After a pause of silence, the Indians all began to chatter at once, drawing nearer to the newly arrived party of men. Katelyn tried to stay near Tipaakke, but was pushed aside by a young girl with braided hair, several years younger than herself.
"So, Tipaakke, what's this?" Her voice was honey smooth.
Katelyn eyed the girl cautiously. What were they saying about her?
"Leave her be, Tolaala. Where is Father and Mekollaan?" He wrapped one long, tanned arm around his captive, a strange feeling of protectiveness coming over him.
"In the family wigwam. What's happened? Why have you brought this white woman to our village?" she asked.
"Don't ask so many questions. Matshipoii, control your wife. She has a loose tongue."
Laughing, the tall brave wrapped his arms around the girl with the honey voice. "You know I would if I could, Tipaakke."
"Buumska . . . come." Tipaakke dropped back into English. "What's your name, girl? I suppose I must call you something."
"Katelyn." She spoke softly, all too aware of the heathen's touch.
"Follow me, Katelyn." His hand dropped from her shoulder as he reached down to snatch her skirt from the hands of a small boy. "Where are your manners?" he scolded, switching from English to Algonquian.
The child hung his head in shame.
"It's all right." Tipaakke tousled the small head, ashamed that he had taken out his anger for the white men on the boy. "She's already frightened. Let us not make things worse."
The little boy beamed brightly in understanding.
Tipaakke took off across the grass, and Katelyn followed close behind, whispering a prayer as she went. If this was the end, she supposed, she was as ready to meet her maker as she'd ever be.
He led her into one of the larger huts and pushed her to her knees inside the doorway.
"Good afternoon, Father," he said in his own tongue to the old, grey-haired man. He spoke with great reverence, yet he was at ease with the chief of the tribe. He nodded to his older brother.
Katelyn stared at the two Indians who were sitting on a hide, scooping bits of meat and vegetables from sea shells and putting them in their mouths. The younger man wiped his hand on his loincloth and reached out to grasp her captor's hand. He was taller than Tipaakke and resembled him greatly, although he was not as handsome. He was dressed much the same as the other braves, but his head was plucked bald save for a small tuft of hair growing on top with black feathers fastened to it.
The old man smiled and continued to eat. Tipaakke squatted beside them and waited until his father had finished his meal. The chief ate noisily with great zeal, smacking his lips. His hair was snow white and hung much lower than his sons', but he was almost as muscular as they were. Finally he laid the eating shell aside and spoke to Tipaakke, ignoring her presence. The other man stared at her devilishly.
"So, my son, what is this you have brought to our village? Haven't I told you before not to bring home stray kits?" He spoke in Algonquian, as always, then grinned bearing even white teeth.
"We were out hunting and decided to pass by the old village. I wanted to pay my respects to the souls of our loved ones. But there was a white man there with a dark-skinned man and this girl. He . . . " Tipaakke clenched his fists, struggling to subdue his anger. " . . . this white man had broken into the big house, stolen Opossum's axe, and dumped the food baskets. It was the axe I gave him his fourth summer."
Kükuus, the chief, turned his head away so that his sons wouldn't see his tears. He didn't understand the white man's desire to steal and pillage. Wasn't it enough that his people had died of their small pox? Must they steal from a child in his final resting place? He turned back to his youngest son. "So what happened? Why the woman?"
"The white dog ran to his wagon and left her behind. He kicked the servant from the wagon. The boy fell against a rock and was killed. I would have killed the white man if I could have, but I meant no harm to the girl."
"Why do you bring her here? What are you going to do with her? English women are stupid. She could never be trained to be of any use. Most of them are mentally deficient. Interbreeding, I suppose."
"I don't know. I'm not even sure why I brought her here." You know, a voice whispered inside him. She is beautiful, this fox-haired girl. She is yours. It is meant to be.
"Well, Tipaakke, we'll talk of this later. You must return to the old village and repair the damage. Opossum must have a new axe to carry with him into the dream world." The Chief reached out to caress his cheek. "Take care, my son. I have already lost enough children."
Tipaakke lifted his hand to the old man's, and then dropped it. "I'll leave the white girl in my wigwam. She has given me her word she won't try to escape."
Mekollaan chuckled deep in his throat, startling Katelyn.
Tipaakke flashed a warning signal. She's mine, he threatened with his frown. He and his brother would never see eye to eye, but they kept their peace in the presence of their father.
"Take more men with you. The white man may return for his woman." He glanced for the first time at Katelyn. "Mekollaan will go, too. She is very pretty for a white woman. She has intelligent eyes, Tipaakke. We are not Iroquois. We are not stealers of women and children. This is not like you . . . there must be a reason. Only time will tell. I have faith that you'll do the right thing when Manito reveals to you His plans."
The brave nodded and reached down to pull Katelyn off the ground.
"Leave her to me, little brother. I'll care for her." Mekollaan smiled ominously, speaking their native tongue.
"That is why you are going with me." Tipaakke pushed Katelyn out of the wigwam and into another nearby. He closed the flap behind him and knelt beside a platform, digging through a bark basket. She spun around, terrified to be alone with her captor.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered in precise English.
"What?" she managed. This is it. He's going to rape and kill me.
"I said, take off your clothes."
"No!" Katelyn screamed.
"Shut up, girl. Don't make a fool of yourself. I have no intention of touching you. We don't rape women. It's bad medicine."
She stared in disbelief.
"Give me your clothes, Katelyn. You stink. Come now. I haven't got time for your foolishness. I told you I wouldn't hurt you as long as you did what I said, didn't I?"
She nodded, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
"My sister, Tolaala . . . Cedar, will bring you clothes and something to eat. Now do as I say."
Slowly, Katelyn turned around. Must I be shamed like this?
Tipaakke shook his head in disgust and ducked out of his wigwam. He would never understand why the white man was so ashamed of his body. It had been given by the Heavenly Father, Manito, hadn't it? "Throw your clothes out," he called from outside. "Stay here until I return. I'm trusting you, Katelyn. Don't disappoint me. I'll kill you if you do."
She stood trembling as she listened to the footsteps dying in the distance. Reaching behind her back, Katelyn pulled off what was left of the blue brocade gown. She knew it was best if she did what the Indian told her. So far, he'd kept his promise, he hadn't hurt her. She'd have to trust him. She had no other choice. She threw her clothes out through the flap and retreated to the other side of the wigwam, her back to the door. Against one wall was a low platform, obviously for sleeping. On it lay a rectangular piece of tanned deer hide. She snatched the hairless skin and wrapped around her naked body hastily as she heard the flap move.
Katelyn stiffened in horror as a large dark hand covered her mouth.
"Shhhhhhh . . . " the voice threatened.
She turned to find the black-feathered Indian's leering face above her.
He whispered in a guttural tone as he turned her body around slowly, his hand still covering her mouth. "Uiinguan Uatuhappe, Aluum," he murmured, forcing her against the wigwam's rough wall. He pinned her with his knee and rubbed his free hand across the deer hide covering her breast
s.
Katelyn strained, squeezing her eyes shut. She was no match for the beast's strength.
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Colleen French is a multiple award-winning and bestselling novelist, daughter of bestselling novelist Judith E. French. Colleen French has written more than 125 novels under several pen names. Colleen's print books have sold more than 1 million copies and been translated into Bulgarian, French, Italian, Mandarin, and Spanish. Colleen's Native American novels are inspired by her English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, and Lenni-Lenape ancestry and the Del-Mar Peninsula near the Chesapeake Bay, where her family has made its home for more than 300 years. Colleen French was awarded The Diamond Award for Literary Excellence from the State of Delaware. Her books appeal to readers of C. J. Petit, Shirleen Davies, Karen Kay, Madeline Baker, Elle Marlow, Ellen O'Connell, Caroline Fyffe, and Hannah Howell. She can be contacted at [email protected].
BY COLLEEN FRENCH
CAPTIVE
FIRE DANCER'S CAPTIVE
FORBIDDEN CARESS
PASSION'S SAVAGE MOON
SAVAGE SURRENDER
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 32