"The hair locks...were they from each of the horses you have caught?"
"Yes. But I traded some horses for this and that."
"A metal skinning knife?" he asked, recalling the weapon she had tried to use to slit his throat.
She blushed. "I did not know you then."
"Would you do differently if we met today?" Her skin was warm and soft under his. He used his thumb to stroke the back of her hand. She weaved her fingers with his. He cupped her chin and she tilted her head, preparing for his kiss.
His mother dropped her cooking kettle on the lodge poles, making it ring. Raven leaped back from Running Wolf, who turned to meet his mother"s glare. Her scowl was as fierce as a mother bear protecting cubs. Snow Raven withdrew behind him, but his mother"s attention seemed fixed to her. Then her gaze flashed to his.
"You will never take this one hunting. She is a captive."
Running Wolf knew his mother"s moods, and she was furious now. He had protected Snow Raven from becoming a common woman. She had protected herself from the females of his tribe by putting a woman as large as Buffalo Calf on her back. But now that his mother had seen his desire for Snow Raven, who would protect her from Ebbing Water?
"Kicking Rabbit," she said, her voice as sharp as a breaking stick, "go and fetch the blankets."
Snow Raven hurried to do as she was bid. Running Wolf could not keep himself from watching her go. She looked sleek and graceful in her new dress of rabbit hides. She had even created a collar of what looked like a weasel. Her feet were no longer bare, though the moccasins were of the design of Crow, with a center seam down the middle of her foot, instead of the more comfortable seam affixing the soft upper buckskin to the tough protection of rawhide. And of course they held no adornment.
"And you," said his mother.
Running Wolf forced his attention away from Snow Raven.
"You had best remember who you are and who she is."
Running Wolf no longer saw fury in Ebbing Water"s eyes. Now he saw anxiety.
"She is Crow. An enemy. And you have been asked by the chief himself to court his youngest daughter. What will she say if she sees you making moon eyes at a lowly captive?"
That straightened his spine. It was one thing to suffer his mother"s ire. But the wrath of the daughter of the chief would put Snow Raven in real peril.
Running Wolf nodded his understanding and withdrew. The best way to protect Snow Raven was to keep his distance.
Chapter Ten.
The tribe followed the scouts who would lead them to the herds of buffalo. Running Wolf had traveled near his mother much of the day, afraid that she might hurt Snow Raven and equally afraid that Snow Raven might hurt his mother.
He had intended to allow his captive to ride her horse, but his mother would not let a captive ride when many women of his tribe walked. She likely would not even have permitted Snow Raven to lead her gray mare, but was unaware that the horse had belonged to her captive.
The horse knew. That was obvious by the whinny when she had first discovered her mistress. Both her horse and Snow Raven had kept their relationship secret from Ebbing Water, but Snow Raven had thanked him twice. She had almost touched him again, too, but then she had glanced over her shoulder at his mother, preparing to ride the brown horse, and dropped her hands back to her sides. Running Wolf smiled, recognizing that Snow Raven also struggled with a need to touch.
His smile died under the slow realization that this would only make both of their situations worse. She would gain more enemies among the women and he would risk offending his chief.
No, his mother was right, her warning wise. He must distance himself from this little warrior woman. She was sly. Could she steal a man"s heart as easily as she stole his horses?
He left them and rode along the line of families traveling southwest. When he pa.s.sed the family of Spotted Fawn"s friend, Pretty Thrush, she called a greeting and he scowled at the child for her impudence until he recalled his promise to Spotted Fawn. He groaned and then returned her greeting. In response the girl giggled. He rode ahead as quickly as he could without appearing rude.
That night his mother made a temporary camp. The sky was clear, so there was no need to erect the lodge. His mother sat squarely between him and their captive, watching. Running Wolf accepted a large bowl of the stew his mother had carried in her iron kettle from their last camp. It was hard not to comment on how little Snow Raven was given to eat, but there was less than she had started with because his mother had dropped the kettle.
He ate quickly and then went to see to his horses. He did not return until late and found only his mother sleeping between the buffalo robes. His bed was made and empty. Where was Snow Raven?
He tried to think where he would go if he were hungry and had no robe to sleep upon. Had she noticed the buffalo wallow? It was only a few paces from their trail and not very far back. He headed in that direction.
Buffalos liked to roll in the same places. Their horns and hooves dug up the thick sod until there was a deep indentation; in this way the hole grew through the efforts of thousands of buffalo over many lifetimes.
Running Wolf had seen as many as a hundred buffalo all rolling in the dust in one place. They liked to cover their coats with mud in spring and dirt in fall. In the spring such wallows were alive with frogs and snakes and birds. In the fall, when water was scarce, animals came from all over the prairie to drink the rainwater collecting there. The wallow was a natural place to hunt, and Raven was a hunter.
He stood and collected his bow and quiver. If buffalo were close, there might be p.r.o.nghorn drinking or even wolves.
Running Wolf stilled at that thought and the realization that Snow Raven had no weapons and might be right now standing by the wallow alone at night. He broke into a run.
He had enough sense not to charge down the hill to the wallow, because if there were any game he would frighten them. He crept over the rise and gazed down at the half moon reflected in the water. The sun had not yet stolen all the water, though it had taken much. The muddy banks were wider than the lake.
He looked for Snow Raven and did not see her. He did not know if he should be relieved or annoyed. Then he noticed something beside him in the gra.s.s that ringed the indenture in the earth. He reached out and closed his fist around the patchwork dress made from many rabbit pelts. Beneath lay two Crow moccasins.
She was here.
His heart sped as he scanned again more carefully and found that some of the mud was moving. Snow Raven had coated herself from head to toe. Even her hair was covered. Was she planning to grab any animal that wandered too close?
Ducks were migrating now, and geese. If she was lucky, she might catch one when it landed. Though without a weapon, he was doubtful.
Part of him wanted to watch her hunt, but another part wanted to be near her. He slipped out of his leggings, loincloth, moccasins and shirt. Then he untied the feathers that decorated his hair. Finally, he gave the call of a whip-poor-will.
She stopped moving and listened. He called again. She turned in his direction and he signaled her with a sweep of his hand, kept low and parallel to the ground. She returned the gesture and waited as he slithered down the bank with his bow and arrows.
She lay facedown so he could see the moonlight illuminating the sensual curve of her back and the enticing round cheeks of her bottom. The mud only made her more appealing because he knew they both would be as slippery as otters.
He came up beside her and she gestured that she was watching something on the far bank. He saw nothing and waited beside her. He was hungry for her, but she was hungry for food. He could speak to his mother, of course, but that might just make matters worse.
They waited there, side by side. He heard the rustle before he saw the animal-a p.r.o.nghorn buck stepped through the tall gra.s.s, nostrils twitching as he scented for predators.
Snow Raven had wisely put them upwind, and the mud would also cover their scent. The buck disappeared for a moment and Running Wolf removed his quill of arrows and slid both the bow and the arrows to Snow Raven. She looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment, but her fist gripped the bow and she notched an arrow.
The buck appeared again, leading six does down to drink. He had done well this fall, thought Running Wolf. Six females might mean six to twelve fawns come spring, if he was potent and his females willing.
Would she take the buck? He wouldn"t. He would go for the smallest doe. Give the others a chance to mate and raise young.
She lifted the bow so that the grip was just off the mud. Then she cleaned the gut string with a slow sweep of her thumb and first finger. As the p.r.o.nghorns made their way down to the water to drink, she tested the new weapon, drawing back the string and feeling the flex of the ash bow.
The mud was deep and the p.r.o.nghorns" hooves made a sucking sound as they continued toward their objective. Snow Raven notched an arrow. One of the does paused and half turned sideways to their position, looking back the way they had come. Raven released the arrow. It flew across the water like a shaft of moonlight and into the doe"s side.
The doe jumped and kicked, startling the others. Blood frothed from the antelope"s nose and mouth. The arrow had missed the ribs and gone through both lungs.
A lucky shot.
But was it luck? Raven stood now. Showing herself to her prey. She was not greedy. She did not take another shot. The remaining p.r.o.nghorns galloped up the incline and disappeared as their unlucky companion fell to her knees, rolled and died. But that was the way of life. One had to drink, and that meant facing predators who had to eat.
Snow Raven handed back the bow, and even though she was coated in sticky mud, he could see her form perfectly in moonlight. The mud seemed almost like war paint, as if she really was a warrior woman as he had first seen her. Only now she was a hunter.
"Thank you," she said, returning his bow. He wished she could keep it. It belonged in her hand.
His eyes seemed to stick to her just like the mud.
"That was a good shot." He motioned toward the antelope. "What were you hunting?"
"I saw a flock of ducks flying over the night sky and hoped they would land. But they flew on."
She started toward her kill and he followed her, but the mud was so deep they stuck up to their knees, just like the p.r.o.nghorn. She stopped first beside the muddy water. He judged the distance and estimated the depth. Then he looked back to find her studying his body with the same apt curiosity as he had looked at hers.
His skin tingled, and he thought the heat suddenly coming from his body might dry the mud into cakes of dirt. He cleared his throat and her gaze flicked back to his face even as his body made a full show of arousal. Her gaze dropped and then swept upward again.
"You have seen a naked man?"
"Of course," she said.
He smiled. "How do I compare?"
She returned his smile, only hers was full of mischief. "You are much dirtier."
Yes, and his thoughts were just as murky as the mud. In a few more moments he feared he would not be able to think at all. He gripped his bow tighter to keep from reaching for her.
"And you smell like a frog." She laughed.
Her mirth was contagious, and he found himself laughing, too. "Me?" he said, lifting one muddy strand of her hair from her shoulder. "I think that is you."
She used a single finger to sweep over his collarbone and then down the swell of muscle at his chest. She drew back a glob of mud and sniffed it.
"You," she said.
"Can you swim?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Would you like to clean off?"
Another nod, cautious now. "But a woman does not bathe before a man."
He knew this, of course, but seeing her wearing nothing but a coating of mud made her look wild and more desirable, if that was even possible. Most women tied downy feathers and beads and ermine in their hair. And Snow Raven had no adornment. Yet she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen.
"I would bathe if you will give me the privacy to do so."
"You are my captive. If I say you must bathe, then you must."
She folded her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, effectively lifting the plump flesh upward.
She considered him, measuring his intent. Then she shook her head. "No."
"Stubbornness in a captive is a dangerous thing."
"In my heart I am still free."
"Snow Raven. You are a captive of the Sioux. Were I another man..."
"I have already been struck by another man and several women. I have seen what is done to the other captives here. So though you can kill me or beat me or set me free, you cannot force me to do this."
She left him with a hard choice. Submit to her will or force her to his. He imagined washing her body and felt his arousal twitch. Her eyes sank and then returned to meet his.
He imagined breaking her and watching her slink around the village like the other captives here. Or worse, watching her sway her hips, enticing any man who would bring her a bit of food or cloth. No, he was wise enough not to kill what he loved in her.
He bent his knees and sprang. She gave a little shout of surprise as he sailed past her into the water. When he surfaced he scrubbed himself clean and then exited the pond to retrieve his clothing. He slipped into his loincloth, leggings and moccasins. He did not look back as he shouldered the carca.s.s of the p.r.o.nghorn in one hand and his bow and quiver tin the other. Then he climbed the hill. Once on the crest he glanced toward her and then strode away. He walked the outer rim of gra.s.s until he laid down the p.r.o.nghorn and studied the hole she had punched between two ribs. Had she really had such accuracy with an unfamiliar bow, lying on her side with only the quarter moon for illumination?
Behind him he heard splashing and forced himself not to return to watch her.
Instead, he sank to his knees before the antelope and stared up to the heavens, chanting a prayer of thanks, as any hunter should do, grateful to the doe for the gift of her life. Finally he prayed his thanks to the Creator for providing all creatures and then added a song for patience and strength.
When the last note of his song disappeared, he retrieved his arrow and returned it to his quiver as he worked with the doe.
He did not hear so much as sense her approach. Her tread was light and graceful. Snow Raven"s skin now shown silver in the moon"s light. The rabbit-skin dress was back in place, but the length still revealed much of her shapely legs. His body gave another tug and he sighed.
"You will have a cape next," he said.
"I may keep the p.r.o.nghorn hide?" she asked.
"You killed it. Of course it is yours."
"Your mother will not like that."
That was true. He had had words with his mother over the rabbit hides, and he wondered if his mother was now realizing why he had been so generous with his first captive.
"It is yours," he said again.
"Then, I will give it to Little Deer."
"Who?"
"The youngest captive of your people. Her dress is in ruins."
Your people. Of course, she saw them all as other.
Why was she providing for another captive? He wanted her to keep the hide, but he said nothing as he began skinning the doe and she gathered buffalo chips and dry sticks from the cottonwood grove.
"Would you like the liver?" he asked her. "Or the heart?"