She slipped her hand under the bed and pulled out a small piece of floorboard she'd manage to pry up from under the bed, then picked up her charcoal stick. With her wrists and ankles tied with leather thongs, it was difficult to maneuver, but she managed.
Mackenzie placed the floor board on her lap lengthwise and took up the burnt stick in her right hand. When Okonsa slept during the day, she sketched him. The portrait was full length. She dressed him in his hide mantel with the red streaks. She added feathers to his scalp lock and a glimmer to his nose ring that she had come to despise.
The sketch was quite good. Just looking at it made her shiver. Through her portrayal of the man, she could feel his madness . . . his anger. One could stare at the haunting charcoal eyes and know that he was dangerous.
Mackenzie didn't know what possessed her to sketch Okonsa while be slept. He'd probably kill her if he found out. She sketched it anyway . . . in defiance of his wishes.
Okonsa rolled over again and Mackenzie glanced up. He was waking. She shoved the board and writing stick under the bed.
He opened his eyes and yawned. When his gaze met hers he smiled that boyish grin of his and adjusted his testicles.
Mackenzie stared at him, her face expressionless.
"Ah, good rest," Okonsa said. He slid his feet over the side of the bed and rose. "It's cold in here." He rubbed his hands together as he crossed the uneven floor boards. "You should have woken this man, and I would have added fuel to the fire. This man does not want you to be cold, my love."
She watched him.
He tossed a log onto the fire and added another one. "Why do you not answer me? You do not talk and you make me lonely."
She said nothing.
He stood in the center of the twelve by twelve room, his hands planted on his hips. "This man does not understand your stubbornness. This was to be our time away from the others. Time to know each other."
She glared.
Okonsa lifted his foot and booted a broken chair across the room. It hit the wall and smashed into splintering pieces. "Speak to me! Tell this man what you want!"
"I want to go home to my husband," she said softly.
"Not that!" He walked toward her, his arms outstretched as he opened and closed his hands. "Something here. Something I can get you. Something that will make you happy."
"Fresh meat." She didn't know what made her say it. Survival instinct, she supposed. "We need fresh meat. The snow has stopped. We've eaten nothing but pemmican for days, and I'm hungry."
"The snow is deep outside. This man does not know what he can find."
"You are a great hunter," she said, stroking his ego. "This woman knows you can find a snow hare."
He thrust out his chest. "Your words are truth. This man is a great hunter, besides being a great warrior, and a great lover." He hit his chest with his closed fist. "This man will shoot a hare for his woman's evening meal."
He grabbed his outer cloak and bow at the door. "I will not be gone long."
Still seated on the floor, she lifted her bound wrists. "Could you untie me?"
"So you can escape?"
"How could this woman escape?" she asked innocently. For days, she'd been waiting for this chance. "The snow is deep and I do not know my way. I am not a hunter and a trapper as you are. I would be lost without you to guide me," she lied smoothly.
Truthfully, she'd paid careful attention to the direction they'd walked. She'd even left behind a few marks on trees to guide her home to the village, should she manage to escape.
He narrowed his black eyes. "If you tried to escape this man might kill you and throw you in the gully."
She knew he was trying to bully her, like he'd bullied Tall Moccasin probably. She wouldn't think about the boy. Not now. What mattered was getting away from here and saving her baby.
"I will not try to escape," she said. She forced the barest smile. "I could melt snow while you are gone. If you bring back a hare, I could stew it."
He rubbed his stomach. "Ah , this man would like a meal made from his woman's hands."
She lifted her bound wrists. "Please?"
He hesitated, then came to her.
She turned her head away as he untied her wrists. Free, she rubbed them and tried to stimulate circulation.
His face was still close to hers.
"A kiss?" he asked.
She kept her face turned. "I think not . . . not now."
He drew back and grinned. "Yes? You say 'not now', which makes this man think you mean 'later'." He adjusted his testicles proudly. "A good meal in this woman's belly and he thinks she would look about this man with favor in her eyes."
Mackenzie sat on the edge of the rope bed and untied her ankles. "It will be dark soon, Okonsa. Go fetch the hare before you cannot see it bound in front of you."
Seeming reluctant, he walked out the door. "This man will return soon. You will be here when I return."
"Where else could I go in the middle of a snowstorm?"
The moment the door slammed shut, Mackenzie leaped up and into action. She grabbed one of the bags Okonsa stole from her wigwam and crammed necessities into it; the flint and steel box to light a fire, the remainder of the dried pemmican, a waterskin.
She dragged the doeskin blanket from her own wigwam off the bed and tossed it over her shoulders. She didn't know how long Okonsa would be gone, so she had to hurry. At the door she grabbed a pair of old snowshoes down off a peg on the wall. The last trapper who had lived here had left them behind. Hastily, she strapped them to her moccasins. They were a little large, but they would do.
Mackenzie threw the bag onto her back and stepped out of the cabin. Her heart fell when she discovered how deep the snow was. Even in the snowshoes, it would be slow-moving.
She spotted Okonsa tracks leading north. That was perfect. With any luck he would be gone an hour or two. By the time he reached the cabin and realized she was gone, she'd have a good lead on him.
She walked around the cabin, circumnavigating the yellow snow, evidence that Okonsa had been too lazy to walk far from the cabin. She tightened the bag's strap on her shoulder and lunged forward into the snow. Mackenzie half ran, half walked, fear and excitement pumping through her veins. All she could think of was escape. She panted hard, plowing through the drifts.
"Ah hah!"
Okonsa appeared from behind a sycamore tree and stepped into her path. "You think this man is stupid? Stupid white manake !" He bellowed furiously.
Mackenzie screamed and darted left, out of his grasp. She tried to run, but the snow had drifted too deep. Even in her snowshoes, she couldn't move. She fell headlong into the snow, screaming and flailing her arms.
When he grabbed her by the doeskin mantle, she kicked him hard and rolled out of the cloth, freeing herself.
"Come back!" he bellowed. "You will not escape! You are mine! Mine!"
"No," she screamed. "Fire Dancer's!"
He fell on top of her, crushing her into the frigid, crackling snow. "Mine!"
"Only Fire Dancer's," she defied, spitting snow from her mouth.
He rolled her onto her back and thrust his face into hers. "Then I will have you anyway!"
Mackenzie struggled furiously, but Okonsa was so much stronger. He yanked her out of the snow and half carried, half dragged her back along their beaten path to the cabin.
Inside the door, he threw her to the floor. As he walked toward her, he stripped off his clothing, strewing it on the floor.
Mackenzie crawled backward out of his way. Don't panic. Don't panic , she kept telling herself.
Okonsa flung off his cloak and his tunic, showing off his bare, tattooed chest.
"You can't do this," Mackenzie protested as she scrambled off the floor. "You can't rape me!"
He yanked on the leather laces of his leggings. "No?" he screamed, completely out of control. "This man cannot? What of those men so long ago? The redcoat manake . I said they could not rape." Tears rolled down his cheeks and he batte
d at them as he stalked her. "I said they could not rape this boy and they did anyway."
Mackenzie backed up against the table and stared in horror. Did Okonsa mean what he thought she meant? The . . . soldiers had raped him? Fire Dancer had never told her. She looked into Okonsa's eyes and realized Fire Dancer had not told her because he didn't know. No one knew. No one but Okonsa and the men . . . and now her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, meaning it. She held out her hand to make him keep his distance. "This woman is so sorry for your pain."
"You do not care about my pain," he shouted. His nostrils flared. "No English-speaking manake cares for this man's pain. For any redman's pain." He reached into his leggings and pulled out his member.
For an instant Mackenzie froze and stared at it, swollen and veined in his hand.
He lunged at her.
She screamed as he pinned her against the table with the full weight of his muscular body. Her hands fell back on the table as he knocked the wind from her chest. Miraculously, one of her hands met with something cold and sharp.
His hunting knife. He'd left it on the table . . .
She grabbed the hilt of the knife. She was not helpless. She would never be helpless.
Okonsa yanked at the crotch of her leggings, his other hand still on his engorged rod.
Mackenzie raised the knife over her head. "Get off me," she threatened, "or I'll use it, I swear by the great Tapalamawatah , I will."
He burst into sick, hearty laughter. "You will use that on me?"
She held so tightly to the knife that she could feel her knuckles going numb. "I will."
He grabbed her arm and twisted it cruelly. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying in agony.
"Let go of it," he shouted in her face.
"I won't!"
"Let go!"
"Mahtah! "
He twisted her hand down to her side. She felt like the bones of her arm were breaking, but she didn't let go. The knife was her only chance, her baby's only chance.
He snapped her wrist to make her release the knife. To Mackenzie's surprise she heard Okonsa grunt with pain and she felt the knife sink into flesh. She gave it a hard twist upward and he screamed.
She shoved him backward with all her might and he fell off her.
Mackenzie darted away from the table as Okonsa reeled backward clutching his groin.
She stared in horror at the bloody knife in her hands. She watched it fall from her fingers and clatter across the uneven floor boards.
He fell and rolled onto his knees. "I will kill you for this," he groaned in pain. "This man will kill you."
"You will not."
Mackenzie looked up through a veil of tears to see who the voice came from.
"Fire Dancer?" His named croaked from her throat.
She couldn't believe it was him.
"Get back, Mack-en-zie," Fire Dancer ordered from the open doorway of the cabin. "Stand back so that this man can kill Okonsa."
Okonsa staggered to his feet, his hands and his leggings bloody. "Kill this man?" He threw his head back with that same crazy laughter. "You cannot kill this man who you call brother. You do not have the courage."
With one swift motion Okonsa dove for the hunting knife on the floor and came up with it clutched in his blood-sticky hands.
"Get back," Fire Dancer told Mackenzie.
She climbed up onto the bed. "He didn't hurt me," she told her husband. She didn't know why, but she felt sorry for Okonsa.
"That is good, brother," Fire Dancer said smoothly. "Then your death will be swift and merciful."
The two men drew closer to each other. As cagey as mountain cats, they bobbed and swayed, waiting for the other to make the first move. With a strength surely borne of his madness, Okonsa circled Fire Dancer, seemingly unaware of the blood that poured from his wound.
Okonsa took a stab at Fire Dancer, but cut nothing but air. Fire Dancer's blade nicked Okonsa's muscular forearm. The two men circled again.
Mackenzie covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out each time Okonsa lunged. She didn't want to distract Fire Dancer.
"Come, come," Fire Dancer dared. "Strike this man."
"You do not want to kill me, brother. You can forgive me for this," Okonsa said. Blood stained his legs and dripped onto the floor. "I did not take your wife. This man only borrowed her."
Fire Dancer lunged and cut a streak across Okonsa's bare chest.
Okonsa grunted with pain and bounded backward. Instead of retaliating, he spun around and leaped out the door into the snow.
Fire Dancer went after him.
"Be careful," Mackenzie screamed as Fire Dancer chased his cousin through the snow.
"Get back," Fire Dancer shouted to Mackenzie. "Lock yourself in the cabin."
Mackenzie waded through the snowdrifts after the two men. "Watch out, Fire Dancer," she yelled. "There's a cliff—" Fire Dancer halted abruptly, and Mackenzie rushed up to meet him.
Okonsa tottered on the edge of the mountainside, his hands outspread, still oblivious to his crimson blood that dripped into the white snow. He had nowhere to go, no way to escape. He swayed on the edge of the deep precipice as if he were a tree in the wind.
"Brother!" Fire Dancer called.
Okonsa took one last look at Fire Dancer and Mackenzie, gave a war cry and hurled himself over the edge of the mountain cliff.
Mackenzie raced forward to grab Fire Dancer's arm. She stood beside him and watched in horror as his cousin hit the snowy mountainside. Okonsa's body bounced over jagged rocks like a child's discarded doll, his limbs flailing. He screamed once and his voice echoed through the treetops. Then she heard nothing but the sound of his tumbling body and the rain of falling stones. Finally his body met a cluster of saplings at the bottom of the ravine and came to a halt. It had to have been a three or four hundred foot drop.
Mackenzie and Fire Dancer stared at the bloody, naked body far below them. Okonsa did not move.
"We should go down," Mackenzie said as she clung desperately to Fire Dancer. "To be sure he is dead."
"No." He hugged her with one arm, his gaze fixed on his cousin's still body below. "No man could survive such a fall— not even Okonsa. It's so far down and it's almost dark."
"But the wolves are lean and hungry this winter," Mackenzie whispered, horrified by the thought. "They could—"
"Okonsa's dead." Fire Dancer sliced the cold mountain air angrily with one hand. "Let the wolves devour my cousin's betraying heart."
Tears ran down Mackenzie cheeks. She had remained strong as long as she could, but suddenly there was no strength left in her knees. She hated Okonsa, yet her tears were for him. "Hold me, husband" she whispered. Her gaze meeting his. "Please. I need you."
With a single, fluid motion, Fire Dancer lifted her in his arms and trudged through the snow toward the safety of the cabin.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"I knew you would come for me," Mackenzie breathed. She threaded her fingers through Fire Dancer's cascade of inky black hair, and beckoned him with her eyes. She slid back on the narrow rope bed, aching to feel Fire Dancer's arms around her.
"I would follow you to the fiery pits of your hell," he answered as he climbed onto the bed.
They had locked themselves inside the cabin and added wood to the fireplace so that the room was warm, despite the drafts. In silence, they had shared a meal of dried venison, and berries and strong tea Mackenzie made with herbs Fire Dancer carried in his pack. Outside the chilling wind whistled around the eaves of the cabin, but inside Mackenzie felt safe and warm—safe because Fire Dancer was here with her.
"He did not hurt you?" Fire Dancer opened her arms and she crawled into them.
"No. He . . ." she sighed, understanding intuitively what he meant. There was so much to tell Fire Dancer, but she didn't want to talk right now. She wanted to feel the physical evidence of his love. "He wanted me to come to him of my own free will."
"When I came
into the cabin, he—"
She caught his hand and kissed his palm, her green eyes luminous. "He'd lost patience because I had attempted to run away."
He held her hand in his and kissed the pad of each finger. "You fought him off."
"I cut him. I didn't mean to cut him there, but he wrestled my arm down. It was luck the blade hit flesh." He kissed the pulse of her wrist. The inside of her elbow. "This man would not blame you if you had sunk the knife in his black heart."
She rose on her knee to face him. "Shhh." She pressed her finger to his lips. "Let's not talk about Okonsa right now. Let's not talk about any of this. I just want you to love me." She searched his black eyes for sympathy. "To make love to me."
Sitting sideways on the bed, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He tugged at the ties of the bodice of her dress and the soft doeskin fell open to reveal her breasts that rose and fell as she took a ragged breath.
"Those nights and days alone as I walked through the snowy forest, I thought of nothing but these opahla ." He nuzzled the valley between her tingling breasts. "This hair." He caught a handful of her bright red tresses and lifted it to his nose to inhale. "These lips." He brushed his mouth against hers in a gentle caress.
"I thought of nothing but these hands," she echoed as she laced her fingers through his. "These eyes." Her gaze met his. "This heart." She slid her hand into the folds of his hunting tunic and caressed his bare chest. "I knew Okonsa couldn't come between us because of the love that binds us."
Mackenzie rested her head on Fire Dancer's shoulders and sighed as he slipped his hand inside her dress and cupped one breast. She wondered if he would notice they were swollen because of her pregnancy. The tenderness had passed, as Laughing Woman had said it would, but her breasts were larger than they had been.
He seemed not to notice as he took her nipple between his teeth and gently tugged.
Mackenzie moaned and she looped her arms around his neck and arched her back. The first waves of excitement washed over her and she gave into them with every inch of her being.
"Mack-en-zie. Mack-en-zie," he breathed, his hot breath a caress on her cheek.
Their lips met and she opened her mouth to welcome his tongue, to taste him. She writhed in his arms, spirited by the caress of his bare hands on her bare flesh.
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