Apache Runaway

by Madeline Baker

  He flinched as the whip bit into his bare back. He was visibly trembling now, his legs weak and shaking, and still he refused to cower before her.

  Alope’s rage increased because he refused to cry out, because his pride was stronger than her arm, and she was forced to quit before she brought him to his knees. Frustrated beyond words, she brought the whip down across his shoulders one last time, then returned to the lodge.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Fallon dropped to his knees, then stretched out on his belly in the dirt and closed his eyes.

  It was Jenny who found him there, Jenny who carefully washed the blood from his mutilated flesh, then spread a thin coat of bear grease over his lacerated back.

  He endured her help with quiet fury, not knowing which was worse, the pain of the whipping, the necessity of letting Jenny treat his wounds or the humiliation of being whipped by a woman while a handful of children gathered around to watch.

  “Why are you so stubborn?” she whispered. “She would have quit if you weren’t so bull-headed.”

  “And give her the satisfaction of knowing she was hurting me?”

  “A slave can’t afford the luxury of pride.”

  “I’m not a slave, dammit!” Fallon rasped.

  He started to rise, but Jenny laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “You would be wise not to antagonize her,” Jenny admonished softly.

  “It’s not me she’s mad at,” Fallon said wearily. “It’s you. She’s just taking it out on me.”

  Jenny stared at him in alarm. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you blind? The woman’s jealous of you; you must know that.”

  “She has no reason to be jealous of me,” Jenny exclaimed vehemently. “I don’t want her husband.”

  “But he wants you.”

  Jenny nodded, guilt rising up within her as she stared at Fallon’s mutilated back. Everything he said was true.

  As the days went on, things went from bad to worse. When Fallon broke one of Alope’s favorite clay pots, she screamed that he was worse than a clumsy dog. That night, she dumped his dinner on the dirt outside the lodge, saying that if he was going to act like a dog, he could eat like one. He had gone to bed hungry that night, and the following day, as well.

  Jenny had come to his aid in the early hours of the morning, sneaking him several strips of venison, but he had refused her offering, his pride rebelling at accepting her help yet again.

  There were days when Alope pretended she had no work for him. On those days, she left him tethered to a tree from dawn ’til dusk, leaving him at the mercy of the sun and the flies. On those days, she refused him nourishment, saying that food and water must be earned.

  The rope around his neck was worse than a noose, he thought bitterly. A hanging, at least, would have been quick. But this degradation was something no man should have to bear. It was not the scorn of the warriors or the laughter of the women and children that rankled, but the sidelong looks of pity that Jenny spared him each time she passed by.

  There were times when he knew she would have paused to speak to him, when she would have offered him something to eat or drink, but he warned her away with a harsh look. He could endure anger, scorn, ridicule, pain, hunger, the sting of the lash, the burning rays of the sun, but he could not endure the pity and compassion he saw in Jenny’s deep-green eyes.

  He had been Alope’s slave about a month the day she dropped a rope around his neck and made him spend the day on his hands and knees pretending to be a horse. To the delight of some of the older women, she led him into the woods where she placed a bundle of wood on his back, tied it in place with a length of rawhide, and then walked behind him as he made his way back to the village, poking him in the ribs and buttocks with a stick every step of the way.

  Fallon was seething with anger and humiliation when they reached the wickiup. By damn, the woman’s arrogance was not to be borne! But the consequences of disobedience forced him to hold his tongue. He wasn’t sure why Alope had claimed him, though he suspected it had something to do with making Kayitah jealous.

  Now, since her ruse had failed, he had a hunch she was looking for a way to get rid of him permanently, so he choked back the bitter words of rage that threatened to suffocate him and waited meekly outside the lodge while she called for Jenny to come and unload her “new horse”.

  Fallon kept his head down, the hot blood of humiliation heating the back of his neck as Jenny stepped out of the wickiup. He refused to meet her gaze, refused to face the sympathy he knew would be shining in her luminous green eyes.

  Crouched on his hands and knees, his head hanging, he felt Jenny’s fingers skim across his bare back as she untied the bundle of wood and began stacking it outside the lodge. Once, he felt her hand brush the back of his neck, her touch soothing, compassionate.

  But still he refused to meet her gaze.

  When the wood was unloaded, Alope sent him out to look for a large flat stone, to what purpose he didn’t know, but he walked away from the wickiup without a backward glance, more angry and frustrated than he’d ever been in his life.

  He kept remembering the sympathy in Jenny’s beautiful green eyes, the touch of her hand on his neck, infinitely soothing, filled with compassion.

  It wasn’t pity he wanted from Jenny Braedon, he admitted bleakly. No, he wanted much more than that. He wanted the right to touch her the way Kayitah touched her. He wanted her at his side, wanted to see her smile at him, her eyes bright and clear, not shadowed with fear or sadness as they so often were. He wanted to hear the sound of his name on her lips…

  He wanted her. The thought ripped through him like an Apache skinning knife. He wanted her as he had not wanted a woman in years, wanted to touch her, to taste her, to see those fathomless green eyes grow cloudy with passion and desire.

  He wanted her, and that wanting made him hurt deep inside, made him ache with a soul-deep hunger that left him feeling empty and alone.

  Fallon swore under his breath, and then he laughed, softly, bitterly. As well to desire the moon as the wife of the Apache chief, he mused. He had as much chance of obtaining the one as the other.

  It was after dusk when Fallon returned to Kayitah’s wickiup. He caught Jenny’s worried gaze, endured the rough side of Alope’s tongue as she cursed him for his lengthy absence, accusing him of shirking his duties, reminding him that his life depended on his strong back and her good will.

  When Alope’s tirade ended, Jenny unobtrusively handed Fallon a bowl of venison stew and a cup of black tea.

  Kayitah did not miss the look of compassion and understanding that flickered in the white woman’s eyes. For the rest of the evening he watched Jenny closely, surreptitiously, as she sat beside the fire sewing tiny silver bells to the sleeves of a new dress. He saw the way she looked up from time to time, her gaze constantly seeking the white man, her expression one of sympathy and concern.

  Kayitah turned his attention to Kladetahe, who was sitting in the back of the lodge clumsily mending a tear in his shirt, apparently oblivious to everything, and everyone, else.

  The chief frowned as he studied the white man. The half-breed was a man in his prime, a man handsome enough to draw any woman’s eye. Kayitah knew that many of the maidens looked on the half-breed with favor. A few hoped that, in time, Kladetahe would be permitted to marry.

  Kayitah spent the rest of the evening covertly watching the half-breed and his own young wife, but nothing unseemly passed between them, not looks, not words, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he had been imagining things, after all. Perhaps it was only compassion his soft-hearted golden dove felt for the white man. And perhaps not.

  The following morning, Alope sent Fallon to the far end of the canyon to search for pine nuts, warning him not to come back empty-handed.

  Fallon left the lodge after the morning meal, eager to be away from Alope’s nagging, away from the growing suspicion in Kayitah’s eyes, away from everybody. Period.

/>   Lost in thought, he wasn’t sure when he realized he was being followed.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jenny making her way toward him and he came to a stop, waiting for her to catch up.

  “This probably isn’t a good idea,” Fallon remarked.

  “Alope sent me to help you. I think she wanted some time alone with her husband.”

  Fallon grunted softly. He couldn’t blame Alope for being jealous of the chief’s second wife. Jenny was as pretty as a spring morning in the high country, as easy on the eyes as a clear summer sky.

  “You wouldn’t look at me yesterday,” Jenny said reproachfully, “or talk to me last night. Why?”

  Fallon let out a long breath. “Can you blame me? Dammit, I don’t think I can stand much more of Alope’s little games.”

  But that was only half the truth. It was Jenny’s sympathy he couldn’t tolerate much longer.

  He looked down at his hands, his fingers curling into tight fists. He had strong hands, capable hands. He smiled faintly as he imagined those hands wrapping around Alope’s throat, squeezing tighter, tighter.

  “A horse, indeed!” he muttered bitterly.

  “It was a cruel thing to do.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a feeling things will get a lot worse before they get better.”

  If they ever get better, he mused ruefully.

  He started walking again, the shackles on his ankles clanking noisily, shortening his naturally long stride so that Jenny had no trouble keeping up with him.

  They were well away from the village now, and there were few people about. An eagle soared effortlessly overhead, making lazy circles in the sky as it searched the ground for prey. The horse herd grazed in the distance, covering the canyon floor like a multicolored blanket.

  Jenny walked beside Fallon, quietly content just to be near him. There was an aura of strength about him that made her feel safe, protected. She didn’t stop to wonder how odd that seemed. He was a prisoner, just as she was, yet she sensed the tightly leashed power that emanated from him, and knew that he could be a valuable friend or a formidable foe. She knew he was also a man of his word.

  “Have you given any more thought to getting out of here?” she asked.

  “I might be able to disguise myself as a horse,” Fallon muttered under his breath.

  “I’m serious,” Jenny said impatiently.

  “I know.”

  Fallon gazed up at Jenny. The sun highlighted the gold in her hair and washed over her skin like a caress. Her brows were delicate and finely shaped; her eyes were deep and dark and green, like winter leaves. His gaze lingered on her mouth. It was full and red and he dragged his gaze away, resisting the temptation to draw her into her arms and see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

  Damn, but she was a beautiful woman, and his body reacted instinctively to her nearness.

  To hide the evidence of his rising desire, he dropped down on his haunches, his back against a gnarled pine, his arms resting on his bent knees.

  “You been here long?” he asked, hoping to turn his thoughts in another direction.

  “Four years,” Jenny answered, wondering at the husky quality of his voice.

  Fallon grunted softly. It wasn’t a terribly long time and yet he knew that, to her, it probably seemed like forever.

  “You married, or anything?” he asked casually.

  Jenny nodded, her expression suddenly wistful. “I guess Hank thinks I’m dead by now.”

  “Maybe not,” Fallon remarked.

  So, she was married. He shook his head ruefully, surprised to find he was more than a little jealous of Jenny’s husband, whoever he was. But then, he was jealous of Kayitah too, and he knew with bitter regret that he’d be jealous of any man lucky enough to call Jenny his own.

  Jenny sat down beside him. “Are you married?” she asked.

  A muscle worked in Fallon’s jaw, and something that might have been pain flickered in the depths of his eyes and then was gone. “No, I’m not married,” he said tersely. Jenny gazed at him, her curiosity piqued by his curt reply, and by the odd expression she’d seen in his dark eyes, but before she could ask any more questions, he stood up and reached for her hand.

  “Come on, I’ve got work to do.”

  Jenny smiled at him, hoping to banish his bad mood. “You’re not afraid of Alope, are you?” she teased.

  “No,” Fallon replied with a wry grin, “but I am afraid of her husband.”

  He gazed down at Jenny, conscious of her hand, so small and fragile, in his, of the sudden change in her breathing as he drew her close, his arms slipping around her waist.

  “Fallon…” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with confusion.

  “Shhh.” He covered her mouth with his fingertips. “I just want to hold you for a minute, Jenny. Just one minute.”

  Slowly, she relaxed in his arms. He was her friend and he needed her. With that thought in mind, she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, the beat of his heart strong and comforting beneath her ear. She felt the warm sweep of his breath against the side of her face.

  Fallon released a deep sigh, his craving for a woman, for this particular woman, burning bright and hot within him. But stronger than desire was the simple need to hold Jenny close, to breathe in the scent of her, to feel her warmth, to know she cared, that he wasn’t alone.

  Standing there, with his arms around her, Fallon knew that, right or wrong, his life had become irrevocably entangled with hers.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning after breakfast, Fallon followed Jenny out of the lodge and down to the river for water. Other women were already there, laughing and talking as they filled their waterskins. The married women looked at Fallon with disdain. He was a traitor to the People and beneath their contempt. But the maidens…

  Jenny frowned as she saw the way the younger women stared at Fallon, their slow smiles filled with invitation, their dark eyes alight with appreciation as they openly admired the spread of his shoulders, the broad expanse of bronzed bare skin above the brief elkskin clout he wore, his long, muscular legs.

  Jenny’s mouth thinned. He should be ashamed, running around without a shirt and leggings, she thought, and then felt her cheeks flame with self-disgust as she realized she was staring at him just as intently as the Indian girls were.

  She glared at him when he smiled in her direction.

  “I’m going for wood as long as I’m down here,” he said. “Wanna come along?”

  Jenny nodded, acutely aware of the envious glances of the other women as she followed him downriver. They passed several women bathing their children before they turned inland, toward the forest.

  Jenny was about to tell Fallon he should be more discreet in his attire in the presence of young women when a shrill scream pierced the air.

  The sound had come from the river, and when she whirled around, she saw Fallon hurrying in that direction, his steps hampered by the chains on his feet.

  Dropping the waterskins she’d been carrying, Jenny ran after him.

  She came to an abrupt halt at the river’s edge. Several women were gathered together, and as she drew near, she could see a small child lying on the ground. His mother sat beside him, wailing softly.

  “What happened?” Fallon asked one of the women.

  “The son of Ziyah fell in the river. He is not breathing.”

  Without another word, Fallon put his mouth over the child’s and began to blow into its lungs. Several moments passed, and nothing happened. In desperation, Fallon picked the boy up by the heels and gave him a sharp whack across the back. A small chunk of mud flew out of the boy’s mouth, he coughed once and began to cry.

  The women all began to talk at once as they touched the boy, assuring themselves he was all right, thanking Fallon over and over again before they carried the child back to the village.

  “You’ll be a hero now,” Jenny remarked.

  “I doubt that.”

 
; “Ziyah’s husband will probably give you a horse for saving his son’s life.”

  Fallon shrugged.

  “Maybe Kayitah will remove your chains,” Jenny said, her voice becoming excited at the prospect. “Maybe he’ll even give you your freedom!”

  “I doubt it,” Fallon replied dryly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  But it was too late. It was all she could think of.

  Kayitah stared at Kladetahe thoughtfully that night. Ziyah’s husband, Katuhala, had offered the half-breed a fine black stallion in appreciation for saving his son’s life, and the Apache chief had allowed Kladetahe to accept it, knowing Katuhala would be offended if his gift were refused. But now the white man had a horse. And the admiration of the People. And Kayitah did not like it. Nor did he like the way the white man stared at Jenny when he thought no one was looking.

  That night, Kayitah took Jenny to his bed, reminding the woman, and the white man, that she belonged to him.

  Fallon stared into the darkness long after everyone else was asleep as he calculated the odds of getting away unscathed with the chief’s favorite wife in tow.

  “Slim and none,” he murmured wryly, but even so, he knew he would not leave her behind, knew that if he left the canyon without Jenny Braedon, he would be forever haunted by the quiet desperation he had seen in her deep-green eyes.

  Such beautiful eyes, he mused. She had been in his thoughts continually since the night they met, he admitted, and even now he felt the desire rise quick and hot within him as he glanced over his shoulder and saw her blonde head pillowed on a square of stuffed rawhide.

  He remembered how neatly she had fit into his embrace that day by the river, how perfectly her body had molded itself to his.

  With complete clarity, he recalled the silk of her hair beneath his hand, the feel of her breasts against his chest, the rich velvet of her voice.

  And he remembered, with growing anger, the smug look in Kayitah’s eyes when the chief had taken Jenny to bed that night. He’d never been a jealous man, but it had taken every ounce of self-control Fallon possessed to keep his hands from wrapping around the chief’s throat.