Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade

by Lakota Renegade (lit)

  Chah-ee-chopes' story touched Jassy's heart and eased some of her fears. He hadn't captured her to abuse her or torture her, but to care for his mother.

  As the days passed, Jassy learned a little of the Indians' daily routine. Early every morning, the herald called for the people to get out of bed, bathe, and drink all the water they could.

  "Put water on your body," he called. "Get up and drink your fill. Make your blood thin."

  Jassy questioned Chah-ee-chopes and learned that the Crow believed that drinking plenty of water kept the blood thin, which would keep a person from getting sick. Thin blood wouldn't clog, but ran freely through a person's veins. A person who didn't drink a lot of water wouldn't live long.

  She learned that when there was meat in camp, a man who was not concerned with joining a war party or taking part in a ceremony tended to idle away his days in his lodge. Jassy realized, of course, that among the Indians, going to war and providing meat were a man's main occupations. Occasionally, she saw men making arrowheads of stone or bone, but shafts and bows were made by experts. Only little boys used bows made of wood; a warrior's bow was made of horn or antler with a backing of sinew.

  Still, Crow men appeared lazy when compared to the women, who were never idle. They spent their days sewing, mending, drying meat, tanning hides, and cooking.

  Now that she was no longer quite so afraid of him, Jassy realized that Chah-ee-chopes was a handsome young man. She noticed that he was greatly admired by the Crow women and that the men held him in high esteem.

  One night, there was a large gathering in the middle of the camp. Jassy sat in the shadows, watching as the men danced.

  When the dancing stopped, Chah-ee-chopes stood up and began to speak. He would say something, then pause, and one of the drummers would strike the drum.

  When Chah-ee-chopes sat down, another man stood up to speak. And then another.

  Later, Jassy asked Chah-ee-chopes what he had said and learned that at most large gatherings, the men enumerated their deeds. There were four deeds of valor that brought special honor to a warrior. The first was counting coup on an enemy, the second was taking a bow or a gun from an enemy in hand-to-hand combat, the third was the theft of a horse picketed within a hostile camp, and the fourth was being the pipe-owner or raid-planner. A man who could claim any of these deeds was called arraxsi'wice, or an honor-owner. To be a chief, a man must have accomplished at least one deed of valor.

  "You must have done many brave things," Jassy mused, remembering how many times the drums had beat.

  Chah-ee-chopes nodded. I have counted coup. I have captured a gun and a bow. I led a war party. I have raided the enemy for horses and scalps. I have been to war many times."

  Jassy nodded. He was, indeed, a warrior. And yet, for all that, he had treated her with kindness and respect.

  That night, curled up in the warmth of a buffalo robe, Jassy offered a silent prayer, thanking God that she was still alive, that she wasn't being mistreated, and that the warrior who had captured her seemed to be a man of honor.

  Lying there, listening to the faint sounds of the night, she prayed for Creed's soul.

  The tears came then, tears of grief because she would never see him again, never hear his voice murmuring her name, never again feel the touch of his hand.

  Her eyes burned and her throat ached as she wept for the life they might have shared, a life that was now forever lost.

  As the last of her tears dried, Jassy vowed to stop feeling sorry for herself. Creed was gone, and all the crying in the world would not bring him back.

  Tomorrow, she would try to make the best of her life. She would endeavor to learn the Crow language. She would be nicer to Oo-je-en-a-he-ha. She would wear the doeskin dress, leggings and moccasins that Chah-ee-chopes had provided for her.

  A single tear trickled down Jassy's cheek as she touched the beaded choker at her throat. It was all she had left of Creed.

  Ruthlessly, she wiped the tear away. The time for tears was past.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Creed sat huddled near a small fire. He'd spent thirteen hours in the saddle, and his bruised ribs ached like the very devil.

  He grimaced as he lifted a cautious hand to his face. The swelling in his left eye was almost gone. His fingertip traced the edges of the gash on his left cheek and he swore softly, knowing there would be a jagged scar when the cut healed. As if he didn't have enough scars, he mused ruefully, and then shrugged. Another scar was the least of his problems.

  He stared into the dancing flames and thought about Jassy, always and forever Jassy. It had been almost a week since the Indians had abducted her. He wondered how she was getting along, how the Indians were treating her.

  Creed swore softly, the thought of Jassy being manhandled by the warrior who had taken her tying his stomach in knots.

  Iyokipi, Ate . . . Please, Father, let her be alive. Please, Father, don't let them hurt her. Please, please, please . . .

  He ran a hand through his hair. With luck, he would catch up with the Crow sometime tomorrow. And then what? He had no weapons, nothing to bargain with. And yet he couldn't just leave her there. He'd got her into this mess, and by damn, he'd get her out!

  He just wished he knew how.

  Jassy was returning from the river when she heard the commotion. Curious, she walked toward the center of camp, wondering what was causing such a ruckus in the middle of the afternoon.

  Standing on tiptoe, she peered over the shoulder of the warrior in front of her. For a moment, she could only stare, unable to believe her eyes.

  "Creed." His name whispered past her lips. He was alive. Relief and joy erupted within her and as quickly disappeared. He was alive, but for how long?

  She glanced at the faces of the Indians around her. The women looked at Creed with hatred, but there was curiosity and admiration in the eyes of the men.

  And then Creed's gaze met hers, and for a moment she forgot everything but the fact that he was alive, that he was there. He gave her a reassuring wink, then turned his attention to the warrior who was speaking to him in sign language.

  She had no idea what they were saying, but after several minutes, Creed dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a young boy.

  A moment later, Chah-ee-chopes led her into his lodge and closed the door flap. ''White man says he is husband. Is true?"

  Jassy nodded vigorously. "Yes."

  Chah-ee-chopes grunted softly.

  Oo-je-en-a-he-ha sat up, her dark eyes narrowed as she fired off a burst of rapid Crow. Chah-ee-chopes silenced the old woman with a wave of his hand, then fixed Jassy with a long, assessing glance.

  "You, here, wait," he said and left the lodge.

  Jassy paced back and forth for several minutes, wondering what was happening outside. Finally, unable to stand the suspense, she peered out the door flap.

  It looked as if every Indian in the village had assembled in the middle of the camp. She could hear voices raised, not in anger, but in anticipation, reminding her of the noisy excitement that had preceded horse races or fisticuffs back in Harrison.

  Curious, she left the lodge, ignoring Oo-je-e-en-he-ha's admonition to stay inside.

  No one paid her any mind as she took a place in the back row of onlookers. She knew immediately what was happening. Chah-ee-chopes, stripped down to only a breechclout and moccasins, a knife in his hand, stood to her left. Creed, wearing only his trousers, stood across from the Crow warrior. His face and body still showed the effects of the beating he had received. Faint bruises could be seen on his chest; his left eye, though no longer swollen, was still discolored.

  She saw him flinch as he accepted a knife from an aged warrior in the crowd, and she wondered how he was going to fight when he was still hurting.

  Creed and Chah-ee-chopes stared at each other for an endless, silent moment, and Jassy knew with terrible certainty that they were fighting over her.

  They circled each other warily, like two wolves on
the scent of blood. Creed was taller, broader, and heavier. At any other time, he would have won hands down. But now he moved stiffly, one arm curved protectively around his ribcage.

  The knowledge that his opponent was not up to full fighting strength made Chah-ee-chopes reckless. With a cry, he lunged forward, his knife eager for blood, but he had badly underestimated his adversary and his blade found only empty air as Creed sidestepped at the last moment, his knife making a wide slashing arc that sliced into Chah-ee-chopes' right shoulder.

  With a cry of rage, Chah-ee-chopes whirled around and lashed out, his blade missing Creed by inches.

  Heart pounding with fear, Jassy watched as they circled each other, coming together again and again, with Chah-ee-chopes always on the attack. It was only a matter of time, Jassy thought hopelessly. Creed was tiring fast. All Chah-ee-chopes had to do was wear him down until his reflexes slowed, then close in for the kill. And yet, in spite of everything, Creed had managed to avoid the warrior's knife while he himself had drawn blood three times.

  From the comer of his eye, Creed saw Jassy in the crowd, her eyes wide, her face drained of color. Seeing her filled him with a renewed sense of urgency. Taking a deep breath, he faced Chah-ee-chopes and waited.

  The next time the warrior lunged at him, Creed let him come, and then, at the last possible second, he stepped aside and brought his fist down on the back of the warrior's neck. Chah-ee-chopes hit the ground hard.

  Ignoring the throbbing ache in his side, Creed straddled the Crow. Grabbing a handful of the warrior's hair, he jerked his head back and placed his knife at the marks throat.

  Jassy held her breath, waiting to see whether Chah-ee-chopes would die or yield. The seconds ticked by, each one seeming longer than the last as everyone waited for Chah-ee-chopes' decision.

  Slowly, the tension drained out of the warrior's body. Reluctantly, but resolutely, he dropped his knife.

  Creed loosed a long sigh as he stood up. Tossing his own weapon aside, he wrapped one arm around his middle. Then he made his way toward Jassy.

  The Indians made no move to stop him.

  "Creed."

  "It's all right, Jassy," he murmured as he drew her into his arms. "Everything's gonna be all right."

  She gazed up at him, her heart beating fast. I thought you were dead," she whispered, and burst into tears.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat drew Creed's attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a tall warrior standing behind him.

  "You, come this way."

  Wrapping one arm around Jassy's shoulders, Creed followed the warrior toward a small lodge located near the outskirts of the village.

  "You will stay here," the warrior said. "My woman will bring you food and clothing."

  "My thanks," Creed said, and taking Jassy by the hand, he entered the lodge.

  "What are they going to do to us?" Jassy asked.

  "Nothing."

  His gaze moved over her, noting the doeskin dress, the moccasins, the bit of red ribbon tied at the end of her braids. Her cheeks were tanned, her eyes luminous with tears. He felt a peculiar catch in his heart when he saw that she was still wearing his grandmother's beaded choker.

  Murmuring a silent prayer of thanks that she was alive and well, he held out his arms.

  "Come here, Jassy."

  She flew into his arms and hugged rim tight, her face pressed to his chest, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob.

  "It's all right, honey," he murmured soothingly. "Don't cry. Everything's all right."

  Lord, he thought, she felt good in his, arms.

  "Did they hurt you?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Did he . . . he didn't . . . are you sure you're all right?"

  Jassy sniffed. "I'm fine. Oh, Creed, I didn't think I'd ever see you again." She drew back so she could see his face. I thought they'd killed you.

  "Not quite." A long, shuddering sigh rippled through him. I think I need to sit down."

  She watched him anxiously as he carefully lowered himself to the ground. Then she dropped down beside him.

  "How did you find me?"

  "Followed your trail, of course." He lifted one dark brow. "You didn't think I'd leave you here, did you?"

  "I thought you were dead."

  Creed grunted. 'No, just tired. So damn tired."

  "Sleep then," she urged softly.

  She didn't have to tell him twice. Pillowing his head on her lap, one arm snuggled possessively around her waist, Creed Maddigan closed his eyes. And slept.

  Jassy gazed down at him, unable to believe she wasn't dreaming, that he was really there, alive and whole.

  An Indian woman arrived a short time later, bringing bowls of venison stew and dried meat, as well as a change of clothing and moccasins for Creed. She also brought a waterskin, two wooden cups, and two spoons made of buffalo horn.

  Jassy smiled her thanks, and the woman left the lodge.

  And still Creed slept. She covered him with a robe, then smoothed the hair from his brow. She frowned at the half-healed cut on his cheek. It would leave a nasty scar, she thought sadly, but a hundred scars couldn't change the way she felt about him. He was the bravest, most wonderful man she had ever known.

  And she was going to be his wife.

  She held on to that thought as she watched him sleep, trying to imagine what it would be like to be married to this man, to he in his arms after they made love, to bear his children, to grow old at his side.

  Missus Creed Maddigan.

  "Missus Jassy Maddigan." She smiled as she whispered the name aloud.

  She was Still smiling when she fell asleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Creed woke slowly, aware of being warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent tickled his nostrils. A lock of silken hair lay across his chest. An arm spanned his waist; a long, slender leg was pressed close to his.

  Jassy. His body's response to her nearness was immediate and unmistakable. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, content to stay as he was, to bask in her warmth, to imagine what it would be like to wake beside her each morning of his life.

  He shook the thought from his mind. He'd been a fool to think he could settle down, and an even bigger fool to think he could just walk away from his past. Trouble seemed to dog his every step. Until Jassy came along, he hadn't cared. But now . . . He shuddered to think what could have happened to her.

  "Pilamaye, Ate," he whispered softly. Thank you, Father. For letting me find her, for keeping her safe.

  Jassy stirred beside him, but didn't awake, and Creed opened his eyes. How beautiful she was! Her skin was soft and smooth and lightly tanned. The wealth of her hair was like molten flame, spilling over her shoulder and across his chest.

  Unable to help himself, he caressed the curve of her cheek with his knuckles. Soft, so soft. Creed bit back a curse. What kind of life could she have with him? He was a half-breed. A hired gun. An escaped convict. Lord knew she deserved more out of life than he'd ever be able to give her. Even if he somehow managed to clear his name, he would still be a half-breed, a man straddling two worlds, at home in neither.

  Creed stared up at the small patch of sky visible through the lodge's smoke hole. Jassy deserved the kind of life a decent man could offer, and he intended to see she got it.

  He glanced down to find Jassy gazing up at him, a smile curving her lips.

  "You are here," she murmured. "I was afraid I'd dreamed you, that I'd wake up and you'd be gone.

  "No."

  She reached for his hand and held it to her heart. "I missed you."

  Creed nodded. "I missed you, too."

  "Will they let us go?"

  "Yeah." He smiled down at her. "I wasn't just fighting for you, you know, but for our freedom as well. Well leave this morning."

  Jassy's expression was dubious. "Do you feel up to riding?"

  "Not really, but I want to get you out of here."

  "We can stay another day or two if you
want. I don't mind."

  "I mind. I don't like the way he looks at you."

  "Who? Chah-ee-chopes?"

  Creed snorted. "Who else?"

  "He's been very kind."

  "I'll bet."

  "Creed, it's not like that."

  "Like hell. I saw the way he looked at you." Creed stared at Jassy, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe you want to stay here. With him."

  "Don't be silly."

  "I'm sorry." Creed ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as the movement put pressure on his bruised ribs.

  "I think we should wait," Jassy said.

  "And I think we should go. And that's the end of it."

  It was just after noon when they rode out of the village. To show there were no hard feelings, Chah-ee-chopes had provided them with a couple of parfleches of food, a waterskin, and a rifle. He had offered Creed a pair of buckskin leggings, a loose-fitting shirt, and a pair of moccasins, which Creed had accepted with a terse word of thanks.

  Before saying good-bye, Chah-ee-chopes had given Jassy a pretty little bay mare, apparently as a going-away present of some kind, or perhaps a token of his esteem. Creed hadn't missed the possessive way the warrior had looked at Jassy when he handed her the mare's reins, or the way his hands had lingered at Jassy's waist when he lifted her onto the bay mare's back. Nor had Creed missed the scorching glance of jealous hatred that Chah-ee-chopes had sent in his direction.

  Gritting his teeth, Creed had swung up on the back of his horse. They weren't getting out of the village any too soon, he had mused ruefully.

  And now it was dark. He had insisted on traveling until well after nightfall, in spite of Jassy's suggestion that they make an early camp.

  He grimaced as he overheard her muttering something about "stupid, stubborn men" under her breath, but he wanted to put as many miles between themselves and the Crow as possible, and if it meant aggravating his already sore ribs, then that was just too damn bad; he had seen the way Chah-ee-chopes had looked at Jassy, and he hadn't liked it one damn bit.