Fighting Wolf stared back at her briefly, wondering why she would concern herself about the incident. “Yes,” he shrugged indifferently. “I beat the bastard. He deserved it.”
“Oooh, I’m sure he did,” she purred. “But tell me,” and here her hand crept up his neck to play with the lock of long blue-black hair that rested there, “tell me, what exactly did he do to you?”
Fighting Wolf focused intently on the guessing game in progress. “It’s not what he did to me. It’s what he tried to do to my new slave. He tried to rape her.”
“Oooh,” she pouted. “Such a little thing to beat him for. Slave women get raped all the time. It’s nothing new,” she pointed out casually.
Fighting Wolf did not like the direction the conversation was taking. He did not want to examine his own actions or feelings too closely where Sarita was concerned, and he certainly did not want the inquisitive Rough Seas prodding him. He shifted uncomfortably as he turned to face her. “Why are you so concerned? Is Birdwhistle your latest lover?”
Rough Seas slapped his arm lightly and giggled. “And if he were, would you be jealous?”
Fighting Wolf merely looked at her, his undisguised exasperation probably showing.
“Nooo, I’m just curious,” she answered his taunt hastily. “Nothing more.” She watched him closely. “Anything you’re involved with, I take an interest in, that’s all.” She smiled coyly at him to take the possessive edge off her words. She ran one long finger under his chin. “Surely you don’t care about this worthless slave.” She tensed imperceptibly. “Do you?”
He pushed her away from him. “You’re too clinging tonight. Don’t you have a lover to meet?”
She laughed a low, hoarse laugh. “Of course not,” she answered. “I told you, I’m not taking any more lovers.”
“Oh yes,” he sneered. “Saving yourself for me. I’d forgotten.”
She rose to leave. “I can see for myself that this slave means more to you than I thought.”
He raised a questioning brow. She patted his shoulder lightly. “Never mind, dear Fighting Wolf. You’ll get over her—especially after half the village has had her. It happens to all the prettiest slave girls, doesn’t it?” She laughed mockingly. “Oooh, and Fighting Wolf,” she cooed over one shoulder as she headed for the door, “should you need, uh, company tonight, I’ll be up late.” With that she was gone, leaving only a trailing fragrance of pine. Fighting Wolf grunted and kept his eyes on the game players, annoyed with the woman’s obvious manipulations.
Fighting Wolf’s thoughts returned to the present. Growing unaccountably impatient with his friends’ constant chatter and yells of encouragement to each other, Fighting Wolf decided to leave also. He stretched lazily and got up from where he had been sitting. Nodding goodnight to several of his friends, he made his way out of the longhouse and into the night.
* * * *
Sarita reached the rock and hid in the shadows of a crevice on the far side of the outcrop, away from the village. She shivered in the cool night air. Surely Rottenwood would be here soon. The moon was already high and she had been waiting quite a while. She was nervous out in the dark by herself. Too many spirits walked at night.
Suddenly she saw a shadow slinking along the tree line towards her. Had she not been watching, she would never have seen Rottenwood, so well did he blend in the dappled light and dark of the forest along the beach. As he darted out from the forest and ran to the rock outcropping, she breathed a sigh of relief—it was indeed Rottenwood. For a moment, she had feared it was someone, or something, else…
She noticed suddenly that the night sounds had stilled. Frogs had stopped croaking, and the crickets ceased chirping. All was quiet. Too quiet, she thought.
She greeted Rottenwood, anxious to learn his news and return to the longhouse. He acknowledged her greeting and leaned against the rock, a short distance away from her.
His deep voice was calm as he relayed his information. “Good news tonight,” he began. Sarita watched him, senses alert. “I found an old canoe. Checked it over for holes but it seems seaworthy. I managed to hide it under some salal bushes and grass. No one will spot it.”
“Wonderful,” Sarita whispered excitedly. “Now we can make our escape immediately!”
“Not so fast,” he warned. “I don’t want to leave until most of the warriors, and Fighting Wolf, are gone from the village. There are no long hunts or expeditions planned until Dog Salmon Moon. That means everyone will be hanging around the village until then.”
“Dog Salmon Moon?” gasped Sarita. “Why—why that’s over thirty days away! That’s too long to wait!”
“It can’t be helped,” said Rottenwood shortly. “After the whole village moves to the winter site, the warriors will go off to catch the winter’s supply of dog salmon.”
Sarita knew the dog salmon was the most important food for her people. Hunting the great whales was brave and daring, but it took place in early spring. The people needed meat through the long, rainy winter. It was the dog salmon, caught in the fall, that fed the people all winter and kept the children from crying with hunger.
“Our best chance for success,” Rottenwood was saying, “is when the men have gone fishing.” He looked at her solemnly as he continued, “You know we can’t risk getting caught.” Sarita shivered and nodded her head.
“When we escape, we must not be caught. Otherwise,” lectured Rottenwood grimly, “we’ll be dragged back here and slowly tortured to death—as an example to the other slaves.” Seeing her shiver again, he knew he’d emphasized his point. “There can be no mistakes. None.”
“Then we have no choice, Rottenwood,” she whispered desperately. “We will have to wait until Dog Salmon Moon when all the men will be occupied with fishing. But we dare not wait any longer!”
She vaguely saw him nod in the silvered moonlight. “What about food?” she mused aloud. “Waiting until then will certainly give me time to hide food for our voyage.” A new concern occurred to her. “Are you sure you remember the way back to Hesquiat village?” She faced him questioningly.
“Yes,” he grunted, “I was awake enough on the trip to Ahousat to memorize certain landmarks that we passed. I’m sure I can find our way back.” The confidence in his voice relieved her doubts. “It’ll be best to go at night, under cover of darkness. Later, if anyone notices our absence, it will be too late. We’ll be far away by then!”
Sarita nodded again, excited at the thought of escape.
Their plans made, she and Rottenwood agreed to meet once more before Dog Salmon Moon, to ensure everything went smoothly. He bid her a good night and slipped off silently into the forest again. She watched the shadows and was rewarded by only a quick glimpse of movement farther down the beach, near the village. He had made it back safely.
Clutching her cloak about her, Sarita decided to follow the same route back to the village. It was easier and safer in the forest than being exposed by the moonlight shining on the open beach. She dashed quickly from the rock to the dark line of the forest. Sighing with relief that no one had seen her, she skirted the dense bush swiftly and quietly.
She was close to the village and just about to sidle her way past a tall spruce, when a large hand reached out and grabbed her. Spinning around, she gasped in fright as she stared up into the furious face of Fighting Wolf.
“Where have you been sneaking off to, you little slime?” he snarled at her. “So this is why I haven’t seen you for several days. You’ve been skulking around to meet your lover!” His grip tightened viciously on both her arms.
Fighting Wolf was indeed furious, and with a red-hot anger. The slave he had been protecting all this time had been sneaking through the dark to meet a lover! What a fool he’d been, thinking she was so sweet and innocent! How his friends would laugh at him when they found out! He gritted his teeth and tried to control his fury.
Whimpering in pain and fear, Sarita looked up at him helplessly, tears shining in her beautiful g
olden eyes. She realized her perilous position. If she denied meeting a lover he would want to know why she was sneaking around. She couldn’t tell him it was to plan her escape! Such an admission would mean death, if not for her then surely for Rottenwood. If she continued to let him believe she was meeting a lover, he would think her fickle and probably withdraw his protection. Or use her himself. She trembled, paralyzed with fear as she stood staring dazedly at him.
Fighting Wolf felt the woman trembling, but his fury was not appeased. Why didn’t she say something? “I saw a man slinking away into the night, you worthless woman! Who was it?” he growled at her.
When she wouldn’t answer, he shook her roughly. “Tell me his name!”
She shook her head, staring at him all the while. “I c-can’t,” she whispered at last.
This admission brought forth an explosive laugh from the enraged man. “What do you mean you can’t tell me? Don’t you even know who you mate with?” His bitter laugh rang hollow in the night.
“Or perhaps you don’t care!” he growled viciously as he threw her to the ground. “Get out of my sight, whore! I don’t want someone else’s leavings. Go on. Get!” The last word a cold note of finality to it. Like one would talk to a dog.
Fighting Wolf did not want her near him. He was so angry; he couldn’t trust himself not to harm her.
Sarita hastily picked herself up off the cold ground, clutching her cape closely, and ran for the longhouse as though spirits were after her. She knew she had barely escaped with her life.
Running into the longhouse, she halted in the center of the living space, glancing wildly about and panting heavily. Unbelievably, everyone was still asleep. She’d been sure the whole village would have heard Fighting Wolf’s shouted fury.
Whatever was she going to do now? she thought fearfully. Fighting Wolf despised her. Creeping to her alcove, she lay down on the furs and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. But she tossed and turned long into the night, fear keeping her awake. She waited to hear Fighting Wolf’s heavy tread as he retired for the night, but when she fell into an exhausted slumber at dawn, he still had not returned.
Chapter Ten
Sarita awoke the next morning and groggily climbed out of bed. She stretched, the twinges of pain unwilling reminders of last night’s encounter with Fighting Wolf.
With her uncomfortable memories came a whole new set of problems. What was she going to do now? Fighting Wolf no long cared what happened to her. Perhaps Precious Copper would protect her, but Sarita held little hope of that. She hoped she could survive long enough in Ahousat village to make her escape. She wondered, too, if Rottenwood had been recognized and caught.
As these worries buzzed around Sarita’s tired brain, she fought down the feelings of panic that threatened to engulf her. Breathing deeply, she at last regained a measure of control.
She dressed in her soft-weave cedar robe and walked with dragging steps into the central living area.
Several of the others were already breakfasting on appetizing chunks of smoked cod. Precious Copper smiled and greeted her, as pleasant as always. Sarita sighed in relief. Fighting Wolf obviously had not said anything to his sister. Perhaps everything would work out, after all.
The other women ignored her as was often their wont. She set about getting her own breakfast.
She no sooner sat down by the fire, about to breakfast from a platter of warm chunks of cod, when she looked up to see Fighting Wolf approaching the breakfast circle. He grunted surly greetings in response to the cheerful feminine chorus directed at him. But it was on Sarita that his direct gaze fell.
He reached for some of the smoked cod, then parked himself across the fire from her. Ignoring everyone, he stared aggressively at Sarita as he ate his smoked cod. The tension in the room was so tangible, Sarita felt she could have touched it.
Her appetite gone, Sarita sat twisting her hands nervously in her lap. Fighting Wolf continued his intimidating stare. Sarita could stand it no longer. She rose and fled the main area.
Word spread rapidly through the longhouse that Fighting Wolf had withdrawn his protection. Sarita saw the other slave women talking and giggling behind their hands whenever she approached them. A sick knot of fear gripped her stomach.
Precious Copper seemed oblivious to the gossip and kept finding indoor tasks for her to do. Sarita guessed that Precious Copper realized her brother had withdrawn his protection, but the petite woman was determined to help in spite of his displeasure. Sarita was grateful for the kindness.
Time and again, Sarita would catch Fighting Wolf staring at her, utter contempt in his black eyes. She refused to cringe as if guilty and gazed back steadily at him before turning away.
Sarita became aware, too, of how quickly word spread widely throughout the village that Fighting Wolf no longer offered her any protection. Several men made insulting proposals to her, and some even tried to maul her. Because of these incidents, she was glad to stay close to the longhouse near Precious Copper’s guardianship.
One afternoon, she ventured out to fetch water from the river. As she was carrying a cedar container full of the cold, clear liquid back to the longhouse, she had to pass by several men lounging around outside. Fighting Wolf was among them. She guessed from their vigorous head shaking and wild gesticulations that they were discussing politics and war.
As she walked by lugging the heavy container in her arms, the men halted their conversation. The uncomfortable silence was broken by several rude suggestions. One man made a lewd gesture at her. Cheeks flaming, Sarita struggled onwards, giving no sign she’d heard their crude remarks.
She was almost past them when Birdwhistle grabbed her arm. Water sloshed over her hands and arms as she stared at him uncertainly. He was dressed in his usual finery and paint. Several of the men guffawed as he leaned over to whisper a vulgar proposition in Sarita’s ear. Fighting Wolf merely stood there, watching her. A contemptuous sneer crossed his face as he leaned casually against the longhouse, his arms folded across his chest. He murmured a low comment to his friends, and Sarita cringed inside to hear the burst of ribald laughter.
Suddenly she’d had enough! Clearly realizing that no one would protect her from any oaf who approached her; she had no choice but to defend herself.
Smiling sweetly, as if considering Birdwhistle’s filthy proposal, she leaned towards him. The other men were watching avidly. When she had their full attention, she quickly raised the container of cold water and upended the frigid contents all over the unsuspecting Birdwhistle!
A sopping wet Birdwhistle, his careful toilette in ruins, stood there gasping. Around him, the warriors were doubled over in laughter. Fighting Wolf was laughing the loudest of all.
Birdwhistle was enraged. Furious, he groped blindly for Sarita, but she easily eluded his grasping hands. Unfortunately, she did not elude a second warrior’s hands. Fighting Wolf grabbed and imprisoned her, holding her firmly against him.
Sarita knew that what she had just done was a serious offense—could in fact carry a death penalty. Striking a chief was no light matter, but she could not stifle the small glow of satisfaction she felt as Birdwhistle stood wet and dripping, his carefully arranged hair in bedraggled ruins.
For one moment, she twisted around and her golden eyes met Fighting Wolf’s, then she turned back and faced the others proudly. She would not beg for mercy. She stood silent, proud and beautiful, awaiting the verdict of death.
A furious Birdwhistle was sputtering at the top of his lungs. “This woman must be killed,” he screamed, “for daring to strike a high-ranking chief such as myself!” The tendons on his neck stood out like cords, he was so enraged.
His screaming pronouncement made the others laugh even harder. They asked each other why an important chief like Birdwhistle would want anything to do with such a lowly slave in the first place. Various comments traveled back and forth about how badly Birdwhistle had needed a bath.
These witticisms were interrupted by anot
her piercing howl from Birdwhistle who was insisting vehemently, “This girl must be killed! How else can I save face? That she dare strike me! Me—a chief!” he sputtered in outrage. “I will settle for nothing less than her death!”
Sarita stood frozen. Bitterness overwhelmed her. It was too unjust that her attempts to defend herself against his unwanted advances should meet with her death. She felt Fighting Wolf’s hands drop from her arms as he stepped to one side.
She was alone. Her chin jutting defiantly, the empty bucket on the ground at her bare feet, she faced the Ahousats. Some of the men stopped laughing as they realized Birdwhistle was indeed serious in his demands for Sarita’s death.
“Really, Birdwhistle,” came a laconic drawl, “will killing a worthless slave truly save your good name?” Fighting Wolf paused, all eyes upon him. “I think not. Who would even care about her death?” He shrugged casually. “A feast, however, is more likely to save your good name—a big, expensive feast. A feast that welcomes the whole village. Who, then, would dare malign you or your name? No one. Not after they ate your food and accepted your hospitality.”
The sound of the calm voice, the excellent suggestion, the murmurs of approval from his friends, all combined to cool Birdwhistle’s raging fury. Fighting Wolf did indeed have a point. Who would care if one useless slave girl lived or died?
Birdwhistle was finding it hard to remember why he had thought the girl so attractive in the first place. She had been nothing but trouble to him. A feast for the whole village! Yes, the idea had merit. He could recover his good name and save face much more effectively that way.
Fighting Wolf’s suggestion was greeted by the others with conspiratorial winks and nods. Birdwhistle thought he heard a snicker or two, but decided he must have been mistaken. Hearing his friends’ agreement and encouragement mollified him.
Sarita glanced quickly at Fighting Wolf. Golden eyes met piercing black ones for a timeless moment. They both knew she owed him her life. She wondered why he had bothered to intervene, when his contempt for her was so obvious.
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