“No, Hank, don’t do it. We’re outnumbered; you’ll be killed.”
The Indians grew restless. They had to know she and Hank were discussing a possible escape. Yet again, they reined in their horses and tightened the circle around them. Spotted Horse kept distrustful eyes first on Hank, then on her. He must sense something was up. He grunted and reached for the lead on her horse, and Hank slowly reached for his Winchester. Spotted Horse threw his sharp spear, grazing Hank’s shoulder so that, with a cry, he dropped the rifle, bowing forward in the saddle.
Spotted Horse meant business.
Suzanna cried aloud as Hank broke to the right and whipped his horse into a run. The circle of Indians broke. Too easy. The braves let him go, but not before Flying Crow drew his bow, and let an arrow fly. This time they didn’t miss. She could hear Hank’s groan as the arrow penetrated his back and he slumped in the saddle. Even so, he held to his mount and yelled back, “I’m going for Jake. Don’t do anything foolish. We’ll find you.”
She turned on Spotted Horse, fury on her face and in her tone. “He helped me with your sick and dying. This is how you repay him?”
The Indian may not have understood her words, but he understood her meaning. His face remained stoic though his eyes flashed. Like any good soldier, he was only following orders. Black Hawk’s orders. And she—a woman—had defied their chief.
He grabbed the lead on her horse’s halter. “You come,” he repeated, through clenched teeth.
She and Hank had gotten a half-day’s start, so it was still light by the time they reached the village. Some of the women came to meet them, anger and disappointment clearly written on their faces. Others turned their backs on her as she rode in.
The attempted escape had hurt them, and worse, insulted their chief and offended the entire tribe. Black Hawk would surely deal harshly with her. She’d had to try, hadn’t she? Hank had convinced her she was not going to be taken home but to Canada with the tribe. Praying he survived the arrow wound and made it to Jake, she refused to consider that he lay dead along the trail. If Jake didn’t come for her, she was lost. After this, Black Hawk would never let her out of his sight.
Spotted Horse wrapped his hands around her waist and angrily dragged her from the saddle. He pushed her through the flap of her tepee, while another brave stood blocking any exit. Legs planted like totems, arms crossed in front of him, chest heaving, he glared. He had no intention of leaving her but stood unspeaking, frightening her with his barely contained fury. She was caught.
The cold and exhaustion overwhelmed her. She ignored her captor and went to sit on her bed of furs, fell back, and closed her eyes. She didn’t feel so brave anymore. Hot tears burned her skin as they fell from the corners of her eyes. Hank had been wounded, perhaps mortally so. If Black Hawk broke camp and they moved toward Canada, she doubted Jake would be able to find her.
The harsh male voice broke into her tormented reverie. “You left me,” he accused.
“You lied to me!” Her anger sharpened her words. “I left to return to my husband as agreed upon. You were unwilling to take me; Hank did what he had to do, but Spotted Horse shot him with an arrow. Even now, he could be dying on the trail. Had you honored your promise and kept your word, he would not have been hurt. Man of honor, indeed!”
“He should not have taken you, Su-za-na.”
“No? Perhaps he should have done nothing—left me to your cruel lies? Tell me, was it always your intention to break your word to my husband, make use of my skills to heal your people and then drag me with you to Canada?”
“I want you for my wife,” he replied with barely controlled fury, grabbed her arms, and jerked her to his chest. Nostrils flaring, he breathed his displeasure, his hot breath bathing her face. “This is a great honor.”
“Honor? Please don’t say that word to me. You repeat it frequently when it suits your purpose, and I do not think you know its meaning. You certainly have no grasp of the concept. I. Am. A. Married. Woman.”
They stood toe to toe, eyes flashing, chests heaving. “Will you never understand that I cannot be your wife? I belong to another.”
Black Hawk locked his gaze, a belligerent glint sparkling in their depths.
“I could force you to come with me. Like my mother before you, in time you would learn to love me. We would have children. You would be loved and respected by the People.”
“Why can I not make you understand? You have said all this before. My answer then was no; my answer now is no. Return me to my husband!”
“What you ask of me I cannot do. You are here in my camp, and here you will stay. I will hear no more of this. It has been decided. Tonight I will come to your tent, and you will become the wife of a chief.”
“I will not!”
He turned on his heel and paused. “Do not try to escape again. You will be hurt.” He left her there, shaking in anger and fear. Her arm hurt where he’d grabbed her, and she rubbed the tender flesh. He was as capable of violence as the next man when provoked. She could only pray that somehow she’d finally gotten through to him, and that he would relent and take her home.
She tossed and turned on her fur bed until exhaustion overcame her and she fell into a restless sleep. She listened for Black Hawk, but he never came. It had been an idle threat. Rape was not in his nature.
The next morning a cold, wet snow began to fall in earnest. She washed, and ate some nuts and dried berries. Her stomach threatened to rebel, and she feared she would vomit. Her head pounded, her mouth felt like cotton, and when she tried to stand she quickly sat back down, too dizzy to move.
One of the young women came to her and motioned for her to follow.
Suzanna stumbled the four steps to the entrance and opened the flap on the tepee. She stepped through, drawing her wrap tightly around her shoulders. Biting cold wind stole the breath from her lungs and made her shiver. Two horses stood readied and waiting, four others just beyond. Relief coursed through her veins.
Exhaustion muddied her thinking. Reprieve. She was going home. She might never know why he had changed his mind, but the stoic sadness on his face told the story.
Black Hawk neither spoke nor glanced in her direction as he tied her valise to the back of his horse, mounted, and sat ramrod straight, his expression carved in stone, his back rigid, the ticking muscle in his cheek visible as he stared down the trail. Spotted Horse helped her onto the other horse, his hands hard and punishing.
Evidently the chief was going to honor his promise to return her to her husband, though reluctantly. Spotted Horse and three others accompanied them. It would be a long trip to the ranch in this weather, and God only knew what would happen along the way. Black Hawk had changed his mind before; he could change it again at any time.
Suzanna gazed around her, wanting to go home, yet perversely hating to leave. She’d grown to love these people and respect their way of life. Two different worlds, culturally diverse, yet similar in so many ways. She’d miss them. She’d miss their chief most of all. She was getting what she’d demanded—a return to Jake. Why, then, did her eyes fill with tears and her heart feel so torn?
Silently Black Hawk urged the stallion forward, and she fell in behind him, two braves on either side of her. Spotted Horse brought up the rear. She was well guarded—from friend or foe. Even now, her husband could be on his way to rescue her. If so, he and Black Hawk would fight. She refused to consider the outcome. Bile rose in her throat, and her stomach quivered with each step of the horse’s gait.
If Hank had made it to the ranch, Jake would probably intercept them on the trail. He wouldn’t leave her at the Indian’s mercy. If Hank had not reached the ranch, she wondered how far they would get before running into Jake. She dreaded the unavoidable confrontation. It was coming. She could feel it in her bones.
They were traveling light. This time there were no cattle or supplies to slow them down, and they were making good time. She could be home by nightfall, possibly.
Bla
ck Hawk rode like a man made of stone, mounted on his white stallion, tall and straight, holding the lead to her own brown mare in his hands. She had no way of knowing what went through his mind, but despair cloaked his body.
He must have meant what he’d said, though he cared for her enough to give her up. But something wasn’t right—his sudden change of plan wasn’t characteristic of an Indian man. Last night, he could have forced her, but he did not, a sure sign of the depth of his feelings for her. And he was not an ordinary Indian man—he was the product of a white mother—educated by her—taught by her.
What could have been between them had they met under different circumstances? If she were free…if she were not married to Jake… Outwardly she’d remained strong, not giving an indication of the confusion Black Hawk stirred in her mind. It was not so easy to deceive herself.
She should at least be honest. Had she fallen under the spell of this warrior? She needed to see her husband—needed to feel his arms around her—needed to return to her world. But deep inside, where lies had no purchase and truth could not be denied, she knew Black Hawk was not the only one who would live with memories and with questions of “what if.” They would both bury what happened between them in the solitude of secret places so deep it would be forgotten.
Black Hawk rode in front of her, tall and proud. Her heart turned over in her chest, and ached. She wanted Jake with all her heart, but she would never forget this time with these people, with this man.
She was going home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They rode west toward the prairie, down out of the mountains. Toward home.
At the last switchback, Black Hawk halted, his hand raised. The horses snorted, eyes wide and white, ears laid back, restlessly prancing on unshod hooves.
Spotted Horse and the other two braves surveyed the surroundings, alert on their mounts, their attention scanning the tree line.
From just beyond, a twig snapped.
The braves murmured to each other and inched their horses closer to her. Protecting her, or guarding against escape? Black Hawk spared her a glance, but she had no idea what it meant.
A branch stirred, then broke, falling to the ground, echoing through the eerie silence. The Indians drew their bows and fitted the arrows in readiness. Suzanna squinted, her head swiveling from side to side. Nothing. She could see nothing. And then…
Jake!
Mounted on his favorite horse, her husband broke into the small clearing and quickly assessed his surroundings. His gaze landed on her. Relief. A slight nod. He had come for her!
Three feet from Black Hawk, he pulled up on the reins and leaned forward over the pommel of his saddle, his hand resting on his thigh an inch from the butt of his gun.
“You have something that belongs to me, Black Hawk,” Jake drawled in a deceptively calm voice.
“She belongs to no man. You want her; I want her.”
“She is my wife.”
Silence stretched for what seemed like forever as Jake and Black Hawk engaged in a stare-down. Finally…
“Then we fight,” Black Hawk spewed through clenched teeth.
The narrow trail was suddenly filled with men. They stepped from the cover of brush and trees. All were armed, guns and rifles cocked and ready, waiting for the order to attack.
Suzanna tried to maneuver her horse between the two men, but one of Black Hawk’s men grabbed her arm, restraining her. Her horse sidestepped until she was right next to the Indian, but she jerked her arm free. She had to stop them—at this range they would all be killed.
“No!” she pleaded, fear flooding her chest. “He was bringing me home, Jake. Don’t shoot! Black Hawk, please. Don’t fight! No one needs to get hurt. I’ll go with Jake and the men. You must return to the village.”
“Stay out of this, Suzanna,” Jake growled. “This is between the Indian and myself. We need to settle this once and for all. Just you and me, Black Hawk—our men don’t need to get hurt.”
Black Hawk nodded and jumped from his horse. Crouching, he pulled out his knife, holding it shoulder high, blade down, circling his adversary. “We will fight for the woman. You. Me. She belongs to the one who lives.”
She screamed, “No! No one will die because of me. I’ll not have it. We’ll leave here and return to the ranch…”
No use. A fight was inevitable—the smell of sweat and danger and her own fear permeated the air. Her heart pounded; her breath caught in her throat—her love and a man she respected, both determined and violent.
Jake, now off his horse also, took a step forward, as did Black Hawk. On one side Spotted Horse and the braves formed a semicircle. On the other, Jake’s men, with Hank and Pete, did the same, keeping their guns aimed at the Indians.
Jake and Black Hawk each hunched forward and began to weave. Parry and thrust. Determination and death. The fate of all of them balancing on the skill of these two men.
“This woman belongs to me. She is my wife. You came for her and she heard your plea, went with you to help your people, and this is the way you repay her? Holding her hostage? You gave me your word you would return her to me safely. You’ve broken that word. You pride yourself on being a man of honor? I say nay. Win or lose, from this day forward you are not welcome on my lands, and your people will suffer because of your actions.”
Their muscles trembled as they leaned into fighting stance, feral heat blazing from their bodies. Black Hawk swung his knife in an arc in front of Jake. Pulling his own long knife from his boot, Jake took the offense and answered the threat, tossing his knife from one hand to the other, a taunting grin inciting his opponent.
Black Hawk bared his teeth and thrust again, sure-footed, deadly, attacking from the right, attempting to penetrate Jake’s chest and draw first blood. Letting lose a bloodcurdling yell, he swung around with another thrust.
Suzanna cried aloud, her hands pressed to her lips. It wasn’t worth the death of either of these two men—she wasn’t worth the death of either of these two men. An instinctive cry burst from her lips—a plea for the halt of the violence. But by then it had taken on a life of its own.
Jake stepped back, arms raised to avoid the blade. Again they circled. This time, Jake moved in to strike, catching Black Hawk on the side of his face, nicking his cheek. A thin rivulet of red streaked his cheek and mixed with sweat, but he ignored it and smiled, goading Jake to try the move again.
When they collided, the earth shook. Black Hawk’s braves shouted encouragement to their leader as slippery hands of each gripped the other’s wrist in battle, squeezing bones and nerves, attempting to break the grip on their weapons. Like a macabre dance, they strained and pushed, muscles bulging, legs rooted in the earth, seeking purchase.
Then they broke, waving the knives, threatening. Black Hawk cast a mocking grin before striking high, then low, high again, moving in to swipe at chest or arm. His anger seemed to build with each strike.
Muscles strained and quivered, expressions frozen in fierce grimaces, they continued. Sweat beaded their faces and streamed down their necks. The only sounds were the grunts of the fighters’ efforts, and Suzanna’s answering whimpers and gasps.
Black Hawk tried to sweep Jake’s feet from beneath him, and stumbled with the effort. Sensing the advantage, Jake went on the offensive again, crawling on top of Black Hawk, trying to squeeze the knife from his hand before it did any damage.
They were going to kill each other. She couldn’t take much more. Neither man showed any sign of fatigue—they fought on while she prayed something would make them stop, see reason, end the madness.
The two men rolled in the dead grass and mud covering the trail, their arms shaking, knives entirely too close to the bulging veins exposed on their necks. On and on they fought. Suzanna slipped from her horse and ran to Pete while the Indians were preoccupied with the spectacle before them.
Held by Pete’s restraining grasp, she begged them to stop, tears streaming down her hot cheeks, hands glued to her
mouth. No amount of pleading would make them quit. They probably couldn’t even hear her above the raucous noise of the spectators.
Making a supreme effort, Jake kicked, leveraged his strength, and threw Black Hawk over his shoulder. He rolled in the dirt and sprang to his feet, undefeated, facing Jake with hate shooting from his eyes.
“Is it worth your life, Black Hawk?” Jake growled while his adversary watched his every move. “You know Suzanna belongs to me. I will never let you take her.”
“Then you will die, Jake Cantrell,” Black Hawk ground out.
The two men faced each other, chests heaving, gulping in air, crouched and ready to answer the next threat.
Enough! she thought. “Enough!” she screamed, and broke from Pete’s grasp. Maneuvering herself between her husband and Black Hawk, she wedged her body so that they would strike her if they continued the fight. Jake immediately straightened.
“This will stop now!” She turned to her husband. “Jake, he was bringing me home.”
Then, turning back to Black Hawk, she said, “I’m returning with Jake. No more fighting—now or ever. Not over me. I won’t have it. Both of you say you love me. What will I have if you kill each other? I will be left with nothing!”
Long moments dragged in the silence. Chest heaving with exertion, Jake threw his knife over Black Hawk’s head. It hit a tree and penetrated with a loud, vibrating thunk. He uttered a disgusted growl and pulled her to his side, holding fast.
Black Hawk gazed at the couple, stood tall, and swallowed. Suddenly, the knife he held thudded to the ground, its sharp point burying deep in the soil. His braves moved to assist, but he waved them away and stared into Suzanna’s eyes as she gazed at him over her shoulder—an end to all he hoped written clearly on her face.
Defeat mirrored in every inch of his body, he turned and vaulted onto the back of his horse.
A Necessary Woman Page 23