Proud Wolf's Woman

by Karen Kay

  She knew it. She shouldn’t have asked him to accompany her. She’d seen his frustration, had realized that if she approached him, he would vent his anger on her. She provided too easy a target for him.

  The enemy was not here to fight; she was.

  She cleared her throat then in a steady voice said, “It’s a simple request, Kenneth. It won’t take me long.”

  He gave her a stormy look before answering, almost shouting, “I should have left you with the Colbys and let you find your own way back to the fort.” When she visibly flinched, he moved forward in his seat, as though closing in for the kill. “Get out of here,” he sneered, his voice raised. “Go on—get—if you have to go!”

  Julia turned her head away while Lieutenant Kenneth Wilson’s sunburned face turned even redder under the few censorious stares from his men.

  “Damn!” he swore again, and Julia saw him smash his hat back on his head. He grabbed the reins of her mount and with a quick order to his next in command, he galloped away, Julia’s gelding having no choice but to follow. He set a pace much too fast for a lady as he led them toward a small rise in the landscape, and Julia held back the retort she might have said had she not wanted to avoid further wrath.

  She satisfied herself with a censorious glare instead.

  “What?” he asked as they reached the crest of the hill. “Give me another look like that, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

  Julia’s response was only a cool regard, though she felt like flashing back with an equally damaging remark. Stoically, she held her own counsel.

  Kenneth had dismounted, she noted, though with his arms over his chest, she realized he had no intention of assisting her.

  He sneered. “Well,” he said. “Get down. And hurry. I have no time for you. You, who should not even be out here. I don’t know what possessed you to visit the Colbys. My God, the Colby woman is Injun. Should have let her and the red-skinned kids die.”

  Julia gasped, though she said nothing. She supposed she should be used to Kenneth’s viewpoint concerning the Indians, but she wasn’t. Every time he insinuated that the Indians were somehow less than people, she cringed. But she no longer argued with him, learning long ago that arguments led too often to verbal and sometimes physical abuse.

  So she took a deep breath, the action somehow endowing her with a strength of will, a strength she would need in order to ride out Kenneth’s verbal attack without feeling the need to retaliate.

  She supposed she should dismount, but somehow her seating upon her mount, while Kenneth stood on the ground, gave her a slight advantage she would rather not lose, not when Kenneth was in one of these moods.

  That he leered at her, voicing the word “Bitch,” shouldn’t have affected her. But it did.

  She raised her head. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help continuing on, saying, “The Colbys needed me. And, Kenneth, don’t you remember that we had agreed on this before we left the fort a few weeks ago? You knew then what I was doing, and you had even agreed to bring your troops to the Colbys after your assignment was done at the Kiowa camp. It was you who offered to escort me back to the fort. You said even then…”

  “Don’t patronize me! Do you think I don’t remember what I said? I have an excellent memory. I don’t need to be told these things again and again and…don’t raise your voice to me!”

  “I am not—”

  “You are, Julia. You are. And stop your constant prattle. You just talk and talk and talk. You smother me with talk. Well, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of your constant chatter, and I’m sick of you.”

  This last was said with so much venom that Julia was reminded for a moment just how much her husband’s poisonous tongue could hurt, a fact she rarely forgot.

  What had happened to the man she had married five years ago? She tried to conjure up images of that man: a man given to humor, to duty, a man who had appeared to desire her above all else. And she wondered with a deep sense of regret if this man she had known, this man she had married, had been all mirage, wooing her into believing he was something he was not.

  Or was the fault partially hers? Should she have known he had another side to him? She had seen his prejudice, his cruelty on a few occasions before their marriage, but she had never dreamed he might turn that cruelty on her.

  Julia debated for a moment as to whether she should raise another defense for herself, although, in truth, she knew it would do her no good. She sighed. This same scene was an all-too-common occurrence of late, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she would ever be able to live with Kenneth without a battle, both verbal and physical. Briefly she shut her eyes, wishing, if only for a moment, that it could be different.

  She shivered and, opening her eyes, stared at Kenneth. That he turned on her, that he scoffed, that he cursed at her yet again, shouldn’t bother her.

  But Lord help her, it did.

  Deciding no good would come from further argument, Julia dismounted without help and, taking the reins of her gelding from Kenneth, she began to lead the animal up and over the slight rise in the hill.

  Once there, out of the eyes of the men, of her husband, and using the horse as a sort of shield, she attended to her needs.

  It took only a moment, but Julia hesitated before returning to where her husband waited for her. She sensed he was not yet finished with her and she wished to delay the moment of confrontation as long as possible.

  Finally, several minutes having gone by, she knew she would have to return. Sighing, she gathered up the reins of her horse and, turning the gelding around, proceeded back up the rise the same way she had gone down.

  He waited for her, her husband, his mood not at all improved, and for want of anything else to do, Julia gave him a quick smile. In truth, her grin was often her only means of defense against her husband’s ill humor.

  “Are you done at last? Now hurry,” he ordered her. “I have no time for this, for you. There’s trouble for my troops, and you are in my way. Now, mount up.”

  Julia nodded, although she hesitated. “Kenneth, I need a hand.”

  He groaned, but he came toward her all the same. “You know, this is all your fault. If we hadn’t had to come back and pick you up at the Colbys’, we would already be back at the fort. I hope you see what trouble you are.”

  Julia raised her brows. It was her only reaction to his accusation. Though she knew he might believe a part of his tirade, she also realized he baited her. Their predicament had little to do with her. She had heard the men talking, heard the rumors of what had happened in the Kiowa camp; she had asked questions. And it would appear that Kenneth’s inability to control his men’s baser appetites had borne so much ill will in the Indian camp that most feared the Kiowa might follow them now…seeking revenge for what could only be termed the rape of the Indian women. It was this that most likely disturbed Kenneth’s peace of mind—not Julia.

  “What?” Kenneth folded his hands over his chest, as he halted, poised, ready for a fight. He pursed his lips, and when Julia further delayed speaking, he continued, “And what does my too-sweet wife have to say? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I know you too well.”

  Julia sighed, attempting to keep her gaze cool, assessing. Truly, she wished to say nothing. At this moment, anything she uttered would only serve to further enrage him.

  Still…

  Keeping her hands firmly wrapped around the reins of her horse, she took a deep breath and began, “Kenneth, I think the trouble does not lie with me, but with your own men and their violation of the Kiowa women. You were supposed to be on a peaceful mission in the Indian camp. You were supposed to do nothing but create goodwill toward the military, toward the pioneers who travel through their country. How could you have allowed your men to treat the Kiowa women in so degrading a fashion?”

  She saw him flinch, saw his face redden even further. “What do you know of it?” he hi
ssed at her. “You, with your great knowledge of military intelligence?”

  Julia merely lifted an eyebrow, and though it mocked him, she could not help herself. “And what sort of intelligence does it take, Kenneth, to know that with the safety of Fort Leavenworth several days’ ride away, one does not anger one’s hosts in such a way?”

  “You weren’t there. How could you know how those women baited my men? The women begged for it, I tell you. Why the savages even seemed glad we had done it. Probably couldn’t…”

  His voice trailed off, but Julia barely heard any more, her attention centered on one thing only. We, he’d said. We?

  Julia carefully schooled her features into revealing nothing. Not her outrage at his logic, nor his justification of what his men, and possibly what he himself, had done.

  We? Julia swallowed hard.

  What could she say? Chastisement would accomplish nothing, would only serve to enrage him further. But deep inside, Julia died a little. We? She licked her lips. It was her only reaction. Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, she looked to the ground.

  “Well,” he prodded, “have you nothing to say to that?”

  She hesitated. She kept her eyes focused on her skirts, until at last she muttered, “I say there isn’t a woman alive who ‘begs’ for it.”

  He gritted his teeth in response to her; he glared at her as though she had shouted at him and then, without so much as a further pause, he growled, “What would you know about it?”

  “More than you, it would seem,” she murmured, her head down.

  Silence. Utter, deadening silence, until at last, with a hiss, he snarled at her, “Stay away from me, Julia. From here on forward you are nothing to me. Nothing to anyone.” His lips twisted into a sneer, he spit out, “I know you for what you are now, Julia. And I don’t like what I see. You’re a bitch, Julia. A goddamned bitch.”

  Julia didn’t utter a word. Stunned, shocked at herself with her back talk, and at Kenneth with his ill-chosen words, Julia, her dark hair blowing forward into her face, merely looked away.

  It was some moments before she was able to regain her composure—enough to turn, to gather up her horse’s reins, and begin her long, solitary trek back down the “rise.”

  She didn’t look back. She didn’t see her husband’s red, angry face, and, in truth, it was better that way.

  The gunshot came as a surprise.

  Julia’s head came up in an instant. Kenneth ran to her side. Together both man and woman stared out at the company of soldiers, the dragoons, who strove to assemble themselves while under the onslaught of attack. Dust clouded the field, making it impossible for either one to get a clear view of the action. The high-pitched war whoops, the whiz of arrows, the screams, the cursing, the orders to arms, to formation, told the tale.

  More gunshots, more arrows, the squeals of the horses, the stench of raw flesh and sweat permeated the air. Still Julia and Kenneth stood transfixed, unable to move, to breathe.

  The Indians clearly outnumbered the cavalry by two to one, and it was obvious that no white man would survive this attack. It was what the dragoons had feared, what they had expected, yet for all that, it came as a surprise to all of them.

  It occurred to Julia that her husband, the superior officer, should be running back to his men to aid and assist them, but it was no more than a passing thought as Julia watched with horror the cloud of dust in the distance.

  Their horses whinnied behind them, but Julia barely registered the sound until all at once, Kenneth pulled away from her, jumping onto his own mount. He might have helped her onto her horse. He didn’t.

  He might have encouraged her to do whatever it was he was going to do. He didn’t.

  He reined in his steed and Julia, reading his thoughts, knowing that he meant to flee in the opposite direction from the fight, felt her heart sink.

  He means to leave me.

  The knowledge hit her with the strength of an arrow. He said nothing to her, he did nothing, not even inclining his head, until, with a click of his heel to his mount, he turned and shot over the rise.

  “Kenneth?” she called, her voice no louder than a whisper, then, “Kenneth, come back here!”

  She spurred herself into action and, trying to run, she stumbled after him. “Kenneth, where are you…?”

  War whoops interrupted her. Julia froze.

  More war whoops resounded around her. Julia spun around, screaming at the same time. A single warrior descended upon her.

  She thought of running. She didn’t. She couldn’t move. Besides, it would do no good, and she knew it.

  So she stood, fear gripping her, although the emotion became buried as she felt as if she were moving away from her body. It was an odd sensation, she was to think later, for she found herself contemplating the warrior as though from afar, as though none of this were happening to her.

  It did occur to her once that she should feel something, yet as she stared at the Indian, nothing stirred within her, and she found herself studying the man, his body paint and his horsemanship, as an artist might, noting that white paint covered the warrior’s face, neck, and chest, while black slashes jetted out under his eyes and along his cheekbones. Feathers dangled from his hair, above his crown, and also from his spear, which he held in his hand…pointed at her. He screamed as he raced toward her, his war cry carrying on the wind, and Julia, silently admiring the man’s cleverness with his mount, watched, hypnotized, waiting for the death blow.

  Closer and closer he sped, the sound of his approach deafening, until she thought she could see the color of his eyes, the yellow of his teeth. Knowing she could do nothing, she watched, she waited as though her body did not belong to her.

  She noted the magnificent sight the warrior made, her own horse whinnying and stomping behind her, tugging on the reins she still clutched in her hands. Dust clogged her nostrils, stinging her eyes, stopping up the pores of her skin, finding its way into her system until she thought she might taste the dirt, and the warrior, ever closer, sprinted his pony right up to her, screaming. But at the last moment, he leaped on by her without more than a momentary pause, his spear coming a few scant inches from her face.

  He hollered as he burst past her, and minutes later Julia heard the scream; a scream of horror, a masculine scream.

  Kenneth’s?

  Lord, no!

  She almost swooned, but something held her upright, some emotion that would not let her fall.

  She heard the sounds of spear meeting flesh, of more crying, and then a horse blazed back toward her. She felt the jerk of motion as someone grabbed her around the waist, her hands twisting in the still-held reins of her own mount.

  She felt hot, sweaty flesh next to her own.

  The Indian’s.

  She felt the man’s pony burst to full speed, saw the bloody scalp of brown hair he brandished in his hand: Kenneth’s.

  She closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer for a man she had never truly been able to love.

  She began to cry, but the wind whipped the moisture off her skin, giving her the appearance of nonchalance; a look which, had she but known it, made her appear ethereal.

  Her Indian captor gazed at her, his look expressing a sort of awe, but she turned away from him, feeling nausea building within her.

  It didn’t take long; within seconds, Julia convulsed over and over, losing her meager breakfast onto the ground until, at last, her stomach would heave no more.

  She would never see Kenneth again. Not in this world.

  She began to cry again, but the tears, she found, wouldn’t come. Instead a sort of numbness filled her.

  Perhaps it was that which gave her the appearance of strength; perhaps it was something else. Whatever the cause, Julia, raising her chin and, feeling her hair blowing back with the wind, little knew that her attitude lit a spark of admiration within her captor—an esteem that could win her guardianship or perhaps bring her terror.

  Thankfully she was sav
ed from this knowledge. For the moment, her insouciance became her saving grace, and she held on to it. It was, notwithstanding, all that she had.

  Chapter Two

  “Saaaa, my brother from the north has decided to join his southern Cheyenne relatives at last.”

  “It is good to see you.” Neeheeoeewotis, or Neeheeowee for short, Wolf on the Hill, greeted his brother-in-law with these words and a brief shake of his head. He didn’t smile, but then he never did.

  “I see you have many ponies there.” Mahoohe, Red Fox, maneuvered his steed around his friend in order to examine each of the eight mustangs which Neeheeowee led on a lariat. “I have never seen such fine-looking animals. It must have taken you much to accumulate such wealth. Where did you get them?”

  “In our favorite spot,” Neeheeowee responded, while he shifted his position on his mount. “I met with no trouble there.”

  “That is good,” Mahoohe said. “Runners reported that you were approaching. I decided to come out and greet you before you came into camp.”

  Neeheeowee nodded, and, turning his head, he settled his gaze over each pony that he led before he gave his attention back to Mahoohe.

  Mahoohe said, “It has been a long time.”

  Again Neeheeowee nodded.

  “You will stay in my lodge?”

  “I would be honored.”

  “Good, then,” Mahoohe said, “that is settled. You intend to trade all of these at the Kiowa fair for…?” Mahoohe raised an eyebrow.

  Neeheeowee sat forward stiffly, hesitating to put his purpose into words. But Mahoohe was a friend as well as his brother-in-law and so, at last, Neeheeowee said, “I will trade all this wealth for the new fire-sticks of the white man. I have long been on the path of revenge. I would see the matter settled soon. This new weapon will enable me to do this.”

  Mahoohe nodded. “So. You are still on the same path. It is good, this revenge that you feel, and I understand that you must do this, but—”

  Neeheeowee glanced up swiftly at his friend.