by Connie Mason
His attention on the dancers, Clive appeared not to notice. Was she the only one who saw what was happening? Shannon wondered. She was certain that Blade was continuing his mysterious search of each wagon and was amazed at his daring.
She was about to turn away when she saw Clive assume a thoughtful expression, then pause before the back flap of his wagon as if undecided whether or not to enter. All Shannon’s senses screamed in silent warning, strangely unwilling to let Clive learn of Blade’s suspicious behavior. She had no idea what was going on, but of the two men she’d trust Blade before Clive. But if she didn’t act fast Blade would be in big trouble. Something inside her made her act spontaneously and without conscious thought to the consequences.
“Clive, won’t you dance with me?”
Clive turned, a slow smile curving his thin lips. He couldn’t believe his luck when he saw Shannon approach and ask him for a dance.
Blade had just entered Clive Bailey’s wagon, convinced he’d find weapons but needing sufficient proof. Fort Laramie lay mere days away and time was running out. Blade knew he was pressing his luck, but he had waited a long time for just such an opportunity. Clive Bailey was less vigilant than Olson, so Blade threw caution to the wind and entered the wagon while Bailey’s mind was occupied elsewhere.
A surge of elation seized Blade when he discovered a false bottom in the wagon. But it was short-lived. Clive’s shadow fell across the opening of the wagon and Blade froze, knowing full well what would happen if he was discovered skulking inside wagons, especially Clive Bailey’s wagon. Being a half-breed placed him in a dangerous position. One misstep and he’d find himself dangling from the end of a rope. People had little use for breeds in this part of the country. Besides, Bailey would know exactly why Blade was searching his wagon and wouldn’t let him live long enough to tell. Blade had nearly resigned himself to being discovered when a flirty voice diverted Bailey’s attention.
“Clive, won’t you dance with me?”
“Why of course, Shannon,” Blade heard Clive reply. “How could I refuse so pretty a request?”
Diminishing footsteps crunched in the dirt and Blade allowed himself to breathe again. Shannon didn’t know it, but she had probably saved his life. Was she aware of what she did or did she really want to dance with Clive Bailey? He banished that disturbing thought from his mind as he quickly resumed his examination of the false wagonbed. Hoping the fiddlers would drown out the noise, he pried up a board and inserted his hand into the opening. His breath slammed from his chest as his fingers brushed the barrel of a rifle, then another, and another. Evidently the entire wagonbed held a treasure trove of weapons. And he’d bet his right arm Mad Wolf knew it!
Carefully Blade replaced the board and left the wagon as silently as he entered.
“Thank you for the dance, Shannon,” Clive said, edging toward his wagon. He’d much rather stay and hold the elusive Shannon in his arms, but he hated to leave his wagon unprotected. He didn’t trust that half-breed—he was far too nosy for Clive’s liking. Actually, he didn’t trust anyone on the wagon train. Anyone, including the half-breed, could be a government agent and the weapons he was smuggling inside his wagon were worth a small fortune.
Shannon’s heart raced furiously as Clive edged toward his wagon. Though she’d kept her eyes peeled she hadn’t seen Blade leave Clive’s wagon and instinctively she knew he was still inside searching for God knew what. She couldn’t let Clive leave now and discover Blade at whatever dirty work he was up to.
“Must you go?” she asked, surprising Clive. “It’s such a beautiful night and I’m in the mood for a stroll.”
Clive couldn’t believe his ears. He’d spent weeks trying to get close to Shannon Branigan and had been thwarted at every turn. He was smart enough to take advantage of the unexpected bounty offered him and answered with alacrity. “I’d be happy to walk with you, Shannon. With Indians about I wouldn’t want you walking out alone.”
Clive didn’t actually think Indians still lurked in the area, but he reckoned it wouldn’t hurt to frighten Shannon a bit. He offered her his arm and they strolled together just beyond the circle of wagons, careful to keep well within the area between the sentries and line of wagons. It was a dark night except for the twinkling stars, and Shannon began to doubt the wisdom of being out here alone with Clive Bailey. She was about to suggest they return when she felt Clive’s arm snake around her waist.
“I’m glad you finally came to your senses,” Clive said. His smug tone set Shannon’s teeth on edge. “At first I thought you were sweet on that half-breed, but he’s not good enough for you. I realize he’s a handsome brute, but he’s a savage nevertheless.”
Shannon froze, realizing she had made a serious error in judgment. “Take your hands off me.”
“What’s the matter, honey? Don’t be bashful, you’re the one who lured me out here. We’re alone. Everyone is busy dancing and having a good time. Besides, the tall grass will hide us well enough.” He began pulling her down to the ground with him, pinning her beneath him.
“Clive, no!” Shannon fought valiantly to resist. “I’ll scream!”
Clive seemed confused. Isn’t this what Shannon wanted? Acting spontaneously, he placed a hand over her mouth. “What kind of game are you playing?” he hissed in her ear. “Why did you invite me out here if it wasn’t for a romp in the hay? Lay still, you little tease, and I’ll try to make it good for you. But if you aggravate me, I’ll take my pleasure and forget about yours.”
Shannon could do little more than make desperate noises in her throat and shake her head frantically from side to side. What had once seemed like a good idea had swiftly disintegrated into a horrible nightmare. Why hadn’t she left Blade to his own devices? she wondered grimly as she struggled with Clive. Having embarked on a dangerous path, Blade should have been prepared to accept the consequences. Why, oh why did she think she could help him?
Suddenly the pressure on her mouth eased and Shannon drew in great gulps of air. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew Blade had found her in time to rescue her from Clive; it was the second time since the wagon train left Independence.
She was wrong—dead wrong.
It was true Clive no longer pressed her down onto the ground, but someone definitely more menacing had taken his place. A grotesque mask floated above her, its face streaked with paint, teeth white against the rich hue of copper skin. With recognition came fear, and Shannon opened her mouth to scream, only to find herself effectively muzzled by Mad Wolf’s thick hand. She had replaced one devil with another!
Mad Wolf spoke not a word, grinning delightedly at having found Shannon so easily. He had expected difficulty in stealing Swift Blade’s woman from under his nose, but Wakan Takan, the Grandfather spirit, must surely favor him to bring Little Firebird out to meet him. He moved with agile grace through the tall grass, dragging Shannon behind him, his hand still covering her mouth. He spared but one contemptuous glance at Give Bailey’s prone form. He hadn’t clubbed him hard enough to kill him, but he would have had it been anyone else out here with the woman he desired for his own.
Shannon’s struggles were like nothing to the powerful Sioux warrior. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Clive Bailey stretched out on the ground. She knew he wasn’t dead, for he was moaning and thrashing around. Vaguely she wondered why the guard gave no warning—and then she knew. Olson lay near his post in a pool of blood, a tomahawk protruding from his back.
Beyond the outer perimeter of the camp, Mad Wolf’s companions waited with horses. Flinging Shannon onto his pony, he leaped up behind her and whipped the animal into a gallop before Shannon had regained her breath. Her scream came too late, lost to the wind and the screech of an owl.
Blade casually rejoined the emigrants at the center of the camp. A deep frown worried his brow when he saw no sign of either Clive Bailey or Shannon. He would have left immediately to search for them if Nancy Wilson hadn’t sidled up beside him and engaged him i
n conversation. When he was finally able to extract himself, Shannon still hadn’t reappeared, and a terrible premonition seized him.
Blade made a thorough search of the camp once he escaped from Nancy Wilson, who seemed unwilling to let him go. Her eyes spoke eloquently of secret pleasures, and her voluptuous curves were tempting. But Blade had other things on his mind. Shannon and Clive were nowhere in camp, of that he was certain. Had the little vixen lured Chve out on the prairie for a reason? he wondered distractedly. Didn’t she know how dangerous the man was? She had barely escaped Clive’s attentions once—why did she deliberately flout fate by tempting him again?
Just then someone screamed, followed by a commotion and general rush of people toward the wagons. Setting his long legs into motion, Blade pushed his way through the crowd, his heart leaping into his mouth when he saw Clive Bailey stagger from between two wagons.
“Injuns!” Clive gasped, falling to his knees.
That dreaded word sent the emigrants scrambling to their wagons in search of weapons. Blade quickly sized up the situation and took charge, dispatching men to the guardposts and barking orders to those remaining. Then he turned to Clive, his face a mask of fury.
“Was Shannon with you?”
“Didn’t she come back?” Clive asked groggily.
He swiped at the blood trickling from a minor head wound and considered himself lucky to be alive. Truth to tell, he hadn’t given a passing thought to Shannon. Moreover, he thought them safe from Indian attack because of his alliance with Mad Wolf. If he learned Mad Wolf was behind this, that scoundrel would pay more dearly than he expected for the contraband guns.
“Mad Wolf!” Blade spat, bombarding Clive with his terrible anger. “You bastard! You let Mad Wolf take Shannon! You know Mad Wolf wanted her—why did you take her beyond camp?”
“Shannon wanted to take a stroll,” Clive tried to explain, backing away from Blade’s implacable fury. “I was only obliging her. Besides, we don’t know Mad Wolf has Shannon.”
“Olson is dead!”
A foul oath leapt past Blade’s lips.
One of the men had just returned from a search of the area with the grim announcement of Olson’s death. The news sent the emigrants into a panic.
“What else did you find, Joe?” Blade asked, his voice low and strident.
“Nothing, all was quiet.”
“Any sign of renegades?”
“If they were here, they’re gone now,” Joe revealed importantly. “We did find an area of tramped-down grass. Could have been made by Indians.”
“Blade, I can’t find Shannon!” Callie was beside herself with worry. She had looked for Shannon but could find her nowhere. “Where can she be?”
Distress turned Blade’s black eyes bleak, his mouth a line of grim forboding. “I fear Mad Wolf has her.”
“Oh, God!” Callie sobbed, clutching at Blade’s arm. “What will he do to her?”
“We know he wants Shannon. The worst he can do is force her to become his—wife. My guess is that he won’t harm her,” Blade predicted, deliberately concealing his own fear. He knew Mad Wolf, knew what he was capable of. He also knew Shannon and her fiery temper and how easily she could rile Mad Wolf. He prayed he’d find her before it was too late.
“Oh, Blade, can’t you do something?” Callie wailed. She desperately needed to be reassured.
“Of course I’m going to do something,” Blade said tightly. “As soon as I speak to the men, I’m going after Shannon.”
“What about the wagon train?” Clive charged. “You were paid to take us to Fort Laramie.”
“You are close enough now to get yourselves to Fort Laramie,” Blade returned shortly. “Dock my pay if you want, but nothing or no one will prevent me from going after Shannon Branigan.” He turned to leave.
“Thank you, Blade,” Callie called after him. “I know you’ll find her.”
Mounted before Mad Wolf, Shannon had a difficult time staying awake. They rode continuously through the night, stopping for nothing. If Mad Wolfs bronze arm hadn’t held her on the horse’s back, Shannon was certain she would have fallen off. Would Blade organize a search party and come after her? she wondered. Would they be able to find her? They should have discovered her absence by now. Clive will have told them after he returned to camp. What did Mad Wolf intend for her?
It was mid-morning and Shannon dozed fitfully against Mad Woif’s chest despite the fact that she tried desperately to remain alert. With a jolt of awareness she realized she was no longer in motion. Mad Wolf had reined his pony to a halt and Shannon’s eyes jerked open to find dozens of Indians surrounding her. With a start, she realized that Mad Wolf had brought her to his village. Her spirits plummeted. How could she ever hope to be rescued from an entire village full of savages?
“Get down!” Mad Wolf snarled, shoving her from the pony’s back. Shannon dropped with a thud, then slowly picked herself up from the ground.
Those watching the spectacle showed little emotion as Mad Wolf grabbed her long hair, dragging her toward one of the tipis scattered about the clearing. They had gotten no farther than a brightly painted tipi when an elderly man stepped out, raising his hand in greeting. Though the old Indian’s face was deeply etched with fine lines, he wore his chief’s regalia with pride. Nor had age dimmed his eyes, which were alive and quickly intelligent.
Mad Wolf ground to a halt just as a woman emerged from the tipi behind the chief. Younger than the chief, she possessed a mature beauty that was ageless. Wings of gray at her temples relieved the midnight of her hair, and her eyes were softly dark with compassion. The chief addressed Mad Wolf in the Sioux language.
“We have not seen you in many moons, Mad Wolf.” For some reason the chief was not yet ready to acknowledge Shannon. “The young men of the village are greatly missed.”
Several of Mad Wolf’s band of renegades ducked their heads guiltily, aware that they should be spending their days hunting and providing for their families instead of raiding and killing.
“Someone must drive the White Eyes from our land, Yellow Dog,” Mad Wolf answered rudely. “The old ones had their chance, and now it is left to the young warriors to save the people. The time swiftly approaches for new leadership. None can dispute my ability. My prowess and courage makes me the logical choice.”
His bold words angered the lovely woman standing beside Yellow Dog. She would have lashed out if Yellow Dog hadn’t motioned her to silence.
“One day your pride will be your downfall, Mad Wolf,” Yellow Dog predicted. “I pray that when the time comes our people will chose a wise leader who realizes our future depends on our ability to live in peace with the white man. When my grandson returns, he will tell you what I say is true.”
“Swift Blade has betrayed his heritage. He lives by the white man’s laws. He fought in the white man’s war.” Mad Wolfs words dripped with venom.
“Don’t speak so of my son!”
Shannon watched in consternation as the lovely Indian woman stepped forward, no longer able to hold her tongue. Shannon wondered what Mad Wolf said to make her so angry.
“Do not let Mad Wolfs words anger you, Singing Rain,” Yellow Dog said, placing a restraining hand on her arm. “The young are hot-blooded and swift to accuse.”
Then Yellow Dog’s attention strayed to Shannon, who had astutely remained mute but watchful. She did not quail before the old chief’s scrutiny; her candid blue eyes regarded him with curiosity and awe.
“The woman is my prisoner,” Mad Wolf revealed, answering Yellow Dog’s silent question.
“Is that wise?” Yellow Dog asked. “Where does she come from? I fear your rash impulses will one day bring trouble to our village.”
“Little Firebird comes from one of the wagon trains invading our land,” Mad Wolf stated. His lips curled into a snarl when he thought how easily he had captured her.
“Does Little Firebird have a husband?” Singing Rain interjected, her soft heart going out to the unfortu
nate young woman.
“I will be Little Firebird’s husband.” Mad Wolf emphasized his words by pounding a fist against his broad chest. “Tonight she will cradle me between her white thighs and I will give her a son.”
Had Shannon understood his words she would have vented more than her anger on him.
Aware that he held little authority over the impetuous young warriors who thirsted for white man’s blood, Yellow Dog did not object when Mad Wolf began dragging Shannon away. But Shannon objected violently.
“No! What do you want with me?” She screeched at the top of her lungs, digging her heels in the dusty ground. “Don’t let him take me,” Shannon begged, aiming her words toward Singing Rain. There was no one else to appeal to except the lovely woman with sympathetic eyes.
A frown marred Singing Rain’s wide brow. She had no right to interfere with Mad Wolf, nor did Yellow Dog. Sioux law made Little Firebird Mad Wolfs property to do with as he pleased. Mad Wolf had every right to claim the captive and mate with her. Perhaps Little Firebird did not realize it was to her advantage to be Mad Wolfs wife rather than his slave. Boldly she stepped before Mad Wolf, risking his rage by stopping him in his tracks.
“Out of my way, Singing Rain.”
“I would speak with the girl,” Singing Rain demanded.
“Why?”
“She is frightened. Perhaps I can help.”
“Pah! You and your half-breed son are too sympathetic toward the white man whose soldiers massacre our woman and children, kill our buffalo, and trample our sacred grounds.”
“Little Firebird has done none of these things you speak of,” Singing Rain defended. She had no idea why she felt such empathy for this particular young woman, but something about her moved her deeply.
“Speak then,” Mad Wolf permitted grudgingly. He stood mutely aside, arms folded against his massive chest as Singing Rain approached Shannon.
Singing Rain’s interference sent Shannon’s hopes soaring and she lifted pleading eyes to the Indian woman. “Let me go back to my people,” she choked out, certain the woman understood. “My name is Shannon Branigan and I’m on my way to join my family in Idaho. I’ve done you no harm.”