Savage Hero Page 5

  She struggled to hold onto the pommel, but the binding around her wrists made it hard.

  She gazed questioningly at Brave Wolf, who continued to lead his warriors onward in the rain. Why didn’t he stop?

  She looked quickly around when the lightning flashed and realized why. They were riding across a straight stretch of land, toward the base of a mountain. There was nothing to offer protection from the elements. There was only blowing grass, bending double with the wind.

  The wind whipped incessantly around Mary Beth. The rain blinded her. Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the storm was over.

  Mary Beth coughed and sputtered as the last of the rain ran down her face and across her lips.

  Brave Wolf drew rein, his warriors following his lead. He turned to Mary Beth. His gaze moved slowly over her.

  Her dress was so wet, it clung to her body, defining the curves beneath it. He had not thought that such a tiny woman could have such large, beautiful breasts. But she did, and the sight aroused an ache in his loins that he tried to fight off.

  He had not yet taken a woman as his wife. He had not found a woman who made his heart sing. But he had felt a hungering for a body next to him at night, and for the soft laughter of children in his lodge.

  He had never thought he would be aroused by a woman whose skin was white, whose tongue was spiteful, and who looked at him as though he were the devil.

  But he understood all of her emotions. She thought of him as her captor. He had hoped that she would begin to trust him so that he would not have to keep her bound like a captive. But so far, she still wore a mask of hate on her lovely face.

  Her hair was wet and hung in tight, rusty ringlets over her shoulders and down her back. Some loose curls lay across her brow, almost across her eyes.

  But they did not keep him from seeing her glare. It seemed to go clear through him, making him uncomfortable.

  He had been around many women in his time, and none had ever looked at him in this way. Instead, the looks had been filled with admiration.

  But this woman? She seemed to hate the very sight of him.

  “We will stop here, make a fire, and dry off before we venture onward,” Brave Wolf said, dismounting.

  He went to Mary Beth and undid the thongs at her ankles, where she had been tied to the stirrups. Then he reached up, placed his hands at her waist, and lifted her from the saddle.

  He noticed that she scarcely breathed as he untied the thongs at her wrists. He could almost see her mind working. No doubt she was making plans to escape the moment she was freed of her bonds.

  Yet she must know that she could hardly get an inch away from him if she turned and tried to run. All he would have to do was reach his arms out for her and she would again have no choice but to accept her fate.

  He only wished there was some way to convince her that she had nothing to fear from him.

  But surely, as each hour passed, she would begin to realize that he meant her no harm.

  “Come with me,” Brave Wolf said. He gently placed a hand at her elbow and ushered her away from the horses. He took her to where his warriors were already preparing a fire.

  “Soon there will be a fire,” Brave Wolf said. “You can warm yourself by it. Your clothes can dry so that the night air will not harm you.”

  “I need nothing from you except my freedom,” Mary Beth said. She yanked her elbow away from him.

  Turning to face him, she placed her fists on her hips. “If you truly mean me no harm, take me to Fort Henry,” she said tightly. “I must see if anyone survived the terrible wagon train attack. I . . . I . . . want to . . .”

  She started to mention David, then thought better of it. There might be a danger in alerting another warrior that she had a son, and that she sorely feared for his life.

  Wasn’t one Indian as bad as the next? How was she to know what any of them might have in mind for a child David’s age?

  And . . . was David even still alive?

  She hung her head so that the tears she was fighting couldn’t be seen by Brave Wolf. She wanted to look courageous and strong.

  “I promised you fire—you have fire,” Brave Wolf said, motioning toward it. “Go. Stand beside it. Warm yourself.”

  She did not have to be asked twice. Longing for the warmth against her trembling flesh, Mary Beth hurried to the fire and stretched her hands to the heat.

  Never in her life had the warmth of a fire felt as delicious as now. Every part of her was cold.

  Brave Wolf was glad to see that she had followed at least one of his orders.

  He went to his horse and removed his travel bag and saddle, then hobbled his horse with the others as his warriors made themselves comfortable around the fire opposite from where Mary Beth stood.

  Brave Wolf turned and gazed at length at the woman, again taken by her loveliness. Even wet and shivering from the cold, she was beautiful.

  He hoped to gain her trust soon, for he would like to talk with her and hear why she was in this area, and about her family.

  Was she married? Did she have children somewhere? Had she heard about what had happened at the Battle of the Little Big Horn?

  Was that why she hated him so much? Did she believe that he had had a role in the killings?

  He gazed down at his bag, then back at Mary Beth. There was usually one way to break through a barrier of silence. Food.

  Surely she was hungry. She might not have eaten for many hours now.

  He carried only pemmican on jaunts like this. When someone was hungry, pemmican was very welcome.

  He bent down and got a stick of pemmican from his bag, then went to Mary Beth and held it out for her. “If you are hungry, this pemmican will fill at least some of the empty space in your belly,” he said. He flinched when she turned quickly and glared at him again.

  Instead of accepting his offer of food, she spat at his feet as she had before.

  “I don’t want that disgusting-looking mess,” she said, but in truth she badly wanted to eat it. She was so hungry she felt weak, yet she could not accept anything from this Indian . . . except her freedom! “Take it away. Do you hear? Take . . . it . . . away!”

  Finding her insulting, Brave Wolf gazed at her for a moment, then slowly turned and walked away from her.

  Yes, she was insulting, yet beautiful and spirited. He smiled, for he enjoyed seeing spirit in a woman.

  Hating to behave like a spoiled child, Mary Beth almost regretted her words as Brave Wolf walked away from her.

  But how could she behave any other way than angry and spiteful? She was cold, wet, miserable, and she missed her David so much she could no longer keep from crying.

  Ignoring the warriors who sat opposite her on blankets, Mary Beth crumpled to the wet ground and held her face in her hands, sobbing.

  Brave Wolf stopped and turned to gaze at Mary Beth. He was now seeing her soft side. His heart went out to her, for surely she felt lost and alone without any of her family . . . without any of her people anywhere near for her to flee to. He felt much for her at this moment, mostly compassion.

  He opened one of his travel bags and took a blanket from it. Hurrying back to Mary Beth, he bent to his knees beside her.

  He gently wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, surprised when she flinched as though she had been shot and grabbed the blanket away from herself. She gave him a cold, defiant look as she tossed it into his face.

  Mary Beth badly wished to keep the blanket, but she wasn’t sure what it represented. Had he offered it to her because he planned to use it with her?

  Did he plan to take her into this blanket with him, forcing her to sleep with him?

  Not giving up so easily, Brave Wolf placed the blanket around her shoulders again. “This blanket is for your comfort,” he said softly. “Do not be too stubborn to take it. I mean you only good.”

  Again she grabbed it away from herself and shoved it into his arms.

  “I want nothing from you but my freedom,
” she said, furious when her voice broke and her eyes wavered.

  Then she blurted out, “I am afraid of you and your warriors! Please, oh, please let me go!”

  He was stunned that she was still so afraid of him when he had done nothing to deserve such fear.

  “You are wrong not to trust me,” Brave Wolf said softly. “I offer you friendship. I will eventually return you to your people, but I have explained to you that I am on a mission. I must succeed with this mission first.”

  “What sort of mission are you on?” she cried. “More raids and destruction against whites, especially the cavalry?”

  Understanding her wrath, her mistrust, he ignored the coldness in her voice . . . the accusation. “The mission is for my mother. I have promised to find my brother, Night Horse,” he said. “Can you not understand that my mother’s wishes come before yours . . . a woman I never knew until tonight?”

  “You still don’t know me at all,” Mary Beth said, her voice softer now. “I . . . I . . . have never been with Indians before. Can’t you see why I’m so afraid? Why I want to return to my people as quickly as possible?”

  “Yes, I understand, but you must understand a son’s feelings for his mother,” Brave Wolf said tightly.

  His words made her break down and cry again.

  Yes, she did understand a son’s feelings for his mother. If her David was still alive, he surely cried for her even now.

  “I wish I could make you understand things that I know are causing you to mistrust me and my warriors,” he said.

  “How can I ever understand what is happening, when so many of my people have needlessly died?” Mary Beth said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Only recently there has been a terrible battle that claimed so many soldiers’ lives. How do I know that you were not there, sending arrows into the hearts of the men? Perhaps you even killed my . . .”

  No.

  She must not let him know that her own husband had died that day. She would not give him the chance to gloat over something that tore at the very core of her being.

  “I have told you that I am a peaceful Crow chief who does not enter into warring with whites,” Brave Wolf said, again attempting to place the blanket around her shoulders.

  This time she allowed it. He moved to his haunches beside her, soaking up the warmth of the fire himself, as he attempted to tell her some more about himself. He hoped that more information would help her to trust him.

  “I told you before that I am wicasa-okinihan, an honorable and respected individual and that I am a bachay-chay, a good man, a chief, concerned with helping people, not harming,” he began. “Under first my father’s and then my leadership, my Whistling Water Clan of Crow has never entered into confrontations with your white people. It is my role in life to help my Crow people learn to live in the way of the white man. Like my chieftain father, I have even gone and met with the Great White Father in Washington on behalf of my people. This recent battle was not of my doing, nor my people’s.”

  He went quiet, for there was one warrior of the Whistling Water Clan who had participated. His brother. But he felt it was best not to mention that to this white woman, not yet anyhow.

  When Night Horse was found, it would be soon enough to confide in Mary Beth.

  But first, Night Horse had to be found!

  Mary Beth was stunned by what he had just said . . . that he had actually been to Washington to speak with President Grant. Oh, surely he was lying. It was just a ploy to make her trust him.

  But as he had been talking to her, he had sounded so convincing, she could not help gazing at him. She wished that he was, indeed, the way he represented himself . . . a caring, truthful man, who did fight for peace.

  He was such a handsome man with such a soft, kind voice. His midnight eyes could entrance her if she allowed them to.

  He was a man of athletic build, lean and tall, and his skin was fairer than most Indians she had seen. It was a lovely copper color and looked soft to the touch.

  His sculpted face had a noble expression, and she admired his long, thick, black hair which hung down his back to his waist, held back from his face with a beaded band. One lone eagle feather was woven into a lock of his hair at the back.

  He wore only a breechcloth which revealed much of his muscled body to her, she had to keep herself from gazing where she knew that he surely was so very gifted, for he was very virile. He was all man.

  Suddenly she realized that he had noticed her studying him. He was gazing back at her with a curious look, for surely he was wondering what she was thinking as her eyes took in so much of him.

  She was angry at herself for letting down her guard for even one minute. She saw danger in allowing him to think that she was softening in her feelings toward him.

  She could not, she would not, give in to him and his soft voice and alluring eyes.

  If he thought that he was winning her over, might he not then go further and try to seduce her?

  The thought did not altogether sicken her, for he was not a man who would make a woman feel disgusted at the thought of his taking her into his arms and kissing her.

  Suddenly she realized where her thoughts had now gone. She was angry that he had this effect on her.

  “All that you have said is a lie,” she declared venomously. “Please take yourself and your lies elsewhere. I tire of hearing you.”

  Absolutely stunned by her attitude, after he had opened himself up so much to her, Brave Wolf rose quickly to his feet.

  “You choose not to believe me, and that is alright,” he said softly. “At the moment you are not my concern. It is my mother whose face I see in my mind’s eye and inside my heart. It is for her that I travel far from my village. Not you. Only by chance did I find you . . . and save your life. It is up to you whether or not you ever believe that.”

  He gave her another lengthy gaze, glanced over the fire at his warriors, who had heard her insulting him again, then walked away. He went to his horse and rubbed it down with his hands.

  This woman. Surely she was talking out of anger and hurt.

  He just could not believe that such a lovely person normally had such a spiteful, hurtful tongue.

  Mary Beth gazed at Brave Wolf as he tended to his horse. What he had said about his mother did seem true enough, for he had mentioned her more than once.

  Despite her best efforts, she was beginning to see him in a different light. A man who put his mother before other things, even his own best interests and health, was surely a good man with a good heart.

  Yet . . . he was an Indian. She knew too much about them, and the hate they felt for whites, ever to allow herself to trust one.

  Even a man who made her pulse race when his eyes met hers, stirring flames within her that no other man had ever caused.

  It was that sort of feeling that she had never known with Lloyd. Strange that it was a red-skinned man who aroused such feelings now.

  She had to fight those feelings with every fiber of her being! She did not want to feel anything but loathing for this man and those who rode with him!

  She was still too afraid to trust Brave Wolf.

  “Brave Wolf,” she whispered to herself.

  Even his name made her feel something she had never felt before for a man: desire.

  Chapter Eight

  For man, as for flower and beast,

  and bird, the supreme triumph is to

  be most vividly, most perfectly, alive.

  —D. H. Lawrence

  The blowing night winds in the pines moaned low outside the cave. The campfire gave off a strange whistling sound.

  Chilled to the bone, Night Horse trembled beneath his blanket as he sat as close to the fire as he could get. Although he had been in the cave during the rain, it had not kept out the cold dampness that blew through the entrance.

  The fire and the lone blanket were just not enough to warm Night Horse any longer. His skin was clammy cold, yet he knew by the stars that seemed to be exploding i
nside his skull, and by the pounding of his temples, that he had a fever.

  His cough was deep. He could even hear a rattling in his lungs with each breath he took.

  He was very, very ill, and he had begun to think of death. He was afraid of dying.

  For the past three months, the faces of the dead on the battlefield had haunted him day and night. The blood, the stench of it, seemed to cling to him even though he had washed himself repeatedly in a nearby creek, defying the cold air and water just to get himself clean.

  Those baths, the cold nights, the dampness of the cave, were taking their toll on Night Horse. He knew that it wasn’t wise to stay in the cave any longer, but he had nowhere else to go.

  “I do not want to die alone!” he suddenly cried, tears falling from his eyes as he again thought of his beloved mother and how it would feel to have her comforting arms around him.

  In his mind’s eye he saw his mother sitting contentedly beside her lodge fire on a cold, blustery winter night. It was during the winter months that his mother softened the autumn elk hides by chewing the tough skins, wetting them with her mouth.

  In the summertime, he and Brave Wolf always took their mother hives of succulent honey.

  When he and Brave Wolf had gotten old enough to hunt, they had proudly brought home meat for their mother, some of which she roasted, while the rest was hung on the lodge poles.

  If he was with his mother and brother when he took his last breath, oh, surely he would leave this earth with a happier heart. If his mother and brother were there loving him, it could only mean that they both had forgiven him of all that he had done against his Crow people.

  “Yes, I must find my way home,” he whispered as he shakily pushed himself up from the rocky floor.

  He had made a decision. He did want to go home. He wanted to die among his people. He wanted their forgiveness before he died, especially his mother’s and brother’s.

  He was filled with such shame at his decision to leave his village to ally himself with whites.

  But he had felt so important while working as a white man’s scout, especially when he had become one of General Custer’s most trusted scouts.