Savage Betrayal

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Savage Betrayal Page 23

by Scott, Theresa


  “Please, do not concern yourself with that,” he replied modestly. In the role of host, he offered, “Would you like some cooked salmon? It should be ready now.”

  At her assent, they walked over to the fire and he pulled a large piece of the succulent fish from the hot ashes and placed it on a broad leaf before handing it to her. She thanked him politely and sat down beside him. They ate breakfast in silence, both very hungry and somewhat shy.

  Neither knew what to say to the other as the silence lengthened. At last, Precious Copper broke the impasse. “I notice your men are all well-armed. May I ask why?”

  Glad for an opening to talk about his mission, Feast Giver answered enthusiastically, “We’re searching for my sister. She’s supposed to be in this area. We’ve come to take her back home.”

  Precious Copper nodded. “Perhaps I, and my family, will be able to help you locate her. Then you won’t need to use all those weapons,” she said, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  Surprised at her astuteness, he grinned balefully, “Yes, you may save us a fight.”

  “My family has much influence in this area,” she said proudly. “Many people respect my brother and if he makes inquiries, they’ll tell him honestly where she is. I don’t want you to regret rescuing me,” she added. “I’ll do all I can to help you find her.”

  Pleased, Feast Giver asked, “About your brother…Just how influential is he? The man who took my sister is supposed to be very powerful, too. Maybe they know each other,” he said speculatively. “Maybe your brother won’t care to go against this man—”

  “Oh no,” answered Precious Copper hastily. “My brother is very honorable. When he finds out that you saved my life, he’ll help you.” She looked down at the sand before explaining shyly, “You see, I’m his only family. Our parents are dead and we have no one else.”

  “I see,” smiled Feast Giver. “You’re telling me you’re very important to your brother. Well, I certainly won’t turn down any offer of help.” Then, in a lower voice, he confided, “It’s like that for me and my sister. She’s my only close family, except for my father, who is ailing. I don’t know how long he’ll live,” he concluded sadly. Then, seeing her look of sympathy, he added hastily, “But I did not intend to burden you with my problems. It’s just that you are very easy to talk to.”

  Precious Copper reached out and patted his hand. “Allow me to help you with your mission,” she said. “That’s the least I can do to repay you.”

  Amazed he was so vulnerable to this quiet beauty, Feast Giver carefully changed the topic. “What’s your brother’s name? Perhaps I’ve heard of him, although I do come from a goodly distance.”

  “My brother’s name is Fighting Wolf,” said Precious Copper proudly, oblivious to the effect the name had on the Hesquiat.

  Feast Giver started visibly, and his mouth dropped open for a moment. Quickly he recovered himself, glad to see she had not noticed his reaction. “He’s the war chief of my people.” She turned to look at him. “That’s why I know we’ll find your sister. Fighting Wolf has many warriors he can call upon to aid in a search.”

  Feast Giver was looking at her oddly. His eyes had narrowed and he did not look quite so friendly. Inadvertently, a shiver of fear ran through her. Hesitantly she asked, “Have I said something wrong?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then suddenly threw back his head and broke into loud gales of laughter. Startled, Precious Copper looked at him and then at his men for some explanation for his strange behavior. They appeared as surprised as she was. After his loud, mocking guffaws had died down—it didn’t seem like genuine laughter to Precious Copper—he explained casually to his gaping men, “Her brother’s name is Fighting Wolf.”

  Instantly, ten pairs of hostile eyes were upon her.

  Precious Copper wanted to shrink under their cold scrutiny. “What--? Why--?” she began. She jumped to her feet and demanded in a low, controlled voice, “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

  No one answered. Feast Giver rose to his feet. Towering above her, he reached out and lifted her chin with one brown finger. Tremulously, she gazed up at him, “My sister’s name,” he explained softly, almost regretfully, “is Sarita.”

  The enormity of what he had said struck Precious Copper like a blow. “Sarita?” she could only repeat helplessly. Stunned, she cried, “Oh no! Oh nooo! Then, you—your men—are all--!”

  “That’s right,” Feast Giver answered a mocking smile on his lips. “We’re Hesquiats. Your enemies!” He laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. “But tell me,” he continued, dropping his hand from her chin, “how you, the sister of Fighting Wolf, know the name of one particular slave so well?”

  He had a terrible suspicion as to why she immediately recognized his sister’s name, but he wanted to hear the answer from her own lips.

  “Why should I tell you anything?” she shot back. “As you just so clearly stated, we’re enemies!” Her eyes were like burning coals, she was so angry. Caught! Again. Only this time was far worse, she feared.

  “Let’s kill her now,” spoke up an older warrior. “My nephew died in that slaughter her no-good brother led. She must die. Now!” There were several grunts in agreement from the watching men.

  Feast Giver appeared to consider their words, but only for a moment. He held up his hand for silence. “No, men. I have a better idea,” he said. “We’ll take her back to our village. She’ll be our hostage. As such, her brother will be forced to ransom her. What better ransom than my sister, Sarita?”

  Some of the men continued to mutter, and hearing them, Feast Giver argued, “That way, we’ll get my sister back with no loss of men. We have too few men to risk right now. It would be disastrous to lose any more to that no-good Ahousat. And,” he continued with emphasis, “think how shamed Fighting Wolf will be when others learn his sister has been captured and he’s been forced to ransom her! It will take him a long time to live down that blow to his honor!” This last point made good sense to the men, and they finally nodded in agreement.

  Precious Copper, however, caught the older warrior’s intent gaze at her. He did not look at all pleased, and she knew she would have to stay away from him.

  “Gather up your gear,” ordered Feast Giver. “Let’s head out. Now. There’s no telling when her snake of a brother is going to come looking for her.” He glanced at Precious Copper but she lifted her chin defiantly and turned away.

  Thus it was a short time later than a war canoe with eleven men and one disheartened woman hostage paddled swiftly back up the coast to Hesquiat village.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fighting Wolf was sitting in the longhouse of his uncle, Scarred Mouth. It was evening, and several people were gathered about the fire. The nights were starting to get colder now, but the days were still warm. Summer was on the wane.

  Fighting Wolf relaxed as he chatted leisurely with his friends. His uncle had given a small feast to honor visitors from a nearby village and now the guests were being entertained with singing and dancing. While the musicians played, the audience listened quietly and gave its full attention to the performers.

  At that moment, silence reigned. In the center of the house, all eyes upon them, several young women began a song of welcome. Dressed in their cedar finery, they looked like exquisite flowers swaying gently in time to the song. They shook wooden rattles to keep the beat and provide an agreeable counterpoint to their lovely voices.

  Fighting Wolf had admired one of the rattles, earlier in the evening. Carved from alder wood, the rattle was shaped like a bird, hollowed inside, and filled with small pebbles. The craftsmen had paid careful attention to detail and the bird, a duck, looked very realistic.

  At the end of the song, the young women smiled and vacated the center, giggling and laughing softly as they ran to the side of the room and squeezed together onto a seating platform.

  The next performer was a thin, attractive young man. He was accompanied by sever
al other men drumming rhythmically with wooden sticks on a long plank laid across shorter sticks. His was a song of peace, and reassured the guests of the long-standing friendship between their peoples. The singer had a high-pitched voice that contrasted pleasantly with the deeper voices of drummers when they sang the chorus.

  Next came a dancer. Clad in a cured deer hide with deer hoofs and pieces of bone dangling from the legs, he wore a carved wooden wolf mask on his head. Reddish-brown hair was attached to the mask at the crown and hung down like a mane. With every step he took, the hoofs rattled and clicked against each other. At intervals he would punctuate his dance by opening the painted wooden jaws wide and then snapping them shut. Throughout the dance, a shrill whistle pierced the air. The audience knew it came from the dancing wolf. He ended his performance with a flourish and swept dramatically out into the night.

  The concert concluded with the young women returning to sing a farewell song. Graceful gestures accompanied the song as the women reminded the guests to return again soon. The girls again rustled off, giggling, to the sidelines, and the audience resumed their conversations.

  One of Fighting Wolf’s friends leaned over and playfully inquired of the war chief, “Why haven’t we seen more of you lately? You’ve been leaving the gambling games early. I even noticed that you didn’t stay long at old Birdwhistle’s feast. And you were the inspiration for it! Are you just working hard or is there some great secret you don’t want us to know about?” His eyes twinkled.

  The men sitting around listened curiously for Fighting Wolf’s response. Many of them suspected they already knew the answer.

  Birdwhistle, another nephew of Scarred Mouth, looked at Fighting Wolf through narrowed eyes. “I don’t suppose,” he began snidely, “that a certain slave woman, who shall remain nameless—“ Here there was laughter at his witty pun on the woman’s now tarnished family name, and his pretense of civility, as if he would not bandy the lady’s name in public, “—that a certain slave woman has succeeded in captivating the captor?”

  Fighting Wolf looked at him through fathomless eyes and answered, “Keep your suppositions—and your sick jokes—to yourself, Birdwhistle. It’s none of your business where I go or what I do.” Taken aback by Fighting Wolf’s sharp retort, the others ceased questioning him and turned quickly to other matters.

  Birdwhistle, however, could not leave well enough alone. While the others were caught up in an argument on the relative merits of this season’s sea otter pelts, he hissed at Fighting Wolf, “Any time you get tired of her, let me know.”

  “I thought we’d discussed this, Birdwhistle,” answered Fighting Wolf evenly. “I’m not giving her away nor trading her. Do you understand? Besides,” he chuckled, but no humor reached his eyes, “I’d have thought that cold bucket of water she dumped over you would have discouraged you.”

  “Who do you think you are, reminding me of that shameful incident?” demanded Birdwhistle huffily. “You know,” he went on, “I could demand her life for that little incident.” Sharp black eyes regarded Fighting Wolf challengingly.

  “You could,” acknowledged Fighting Wolf. “But,” he added, “should anything happen to her, you’d better watch your back in the next raid we make. As your war chief, I tell you who and where to fight. Should you be so unfortunate as to meet with an accident,” he shrugged carelessly, “I’ll be the first to extend my condolences to your wives and children.” He eyed Birdwhistle steadily.

  Birdwhistle regarded the implacable stare before he looked away. “Enough,” he said gruffly.

  “We understand each other then,” said Fighting Wolf evenly. He watched, unperturbed, as Birdwhistle got to his feet and slunk out of the longhouse. The remainder of the evening passed without incident.

  Later, some of his friends invited Fighting Wolf to a neighboring longhouse for a gambling party, but Fighting Wolf politely declined. The smirks on his friends’ faces annoyed him, but not enough to make him stay.

  He headed out into the cool night. Walking leisurely back to his longhouse, he paused to look up at the clear night sky. The twinkling stars overhead were silent and serene. He was content with his life. Things were going well. He quickened his pace, anxious to see, and to hold Sarita.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sarita knew the time of the full moon was quickly approaching. She must find a way to meet Rottenwood, without anyone observing. Now, more than ever, she could not let Fighting Wolf catch her discussing escape plans with the slave.

  She pondered the problem. Now that Fighting Wolf was coming to her bed every evening, it would be extremely dangerous to sneak away at night. Yet, she had to know when they were going to escape.

  It could not be put off much longer. Every day, she watched the Ahousat women packing up their many possessions into cedar baskets and boxes. Soon they would be taking down the very house planks and leaving the naked frame of the house behind them as the whole village moved en masse into the interior of the land. There, along a river, or inlet, they would set up their winter village, safe from the cold winter storms that viciously lashed the coast.

  She went slowly about the task of preparing breakfast. She had slept later than usual, indeed the whole house had, and she knew it was because Precious Copper, an early riser, had not been there to start the fire and wake the servants and slaves. Sarita wondered briefly where Precious Copper was.

  Her thoughts quickly reverted to the forth-coming meeting with Rottenwood. Perhaps one reason she was hesitant to meet with him was that she felt ambivalent. She wasn’t as eager to escape as she had been when she first arrived at Ahousat village. No, now she found herself trying to think of excuses to put off the escape attempt. After all, what difference did another moon make?

  With difficulty, she forced herself to acknowledge that the real reason she did not want to leave yet was Fighting Wolf. Something was happening to her. Something that had never happened before with any other man. She couldn’t wait to see him every day, to hear his voice, to feel his touch. And oh! How she looked forward to those warm, passionate nights of love! Never had she known that it could be so wonderful between a man and a woman. And the things he did to her! She blushed as she recalled the previous evening when they had lain entwined in each other’s arms. No, she could not go just yet.

  But—she caught herself. What was she thinking of? She had to go. She had to leave him, leave this place. Her spirits plunged. Her feelings towards him were so confused. She wasn’t even sure what she felt anymore. She should hate him for the raid on her family and village. And for stealing her away from her people. And for ravishing her.

  But now, after all this time together, the long nights of lovemaking, the protectiveness he had shown towards her, his strength, his consideration—all this made her love him. There, she’d said it. She loved him. She sighed heavily.

  But what was it like for Fighting Wolf? Was she only a toy, someone to play with after a long, hard day of work? Never would he consider marrying her, she knew. Her status precluded that.

  But the most important point now, and here her lips compressed together in a tight line, was that her children by him would be born slaves. The thought made her want to cry, and with good reason. She suspected she was pregnant. Her monthly courses were almost a month late.

  She could not bear the thought of her son, or daughter, condemned to a life of slavery. Would her children hate the mother who birthed them into slavery because she had been too much in love with her captor? What would they say to her should they ever find out she had the opportunity for escape but had let it slip by? Would her avowals of love for them ring hollow in their ears when they were old enough to understand the lowly existence they were doomed to? Did she love Fighting Wolf so much that she was willing to stay with him and condemn her children to a lifetime of servitude? No, she sighed despairingly, she could not do that. Not to her children, and not to herself. No love should ask that of a woman.

  Sadly she continued her morning chores, her
thoughts returning again and again to her dilemma. As she brooded, she used the heavy wooden tongs to place fire-heated rocks into cedar boxes filled with water. Every morning she heated water this way, sometimes to wash in, but usually to cook vegetables or fish for the morning meal. As the last rock dropped with a splash into the water, she looked up to see Fighting Wolf striding towards her.

  She blushed and looked down at the water. She did not want him to see the torment she was in. She knew he did not suspect her pregnancy at all. If she were pregnant, she would be gone long before she started showing and he would never know of his child. It was better that way, she told herself. She would bring up the child in her own village. Her father and brother would help her raise the child. The summer nights when Fighting Wolf had made love to her would be nothing but beautiful memories by then. Perhaps, later, she thought sadly, when she had forgotten him, she would marry another man. She ignored the tiny voice that asked how she was going to forget Fighting Wolf so easily when seeing his child every day would be a constant reminder.

  Fighting Wolf approached her, his handsome face alight with a grin, his intelligent eyes piercing hers, the wide chest half-naked, his kutsack tied jauntily over one shoulder. Sarita felt herself melt inside. Holding her breath, she gazed at him, her heart unknowingly in her eyes.

  Fighting Wolf’s intense gaze caught the soft look. He knew it was for him. And he knew its cause—warm memories of their passionate joining the night before. Pleased with her, he gently touched her face, his big hand caressing her jaw-line.

  “You look very beautiful this morning,” he murmured softly in her ear. He ran his hand possessively over her thick, glossy tresses. “Could it be that something very good happened to you last night?” he teased. Abashed, she turned away, not knowing what to say.

  He smiled to himself at her reticence. Then, surveying the living space, he asked, “Where’s my sister, Precious Copper?”

 

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