Fear and guilt mingled with heavy grief, but what could she have done against an enemy bent on killing innocent people?
Nothing.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, she slumped onto the muddy ground, shaking so hard her teeth rattled. Where was Lillian? Marianna hadn’t seen her. She clamped her hands over her ears when she recognized Susan Worthington’s scream. Whimpering, she whispered a quick prayer that the Indians wouldn’t kill her.
When rational thought finally returned, Marianna realized the Indians would surely see her if she remained where she was.
It was already too late.
Marianna froze in terror as one of the Indians jumped into the ditch, waving a bloody tomahawk in her face. The upper part of his face was hideously streaked with black paint. She tried to look away, but those black eyes held her gaze, and she saw her own death.
In that moment Marianna knew she wanted very badly to live.
The Indian reached out his bloodstained hand to her, and she backed away. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her toward him with such force that pain tore through her arm. But pain could not compete with the fear that roared in her mind. Her chest burned, and she finally gasped, realizing she’d been holding her breath.
The savage climbed out of the ditch and pulled her up beside him with such force that she heard the bone in her arm snap. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she staggered, falling to the ground in agony.
The Indian muttered something to one of the others, then half carried and half dragged Marianna toward the waiting canoes. In the distance, she heard the sound of riders, and knew the soldiers were pouring out of the fort toward them. Glancing back over her shoulder, Marianna realized they would not arrive in time to save her.
Marianna’s tormentor shoved her into one of the canoes and leaped in beside her as the current pulled them to the middle of the river. She cried out when she saw Susan Worthington and Lillian in other canoes. Hot tears blinded her and she reached out to Susan when the canoe she was in passed so close she could have touched Susan’s hand.
Her captor’s black eyes narrowed as he hit Marianna a stunning blow with the blunt end of his tomahawk. Pain exploded in her head.
Everything around her reeled and blackness rolled over her, stealing the light.
Chapter Four
Marianna awoke slowly, wondering why she felt motion beneath her, and why she felt sick. It took her only a moment to recall what had happened.
Panicked, she realized she was still in the canoe. A deep sob built inside her—the Indians were taking her far into the wilderness where Uncle Matt would never find her. There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t hurt. She was so heartsick and lonely she felt like weeping, but she didn’t dare.
When she saw her captor staring at her, terror took over her reasoning. She could not control her quivering body, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, hoping the queasiness would pass. She felt feverish and the pain in her arm was agonizing, making her think it was broken. In an attempt to ease the pain, Marianna tried to cradle her arm, but it didn’t help.
Anguish and fear battled for possession of her mind. She struggled to sit up, while averting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the Indian who had captured her. She felt disoriented and fell back weakly against the bottom of the canoe. There was a huge lump on her forehead where the savage had hit her, and it throbbed painfully.
Glancing up, she met the Indian’s gaze, and was sorry she had—those eyes were like black holes, sharp and cutting, and devoid of human feeling. She would receive no mercy from him.
Marianna cringed when he drew the paddle out of the water and hit her a stunning blow to the stomach.
She lay in the bottom of the canoe, unable to move, lost in utter pain and dread. She felt bile rise in her throat and swallowed it back down. Slowly the world tilted and she closed her eyes, trying to right it.
Then she pitched forward into darkness once more.
When Marianna regained consciousness, her first thoughts were of Lillian and Susan. Easing herself upward, she fought against another bout of nausea. Reaching into the water, she splashed her face and then cupped her hands and took a drink. When she could focus, Marianna turned to the canoe beside her and saw Lillian huddled in the bottom.
Moving her head was an effort for Marianna because the movement shot pain through her. But she had to know Susan was all right. Slowly looking over her shoulder, she was relieved to see Susan in the third canoe back.
They were all still alive—at least for the moment.
Marianna didn’t want to think about the people who had died in the raid, but she couldn’t help herself. Widow Harkin and Lillian’s mother were the only bodies she’d seen. She felt pity for Lillian’s loss. But then, perhaps those who had died were the fortunate ones.
Hopelessness overwhelmed her. There was very little chance that they would be rescued. The Indians would expect to be followed, and had probably made plans to mislead anyone trying to overtake them.
In despair, Marianna closed her eyes and finally fell asleep. Sometime later the roar of the Great Falls awakened her, and she realized the Indians were rowing toward shore.
Marianna was ruthlessly jerked to her feet and yanked out of the canoe. Trying to stifle a cry of pain, she stood trembling as several of the Indians smashed the canoes and sank them to the bottom of the river. Any thought of rescue plummeted when other Indians emerged from the woods leading horses.
Susan suddenly appeared beside Marianna, and clasped her hand. There was a deep gash on Susan’s forehead and one eye was swollen shut. “Are you all right?” Marianna asked.
Lillian inched toward the other two. “None of us are,” she said woefully. “They are going to kill us all.”
“I don’t think so,” Susan remarked in a quiet tone, but Marianna guessed she was merely trying to ease their fears. “Otherwise why would they have brought us this far? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Then they’ll rape us all, which would be worse,” Lillian whined.
“Lillian, I’m so sorry about your mother,” Marianna said, reaching toward the young woman.
Lillian’s chin quivered. “Why should you care? Your aunt and uncle are still alive.”
Susan shook her head. “This morning I was sorry my husband had to go out on patrol and couldn’t attend the picnic. Now I’m happy he wasn’t there or he’d…probably be dead.”
Marianna saw blood was dripping into Susan’s eyes and fumbled with her one good arm to tear a strip from her petticoat. “Let me help you.” She dabbed at the blood. “I could do this better if I had water.”
Susan looked at Marianna with gratitude and with pity. “I can see that your arm’s broken. You’re the one who needs help.” Susan ripped a wide strip from the bottom of her own petticoat and fashioned a sling, quickly helping Marianna slip her arm into it and tying it about her neck. “Try to keep your arm close to your body. It’ll hurt less that way.”
Lillian was shaking so badly, she could hardly speak. Clutching Susan’s hand, she started weeping. “We’re as good as dead.” Her sobs rose to a high-pitched wail. “I want my ma and pa. But Ma’s dead and maybe Pa is too.”
“Stop it!” Marianna warned Lillian, noticing she was drawing the attention of several of the Indians. “They’ll hurt you if you carry on like this.”
There was no time to say anything more because the Indians were beginning to mount their horses. The one who’d captured Marianna mounted his horse and reached down, pulling her on behind him.
Riding behind the man made Marianna shiver with revulsion, especially since she had to slide her good arm around his waist to keep from falling. The jostling of the horse made her head ache more, and her arm throbbed so much she could hardly stand the pain. Marianna dared not complain—she had learned that her captor retaliated swiftly and mercilessly.
She saw Lillian just ahead of her, and Susan was riding behind another Indian a few horses back. If only th
ey could rest for a while, maybe her arm would stop throbbing.
But the Indians rode on, rarely pausing to rest the horses. Marianna finally reached the point where she could no longer hold her head up. Despite her dislike for the Indian, she was forced to lean her head against his shoulder.
Dull Knife was pleased that the raid had gone so well. There was no chance that the white soldiers would be able to catch up to them; still, he issued the order for Wild Feather to backtrack to make certain they’d left no trail.
He nudged his horse forward. Glancing at the now overcast sky, Dull Knife smiled. Everything had gone in his favor—it would rain before the day was over, washing away any tracks they might leave behind.
Looking down at the small grimy hand clutching his side, he knew the white girl hated touching him, and he found satisfaction that she was forced to bend to his will. If a man did not mind her strange yellow hair, or her odd green eyes, she looked well enough. The important thing was that she was about the age of the chief’s dead daughter. If Broken Lance chose to take this child, he might feel indebted to Dull Knife, and that was just what Dull Knife intended.
The hand that clutched his side trembled and he heard the young girl sigh. She was in pain; he knew that. But so far she had not given him much trouble. If she did, he would see that she regretted it.
Charging Bull rode beside Dull Knife, respect in his gaze. Most of the warriors admired Dull Knife for his bravery, though several of them had voiced their disapproval of how harshly he had treated his young captive. But what did he care what they thought, as long as they followed his orders?
After a moment Charging Bull spoke. “What will you do with the yellow hair?”
Turning his dark gaze on the warrior, Dull Knife glared at him. “I have not yet decided. But why should you care?”
“I would buy her from you.”
Dull Knife’s eyes narrowed. “No. I will offer her to the chief and his woman.”
Charging Bull tightened the reins to control his spirited mount. “What about the older one?” He nodded at Susan. “What of her?”
Dull Knife turned to glance back at his second captive. “She is too advanced in age to take to our way of life. I have no use for her.”
“Then perhaps you would trade her to me?”
“What do you have that I could possibly want?”
“My captive with the red hair, and two fine horses.”
Dull Knife shook his head. “I do not want your toothless horses, and I certainly do not want the one with red hair.”
Charging Bull’s temper flared, but he had learned to guard his tongue around Dull Knife. “I like the looks of your older captive. She would do very well for my second wife. What if I offer you the redheaded one and three horses?”
“Do not speak to me about either of my captives. I will do with them as I please.”
Still Charging Bull persisted. “I have thought I might present my captive to Broken Lance.” He met Dull Knife’s gaze. “I have not injured her, as you have this younger one. Perhaps Broken Lance will choose my white captive over yours.”
Snorting, Dull Knife glanced back at the redheaded girl, whose eyes were swollen and puffy from crying. “Broken Lance will never choose that one—she cries too much, and she is older than the yellow-haired one, who is wise enough not to complain too much. If that one was my captive,” he said contemptuously, “she would already be dead.”
Dull Knife was thoughtful for a moment. He was beginning to think he should not have been so rough with the yellow-haired one. The chief’s woman probably wouldn’t want an injured captive. He would refrain from harming her further if the girl did not provoke him.
Frowning, he thought back to the day of the council meeting when his brother had stolen his glory. Jealousy still burned through him. Let his brother be the favored one for now. Dull Knife had other plans.
Thunder rolled through the valley and lightning streaked across the sky. The heavens opened and rain fell in heavy drops. He felt the girl shiver with cold. If she became ill, she would be no good to him or to Broken Lance.
Tears mixed with the rain. Marianna was wet and miserable. The pounding of the horse’s hooves continued to jar her body, shooting pain through her arm. She was so weary she could hardly lift her head from where it rested on the Indian’s back—even with the rain the smell of blood still clung to him, and her stomach churned. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure the pain.
One thing Marianna did know—if she got the chance, she would escape. She would rather be lost in the woods and devoured by wild animals than remain this savage’s prisoner. But at the moment she was just too bone weary to do anything. It was only moments later that they stopped to rest the horses and Marianna was lifted to the ground with a gentleness she had not expected.
Struggling to keep from falling, she watched Lillian and Susan being led in her direction. Lillian was still crying, and Susan was white-faced. All three of them dropped down on the wet grass in total misery.
“How is your arm?” Susan inquired, reaching forward to straighten the rain-soaked sling. “Does it pain you much?”
Marianna knew that Susan was trying to be strong for them. And the woman’s matter-of-fact manner was comforting amidst the uncertainty of their situation. Marianna was determined to be brave too. She forced a smile. “It feels better since you made me the sling. Thank you, Susan.”
“Neither of you asks about me,” Lillian whined. “What about what I’m suffering? Has either of you thought of my pain?”
“You don’t have a broken arm,” Susan told her gently. “Try to control yourself, or those savages will break your arm, and you’ll find out what Marianna is suffering.” Susan gazed at the Indians, who were huddled about a fire they had just built. “I wanted to urge both of you to escape if you get the chance. Take any opportunity to run.”
Marianna met the married woman’s eyes, seeing acceptance in their brown depths. “What about you?”
“Marianna, you are young, but I am finding you to be levelheaded, so I’m going to be honest with you—” She softly touched Marianna’s cheek. “Should anything happen to me, you will have to be the strong one.”
Shaking her head because she didn’t understand what Susan was telling her, Marianna said, “But you will be with us.”
“Marianna, promise me something,” Susan said, lowering her voice, but still speaking with urgency. “If you ever do escape and find your way home, tell Cullen for me…that I was not afraid. Tell him I am taking his love with me wherever I go. Tell him…tell him to find another woman to love. I do not want him to spend his life in loneliness.”
Lillian broke out in fresh tears. “We all are going to die! That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
With gut-wrenching clarity, Marianna realized what Susan was telling them, even if Lillian didn’t. “If I ever make it back to the fort, I will tell your husband what you said,” Marianna vowed. “I promise I will. But let us hold on to hope—we need that.” She brushed a tear away with a grimy hand and looked at Lillian. “Aunt Cora always told me when things look the stormiest, that is the time to look for a rainbow.”
Lillian glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s raining, but there ain’t any rainbow.”
Susan nodded. “I believe what Marianna’s aunt meant is we must look for the good in any bad situation.”
“There-ain’t-nothing-good-to-think-about,” Lillian stated, enunciating every word. She glared at Marianna. “You’re just a silly little girl, and we aren’t listening to you anyway.”
Marianna’s nerves were frayed from Lillian’s constant complaining. Of course they were in a horrible situation, but they had to depend on each other to get through it. “I may be silly, but there is always something good to think about,” Marianna said, cradling her aching arm. Somehow she had to find something to take Lillian’s mind off her fear.
“For the first rainbow,” Marianna volunteered, “we are still
alive. And for the second…” Her voice trailed off—she could think of nothing else to call a rainbow, so she glanced at Susan for help.
“We have each other,” Susan added guardedly. “Surely that’s worth a rainbow.”
Silently Marianna nodded her head as she thought about her aunt. In truth, there was no real rainbow in their present situation. She met Susan’s gaze and knew she felt the same.
What tomorrow would bring, she could not guess.
But whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
“I want to rest and the ground’s cold and wet,” Lillian whined.
Susan looked at Marianna and shrugged, both of them silently agreeing that hard wet ground was the least of their worries.
Chapter Five
Wind Warrior ran across the shallow stream in pursuit of a large buck with twelve points on its antlers. He strung his bow as he ran, never losing sight of his prey.
He placed his arrow in the bow and took aim without slowing his pace. The arrow flew true and brought the animal crashing down.
Bending down beside the dead buck, Wind Warrior gently touched each velvety point. “You will feed those who are hungry, my brother. I will take your knowledge and be better for it.” Suddenly Wind Warrior rose to his feet. He listened to the wind and raised his head skyward.
His eyes widened, and he grabbed up his bow and quiver of arrows and ran toward the village, leaving the buck where it lay.
Quickly he crossed the river, heading for the other side of the village and into the forest beyond. Once again he placed an arrow in his bow and ran up a small incline, watchful.
Lean Bear was walking with his young grandson, Small Tree, regaling him with stories of his youth, when an enormous puma appeared on the cliff above them and started following them.
Wind Warrior (Historical Romance) Page 3