Wolf Shadow (11 page)

Winter Rain stared at him. He didn’t look afraid. He didn’t
sound afraid. But surely he must be. The Crow wouldn’t just kill him. They
would torture him first.

“Go on,” he said gruffly. “Get out of here.” He didn’t want
her to watch, didn’t want her to be there if his courage ran out.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. She stared down at him for a
long moment, and then she hurried back to Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge and
ducked inside.

Chance sucked in a deep breath when he saw two men striding
purposefully toward him. He held it for several moments, then blew it out in a
long shuddering sigh. Dammit, he didn’t want to die like this, trussed up like
a Christmas turkey! His gaze slid toward Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge. He’d
had a pretty good life. Looking back, he only had two regrets: that he hadn’t
brought the last of his mother’s killers to justice, and that he wouldn’t get
to hold Winter Rain in his arms again.

One of the warriors untied Chance and jerked him to his
feet, then the warriors took hold of his arms and dragged him toward the fire
where they shoved him down to the ground and spread-eagled him between four
stout wooden stakes driven into the hard-packed earth.

He swore under his breath as the warriors who had attacked
the village paraded around him. Most of them were armed with skinning knives.
One carried a war lance from which dangled a long black scalp. Another
brandished a torch.

Chance glanced at the men and women gathered around the
fire. They watched him avidly, their expressions filled with hatred. The very
air seemed to crackle with anticipation.

The armed warriors began to dance. Watching them, Chance
realized it was a victory dance. He sucked in a deep breath as one of the
warriors drew a knife and waved it over his head. The crowd shouted the
warrior’s name as the warrior danced around Chance.

“Short Buffalo Horn! Short Buffalo Horn!”

Chance grimaced as the blade slashed downward, slicing into
his thigh. Blood trailed in the wake of the blade, looking black and shiny in
the firelight.

Hands clenched, his body rigid, Chance tried to concentrate
on something other than the pain. A movement to his left caught his eye and
when he looked up, he saw Blackbird-in-the-Morning. Winter Rain stood beside
her, staring down at him.

Dammit, what was she doing here? Chance’s body convulsed as
another warrior stepped forward and dragged the blade of his knife over his
chest. A third warrior made a shallow gash in Chance’s left shoulder. With each
show of blood, the Crow hollered their approval.

And now the warrior with the torch moved forward, swinging
the torch above his head as he spoke to the crowd. Chance stared at the flame,
his stomach churning, the taste of bile rising in his throat.

He looked up at Winter Rain again, willing her to go, to
leave before it was too late. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out
before the pain got too great, before he started sniveling like a baby, before
he begged the Crow for mercy they didn’t have.

The warrior holding the torch moved closer, each swing of
his arm bringing the flame closer to Chance’s body. He could feel the heat of
it now and he broke out in a cold sweat as he waited for the touch of the flame
against his skin.

“
Oochia
!” Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s quavery voice
rose above the shouts of the crowd.

The man with the torch fell silent as the old woman stepped
forward.

Chance sucked in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as the
old woman spoke. He didn’t know much of the Crow language but he caught the
word
chilee,
husband, and the word
baanistaache
, slave.

The man who had captured Chance strode forward and there was
a rapid exchange between the warrior and the old woman. The warrior looked
thoughtful for a moment and then he nodded. He spoke to the crowd and they
gradually dispersed until only Winter Rain and Blackbird-in-the-Morning
remained.

The old woman spoke to Winter Rain. Withdrawing a knife from
her belt, the old woman handed it to Winter Rain, then turned and made her way
back to her lodge.

Winter Rain knelt beside Chance and began cutting his hands
and feet free.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“I told Blackbird-in-the-Morning that you were my husband,
that you were a brave warrior among the Lakota, and that you did not deserve to
die without a chance to defend your honor.”

“And they let me live on her say-so?”

Winter Rain paused, wondering how much to tell him. “She is
a medicine woman, very holy. Come.” She slid her arm under his shoulder. “We
must tend your wounds.”

His gaze probed hers. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You will be her slave until you have recovered your
strength.”

“And then?”

“You will fight the warrior who captured you. If you win,
you will be his slave.”

“And if I lose?”

“If you lose, the warriors will finish what they started.”

“Guess I’d better win then,” he muttered.

With her help, he managed to gain his feet. Blood ran down
his thigh from the gash in his leg, dripped from the wounds in his shoulder and
chest.

Winter Rain slipped her arm around his waist and they walked
toward the old woman’s lodge.

Blackbird-in-the-Morning was waiting for them inside. She
had a fire going in the pit; the scent of sage filled the air. She gestured at
the robe spread in the rear of the lodge. With a weary sigh, Chance sank down
onto the warm fur. Winter Rain hovered at his side while
Blackbird-in-the-Morning tended his wounds.

The old woman’s gnarled hands were surprisingly gentle as
she washed and dressed the cuts. Then, chanting softly, she picked up a small
tortoise-shell rattle and shook it over his head and body four times. Still
chanting softly, she put the rattle aside and passed her hands through the
sage-scented smoke, drawing it toward him while Winter Rain stroked his brow,
her eyes filled with concern.

The chanting, the smoke, and Winter Rain’s gentle touch
soothed him to sleep.

Winter Rain looked at Blackbird-in-the-Morning. “
Will he
be all right
?”

The old woman nodded. “
He is not bad hurt
.
Sleep
now
.”

It was then that Winter Rain realized Wolf Shadow was
stretched out on her sleeping robes, and that, as his “wife”, she was expected
to lie beside him.

A short time later, Blackbird-in-the-Morning signed that it
was time for bed.

There was nothing for Winter Rain to do but obey. Sitting
down, she removed her moccasins, then lifted a corner of the robe and slid
under it, careful not to touch Wolf Shadow, who was sleeping soundly.

The fire burned down low. Winter Rain stared into the
darkness, acutely aware of the man who lay beside her clad in nothing but a
breechclout. Closing her eyes, she was careful to keep as much space as
possible between them.

She didn’t remember falling asleep but she woke with a
start, instantly aware that it was morning and that she was in a strange place,
in a strange bed. And then she felt the weight of Wolf Shadow’s head on her
shoulder, the warmth of his skin against her arm, and she knew what had
awakened her.

Lying perfectly still so as not to disturb him, she glanced
around the lodge, trying to ignore his nearness. She could hear
Blackbird-in-the-Morning snoring softly across the way. The old woman was
barely visible in the dim light filtering through the smoke hole.

Winter Rain’s gaze was drawn back toward Wolf Shadow. She
could feel his breath, warm against her neck. She felt her own breath catch in
her throat as he rolled onto his side. His arm curled around her waist and now
the full length of his body was pressed intimately against hers.

With a start, she realized he was awake and watching her.

Heat flooded her cheeks.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Me?” Her voice came out in a squeak. “Why do you ask?”

“You look a little flushed.” His voice was low and husky;
his breath tickled her ear.

“I…”

Wolf Shadow’s gaze moved to her mouth and lingered there.
She felt the touch of his heated gaze as surely as if he had kissed her. The
flush in her cheeks intensified, and spread downward, flooding her whole body
with warmth. Her eyes widened as his arm tightened around her, drawing her body
closer to his own. There was no doubt that he was feeling better, she thought,
no doubt at all. Just as there was no doubt that he was fully aroused.

She cleared her throat nervously. “Does your head still
hurt?”

“I’m hurting in a lot of places,” he muttered.

Her brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can
do?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a wry grin. “But I doubt you’d be
willing to do it.”

She looked at him blankly for a moment, and then her eyes
widened as she realized what he meant.

Chance swore under his breath. She was a maiden, untouched,
untutored in the ways of men and women, not some saloon tart he could bed and
forget. She was a rich man’s daughter, one who was worth fifteen grand to her
old man, and he’d better remember that right quick. He was pretty sure old
Bryant wouldn’t want to find out his little girl had been seduced by the man
sent to bring her back.

Muttering an oath, he lifted his arm from her waist and put
some space between them. How the devil was he going to sleep beside her night
after night and keep his hands off of her? He hadn’t wanted a woman this bad
since he was a randy young buck.

Throwing back the covers, he took a deep breath and stood
up. Slipping on his moccasins, he left the lodge and headed for the river. Cold
baths had never been among his favorite things, but this morning, it was just
what he needed.

He was aware of being watched as he walked through the
village toward the river. Warriors eyed him with suspicion, women and children
with ill-disguised curiosity and distrust. He spotted several sentries keeping
watch.

When he reached the river, he removed his clout and
moccasins, took a deep breath, and plunged in. He swore as the cold water
closed over him. But it was just what he needed.

* * * * *

Winter Rain breathed a sigh of relief when Wolf Shadow left
the lodge. When he was near, she couldn’t seem to think clearly. Her heartbeat
quickened, she felt nervous and excited, as if she was on the verge of some
wondrous discovery. Sometimes it seemed as if she would jump right out of her
skin. She felt her cheeks flush as she remembered the press of his body, hard
and long and lean, against hers; the way he had looked at her, as if he were a
hungry wolf and she a helpless fawn. She had been afraid he might kiss her
again; disappointed when he had not.

Where had he gone?

Rising, she pulled on her moccasins and combed her fingers
through her hair. A glance at Blackbird-in-the-Morning showed her that the old
woman was still sleeping soundly.

Moving quietly, Winter Rain stepped outside. It was a clear
crisp morning. Grabbing a waterskin, she headed for the river. The first task
of the day was to draw fresh water for drinking and cooking, then she would
gather wood for the fire.

She walked briskly, her gaze darting up and down the shore
when she reached the river’s edge. Turning right, she passed several other
women who had come down to draw water. She could have filled her waterskin
anywhere but she kept moving upriver. She told herself the reason she didn’t
stop where the Crow women were gathered was because she didn’t want to suffer
their cold looks or hear their cruel words, but the truth was, she was looking
for Wolf Shadow, even though she was reluctant to admit it.

She found him a short time later, couldn’t help grinning
when she thought of how often she had found him standing naked in the river. This
time he was hunkered down, submerged to mid-chest.

He didn’t look happy to see her.

“What are you doing?” Moving upstream a little, she knelt at
the river’s edge to fill the waterskin.

“What does it look like?” he asked, his voice gruff.

She shrugged. “It looks like you’re just sitting there. Are
you not cold?”

“Not cold enough.”

“I do not understand.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t I know it.”

He sounded angry, though she did not know why. Perhaps it
was merely that the cold water made his wounds ache, she mused, or perhaps he
was upset at being a prisoner. It was not a fate a Lakota warrior could easily
accept. Or maybe he was worried about facing the warrior who had captured him.
She dismissed that thought as soon as it crossed her mind. When his wounds
healed, Wolf Shadow would not be easily overcome.

“Why do you not come out?” she asked.

He looked down at himself, then back at her, one brow
lifting in wry amusement. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” she asked, and then, taking his meaning, she
blushed to the roots of her hair. Rising quickly, she hurried back to the
village.

“Finally, she gets it,” he muttered irritably.

The morning meal was ready when Chance returned to
Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge.

Winter Rain looked up when he stepped inside. She blushed
when she met his gaze.

Just looking at her made him hard and aching all over again.
It was all too easy to remember how she had felt pressed against him that
morning, to remember how ardently she had returned his kisses. Damn! He was
going to be spending a lot of time in that river.

Sitting down, he glanced at Blackbird-in-the-Morning. Was
she aware of the tension sparking between himself and Winter Rain? She couldn’t
miss it, he thought, looking back at Winter Rain. The attraction between the
two of them was hot enough to set the lodge on fire.

With the meal over, Winter Rain went outside. Aware of
Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s knowing look, he followed Winter Rain out of the
lodge.