Savage Betrayal

by Scott, Theresa

  He burst out laughing. He continued to chuckle as he swallowed the fruit. Suddenly he clutched his stomach and began rolling on the sand. “Oooh, my stomach,” he moaned. “I’ve been poisoned!” He continued to roll around, groaning and making grotesque faces.

  Sarita burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself. It was just so funny to see him pretending to be sick. And it was secretly what she had wanted to do to him—to hurt him in some way.

  “There’s only one known antidote to poison huckleberries,” he said between moans. He thrashed around some more until Sarita’s curiosity got the better of her.

  “What is that?” she asked, playing along with him.

  “A kiss from a beautiful maiden!” he answered, springing towards her. She shrieked and tried to get away, but he held her down. “Now, lovely maiden,” he said, chuckling, “will you save a poor poisoned man?”

  She shook her head.

  “Only one small kiss?” he coaxed.

  She kissed him gingerly on the mouth.

  “Not enough,” he said. “More.”

  This time she kissed him full on the lips and held it. “Aaah,” he sighed. “Saved—” He went limp in her arms and they both laughed.

  After a little time, he reluctantly stood up, pulling her to her feet.

  She felt shy all of a sudden. Fighting Wolf broke the awkward silence.

  “I’m going for a swim,” he said in his deep voice. “Will you join me?”

  After a moment, she responded quietly, “Yes, I’d like that.” She was still unsure of how to behave with him. Though he joked with her, he still held all the power.

  Taking her hand, he led her towards the water’s edge, the dry sand squeaking underfoot. Once they reached the firm wet sand, Sarita broke loose and ran for the waves.

  She felt like a little girl again as she pranced and kicked the cool water. The waves rolled in, their timeless rhythm swirling the water about her ankles. She thought of how these waves had danced into shore since the beginning of time and how they would dance into shore long after she and her children’s children had departed this earth.

  Then the pensive thought was gone and she was jumping over those same waves, playing a game with them, not letting them touch her toes.

  She turned and watched as Fighting Wolf padded up to the water. Giving a small laugh, she ran farther out to sea, then turned quickly and began kicking water at him. The clear spray arched towards him. She lunged as the cold water hit him, the silver droplets of water beading and running down his bronze shoulders and chest. She laughed even harder as he growled low in his throat and pretended to lunge at her.

  Backing farther into the deeper water, now waist-high, she kept splashing at him, this time with both arms. She squealed in mock fear when he really did lunge for her, diving into the shallow water and swimming under her.

  Fighting Wolf grabbed her knees and jerked her under with him. She gasped and struggled as the water closed over her head, sure he was going to drown her. He let her go at once and she darted away, exploding to the surface, only to be caught as he again tripped her underwater. She pushed vigorously at his head, trying to break his hold, but to no avail. Coming to the surface, she took a deep breath and bent under the water to tickle his ribs. That made him let go! She heard his laugh underwater and saw the air burst out of his mouth. Sputtering, he jumped up, laughing.

  She squatted in the water, grinning as she watched him, wary of his next move. Seeing her watching him, he cunningly feinted in one direction and then lunged in the other. Catching her up into his arms, he cradled her, one arm under her knees, the other under her neck. Swinging her high and wide, he threw her out into the deeper water.

  Landing with a loud splash, she twisted underwater and swam straight for him. Grabbing at his knees, she caught him by surprise. Off-balance, he fell splashing to one side. She burst straight out of the water, giggling in delight at catching him off guard.

  He grinned back at her, calling, “Truce, truce!”

  “All right,” she laughed, flushed. “I’ll let you go—this time!”

  They chuckled together as they walked back to their picnic spot on the beach, the hot sun quickly drying their naked bodies.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the day waned, Sarita hoped for an imminent departure but Fighting Wolf made no move to leave their private beach. She had no wish to be trapped overnight on a deserted beach with the man. He might make love to her again. She watched him nervously, then finally broached the subject. “Shouldn’t we be getting back to your village? If we leave now we can arrive home before dark.”

  He looked at her incredulously. “Are you so anxious to get back to my village? I thought you enjoyed being alone with me.”

  She caught the glint of humor in his dark eyes. She stuck out her chin. “Is that so? Whatever gave you that idea? I just thought you’d want to leave early, that’s all,” she answered, her voice tapering off weakly.

  Fighting Wolf was clearly enjoying her discomfort. “No,” he responded casually. “I’ve decided we’ll stay here for a while. Surely you have no objections?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “And if I did?” she answered as haughtily as she could manage. “What good would it do for me to raise them? You’d do what you wanted to, anyway!”

  “True,” he responded dryly. “You know me too well. You’ll know me even better after we’ve spent more time alone,” he added.

  That was not what she wanted to hear. She stared at the sky, marshalling her thoughts.

  The sun was starting to set; the great golden disk hovered over the sea. The sky was awash in purple and gold, highlighted with pink streaks.

  “How long is ‘a while’?” she asked at last.

  “Oh, a few days—two or three, maybe.”

  “Two or three! But—but don’t you need to get back to your people? Your sister--?”

  He looked at her amused. “Such concern for me and my people is impressive,” he mocked. “To what do I owe such concern?”

  “You blackguard! It’s not concern! I don’t want to be here with you, alone, all the time!”

  “Truly? And why not?” He reached for her and drew her, protesting, to him.

  “I just don’t, that’s all!” She was trying to fend off his strong arms but he held her in a firm grip.

  “Mmm, well, I want to be here with you,” he answered in muffled tones as he buried his face in her fragrant hair. He kissed his way down her throat, touching lightly on her rapidly beating pulse.

  She stiffened and said through clenched teeth, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t do this to me. I don’t like it,” she lied.

  Suddenly he pushed her away. She was free. She pull back, startled.

  “Go get some firewood, woman! We will be staying here. Do as I say. Now!”

  She was too astonished at the sudden change in his manner to do more than stumble to her feet. She gaped at him open-mouthed for a moment, then clamped her jaw shut and stalked off to find driftwood for a fire. As she gathered the wood, she mumbled to herself about the vagaries and peculiarities of men, and of one man in particular.

  Why had he suddenly pushed her away? she wondered. Was it something she’d said? She went over her words in her mind. Aah. She’d said she didn’t like his lovemaking. Had he known she was lying? Was that why he’d rejected her? Or did he thing he was such a great lover? That was probably it. She’d offended him because she wasn’t smitten by his amorous advances! She almost laughed aloud. If only he knew how much she like what he did to her!

  Peeking over, she watched as he dragged several larger pieces of wood to one spot and then lit some cedar shavings with a strike-a-light. He must have acquired it in trade with the whites. Within a short time, a fire was burning cheerfully. She marveled at how quickly the fire had started. What an improvement over the time consuming fire drill.

  Now that the sun had gone down, the night air was chilly
. She carried a large armload of dry driftwood closer to the warmth of the fire. She reached for her torn kutsack and flung it over her shoulders like a cape. Glancing across the fire, her eyes met Fighting Wolf’s steadfast gaze. He appeared to be over his fit of anger, she noticed.

  “What do you want?” she asked rudely.

  He only chuckled. Getting up, he fetched the basket and pulled out smoked salmon and dried salal cakes. He offered her some. She eyed him carefully for a moment, then took the food. She did not like being so dependent on him for food and resolved that tomorrow she would look for some roots and berries to contribute to their diet.

  Their meal finished, Fighting Wolf spread out his kutsack, obviously preparing for sleep. “Come here,” he said quietly, patting his garment.

  She shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off him. He watched her in the flickering firelight. Her golden eyes gazed back at him, defiantly, fearlessly. He smiled to himself. This woman was certainly a challenge. A refreshing change from the easy conquests he was used to. Still, he must not let her have her own way. That would be disastrous. He shifted tactics.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he said gently, hoping to soften her up with conversation.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She was suspicious of his apparent gentleness. The man she knew took what he wanted, when he wanted it.

  “Well,” he answered. “Your name for one. Where did you get such a beautiful name?”

  “From my mother,” she answered. “It was the name of her mother’s mother. It’s also the name of a beautiful, smooth flowing river near where my mother grew up. After she married my father, she moved away from her village. She was very happy at Hesquiat but she always remembered that beautiful river. As a child, she would sit by its banks and daydream.” Sarita herself looked to be in a daydream.

  “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Fighting Wolf’s voice, soft now, brought her out of her brief reverie. “But I think you were misnamed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, definitely. You should have been called Raging River, Wicked Waterfall, or Rapid Current. I don’t see you as a quiet, slow-flowing river at all.”

  Sarita laughed, charmed by his gentle humor.

  “And you,” she responded curiously. “How did you get your name? It’s very formidable.”

  “Thank you,” he answered, obviously pleased. “When I was a small boy of about ten summers, the ‘Wolves' kidnapped me and several other children. It was part of a winter celebration when a nearby tribe visited us. The other children were very afraid of the ‘Wolves,’ adult men who wore fierce wolf masks. I’m told that I was the only one who did not cry or act afraid. In fact, I attacked one of the ‘Wolves’ and tried to organize an escape. The ‘Wolves’ were very impressed and my father was extremely pleased when he heard this. He gave a great feast in honor of my bravery. The name ‘Wolf’ had been in my family for generations. My name became Fights with Wolves. Later, because of my battle experiences, it was shortened to ‘Fighting Wolf.’”

  She looked at him admiringly. She guessed he had left out several important details. Still, it was gratifying to hear a man modest about his achievements, especially in a society that expected men to boast of their prowess at all times.

  Seeing her thoughtfulness, Fighting Wolf reached for her and drew her back against him. He held her gently in his arms and nibbled softly on one ear. She relaxed, languorous from the warm fire, and the warmth of his hard body. She knew there was nowhere to run and allowed herself to concentrate on the feelings he was arousing.

  Encouraged by her stillness, Fighting Wolf pursued his suit more aggressively. One hand curved over her rounded breast, the other, wrapped around her waist, held her close to him. Now he was planting feather kisses on the back of her neck. The hand on her waist was dropping lower, covering her stomach in slow, swirling motions. She stretched and pushed herself closer to him. Encouraged by her response, Fighting Wolf lay back carefully, taking her with him. With one smooth movement, he was leaning over her, looking into golden eyes. He smiled and murmured small endearments as he brushed his lips along her jaw-line and to her ear.

  She closed her eyes and gave herself over to sensation. Her breathing was starting to come in short gasps. He leaned over her, one hand gently caressing a breast, the other propping his body.

  The sensations running through her were at once both relaxing and stimulating. She had never felt like this before. She was apprehensive of what came next. Remembering the pain from her first time, she started and tried to sit up.

  “What?” breathed Fighting Wolf.

  “The pain—“

  “Aahhh now, no pain this time, little one. Only pleasure. Let me love you,” he coaxed, his breath hot in her ear.

  She thought of struggling again, of fighting him off, but knew she could not prevail against his superior strength. Meanwhile, Fighting Wolf’s hands and mouth were convincing her already traitorous body to surrender. Sighing, she lay back and relaxed under his ministrations. His lips sought and found the ripe fruit of her breasts and his tongue swirled the hard nipples. Then he was kissing her fully on the mouth, his tongue playing with her mouth, licking, sucking, tasting, and teasing.

  She was so caught up in these sensations she didn’t notice at first that one hand was gently exploring against her soft entrance. With one knee, he pushed her unresisting legs apart. She tensed slightly, then relaxed. She felt a soft tickle as he nudged his way into her, ever so slowly. Finally, his length fully enclosed within her, he held her close to him. Then began the rocking motion that felt so good. Wrapping her long legs about his waist, she forced him closer. Her fingers dug into his buttocks; her small whimpers encouraged his pulsing rhythm. He drove into her, pounding into her with all the power in his big, muscular body. Suddenly she felt a wave of incredible sweetness sweep over her and engulf her entire being. Its beauty was so powerful that tears ran down her face.

  “My darling, my darling,” she murmured brokenly as he too, struggled and reached that sweet release he had long sought. Never, ever had anyone told her that loving a man could be like this! “I didn’t know, I didn’t know it could be so beautiful,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

  He raised his head to look at her, tears streaming down her face, and he knew she, too, felt as he did, that feeling that was beyond words, that feeling that he and she were one. Profoundly moved, he held her to him, murmuring over and over into her soft dark hair, reassuring her, “Hush, hush my love, it’s all right.”

  All through the long, cold night they slept in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hesquiat Summer Village

  Feast Giver moaned. He lay on the hard cedar planking that was his bed. Crab Woman looked up from tending the fire. Had she heard something? She shook her head. Nothing.

  She went back to her task. Prodding some fern roots out of the hot ashes, she piled them carefully onto a cedar platter. She shuffled slowly over to where her injured husband, Thunder Maker, lay. He looked so thin. Ever since…No, she didn’t want to remember that night.

  Sitting down heavily beside him, she lifted his head off the bed. Sunken cheeks, hollow eyes stared out at her. His head lolled in her hands. She dropped it with a thumping sound back onto the fur-covered plank. She waved a steaming hot fern root at him. It was one of his favorite foods. The old man turned his face to the wall.

  What is the matter? she thought helplessly. He was wasting away before his family’s—what was left of them—very eyes. Ah well, perhaps that slave could get him to eat.

  Signaling to Cedar Bundle, Crab Woman sat there stolidly until the younger woman approached. “See if he’ll eat some of these fern roots. I can’t get him to eat a thing. I have no patience with him today.”

  Cedar Bundle nodded and sat down by the sick man. Ever since she had been given the job of tending the injured chief, Cedar Bundle had watched as he responded slowly, little by little, to her. She found
she enjoyed taking care of him, and she was the only person who could get the ailing chief to eat. Even his favorite wife, Abalone Woman, could not always get him to drink the nutritious soups and teas she prepared. More and more of his care fell on the willing shoulders of Cedar Bundle. And because she genuinely wanted to see him recover, she did her best to make his convalescence comfortable.

  Crab Woman made her way slowly to where her stepson, Feast Giver, lay. All these sick people lying around were making her irritable.

  Feast Giver’s breathing was hoarse, his body in the same position as when she had last checked him. Just as she was turning away, she heard it. A moan. She walked back to his bedside.

  For several days after the attack by the Ahousats, Feast Giver had fought a raging fever. Thunder Maker’s second wife, Abalone Woman, had done all she could to bring the young man back to health. She had an extensive knowledge of herbal remedies passed down through her family for generations.

  The fever was past, but Feast Giver’s injuries, though few, were very serious. A glancing blow to the side of his head was responsible for the young man’s frequent lapses in and out of consciousness. A huge purple and black bruise covered one shoulder.

  An internal injury, a stab wound in his ribs, was only now slowly healing. To aid his recovery, Abalone Woman had insisted that he drink a cold, foul-tasting tea several times a day. Crab Woman had watched as Abalone Woman had prepared it. After pounding equal portions of Red Alder, Grand Fir and Western Hemlock barks, Abalone Woman had steeped them in hot water. Once the infusion cooled, she had directed Crab Woman to give it to Feast Giver.

  Crab Woman loathed the messy job. If the unconscious man wasn’t dribbling the medicine all over his face and her, then he was spitting it back at her! Really! And after all she’d done for him!

  Crab Woman leaned over the young man, listening for further moans. She saw the flutter of his eyelashes.

  It was with a great struggle that Feast Giver awoke. He mightily resisted being drawn back into the black vortex from which he had barely escaped. At last he was able to see a large vague shape hovering over him. Focusing, he recognized Crab Woman, his father’s chief wife.