Silken Savage (3 page)

Stars of pain blurred Tanya’s vision and swirled in a gathering mist as she fought to stay conscious. When she felt his stubby fingers hook in her chemise, ripping the material to expose her breasts, she rallied. With a furious shriek that rivaled that of a mountain lioness defending her cubs, she lunged at him, unaware of the crowd of onlookers they had attracted. Her teeth connected with the lobe of his ear and she bit down hard. He howled in agony and hit at her, trying to shake her loose, but she clung like a dog to a chunk of raw meat. She felt the flesh give way under the pressure of her teeth until her jaws met. Her attacker pulled loose, leaving his earlobe still between her clamped teeth, and leveled a blow to her head that nearly cracked her jaw.

Several things happened at once. The ugly savage’s weight was lifted from her, and Tanya recognized her original captor. He had a hold on the fat Indian’s shoulder, whom he lifted and propelled away from her. Her mouth full of blood and part of the Indian’s ear, Tanya rolled over and retched violently for the second time that evening. Pulling herself to elbows and knees, she willed herself not to faint as she concentrated on the events going on nearby. Her tall, bronze captor had subdued her attacker and was issuing what sounded like terse commands. From the angry tone of his voice and various gestures at her, she gathered he was making it clear to all that she was his alone, at least for the time being. She hoped this was what he was saying, though what the difference was between being ravished by one savage or another, she couldn’t have said.

Her captor yanked her up and propelled her to a spot he had picked out. Throwing some blankets at her, he directed her to spread them out on the ground. Afterward, he lay down, motioning for her to do the same. She did so warily.

He lay on his back, his arms folded beneath his head, eyes closed. After a few minutes of listening to her fuss and squirm trying to adjust her torn chemise and rid her mouth of its acid taste, he sighed and sat up. Handing her the water flask to rinse her mouth, he pulled a strip of leather from one of his braids. This he handed to her to lace her bodice back together. Taking another thong, he tied it about her right wrist and tethered it to his left one. Once again he lay down to sleep, leaving her to do as she wished, as far as her leash allowed.

She sat for a while studying her situation, reviewing the events of the day. However, she was exhausted, and it wasn’t long before she eased herself down on her blanket, as far from his body as she could reach, and went to sleep.

The sky wasn’t even light when she was shaken awake. She lifted sleep-heavy eyelids to find her head nestled on a bronze shoulder and her face just inches away from that of her captor. Her arm was thrown across his chest and her leg rested intimately between his. During the night she must have gravitated toward the heat his body had offered.

Tanya was mortified. Talk about embracing your enemy …literally! He gave her a level, measuring look, awaiting her reaction, which was not long in coming.

First she turned a delightful shade of bright pink and immediately tried to push herself away from him. With his arm clasped about her shoulder and her leg caught between his, he held her easily, watching her struggle for a few seconds. Then she quieted, and he could see her thinking the problem over in her mind, her straight pearly teeth worrying her lower lip. He nearly laughed aloud as she very gingerly tried to untangle her limbs from his, her small white hand grazing his thigh as she tried to get him to move his leg without actually touching him. His chest shook with repressed laughter as she finally gave up.

Resting her forehead on his shoulder, she sighed in defeat. “Will you please let me up, you big bronze brute?”

He hid a smile and lifted her chin in his palm, tilting her face to his. With a look that said he knew he had her at his mercy and could do with her whatever he wished, he released her. He severed the thong that bound her to him and led her into the trees for her morning nature call, politely turning his back. Then he threw her some more dried meal and meat for breakfast and indicated she was to retrieve the blankets and follow him.

When his big black horse had been tended to, he gave Tanya her ration of water and they mounted. The rest of the band followed suit.

A quick look around at the other women made Tanya realize how fortunate she had been thus far. Suellen, Melissa and Nancy all looked half dead. Surprisingly, Rosemary was starting to rally. Having survived the previous night, she was coming out of her stupor and seemed more aware of what was going on around her.

An hour into their ride, the sun was up, and Tanya was trying to get her bearings. Now that darkness did not cover the landscape, she saw that they were indeed in the foothills. The sun was behind them; the mountains ahead. On the top of a rise, Tanya twisted about, trying to memorize landmarks and mark the direction of their travel in relationship to the probable location of the wagon train. A smart slap on her thigh brought her attention to her captor’s face. He glared at her in disapproval, fully aware of what she was thinking. A sharp, negative shake of his head told her to forget all ideas of escape.

THEY REACHED the Indian encampment just before dusk. In the fading light, Tanya saw what looked like a city of tents spread out in the secluded mountain valley.

At the edge of the encampment, Tanya’s captor halted his party of braves. Looping a length of leather about Tanya’s neck to fashion a collar and leash, he pushed her from his horse to fall to the ground at his mount’s hooves. With a tug at his end, he urged her to her feet.

Fear and anger warred in her golden eyes, making them blaze. He felt them shooting darts into his straight bronze back as he turned from her and rode proudly through the maze of
tipis,
his leonine captive in tow.

Never would Tanya forget the humiliation of that trip through the avenue of
tipis
to the center of the village. Forced to trot to keep up with the pace of his horse, it was difficult to maintain her dignity. As they wound their way past the skin-covered conical structures, a crowd gathered about them to welcome the returning braves and torment their victims.

Tanya stiffened when the first red-brown hands reached out to touch her pale skin. Vaguely she heard Nancy, behind her whimper, and Melissa cry out in alarm. More hands reached out, pulling at her arms, pinching, tugging at her tangled hair. Jostled and pushed about, Tanya struggled to keep her balance. Hands struck out at her; feet deliberately thrust into her path, threatened to trip her. A sea of taunting faces loomed closer.

An inner strength she never knew she had stiffened her spine and held the tears at bay. Staring straight before her, Tanya refused to look to either side. Compressing her lips tightly together, she called upon her fierce pride to school her features into rigid planes, refusing to show her growing fear and panic. Stoically she bore the taunts and blows, ignoring the pain, willing herself not to cry out.

Once she lost her footing and fell headlong in the dirt. The leather thong cut into her neck, cutting off her air, choking her. Amidst the throng of bronze limbs thrust at her, she fought her way to her feet, stumbling after her captor’s horse. Scraped, scratched, and bleeding, she clawed at the noose until she could once more draw a ragged breath. Hatred and pride rescued her flagging composure.

In a clearing at the center of the camp, they stopped. The captives were herded together to one side as the returning braves dismounted and were greeted by their fellow warriors. Out of the largest and most ornate of the decorated
tipis
emerged a tall, gray-haired Indian. His proud stance proclaimed him a man of importance in his tribe. He spoke to Tanya’s captor, his deep commanding voice carrying to where Tanya waited with her fellow captives. A silence fell over the crowd when he spoke. Tanya’s captor responded, and together with several other men, they went into the ornate
tipi.

This seemed to signal a return to camp activity.

Standing with her friends, Tanya watched as two Indian women lit the huge fire in the center of the clearing. As the flames drove away the encroaching darkness, so did it drive away all hope of escape. Glancing about her, Tanya winced at the number of tents surrounding them. Should they somehow manage to slip unnoticed to the edge of the camp, they would have to cross an open expanse of field separating them from the forest’s edge. For the moment the Indians seemed content to ignore them, but Tanya sensed their every move was being monitored.

Most of the crowd had dispersed. The women had dragged the curious children away. Tanya wondered if they were now inside their skin-covered homes eating supper and sharing conversation the way white people did. Many of the men had stayed and were sitting about the fire talking, now and then throwing a glance at the captive women.

Bone-weary and sore, Tanya tentatively lowered herself to sit on the dew-dampened ground. Seeing no reaction from their guards, the other women followed suit. Too tired and scared to talk, they huddled silently together, a tense, pathetic group. The aroma of cooking food caused their empty stomachs to cramp painfully, especially as they watched Indian wives carrying bowls of food to their husbands around the fire. No one came to give them food or water or blankets to ward off the evening chill.

Every so often a few of the Indians would wander off, only to return after having painted his face and chest, and sometimes his arms and legs, with strange, frightening designs. Soon they were all decorated in bright, greasy paints, and the hostages shivered, wondering if this was a prelude to their torture or death. It certainly appeared as if they were preparing for some sort of celebration or ceremony.

Tanya’s nerves were stretched taut. Huddled with her trembling, terror-filled fellow captives, she strove desperately to keep her own panic at bay. Her heart had lodged somewhere in her throat and was pounding at a frightening pace. She jumped involuntarily when Melissa slumped against her. Melissa had found a temporary escape from her terror, whether in sleep or a fright-induced faint Tanya wasn’t sure. She shifted Melissa so that the girl’s head lay in her lap, absently stroking the bright hair. The soothing action brought her a measure of calm.

Tanya barely recognized her captor when he finally re-emerged from the large tipi. He, too, had painted his face and chest. Across both cheeks he wore what resembled huge black claws, and one wide stripe of black followed the straight line of his nose. On his broad, hairless chest was the caricature of a snarling panther. At another time perhaps the artistry of the design would have fascinated Tanya, but at the moment she was frozen with fear, unable to do more than stare.

With the arrival of the old chief and his entourage, the evening’sactivities picked up. Seated about the fire, the men talked, their women taking up places behind them to hear the news. As Tanya and the others awaited their fate, drums began to sound, echoing their frantic heartbeats. A weathered, stooped old man began to chant, shaking a rattle as he sang. Soon others picked up the chant, and the eerie tones wafted on the evening breeze, sending shivers along Tanya’s spine. Several of their captors got up and mimed the story of how they had captured the white women.

Even Tanya had no trouble interpreting some of their actions. She frowned as one of the braves mimicked how she had bitten the squat captor’s ear. Would this earn her additional torture …more pain …a longer, slower death? Many of the Indians seemed to appreciate this part of the skit, guffawing loudly at the ugly man’s disfigurement. Several pairs of dark eyes turned toward Tanya, assessing the white girl who had done this to one of their own. Tanya steeled herself not to cringe beneath their stares, returning their looks steadily with her own golden gaze.

The night and the noise seemed to go on and on. At one point there seemed to be an argument between Tanya’s captor and the fat, gruesome creature whose ear she had bitten. The ugly one shouted and gestured wildly to Tanya and then to his deformed ear, addressing himself to the gray-haired man Tanya assumed was their chief. Icy fingers danced along Tanya’s spine. Then her captor spoke, firmly stating in quiet, angry tones what he had to say. The old chief nodded, spoke a few clipped words, and Tanya’s captor sat down, evidently satisfied, while the other stomped angrily back to his place in the circle. What this meant, Tanya could not tell, but she hoped she would not be turned over to the ugly warrior.

The evening’s activities seemed to be building up to a climax. The very air seemed to tingle with excitement. Finally, at a word from the chief, several women approached the captives. The white women were led to their original captors; Tanya’s leash was placed in her captor’s hands.

Melissa nearly fainted again, and Nancy broke out in a series of ear-piercing shrieks. From the corner of her eye, Tanya could see Suellen struggling against her captor’s hold. Rosemary was sobbing quietly and muttering what sounded like a prayer. Tanya felt frozen, unable to react in any way.

The girls were led toward the fire, and for one heart-stopping moment Tanya was sure they were to be burned alive. Brought up short by a tug on her leash, she stopped. She watched, holding her breath, as Rosemary was led forward. At the fire’s edge her captor held her as an Indian woman reached out and took a burning twig from the fire. The tattered edges of Rosemary’s skirt threatened to catch fire as the glowing end of the stick was brought to her thigh. Bile rose up in Tanya’s throat as she watched, horrified. Rosemary’s screams tore the night air as her leg was seared. She slumped against her captor as he led her away.

By this time the other girls realized what was in store for them. Nancy, next in line, was screaming and pleading, to no avail. Suellen had renewed her struggles, twisting and clawing in her bid for freedom, her strident voice even more piercing in her terror. Melissa’s eyes looked like two large blue-glazed dinner plates in her otherwise colorless face. Her mouth opened and shut soundlessly.