He would ask his cousin, Little Turtle to see to sleeping girl’s needs. She spoke the white man’s tongue as well as he. The Indian maiden and his aunt would help teach the white woman the ways.
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He still found Little Turtle very beautiful, remembering her large ripe breasts as she now leaned seductively into his chest and gazed, starry-eyed at him. There was a time he used to long to be with her; together they had learned the art of love making. They were only sixteen and very awkward the first time, but after years of lustful meetings, their lovemaking improved to indescribable heights. Then Blue Thunder lost interest, knowing she was also seeing other braves. He would never take her to be his wife even though they were not blood related cousins. He was glad he did not bind her hand in marriage when they were young; knowing now what real love was like.
“I am not happy white girl share mat,” Little Turtle said with a pout. Although she spoke the white man’s tongue, she preferred to speak Athabscan. She had seen his captive come in with her tall cousin yesterday and seethed with the knowledge that he had taken her to be his own. She knew he favored the white eyes because the woman rode on Night Rider, not tied behind the animal. She wanted to attack the pale face, drag her off the horse and scratch her odd color eyes out. But she did not want to anger Blue Thunder, aware of his temper.
She had loved her cousin since she noticed how much taller and stronger he was than the other bucks his age. Even though a strict code of conduct governed Apache life, and marriage within one’s own clan was forbidden, Laughing Tree was only her mother by marriage to her
father. She could never be a true Apache, their women were chaste.
When Blue Thunder came to her, she promised herself that she would be his wife someday. Now, she saw this girl threatened her dreams. She would hold her tongue and anger, to bide her time and find a way to get rid of this white girl. The handsome brave will again look with favor on her.
“Do this for me, little cousin,” he smiled like a male who wants something.
“I will do this for you,” she purred, rubbing her palm across his hard chest.
He grabbed her hands. “This is unbecoming of a maiden,” he whispered. Her touch that once thrilled him now seemed to have annoyed him.
“There was a time you liked my hands on your body,” she spat.
“Hold your tongue, cousin. I hold my temper for the memory of what we once meant to each other. Times have changed. Although we are cousins and we are not related by blood, I love
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Little Turtle only as a friend and wish to keep it so. Do not ruin what special moments we once shared.”
Little Turtle nodded, assuming he was possessed by the white girl. He would love her again when his prisoner was gone. Slowly, a plan was forming in her mind. If the white captive ran away, she would not have to kill her. This would look better for her. She would destroy his slave’s magic someday, some how.
Melissa awoke and stretched her lazy limbs, catching a light sting between her legs. She warmed all over remembering what caused the discomfort. She touched the flattened fur blanket with her finger tips where his large body had imprinted the fleece. It was cold, indicating to her
he had been gone awhile. She mused about why she was allowed to sleep, especially after his lecture on how she must learn the tribal ways. Well, she wouldn’t belabor it, feeling certain it was temporary and she’d be taught the chores soon enough. In a way, she looked forward to doing something. On the plantation, idol time and she were strangers. She always kept busy, now the work would fill her days, not allowing her time to sulk over her new life.
The urge to empty her bladder left her in a predicament but just then the flap opened and a pretty maiden walked in. Melissa prayed that the young maiden would take her somewhere where she could see to her toilet. The girl didn’t smile back, giving her a feeling that this one was not as friendly as the older woman. This one’s dark, brown eyes held no tenderness
“Blue Thunder sent me. I speak white man’s tongue.”
Melissa didn’t miss the venom in her voice and seen the evil that lurked behind those dark orbs.
“I am called, Little Turtle. I take you to pond. Come we go!”
The girl grabbed her by her long hair, pulling her to her feet, shocking Melissa. She pushed the cruel hand away. She wouldn’t let this savage get away with this, but the bitch slapped her on the side of her face with such force it sent her reeling. She stumbled slightly, but caught herself before falling. Her face stung but she would not cry; it was more painful standing there naked, then being slapped. With lightning speed, the maiden pulled a knife from its sheath and stalked her, wielding the weapon close to her face.
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“Blue Thunder not like white eyes if face all cut up!” she threatened. “Do not tell him I pull knife on white slave, he not believe you because we are lovers; he will take me for wife
someday. You are slave to me. You will be dirt under wife’s feet. I will have you do all the heavy tasks,” she laughed in a way that was not humorous, but frightening. Horrified, Melissa was shaken to the core being threatened with the knife. When the Indian mentioned Blue Thunder was her lover, Melissa’s terror turned to rage.
“Pale eyes jealous, this good,” the maiden sneered.
The knowledge this crazed Indian girl was Blue Thunder’s lover brought pain to her body. The first chance she got she would run away and she didn’t care if she died in the wilderness. If she were caught again, he would have to beat her because she’d never return willingly. What a fool she’d been.
Little Turtle returned the knife to its sheath, and then grabbed the dress flinging it into her face. Rage coupled with embarrassment ran rampant through Melissa’s body. She opened her mouth to tell maiden a thing or two but clenched her teeth, seeing the daggers in the girl’s evil eyes.
“Save foolish words,” warned Little Turtle. “When Blue Thunder comes to mat, wonder, maybe he just left mine.”
Sneering, she stuck out her large breasts proudly. When her tormenter turned, Melissa threw the dress over her head and followed. Had Blue Thunder made love to the other woman before coming to his hut last night?
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EIGHTEEN
After a refreshing swim, Blue Thunder rode out of camp; he needed a chance to clear his head before he spoke with his father. The lack of sleep during the last few days left his thoughts confused. His body needed rest but he also had to talk with his father. He didn’t travel far when he spotted two riders coming his way. Dasodaha and Star Gazer, raced across the valley. Blue Thunder jumped from his horse as did he father and brother and hugged each other in a loving greeting. He was sad to see his both men covered with dried blood over their chests and arms from a self-inflicted ritual to mourn loved ones.
“I am sorry my father and brother had to mourn,” he said sadly.
Dasodaha hugged him once more. “There is no more pain since we learned that my dead son lives. Come, we will rejoice with a big celebration tonight. But first we have words together, my son.” His brother patted his back in agreement and Blue Thunder had no doubts that he was in for a stern lecture, and rightfully so. When they entered the camp, he wanted to go to his lodge to see the woman, but he had to wait. His talk with Dasodaha had to occur now while his father was in a happy mood. He followed the older man into the largest wickiup in the village and he spoke in his native tongue. Dasodaha listened to his eldest son, and Blue Thunder knew his father did not like what he was hearing.
He shook his silver head and murmured, “Son, I am staring into the face so much like my own when I was younger. Now sixty winters, I feel old age becoming my best friend. I do not have many years left and I am not yet a grandfather.” He winced, but knew that subject would come up again. “This is not good, my son. You should have never attacked the white man’s train and brought back a prisoner. We are a peaceful people. Unlike the White Eyes and Mexicans who take every opportunity to slaughter Apache woman and
children. It is more gratifying to our nation that the white man know their abducted wife and children are being raised as Apaches, who might some day return to attack their own kind as an enemy of their new family.”
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Blue Thunder saw Dasodaha’s wrinkled face cloud with worry. He did not want to trouble his father more, but the truth had to be revealed. The old chief lit a long, clay pipe and he saw the fire dancing in his father’s dark eyes, illuminating the pain that dwelled there also. Dasodaha took a deep breath then exhaled, blowing wisps of smoke around his own head. Shifting his position on the dirt floor, Dasodaha said, “This white girl will bring trouble to our village, I fear. Many wars and battles with white men are burned in my memory. Sadly, I remember a time before the pale faces came to this land. Too much blood has been shed over white captures; the army always comes to look for them.” He took another puff on his pipe. “It is not bad enough they kill buffalo and take our land but when we bring back prisoners, they come to butcher our women and children.” He shook his head again. “This is not good.”
Blue Thunder grunted, “The white dogs come no matter whether we have the white eyes or not. My father knows they need no reason to raid our village.”
“This is so. But we have been here in peace for a time now.” He blew more gray smoke into the air. The small fire at their feet began to crackle, adding more smoke to the dwelling. Dasodaha snorted smoke from his nose and asked, “Why do you want to keep this girl?”
How could he explain the love in his heart for her? He knew her five days, a short time to know one’s own heart. But he did know. “I want her for my wife.”
Dasodaha choked on smoke, coughing for a moment before he wiped the tears from his eyes. Clearing his throat, he said, “This cannot be. You must marry good blood. A maiden from another clan, then your obligations from then on will be to your mother-in-law’s family. I thought you had eyes for Little Turtle; her bloodline is not of this tribe. She will make a good wife, give you many strong sons. She has breasts that will hold much milk,” he noted, lowing his gaze.
Blue Thunder grinned. “True, but my Honey Eyes can also give me healthy sons and I am willing to give up my right to lead my people.” This was not going to be easy. He would rather stop a wounded buffalo from charging than to try and convince his father to see things his way. He tried again. “You are respected. Will you talk to council for me?” he pleaded.
“No, my, son! You cannot mix Indian blood with white blood! You know the laws. Mixed blood is bad!”
Blue Thunder sighed heavily, placing his head in his hands; he would not give up. “What
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about great, great grandmother, E-clah-heh?” he continued. “She married a white hunter in Canada and their son was your father, Angry Cloud. You have white blood, so do I.” He pounded his chest knowingly and his father gave him a nod that he felt was only to pacify.
“Yes, but white blood is very small. Your great, great grandfather had saved the life of his
future father-in-law. They made him blood brother and he was allowed to marry my mother’s mother. This is different.”
Blue Thunder left with a heavy heart. He would take the white girl and leave the village and his brother could lead the people. But it wasn’t right because he knew in his heart that Star Gazer wouldn’t make a good clan leader. His brother looked at the night sky to watch the stars; he was a dreamer, not a fighter. Star Gazer was not weak and could defend himself but he did not like to fight; he was different, much like their aunt. Life had become troublesome since he found his soul mate, Honey Eyes.
He returned to his lodging to find it empty. He believed his captive was with Little Turtle and Laughing Tree, so he took Night Rider out for a run. He wanted to feel the wind in his face and the feeling of freedom to think. He returned to his father’s wickiup to have supper with him and Star Gazer, though he would have preferred to eat with his lovely prisoner for he had not spent any time that day with her. But, he was invited to eat with his family and it would be wrong not to except. The girl would be fed by his aunt; he would see her after the celebration. It was better that she was tucked away from tribal events for now.
Melissa saw the light in the hut grow dim as she waited for Blue Thunder. The only person who entered was Laughing Tree with her supper. Although she was glad to see the old woman with the soft eyes, she was so upset from her ordeal earlier she didn’t try to communicate with her. She accepted the bowl of stew with a nod and ate the meal silently. To nervous to sit she paced the floor waiting for Blue Thunder. The need to talk to him about that cruel Indian
woman was overwhelming. Did he love the wicked maiden and plan to marry her? Tired of pacing, she sat. She was a bundle of nerves and wondered how she would approach the subject. Angered by being alone and having an uncertain future, but determined not to be Little Turtle’s slave, she stiffened her resolve. She would fight him! She would die before giving her body to a
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man who would use her to quench his lust. The more she dwelled on the subject, the angrier she became.
Where in bloody hell is he?! her mind screamed.
Her head still ached from the rough treatment at the pond. To be stripped and have her body scrubbed by that she-wolf was beyond contempt. She recalled Blue Thunder doing it to her but the maiden’s hands weren’t so gentle. The Indian girl nearly drowned her when she pulled and scrubbed her tresses. Melissa found it was of no use to fight for she’d only receive more slaps and pinching if she resisted.
Now her eyes were closed from weariness when loud drums began to beat. People’s hooting and hollering made her heart jump into her throat; she believed they were being attacked. For a moment an ominous dread nearly suffocated her that quickly dissolved when she hoped it might be the army coming for her. Peeking out, her hope of escape fell like a raw egg to the floor, smashing her dreams. A large fire burned in the center of the village. As sparks soared into the dark sky, she watched the redskins remove any chance she had to leave. Gloom filled her soul.
Indians danced ritually around the raging flames. Melissa squinted to see Blue Thunder sitting by an older man who wore a brightly colored feathered headdress. They were laughing and smoking a long pipe. A large bowl was passed around from which all the braves drank. Little
Turtle was leaning all over him but he seemed not to notice as he drank again from the bowl. Melissa backed away from the scene, disgusted with him and herself. Dejectedly, she thought that he no longer wanted her. Feeling isolated and sick at heart, she decided she would definitely run away at the first chance. Again, tears took her to dreamland.
Sleeping fitfully Melissa sprung fully awake when she heard the flap open and close again. Her body tensed. She forced herself to breath slowly, hoping he’d believe she was slumbering and prayed that he’d fall asleep without disturbing her. Her assumption was wrong and she knew this when he snaked his arm around her waist. Her breath stilled and she knew that trying to get free would be in vain; she was held tighter than a turtle in a shell. His hot mouth took hers and she almost gagged from the smell of alcohol. She pummeled at his chest, yelled and begged him to stop. Somewhere in the recess of her mind she knew no one would
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acknowledge her cries; she was his to do with what and when he pleased. She didn’t want him this way and begged the drunken brave not to love her like this. Ignoring her pleas, he forced her legs apart. She continued to struggle, then her flailing hand struck an object, the wooden bowl lay beneath her fingers. It wasn’t much, but she hit him with all her strength hoping to so some damage on that thick skull.
The bowl crashing down on his head seemed to stun Blue Thunder, giving her enough time to wiggle out from under his dead weight. As Melissa crawled over to a dark corner, she prayed she had rendered him unconscious. Crouching, she wept and shook like a rabbit cornered by a pack of wolves. There was only one wolf here but he was just as dangerous and she listened
to only frightening
silence. Moments ticked in her brain. Hearing a moan, she tried to adjust her eyes to the dimness and saw him try to stand, only to lose his balance and fall on his knees. The slightly injured man mumbled something in his native tongue but she recognized only his pet name for her; he was coming after her.
She crawled deeper into the wickiup and when her foot hit something, she recalled he kept a collection of spears, bows, and arrows there. Groping, her shaking hand touched a long object and she clutched it tightly. Again she tried to disappear into the shadow, hoping he wouldn’t find her. If he did, she wouldn’t hesitate using the weapon.
Oh, God, why did it have to come to this? she cried inwardly.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, “but I’ll defend myself if I have to.”
And she did!
Melissa sat in shock for many heart beats before she snapped out of her trance to gather enough strength to run out screaming. Most of the men were in a stupor; the others ignored her. Laughing Tree must have heard her cries and came running.
“C-come, come quick,” she wailed, tugging on the sleeve of the woman who had been kind to her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she babbled as she tugged.
God! What had she done? Now, she’d surely be scalped.
Laughing Tree could not understand the hysterical girl. She was pulled into the hut, and saw her nephew lying in a pool of blood. Earlier, when she brought the white woman her supper, she had seen the girl was unhappy, but she shrugged and left quickly. It was not her way to pry.
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