She would hire a scout to find her father’s tribe. Some of the trappers had good relations with tribes in the area. Many even wintered with them, trading knowledge of ways and language. Suddenly she needed the comfort of knowing that she had family somewhere. She would find him. Saying her silent goodbyes, she squared her shoulders and left the small grave site.
Sarah mounted her coal-black horse in one swift fluid movement, and headed toward her meadow for one last goodbye.
Arriving at the quiet wooded area, she slowly skirted the small clearing, a black void in the night. Much like my life these days, she thought wistfully. Would she ever be free to laugh and run with the carefree abandon of her childhood?
Saddened, she silently said her goodbyes. She knew it would be a long time before she returned, if at all. All she would have were her memories, good memories. Stopping near the spot where her Indian rescuer had once stood proudly, Sarah halted Black Lady. Slowly, she glanced around, eyes searching the darkness surrounding her. A prickling sensation traveled down her spine, almost as though she were being watched. Almost as if he were here, in her meadow, watching her.
Shaking the odd feeling away, Sarah attributed it to the nerve-racking events of the night and the resulting lack of sleep.
Deciding to follow the river, she pulled gently on the mare’s reins and turned, again quelling the strange feeling that she was not alone.
Golden Eagle’s excitement faded as he followed the unsuspecting girl, and his brows drew together as suspicions returned. What was wrong? What was she up to? He’d seen tears glistening on her face, had resisted the urge to offer comfort. But where was she going? And more importantly, why?
He pondered her direction. White soldiers had what they called a fort in the direction that lay ahead. He and several warriors had once scouted it to see what threat it posed.
Did she go to get white soldiers to protect the murdering whites? He closed his eyes briefly, thinking. Besides the fort, there were only small trading posts run by whites who spoke what they called “French” and some scattered villages of Arikara Indians, enemies to his people.
His features firmed with resolve. She must be headed for the fort, he decided. He must stop her. It was too risky for her to bring white soldiers back with her. His people were vulnerable while traveling on the open plains. Guiding his horse deeper into the surrounding trees to conceal his presence, he followed her fast pace. He had plenty of time to see if she met up with the whites.
The sun ruled high overhead, sending fingers of warmth to caress the land below, warming the gentle breeze that cradled bits of white fluff lazily traveling across the clear blue sky.
Sarah wiped her forehead, flapped open her cloak to let the breeze cool her heated flesh and wished she dared to remove the heavy cloak that hid her hair and womanly figure.
Stopping in the cool welcoming shade of the cottonwoods that lined the banks of the river, she slid from her mare. Raising slim arms high overhead, she stretched her cramped, tired muscles.
Strolling toward the flowing stream, she allowed Black Lady to drink her fill before kneeling to rest on the mossy bank. Scooping handfuls of fresh sweet water, Sarah drank thirstily from the snow-fed stream.
Splashing the revitalizing liquid on her face, she shivered as the icy coldness stung, bringing a rosy flush to her unnaturally pale cheeks, soothing the bruise starting to darken one side of her face.
Pushing her hood down to cool her face and neck, hair freed to the rays of the sun, she sat back on her heels, staring straight ahead. A frown marred the smoothness of her features as she contemplated her situation.
“Black Lady,” Sarah said to her companion, “am I doing the right thing? Should I have stayed and fought Willy?” Black Lady snorted and moved downstream, searching for tender shoots of greenery.
The first feelings of misgivings assailed Sarah. Heading off on her own had seemed the only thing to do in the bleak, dark, despairing early hours. But now, in the light of the day, she felt overwhelmed at the vast wilderness she was crossing.
“I hope we make it to the trading post by nightfall, Lady.” Actually, she thought, I hope we make it without getting lost.
She was relying on the memory of when she had gone with Ben and Mary for fresh supplies. But there were so many twists and splits along the rivers, she was no longer sure if she was headed in the right direction.
Rising gracefully to her feet, Sarah replaced the fur-lined hood of her cloak and turned to retrieve her mare, who had stopped a short distance away. “Time to go, Lady. We’ll eat later,” she called.
The horse nickered softly, flicked her tail high, pawed the ground and tossed her head as she stared at something beyond her mistress. “What is it, girl?” Sarah asked, whirling about.
Chapter Five
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, letting form a shrill scream that pierced the air sending birds, squirrels and other four-legged creatures scurrying for cover. Gloves fell forgotten in the water as her hands flew instinctively to her throat.
She was rooted to the spot, and terror as she’d never known kept Sarah’s eyes glued to the silent figure watching her. No one had to tell her that this was no friendly Indian out roaming the land.
The paint and symbols on his body spoke of war, and the term “on the war path” was crystal clear. This fierce-looking warrior standing before her was at war with something or someone. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
She dared not make the slightest movement. Against her will, her wide frightened gaze was drawn to his. His eyes narrowed, hiding all thoughts from her. It made him seem all the more sinister, especially with his high cheekbones streaked with mustard-yellow paint and thick black lines.
She couldn’t help but notice his proud stance, how he held his head erect with his shoulders thrown back, thrusting his bronze symbol-painted chest forward. Two long onyx-black braids fell over his shoulders, and his muscular legs were planted apart, ready to spring at the slightest movement on her part.
His bulging muscular arms lifted to rest lightly, aggressively on his narrow hips. Clothed only in a hide breechclout and fringed leggings, he looked to be the true savage of every horror story Sarah had heard told over campfires. Never had she been so frightened in her life.
The warrior made a move toward her, and Sarah threw a desperate glance over her shoulder to where her rifle lay tied behind her saddle. She’d never reach it before…
Whirling about, Sarah gathered the heavy folds of her cloak and ran for her life. The only chance she had was to cross the stream and escape into the wooded area that lay on the other side.
She eyed the distance—it seemed so far in her panicked state. If she could reach the sheltering trees, perhaps she could find a weapon to use, a heavy branch, rock, anything! Nearly losing her balance on the wet, slippery stones, Sarah stumbled across the shallow stream.
There were no sounds of pursuit behind her, but she felt his presence close behind as she desperately scrambled up the side of the steep rocky bank. In her haste, she tripped over the hem of her cloak and fell flat on the rocky ground.
Her breath coming in harsh gasps, chest burning, Sarah crawled, scrambling for firm ground. “Almost, almost,” she breathed as she neared the top.
Suddenly, she felt herself slowly slipping backward. “Nooo!” she screamed as strong hands wrapped tightly around her slim ankles, halting her escape, dragging her down the slope.
She threw her arms out, seeking anything to grab on to. Her fist closed on rocks, and she flipped over to throw them at her captor. “Let go, you beast!” she shrieked, throwing rocks blindly and as fast as her fingers closed upon them as she continued to struggle to regain her freedom.
Loud curses filled the air as the Indian ducked his head, rocks tumbling harmlessly to land with a soft plunk in the stream. Before she could fire more rocks at her captor, her wrists were grabbed, squeezed till she released the small boulders in each one.
Sarah gasped. Sheer black fright swept through her as the harsh bronzed face loomed close to hers. It didn’t seem fair. First Willy, now this savage.
Despite her efforts to free herself, Sarah found her hands pinned above her head while strong firm thighs held her legs immobile, preventing her small feet from inflicting any damage. Her struggles were brought to a grinding halt.
She closed her eyes, the lids squeezing tightly together to block the sight above her, tears of helpless frustration seeping from beneath her lashes. How could she have been so naive, so foolish? Her impulsiveness had landed her in trouble once again.
Golden Eagle allowed his eyes to feast on the silent fight-worn girl lying beneath him.
Her eyes, he’d noticed, were the same wild deep blue that haunted his dreams, and like butterflies wings, her feathery lashes quivered in the golden sunlight.
He ran the tip of his finger down the bridge of her slightly upturned nose, then caressed petal-soft cheeks with the backs of his fingers, tenderly removing a single teardrop.
Her lips trembled, but still, she refused to open her eyes to him. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip before she drew the soft flesh into her mouth and he sensed her terror.
Golden Eagle noted the changes from girl-child to woman. His gaze fell to her heaving chest, pale swells peeping from her torn shirt. He shifted, aware, uncomfortably so, of the firm, tensed muscles of her thighs quivering beneath him. His body trembled in response.
This was the woman who haunted his dreams each night. He returned his hungry gaze to her tear-streaked face. She was his. Their paths had once again crossed. Hadn’t he been led to her not once, but twice?
He would not part with her this time. He would keep her, use her to cast off the spell she had woven over his mind and body long ago. Maybe then his restlessness would flee and he would be free of her strong magic.
Silent tears continued to roll past small shell-like ears, and Golden Eagle realized he could not take her just to use her.
Once, long ago, she’d trusted him. He could not betray that trust. Yes, he admitted to himself, he wanted her, but more than that, he wanted this woman to want him as much as he desired her.
Leaning forward, he fingered the softness of silky blond hair as it lay in disarray, glittering in the sun’s bright rays. He reached into a small pouch tied to his breechclout and pulled out a matching lock of hair. Holding it between long brown fingers, speaking in Lakota, he commanded the white girl to look upon him.
Sarah broke out in a cold sweat as minutes went by and nothing happened. What was he waiting for? Was this some sort of game? Some sort of savage torture? Her nerves were stretched to their limit.
She flinched and bit her lip to keep from crying out when his fingers touched her. But instead of revulsion, her skin burned where his finger trailed a blazing path.
Startled, she opened her eyes when he spoke with command in his voice. Eyes wide with terror, she expected to see a knife or other weapon held poised over her. Instead, a lock of pale hair dangled above her face. It was the same shade as hers, but much shorter. It was familiar.
Memory of another lock, given in another time, flitted through her mind. Her eyes flew to the warrior’s face. It couldn’t be, could it?
Drawing her brows together, Sarah rapidly blinked the tears from her eyes so she could study the face above her. Could this fierce-looking warrior be the same one she had woven so many romantic dreams around?
Ever since her encounter with the young Indian, her fantasies had grown and centered upon that strong, proud warrior. Sometimes it seemed as if a part of him had remained with her.
Looking into ebony eyes, she finally recognized the glint of humor lurking deep within, the lips that twitched with amusement.
Golden Eagle released her hands and sat proudly, arms folded over his chest, as he chuckled and spoke in her tongue. “Holy snooks! We meet again, my pale-haired friend.”
Sarah gasped. It was Golden Eagle. Her first words to him came flooding back, a memory sweet as the summer breeze. “Holy snooks, a real live Indian!” she’d exclaimed, excited to finally meet one.
She remembered the fine time she’d had explaining what her words meant after she’d recovered from the shock of hearing an Indian speaking in broken English.
Golden Eagle’s humor vanished. “Once again you have been careless, Sarah. You have found yourself at my mercy once more. You did not heed the advice given to you long ago. Women should not travel alone. No longer are you a child who might be excused for impulsiveness. You are a woman. Now you will suffer the consequences.”
Sarah frowned as she recalled the lecture he’d given her. Her eyes lowered in acknowledgment. He had proven to be right again. She started to relax now that the danger had passed.
Her lips compressed and she narrowed her eyes on Golden Eagle, his threat of suffering the consequences flying from her mind as her heart slowed its frantic pulsing.
No longer fearing for her life now that she knew who she was dealing with, Sarah felt her senses quickly returning. He nearly frightened me to death, she thought, and on purpose yet.
She glared, anger growing with his unrelenting grin, and she momentarily forgot the predicament she was in. “How could you, Golden Eagle?” she exploded. “Who do you think you are, scaring innocent women like that?”
Her harsh words had no effect on the amused warrior. If anything, his grin widened, and Sarah sensed he was holding back laughter in the face of her anger.
Narrowing her eyes, Sarah fought for control. Her voice cold, she stared directly into the warrior’s dark eyes. “You’ve had your fun, Golden Eagle, now let me go. I have far to go before dark and must be on my way. You made your point.” Flashing blue sparks clashed with smoldering black orbs as she attempted to rise.
Golden Eagle’s humor vanished in the face of her angry accusations. His head shook slowly side to side and he caught her fisted hands.
“I can’t let you go this time, little one. For many moons I have waited and prayed for our paths to cross again.”
He laid a finger against her lips and continued. “Many dreams I have had. Many times I resisted the temptation to return to the white man’s house of wood and carry you away. I have waited long for the Great Spirit to return you to me.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed, but before she could sputter a protest, Golden Eagle boldly declared, “On this day the Great Spirit has granted my wishes. My reward for saving a child’s life has been repaid by giving me the woman she has become. You now belong to Golden Eagle. I will take you to my tipi.”
Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This couldn’t be happening, not to her. In a minute, she’d wake up to Mary’s wonderful cooking and find this to be no more than a horrible nightmare.
Seeing the set of Golden Eagle’s jaw, his dark piercing stare, the proud lift of his head, Sarah realized two things at once. This was no dream, and Golden Eagle actually believed he had the right to claim her.
“Did my father not repay you well, Golden Eagle? Has Golden Eagle become greedy with age?” she said.
Sarah hoped her accusations would cause him shame. She’d heard stories from Ben that Indians counted greed a great sin within their tribes, and the white man was considered to be full of greed.
Golden Eagle indignantly folded bronzed muscular arms across his massive chest before realizing what Sarah had done. He spoke in his tongue. “So, you are cunning as well as beautiful. I will show you Golden Eagle is more cunning.”
Relaxing, Golden Eagle smiled as he switched back to her tongue. “Ah, but our custom says if a man saves the life of another, that life belongs to him. Golden Eagle did not wish to take a child from her home to serve as a slave. Sarah is not a child nor does she live in the white man’s home. She left the house of wood this day. She is now alone, foolishly facing great danger. Golden Eagle will reclaim what was once his.”
Sarah’s eyes darkened, storms raging in their midnig
ht-blue depths as she retorted, “I can take care of myself! I don’t need you, and I am not going anywhere with you.”
She waited, struggling to forget that moments before his arrival, she’d had misgivings about being alone.
His voice grew deceptively quiet as he said, “You can take care of yourself, can you? The same way you took care of me before you knew who I was? And is this how you protect yourself from other Indians that roam and hunt in this area? Do I need to tell you what is done with white captives, especially white women?”
Golden Eagle paused as Sarah’s face paled. Driving his point home, he relentlessly went on. “What about wild dogs at night? Have you ever seen a group of them circle and torment their prey before they kill? What about lonely trappers who roam the mountains, seeking the hides of many animals to trade and sell?”
Golden Eagle held up his hand to forestall her arguments. It was growing late. “Our paths have crossed this day because two girls were murdered in my tribe. The ones I have followed led me to the house of Sarah.”
Pulling out the chain and silver disk, he held it up, letting the sun reflect off it. “Does this belong to the father of Sarah? Does the father of Sarah run from those who pursue him?” his voice coldly demanded.
Understanding dawned. Sarah shook her head in denial, remembering Willy’s blood-streaked clothing. “No, Golden Eagle. That belongs to the cousin of my father. My father died during the winter. My father’s cousin is now my guardian.”
She trembled in fear. Golden Eagle was all warrior now, humor replaced by chilling anger. Sarah tried once more to explain. “I did not know what happened. Willy came home late last night, covered in blood. He took supplies and left. I speak the truth, Golden Eagle.”
“Is Sarah to join this Willy where he hides?” Golden Eagle barked.
“No. I left my home because Willy is cruel, and I fear for my life.” Unconsciously her hands moved protectively to her bruised chest. “My father did not know of the evil living within his cousin before he died. Willy holds a grudge against my mother. He hates and resents me for something she did. He becomes meaner each day. I am no longer safe in my own home,” Sarah finished bitterly, her fingers twisting in the torn front of her shirt, drawing comfort from the locket beneath her fingers.
White Wind Page 5