Inventing Love
Page 9
Still no sound. He took a deep breath of air and yelled this time, “Alex.” An owl hooted somewhere above his head, other than that there was no reply. Perhaps she wandered off in search of a drink from the river or to take care of her own bodily functions. Maybe she was still out there somewhere and the redskins hadn’t known she was present. “Alex, if you are out there somewhere let me know so I can find you.” Again no answer. It was possible she was staying quiet because she had seen what happened and was afraid, or she was still mad at him for pushing her away. “Alex, answer me if you are out there. We have to get out of here. There are redskins about.” The crickets continued to chirp. Suddenly Weston felt the sting of being alone.
He lay there until the ground began to chill his body then crawled to his feet and crept back to the war machine. His tread on the floor woke the general. Weston jerked the bandanna from his mouth. “We have trouble, General.”
The general sneered. “You are damned right, Grendal, and you will be in a whole lot more unless you let me go.”
“Nim’s dead. Redskins got him.”
For the briefest second Weston caught a glimpse of real fear in the general’s eyes before it disappeared behind a mask of contempt. “They get the woman too?”
Weston nodded.
His sneer grew broader. “You will not get her back you know. Not alive anyway. It is over Grendal. Your only hope of redeeming yourself is to untie me. Together we will annihilate the heathen bastards.”
Weston hesitated. His plan had backfired and the general was not functioning with a full hand of cards. Should he let him loose? He certainly did not trust him. On the other hand he had all the weapons. What chance did he have to get out of here with his own scalp intact without the man? It took two people to run the machine. It did not appear he had any other choice. “I will let you loose, but this is not over Madden. We are going after Alex then I am taking you back to Philadelphia.” He clamped the mind control helmet on the general’s head and turned it on before releasing him. Willing or not, the man was going to help him. He pushed the lever forward to start the war machine, the gears grinding and groaning. “Get shoveling coal, General.”
Madden started shoveling.
Weston frowned and eyed the man. How long could he use the helmet on him? Would the effects wear off? Could it cause any conceivable brain damage? Guilt laced his thoughts. It was not right to turn another’s thoughts against them, but what other choice did he have? It was the only way to get Alex back.
Chapter Seventeen
Somewhere a dog barked and a horse whinnied. Suspended between sleep and wakefulness, Alex vaguely registered the sounds. A child’s laughter rang out and the guttural sound of...who? A woman or a man? She couldn’t tell. Frowning she tried to turn over from her awkward position. Why can’t I move? Slowly she forced her eyes open. Pine needles and a horse’s brown silky leg met her sleepy gaze. It didn’t feel right. Why was her head so thick and heavy? The brown shape she was stretched across shook and shuddered as a loud whinny cut through the stillness. Realization dawned on her with a resounding screech. She had been taken. Taken where? Forcing her neck to hold her aching head at an angle away from the horse’s side, she looked around.
There appeared to be an army of redskins mingling in a large clearing flanked by a steep, rocky incline. A tall Indian stood with his back to her talking with a group of what she could only assume were warriors, given the weapons in their hands. His guttural speech was lost on her, but it was obviously a matter of great importance. All the assembled men stared at him with rapt attention. The tall one’s hands fluttered and gestured in time to his words, his long hair lifting slightly in the breeze. Alex caught a glimpse of thick muscles and the dark bronze skin of his back and shoulders. He stood with his feet slightly apart, a pair of tan colored fringed leggings molding his behind and muscular legs as if they were naught but a second skin.
He glanced over his shoulder as if he felt her gaze upon him, his dark eyes settling on her. A feather twined in his hair brushed his high cheekbone and he pushed it away with an impatient hand. She stared at him, openly challenging, but his face remained devoid of emotion. He turned back to his companions, addressed them in his language and walked toward her. Stopping before her he slipped a knife from a leather sheath at his waist.
A thread of icy fear weaved through her. Was he going to kill her? Clenching her jaw stubbornly she stared him down. If he was going to kill her she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. She flinched and closed her eyes out of reflex as he sliced downward with the knife. Instead of pain her bindings suddenly loosened. Opening her eyes she found him staring at her, the knife already back in the sheath at his waist. Though his eyes remained passive she thought she detected the barest hint of a smile.
How dare he revel in my fear, heathen bastard! Slowly she slid down from the horse trying to muster some dignity. Unfortunately her dignity fled as fast as her brief stint on two legs. The numb appendages gave way and she toppled to the ground in a heap. Her cheeks burned as laughter echoed in the clearing around her. “Damned heathens,” she muttered under her breath. The Indian came around to her side of the horse the same passive look on his face.
“Huh-na-eh.” He motioned for her to stand.
She shook her head.
“Hun-na-eh.” He crossed his arms across his broad muscular chest.
Reaching for the horse for balance, she climbed to her feet amid the pins and needles sensation that made her wince. Defiantly she glared at him refusing to let him see her pain. One look at his eagle-eyed gaze told her he probably missed nothing.
“Ya-nay-a.”
Again she shook her head.
This time he frowned, but before she could glean his intent he stepped forward, grasped her waist and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. Alex let out a startled squeal as he strolled across the clearing toward a group of triangular shaped, hide covered teepees. He ignored her, flipped open the flap, carried her inside and dumped her unceremoniously onto a pile of soft furs.
“Sit.”
She looked up. “You speak English?”
He passed her a water skin he picked up off the floor without replying. “Drink.”
She took the offered skin, opened it and sniffed. When she cast him a doubtful look he nodded. The warm sweet liquid soothed her parched throat. It tasted like ripe berries. When she drank her fill she handed the skin back. He set it down and picked up a beaded buckskin dress. When he held it out to her she scrambled to her feet. “No, I don’t want to wear that.”
He advanced on her and thrust the clothes into her arms.
Did she really have a choice? She darted an anxious look around the teepee. Did he intend to stand there and watch her change? To her relief he turned and exited the teepee, dropping the flap closed behind him. With a sigh she slipped off her dirty breeches and shirt. A pile of similar buckskin garments caught her eye. Upon closer inspection she discovered a pair of fringed leggings. She put them on and slipped the knee-length dress over top. If she had to wear native clothes at least she would be clad in a style that made her comfortable. The teepee flap rustled as she was rolling the leggings shorter and she looked up.
The Indian entered the teepee. His eyes traveled down her outfit and back up. Though his face did not show it, she sensed his displeasure. An older squaw followed and gave a snort of astonishment when she saw Alex. He said something to the squaw and motioned for Alex to follow her. Alex followed the woman from the teepee. They crossed to a large fire over which hung a haunch of venison. Her mouth watered as the tantalizing smell drifted across the clearing. The squaw jabbed her, shoved a crude wooden bowl into her hands and pointed to the venison and a stack of golden brown pancake type objects.
Alex’s stomach gurgled as she tore a large hunk of meat off and added two of the golden pancakes to the bowl. She ripped a piece off the cake and stuffed it into her mouth. Before she could react the squaw slapped her.
Alex returned to the teepee wondering why she had to wait to eat. When she entered the tent she found the Indian seated cross-legged on a pile of furs. He nodded and held out his hand. Alex clutched the bowl to her chest. Did he mean to take the food for himself? He grunted and wiggled his fingers, impatient for her to hand over the bowl. Stubbornly she popped a piece of cake into her mouth and chewed. When he leaped to his feet she took a step back but did not loosen her grip on the bowl.
“Na-tadda-eh!” Anger burned in his eyes as he advanced on her. He snatched the bowl from her hands and pushed her down on the furs. “No eat.” With a growl he sat back down and began picking out the choicest pieces of meat for himself.
She glared at him. How dare he? What kind of heathen ate before a lady...woman, she corrected herself. Rolling into a sitting position she crossed her arms and stared at him. He ate without looking up. Her stomach growled and she was sure he could hear it. Warm drool pooled in her mouth. She hadn’t eaten since the morning before when Weston brought her a cup of tea and some toast to the tent. Finally, when she thought she could take no more he held out the bowl with a grunt.
Scrambling to her feet she snatched it from his hands and retreated to her pile of furs. She looked in the bowl. Naught but a small piece of meat and one pancake remained. Too hungry to care that it was his leavings she sandwiched the piece of meat in the folded pancake and bit into it. Warm juice seeped into her mouth and she sighed. When she looked up he was watching her with that oddly blank expression. She glared at him and returned her attention to the small meal. Once down to the last bite she wiped the bowl with the remaining bit of bread and popped it into her mouth. She looked up.
The Indian nodded. “Nay-a-too-na-hee?”
Warily she set down the bowl and shook her head.
He sighed; at least she thought it was a sigh that escaped his mouth. His brow puckered and he pointed to his chest. “Who-na-nay. He Who Kills Bear.” He pointed to her. “Nay-a-too-na-hee?”
“Alexandra Evans,” she supplied.
“Al-Al-nan-dra?”
Her name sounded stiff and forced from his tongue but she nodded.
Again he frowned and then shook his head. “You, Ta-wan-knee. Fire Hair.”
Alex shook her head. “No, Alex.”
“Ta-wan-knee.” He grunted. When she crossed her arms across her chest his lips pressed into a thin line. He pointed in front of him. “Ya-too.”
Stubbornly she stayed put. She would not be at any man’s beck and call, least of all one so much beneath her. Besides, she had no intention of going near him when she didn’t know his intentions. A white man she could handle with a sharp tongue, a heathen she wasn’t so sure.
“Ya-too!” Anger sparkled in his eyes. He placed his palm down beside him and made to stand.
Alex scrambled to her feet and dashed to the flap. Fleeing through the center of the startled camp she made for the horse grazing nearest the teepees. Scant feet from the mount she felt a heavy weight against the back of her legs. Down she tumbled, her chin connecting with the dirt and pine needles. Her breath fled her lungs in a great whoosh. Before she could regain her feet she was lifted up into the air and slung across He Who Kills Bear’s shoulder. Kicking and screaming she fought him until he brought the flat of his hand down hard across her backside. She gasped as her skin stung.
Women, men and children laughed and snickered as he carried her back into his teepee. He dumped her onto the furs and glared at her. “Ta-wan-knee, ya-too!”
Terror engulfed her as he knelt beside her and fumbled with her buckskin trousers. “No! No!” She fought him with all her strength, kicking and scratching. With a grunt he pushed her hands away and then straddled her. Still she fought as he ripped the trousers from her and tossed them across the floor. He just sat there, pinning her to the soft furs. Her strength ebbing, she ceased fighting and lay panting under his weight. Once she was still he smiled, reached out and wrapped one of her rich red curls around his finger. He seemed fascinated as he stroked the curl between his thumb and forefinger before leaning in and sniffing it.
A shaft of light crept across the floor and settled on them. Alex turned her head and watched as a young squaw about her age stepped into the tent. Who-na-nay got up and smiled. He spoke to the squaw for a moment and stroked her head much like a master would stroke a dog. The woman stepped into his arms and smiled.
Alex got to her feet. Was this Who-na-nay’s wife?
Who-na-nay patted her head again and stepped back, frowning at Alex. “Ta-wan-knee.” He pointed to the squaw. “Go with Oh-nem-ie, Runs With Deer.”
She hurried after Oh-nem-ie relieved she would be spared rape for now.
Chapter Eighteen
Alex pushed an errant curl behind her ear and continued to pound the handful of dried berries an old squaw placed on her flat stone. She glanced around the circle of native women all bent on the same purpose. They said little to one another beyond the odd word and glance as they worked. Her mind returned to her task as she pounded the tip of her tender finger with the round stone used to crush the fruit. She put the throbbing tip to her lips and was punished with a slap from the old squaw. After giving the woman a dirty look she returned to crushing the berries into fine red powder. They had been at the task for most of the day now, her back was aching and her legs had long ago fallen asleep. How the women could sit there, unmoving for so long astounded her.
Finally, when her legs, hands and back began to twitch with exhaustion the women put down their crude tools and stood.
Alex climbed to her feet, massaging her legs to return the circulation to the tingling limbs. The sun was setting in the sky, crickets already starting their evening serenade in the bushes along the little creek. The tantalizing scent of roasting meat made her stomach growl. It had been a long time since the scant morning meal. She followed the others to the fire and took the wooden bowl handed to her.
Oh-nem-ie filled her bowl to the brim with the choicest pieces of meat and the biggest pancakes and then motioned for her to do the same.
After her bowl was as full as Alex could stuff it she followed the squaw to another larger fire where the men all sat working on weapons and talking. She was relieved when Oh-nem-ie passed her full bowl to Who-na-nay with a smile. He nodded and stuffed a morsel of meat in his mouth. Alex settled down beside the squaw, but before she could take a piece of meat from her own bowl the squaw snatched it away from her.
“Hey, that’s mine, get your own.” Alex grasped the bowl and pulled.
With a squeal Oh-nem-ie slapped her and jerked the bowl away, spilling some of the food to the ground. “Nay um day ya too ay!”
Alex scrambled to her feet, her cheek still stinging from the slap. How dare the wench hit me! With both hands she shoved the squaw backward, sending her tumbling to the dirt on her back.
Who-na-nay set down his bowl and got to his feet, anger flashing in his eyes. “Ya too!”
She backed away, knowing he wanted her to come to him, but unwilling to submit to his anger.
“Ya too,” he repeated sternly.
The others in the circle sat unmoving and silently watched her. She swallowed as Who-na-nay stalked toward her. She ducked as his hand rose, though not fast enough to avoid a painful swat on the side of her head. Reeling from the blow she stumbled, falling on her knees in the dirt at his feet. He towered over her. “Oh-nem-ie eat, Ta-wan-knee eat last.”
Tears stung the back of her eyelids as she glared at him and nodded. It appeared she ranked even below a squaw in the tribe. Crouching there in the dirt she watched as he returned to his seat and finished his meal. When he had eaten his fill he held the bowl out to her. Feeling like a beggar she scurried forward and snatched it from him. Alex retreated a safe distance to eat the few morsels of meat and pancake he left her.
She was licking
the remains of the juice from the bowl when Oh-nem-ie jerked her to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the creek with the bowls. She took them, understanding she was to wash them and headed for the creek. Kneeling on the bank she scrubbed the bowls with handfuls of sand and rinsed them clean. When she was done she stood and stretched. A thick-built Indian brave stood leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree watching her. Quickly she lowered her arms and gathered up the bowls, his steady unblinking stare unnerving her. As she made to pass by he stepped in front of her. Alex swallowed and looked around. No one was about. Was the man merely making sure she did not run away, or did he mean her harm?
He reached out and gently pulled one of her curls, letting it go to bounce back into place. It appeared he was fascinated by her hair.
He grinned and pulled the curl again. “Oh-na ya we kee nay?”
Alex shook her head and tried to ease by but he blocked her way. “Please, Who-na-nay will be angry if I take too long.”
The brave frowned before he stepped back to allow her to pass.
She hurried back to the teepee as the horizon faded to a deep blue. There was no doubt the Indian did not understand a word she said, however Who-na-nay must be respected. There could be no other reason he had moved at the mention of her master’s name. The vile word made her choke. Master, he was not her master, she belonged to no man. She threw back the hide flap on the teepee. Least of all a heathen savage.
Alex entered and flopped down on the pile of furs, her mind and body exhausted. She rubbed a berry-stained hand across her gritty eyes. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath right about now.
Oh-nem-ie stepped into the teepee frowning when she spied Alex seated on the fur pile. She crossed the room and pushed her off the pile with a grunt, then arranged them neatly. Without a trace of modesty she stripped off her beaded dress, running a hand along her pert breasts with a smug look. The firelight gave her tanned skin a golden glow as she dabbed berry juice onto her dark nipples.