his head from her, watching the Mohawks as they moved about, laughing and dancing. "Take care that no one is looking."

  "No, they're too busy with themselves." She raised her wrists to her mouth, tugging on the leather with her teeth. "As soon as I get them off I'll start on yours."

  "No." He shook his head, keeping an ear out. "You must go swiftly. There is no time. It has taken you all day to loosen yours. Go back to my village. Get my brother. He will bring me home to you."

  "No," she answered insistently, gnawing at the damp ties. I won't leave you." She raised her head. "If you're not going, I'm not."

  "Listen to me. Don't be a child. It's the only way. They've let me live this long. I'll be safe. You must get Mekollaan's help." He wanted to shout at her. To force her to her feet and to make her run. Please, he prayed silently, grant me this wish. Let her live . . . . He squeezed his eyes shut, sending his prayer heavenward.

  "You wouldn't leave without me," Katelyn challenged, easing out a knot with her teeth.

  "If it was the only way . . . " his voice stabbed her like a stone knife " . . . I would. You know I would."

  Katelyn paused, raising her head to look at him through the darkness. "I can't."

  "You can. You will," he whispered.

  "What you doing? Why you talking?"

  Katelyn looked up to see Beaver Hat standing in front of her. Where had he come from? Why hadn't she seen him?

  "Speak Wolf-woman. Why you speak with Lenni Lenape brave?" His voice was lilted, evidence of the whiskey he held in his hand. Taking another sip, he reached out to kick her bound hands. "I say . . . "

  Katelyn's eyes fell to her hands. Even in the darkness, Katelyn knew he must have seen the bindings fall. Slowly she raised her head to look at him. "Why do I speak to him?" Her voice was an enchanting whisper.

  The whiskey gave the Mohawk the courage to look from the bindings on the ground to her face. His raven-black eyes pierced the moonlit darkness to stare at the ripe, pursed lips, the soft, haunting brown eyes.

  Katelyn held her breath as an eternity passed. Her heart beat so hard beneath her breast that she felt sure he could hear it. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on his, knowing her life and the life of her child lay in this man's palm. Then she watched Beaver Hat turn slowly and walk back into the circle of firelight.

  Katelyn's lip quivered as she slowly released her breath, her eyes boring holes in the Mohawk's back. Was this some sick game? If she moved, would he put an axe through her chest? Out of the darkness came Tipaakke's voice.

  "Run! Run, my love, before someone sees you!" Tipaakke's voice was on the verge of panic.

  "No. I won't leave you." She leaned to tug at his bindings frantically. "I couldn't make it back without you. I'd die or they'd catch me." With her fingers she pulled at the knotted leather cord that bound his feet. If she could get his feet loose, he could run. Later they would remove the hand bindings.

  "You could make it. You've learned more than you know." Tipaakke broke out into a cold sweat. "You must go. They will kill you if they catch you, my dove."

  "They won't catch us." Katelyn successfully untied the first tight knot and started on the next. "We'll disappear into the night without a trace." She glanced up at Mohawks still dancing in a frenzied circle, cursing the darkness. If only she could see the ties easier! She knew that every moment she spent pulling at his bindings was a moment they lost getting away.

  "Katelyn . . . " Tipaakke rolled back his head, not finishing his sentence. He could tell there would be no reasoning with her; he'd seen that look on her face before. "Hurry," he finally whispered. "It may be hours before someone notices we're gone, but it might be minutes. We must move quickly."

  Letting out a gasp of breath, Katelyn struggled with the stone-hard leather. Finally, the binding came loose and she unwound the loops that entwined his feet. Giving him her hand, she helped him up.

  "Run," he whispered through the darkness, nodding to the south. "Move."

  Without another word, Katelyn slipped into the dense forest, refusing to look back. At first, they ran ducking and dodging as they made their frantic escape. They didn't know how far behind the Mohawks would be, so they ran like the wind. Katelyn's moccasins barely touched the soft earth as they made their way back in the direction they'd come. Taking the lead, Tipaakke ran sure footed, refusing to stop long enough to let Katelyn untie his hands. "I'm fine," he reassured her. "We must keep moving until you can't run another step and then we must run a few more. Only then can we stop."

  Finally, when her headdress became too heavy, Katelyn collapsed on the ground. "Must stop," she breathed. "Just for a minute, then we can go on." She was exhausted. Her stomach ached and her head pounded with pain. "I'm sorry."

  "Shhhhh . . . " Tipaakke dropped onto the ground beside her, resting his cheek on her hair for a moment. He knew he was pushing her hard, but he had to. Her life depended on it. "Rest for a moment and then work on my ties," he soothed. "Then we'll go. They may not even realize we're gone until morning."

  Katelyn raised her head from the ground. "But then they'll come looking for us, won't they?" She lifted her hands to his bindings.

  "Maybe not." His eyes met hers in the darkness and then he nodded. "Yes, probably." He wished that he could comfort her with words of reassurance. He wished he could tell her that the Mohawks would just move on without them, but he couldn't lie. He couldn't give her false hope. She had to realize the severity of their situation if they were going to make it back to the village alive.

  Loosening one knot and then the other, Katelyn worked in silence. She was too tired to talk. Too frightened to voice her thoughts. She knew their chances of getting away were slim, but at least they were together. She couldn't have left Fox behind, she'd sooner have stayed. "There," she whispered, rubbing his wrists where the leather ties had cut into his flesh. "You're free." She smiled weakly.

  Tipaakke reached out with his arms, drawing her close to his body. He brushed his lips over her tangled hair, crooning sweet words. Katelyn relaxed against his hard chest, pulling her cloak closer to ward off the cool night air. Then, reluctantly, she raised her head. "It's time we moved on, Tipaakke Oopus."


  He nodded, getting up off the bed of leaves, pulling her with him. "We won't go much further. Then we'll sleep a while."

  "No." She shook her head adamantly. "I don't need to sleep. I'm fine." She started down the deer path they were following, but he grabbed her hand.

  "No. We'll sleep while we have the chance. If the Mohawks follow us, there will be no more sleep." He started to run, guiding her with his hand. "You need the rest. You've not had a good meal or night's sleep in days. You must not grow too tired, you must be able to keep moving."

  Accepting what Tipaakke said, Katelyn continued to run beside him, not speaking to conserve energy. She was six moons pregnant and exhausted. She didn't know how long she would be able to keep up this pace. But she'd run until she dropped. It was her only chance; it was their only chance.

  For hours Katelyn and Tipaakke trudged on, running, then walking, then running again. They followed the narrow deer paths, the light of the moon showing them the way. They spoke little, stopping only when Katelyn was forced to.

  Slowing his pace, Tipaakke turned to look behind him. She was still running, but her head hung low, her shoulders were slumped. She wouldn't make it much further. Her body was not used to taking this kind of assault. She'd not been born to run with the wind as he had. Dropping to a walk, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I'm thirsty," he told her, holding her tight, "I hear a stream that way." He motioned to the left. "We'll cut across and drink. Then we'll find a place to sleep. I think there's a cave nearby."

  Katelyn leaned heavily on him, her voice barely a whisper. "How do you know where there's a cave? This area is too flat for mountains nearby." She ducked under the hanging branch he held for her.

  "I recognize the trees. I've been here before hunting." He guided her in toward the stream. "I've told you before. I know this land for hundreds of miles. I was born here. My father was born here. Maybe I was born knowing the land." He knelt by the stream's edge, cupping water in his hand for her. "When a man's mind is not cluttered with the things the white man's mind is, there's room for much knowledge."