Wolf Shadow (9 page)

And he was there. Clad in clout and moccasins, his skin like
burnished copper in the early morning light, his arms raised above his head.
Wolf Shadow. His hair fell past his shoulders, thick and black. The scars on
his back shone like a fine silver web in the pale sunshine. Her heart quickened
at the sight of him and she knew in that moment that she would never be happy
with Strong Elk, or with any other man.

As though sensing her presence, Wolf Shadow slowly lowered
his arms and turned to face her.

His gaze met hers, intense, unwavering. “Today is your
wedding day.” His voice was soft, but she heard the hard edge beneath it. “Shouldn’t
you be getting ready?”

“There will be no wedding.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

She placed one hand over her heart. “It does not feel right.
In here.”

He took a step toward her. “Is that the only reason?”

She felt her heart begin to pound as he took another step
toward her. “I…” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I think you know the
reason.”

One more step, and he was near enough to touch. “Tell me.”

She looked up at him, feeling as though her heart were
trapped in her throat. What if she poured out her heart to him and he didn’t
feel the same? How could he, when she wasn’t sure what it was she was feeling?

“Tell me, Rain. Why can’t you marry him?”

“Because when I lay in my bed, it is you that I think of
when I should be thinking of him,” she said, the words pouring out of her in a
rush. “Because I cannot stop thinking of you, dreaming of you. Because…”

He didn’t let her finish. His hands curled around her upper
arms and he drew her up against him. When he spoke, his voice was low and
husky.

“Because he doesn’t make you feel like this,” he said. And
kissed her.

Her eyelids fluttered down as she gave herself up to his
kisses. Warmth flowed through her. Millions of butterflies seemed to be dancing
in the pit of her stomach. She pressed herself against him, her breasts crushed
against his chest, her arms locked around his waist. A low moan filled her
ears. She was embarrassed when she realized it was coming from her own throat.

She was dazed, disoriented, when he put her away from him.
“What…what’s wrong?”

She stared at him a moment, only then realizing he was not
looking at her. She followed his gaze, gasped when she saw they were surrounded
by a group of mounted warriors armed and painted for war.

“Don’t move,” Wolf Shadow said quietly. “They might take you
alive.”

“What about you?” she asked.

He stared at the warrior riding toward him, war club raised
above his head. “I’m a dead man,” he muttered. “Remember what I said. Don’t
fight them.”

The words had barely left Wolf Shadow’s mouth when a warrior
clubbed him along the side of the head. Wolf Shadow dropped to the ground, a
splash of bright red blood spreading across his temple.

She would have screamed if another warrior hadn’t grabbed
her from behind and covered her mouth with his hand. She stared at Wolf Shadow,
at the blood dripping down the side of his face.

She tried to go to him, to see if he was dead, but the
warrior behind her refused to let her go. Moments later, she was laying face
down over the withers of one of the Crow horses, her hands and feet tied
beneath the horse’s belly, unable to see what was happening behind her.

She heard the sound of hoof beats and knew with dreadful
certainly that the Crow were going to attack the village. There was silence for
what seemed a very long while and then a blood-curdling war cry rent the
stillness of the early morning. The sound seemed to vibrate within her and she
closed her eyes. From deep within her memory she heard a voice crying,
No!
No!
La non mia ragazza piccola! Non prendere la mia ragazza piccola!
Teressa!

Teressa! She opened her eyes and the memory faded. Though
faint, she could hear an occasional scream, a gunshot, the terrified wailing of
a child. She tried to block out the sounds of the battle but to not avail. Her
thoughts turned to Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance. Hot tears stung her eyes.
Even if her parents survived the battle, she might never see them again. If the
Crow were victorious, she would be their prisoner. They would take her to their
village where she would be killed or forced to be a slave.

She looked over at Wolf Shadow, and fear wrapped around her
heart. He lay so still. Was he dead?

She lost track of time. Her wrists and ankles ached. Her
back ached. She closed her eyes again and her mind flooded with images of
paint-streaked warriors swooping down on her, of golden brown eyes filled with
fear and concern. Confused, she opened her eyes. Spots danced before her eyes.
She was trying to work her hands free when she realized the sounds of battle
had ceased. It occurred to her that it had been quiet for some time.

She felt her blood run cold when she heard a high-pitched
cry of victory.

The Crow had won the battle.

* * * * *

Chance groaned softly as consciousness returned, bringing a
wave of pain and nausea. He opened his eyes and quickly closed them again.
Where was he?

Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. The
world spun out of focus and he groaned again as pain slashed through the side
of his head. A Crow warrior jerked his arms behind his back and bound his
wrists together, then dropped a noose around his neck and pulled it tight.

What the hell had happened? Squinting against the sunlight,
Chance slowly looked around. At first, nothing made sense. Not the warriors
painted for war. Not the bloody scalps tied to their horses. Not the thick
black smoke spreading like ink across the sky. And then it all came back to
him. The Crow war party. The club swinging at his head.

Gradually, he realized the battle was over and the Crow had
won. Where was Winter Rain? Had they killed her? And what of Kills-Like-a-Hawk
and Dancing Crane? What of Bear Chaser? Were they all dead?

He took a step toward the village, grief welling up within
him, only to come to an abrupt halt as the warrior holding the rope gave it a
sharp jerk, nearly knocking Chance off his feet. Muttering an oath, he
stumbled, barely managing to keep his feet as the warrior urged his horse into
walk. Chance shuffled along in the horse’s wake, every step sending shards of
pain lancing through his skull.

By midafternoon, his head was throbbing incessantly. Sweat
stung his eyes, ran down his back, his chest. His shoulders ached from having
his arms drawn tightly behind his back.

A short time later, the war party stopped near a shallow
stream to rest and water their horses. Chance stared at the water. He moved
toward the stream. Just one drink, he thought. He hadn’t taken more than half a
dozen steps when the rope around his neck brought him up short, the rough hemp
cutting into his skin.

He heard the sound of laughter behind him. Slowly, he turned
to find a trio of warriors watching him. One of them spoke in a guttural
tongue, gesturing for Chance to get down on his knees. He caught the word “dog”
and knew they wanted him to beg for a drink.

Fighting off the urge to do so, he turned his back on them
and closed his eyes, quietly cursing himself for his show of pride. He couldn’t
go on much longer without water. Why not beg for it now? He would have to,
sooner or later. Why suffer any more than he had to? But some deep inner wellspring
of pride refused to let him abase himself while he still had the strength to
resist.

All too soon, the rope around his neck grew taut. Reaching
deep down inside himself, he found the strength and the will to put one foot in
front of the other.

He lost track of time. One hour blurred into the next. Every
step sent new slivers of pain knifing through his skull. Time and again he
thought of giving up. If he’d been certain they would shoot him and put him out
of his misery, he might have surrendered to the pain and given up, but the
thought of being dragged was more than he could bear.

At dusk, the Crow made camp.

Chance dropped to the ground the minute the horse ahead of
him came to a stop. Closing his eyes, he tried to pretend the pounding in his
head belonged to someone else.

He was on the brink of unconsciousness when a few drops of
blessedly cool water fell over his face. With an effort, he opened his eyes to
find Winter Rain kneeling beside him.

“Here.” She helped him sit up, then held a waterskin to his
lips. “Drink this.”

He gulped the cold water greedily. He’d never tasted
anything better in his life, he thought, not even his old man’s bonded bourbon.

“Drink it slowly,” Winter Rain admonished.

The warning came too late. Turning on his side, he retched,
then lay there panting, thinking he had never felt more miserable in his whole
life.

Winter Rain brushed his hair away from his face, then
offered him another drink.

Chance rinsed his mouth and spit, then took several slow
sips. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “Will they kill us, do you think?”

He took a deep breath, let it out in a long slow sigh. “I
don’t know.” There were worse things than death, he thought. Prisoners not
killed out of hand usually faced one of three fates: they were tortured, they
were forced to become slaves, or they were traded to another tribe for goods.
Winter Rain knew the consequences of being captured as well as he did. No doubt
she was looking for reassurance from him, but he had none to give.

Winter Rain gazed into the distance, her lower lip
trembling. “They are dead, aren’t they? My mother and father. Strong Elk. Dawn
Song and her family. All of them.”

Chance looked at her, wondering if a lie would be kinder
than the truth, but before he could answer, a tall warrior wearing black and
white war paint strode up to them. He kicked Chance in the side, then grabbed
Winter Rain by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

Chance swore as he doubled over, the pain lancing through
his ribs rivaling the ache in his head. Curled up on the ground, he watched the
warrior push Winter Rain toward a flat stretch of ground, gesturing that she
should build a fire.

With a sigh, Chance closed his eyes and slid into oblivion.

Chapter Eight

“Wolf Shadow? Wolf Shadow, wake up!”

He climbed up out of the darkness through layers of pain,
drawn by the sound of her voice and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek.

He opened his eyes to find Winter Rain staring down at him.

“You are still alive!” she exclaimed, the worry in her eyes
quickly turning to relief.

He had to be alive, he thought. He couldn’t be dead and hurt
this bad. His head ached. His ribs ached. His arms were numb.

“Can you sit up?” she asked. “I brought you something to
eat.”

“Water.” He forced the word through a throat that felt as
dry as the Arizona desert.

“All right.” She helped him to a sitting position, then
offered him a drink. Remembering his earlier experience, he sipped it slowly,
felt the coolness revive him.

Glancing at his surroundings, he saw that the Crow warriors
were gathered around several small fires. Though he couldn’t understand much of
their language, it was obvious that they were bragging about their victory over
the Lakota. His thoughts turned toward his cousin’s family again. Were they all
dead?

“Here.” Winter Rain offered him a chunk of meat. “You must
eat something.”

He ate if from her hand, surprised to find that he was
ravenous. Sitting there, letting him feed her as if he was a heel hound, took a
hefty slice out of his pride but there was no help for it. And he had a nasty
feeling that things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.

A short time later the warrior who had claimed Winter Rain
as his prisoner came after her. Jerking her to her feet, he dragged her over to
his blankets and pushed her down. He quickly tied her hands and feet together,
then stretched out beside her.

One by one, the warriors turned in for the night, save for
the two armed men who stood beside the nearest fire, keeping watch.

Neither of them seemed to be paying Chance any mind and
after a few minutes, he scooted backward a little, and then a little more, and
then a little more. With any luck, he could lose himself in the shadows and
work his hands free. And then he’d…

He swore softly as the taller of the two warriors turned to
look in his direction. The man spoke to his companion, then walked toward
Chance. Grabbing Chance by the arm, he pulled him to his feet and freed his
hands, gesturing for him to relieve himself.

Chance stifled a groan as feeling returned to his hands and
arms. Jaw clenched, he stretched his back and shoulders. All too soon, his
hands were tied tightly behind him again.

Lying on his side, he stared up at the sky. It was going to
be a long, long night.

* * * * *

Winter Rain lay rigid beside the Crow warrior, afraid to
move, afraid, almost, to breathe for fear of waking him. What did he intend to
do with her? He had not touched her tonight, but what of tomorrow? Was she to
be violated? Made a slave? Killed? Though she had no wish to die, she thought
she would prefer death to being raped or enslaved by the enemy.

She stared up at the sky. Had her parents been killed? Tears
burned her eyes. She should be lying dead beside them, she thought, blinking
back her tears. She would be dead now if she hadn’t gone down to the river. And
what of Strong Elk? And Dawn Song? She had not spoken to Dawn since the night
of the dance at the Strong Heart lodge.

Winter Rain closed her eyes, overcome with a sense of guilt.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to live if everyone she knew
and loved was dead.

But not everyone she knew was dead. Wolf Shadow was still
alive. What would his fate be? Did they mean to take him back to their village
and torture him for the amusement of the Crow people? If they killed him, she
would truly be alone.