A Find Through Time

by Marianne Petit

  George shook his head like a child who knew he had done something wrong. His eyes widened. His brows arched. “I don’t want to get you in trouble Mr. Prescott. I like you.”

  “I like you too, George. I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. Now, you wouldn’t happen to know where Gabby is, would you?”

  George backed over to the table as though he was trying to shield the papers that lay about. “I don't know if I should tell you.”

  If his instincts were right, something was very wrong. And it wasn't about the story anymore. He took a step closer to George. “You know I like Miss Gabby, don't you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I won't hurt her, or get her in trouble now, would I?” He placed his hand on George’s forearm in a reassuring gesture.

  George shook his head.

  “That's right. All I want to do is talk to her.”

  “She's…” George hesitated. He jangled some loose change in his pocket. “At the reservation,” he added in a huff. “Said she was gonna spend a few days there.”

  “Which one?” Frustration strained Roy’s voice.

  George shrugged.

  “Well, don't worry. I'm going to leave now and go find her. Okay?” Roy forced a smile.

  “Ask her if I did good,” George shouted as Roy flipped open the tent flap and stepped outside.

  ****

  It was growing dark when Two Moons left the cave once again in search of his medicine charms. His failure thus far stung like a thorn in his side. And with each futile attempt made, each hour he searched in vain, that thorn cut deeper and deeper, making him want to scream from the mountain tops. Only once he had found what he needed, could he return to his village with pride.

  He could hear the trees creaking as they struggled against the howling wind. Then in the distance, a different kind of howling pierced the air. Two Moons’ heart pounded. His body taut-erect, he stood rooted to his spot and listened. His eyes sharp, his senses alert, he moved quickly through the deep snow drifts. Aware of everything around him, of every branch he passed laden with snow, he took each step in silence. He inched closer and closer until he could see the wolf.

  With a quickness born from experience he drew an arrow from his quiver, placed it in his bow and aimed. The arrow whizzed through the air, straight and sure. Two Moons’ spirits lifted. At last, part of his vision would come to be. This was a good sign. At last Tunkashila had heard his prayer.

  The joy in his heart fell, as his arrow missed its mark. The wolf with the speed of the wind took to the shadows of the trees.

  Two Moons ran, ran as though his life depended on it. All the pride, all the hope he had felt earlier tumbled around him. He would not let it. He would not let his spirit lose faith. He would not let the wolf win.

  Through the high snows he struggled, up the steep incline. Sliding down the other side. Sure of foot. Sure of his purpose. Again the lone white wolf stood before him. His bow ready, Two Moons aimed.

  A night hawk screeched from up above. The bird's large wings flapped like thunder. The wolf raised his head to the sky, then in a flash, he disappeared through the trees.

  Perhaps if his quickness of thought hadn't gotten the best of him, he wouldn't have screamed his anger like a wild cat caught in a hunter's trap. He wouldn't have stomped at the ground in frustration only to lose his footing and find himself now sliding out of control down the hill. His breath slammed from his chest in a rush. Dizzy, he landed belly down at the foot of the hill.

  A tangled web of long wet hair clung to his face. He growled, wiped his eyes clear, then shook his head in disbelief at the sight that lay only a few steps before him.

  A woman lay deep in the snow.

  Her long black hair appeared stiff, clumped with ice. She wore the cloth of the white man, Two Moons thought with disgust, noticing the long red skirt that clinched her ankles and the long sleeved shirt gathered at her wrists.

  He got up, trudged over to her. Her chest rose and fell in a faint, but steady rhythm. She was still alive, but for how long?

  The wolf howled in the distance, his deep wail echoing off the mountains.

  Two Moons began to pace, making deep grooves in the snow. The desire to run to the beast surged through every inch of his body, yet he knew he could not. To leave the woman here would mean her death.

  He raised his gaze to the distant woods. “Another time, my old friend. Another time,” he promised sadly as he bent down and scooped his find up into his arms.

  He spied the markings on her moccasins. She was his enemy-a Crow. Enemy to his people. Yet, it was growing increasingly difficult to remember that, as Two Moons, knowing she would die from the cold, sat in the dimly lit cave, peeling layer upon layer of wet, frozen cloth from her damp, limp, body. Dark lashes fluttered for a moment, then lay still against her closed lids. He brushed her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. Her skin felt like a softly tanned hide, smooth, dark earth brown and hot with fever. Her full, lush lips quivered as he drew his hand away.

  His heart raced. His breathing heavy and swift, he yanked down her skirt, trying to focus his attention on the bright colored cloth clenched between his fingers. He threw the skirt aside, wiped his dry mouth with his hand, then rubbed his taut neck with his palm. In the distance the wolf howled, tormenting him. Challenging him to battle. Calling him a fool.

  Two Moons’ rage began to build as hot as the need burning between his legs. Always before had he been a man in control of his body's desires. He, Two Moons, warrior of his people could have any woman he wanted, yet he chose a higher path in which to follow.

  He glared at the woman before him. He should have left her to die. It was his right as her enemy. Yet, even as he thought those words, he was drawn to her. Kneeling by her side, he stripped the last layer of cloth from her body, for not to do so, would mean her death.

  Her skin in the fire’s light seemed to glow like the golden embers. He dragged his gaze away from her breasts, to her flat stomach. He smiled. Knotted around her waist she wore a small protective rope that continued down between her legs, barring any man's entry to that part of a woman, which all men sought. Pleased, she had not yet been touched, he fingered the cord that lay against her thigh.

  With a jerk he drew his hand away and lay down beside her. He gathered her tightly in his arms and pressed his hot body against the cold threat of death hovering over her. Then he reached beside him to his robe of fur and with a heavy sigh, drew the blanket up around them.

  Chapter Three

  Surely she was dreaming. A comforting ebb of warmth enveloped her body. Gabrielle with half-closed lids, snuggled closer to the object of her comfort. In her dream, a man lay beside her. His face inches from hers, she could see the fine straight line of his nose and the deep-set ridge of his brow. Long straight hair, an almost iridescent blue black, cradled his neck. She could almost feel the strength of his arm lying protectively across her shoulders - could almost feel his warmth. His smooth muscular chest, bare and hairless, glistened like it had been rubbed down with oil. Around his neck he wore a bone and beaded choker-Roy’s choker.

  Lying next to him, Gabrielle felt safe and protected in a blanket of comfort that only in her dreams could she find. Only in her dreams would she allow a man, any man into her world. A world where they would always be together, where no one would leave the other behind. That was the luxury of dreaming.

  Something soft tickled her jaw. She brushed the imaginary object away. God, she didn't want to wake up, not yet. She wanted to hold on to him, to touch him and be touched. She rolled onto her back, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched. Jet black eyes stared back at her. Shock jolted through her. Instantly awake, she watched as her Indian, with the swiftness of a cat, leaped to his feet and disappeared.

  She sat with a start. Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze dropped. Dear God, she was naked! Bewildered, she grabbed the fur blanket that lay in her lap, drew it up to her chin and frantically glanced around.


  A cave. What was she doing in a cave? She hated caves. She clutched the blanket close to her breast. Her hands shook. She squeezed her eyes shut. Make this horrid nightmare go away. She had to be dreaming, she had to be.

  The musty, dank smell of mildew, mixing with the acrid smell of smoke filled her lungs. The crackling hisses and pops of dry twigs burning in a fire, accosted her ears. Her eyes opened with a flash. Blinking with bafflement, she stared into the space before her. Giant pillars of stone seemed to reach out, crowding her.

  “OK. There has to be some logical explanation.” She took a deep, calming breath. “It's just another dream. Only this time I'm not dying. That's it. I'll wake up now at any minute and be back at the site.” She shifted around to her left. “Everything is fi--”

  He stood by a small fire. His dark eyes glared at her. Confusion mixed with fear: something was very wrong: she was no longer dreaming.

  “Who -- Who are you?” She glanced around. “Where am I?”

  His body taut, his hands clenched into fists, he stood in rigid silence like an animal ready to pounce.

  “What do you want? And what have you done with m --” her voice cracked, “my clothes?” Trembling, she drew her knees to her chin and held the blanket up to her neck. Why wouldn't he answer her? Didn't he understand?

  His shadow loomed on the wall behind him, larger than life. Her pulse raced. He glanced to the fire where unfamiliar clothing dried over forked poles.

  He did understand. Studying her intently, his eyes narrowed. “Nituwe he?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “I-I don't understand.”

  Wearing nothing but an Indian breechclout, barely covering his groin and a pair of fringed leggings, he looked like a throwback from another century.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” It was a stupid thing, asking about his clothes, but it was all she could come up with at the moment. She had to say something to stall for time.

  He glanced down, confused. Leggings hugged his lean, powerful legs. Legs, Gabrielle realized, that with one quick stride could bring her closer to her death.

  Suddenly anger lit his eyes.

  Terror compressed her belly like a vise.

  Frantically, she inched away from him. He was crazy! Small rocks scraped against her bottom as she dragged the heavy blanket with her. Something pinched her waist as she moved. Her inner thighs rubbed against coarse fibers. Glancing down, she caught a glimpse of a rope tied around her waist, extending down between her legs. Horrified, she glanced up at him. Was he some kind of psychopath? What else had he done to her body while she lay sleeping?

  Her back hit the cold, damp wall of the cave. Her breath caught. She was trapped. Trapped in a cave with a half-naked madman. Gabrielle choked back a frightened cry. If he meant to kill her why hadn't he? Had he only been waiting for her to wake up so he could-

  He took a step closer.

  “No! Wait!” Her hand shot up in front of her, a small useless barrier between them. He meant to rape her first.

  Swallowing with difficulty, she found her voice. “Please,” she begged. “Please don't kill me.”

  He seemed surprised by her words and a spark of hope boosted her confidence. “You look like a reasonable person.” Her gaze darted, searching for a way out. “Maybe… maybe we can just talk about this.”

  A few yards away an archway of rocks formed an opening leading to a tunnel of darkness. Quickly she glanced back at him. “You don't really want to hurt me.”

  His silence sent a chill to her spine.

  Sharp, jagged rocks pressed into her back as she burrowed even deeper against the wall. A wave of cool air wafted across her bare shoulders. She shivered. Without clothes she wouldn't get far.

  She needed a weapon. She needed time.

  He took a step closer.

  “Please wait! Think about what you're doing.”

  He stopped, regarding her with somber curiosity.

  Her attention fixed past him, she could see a rifle leaning against the wall. If only…

  The corners of her jailer's mouth turned up in a knowing grin.

  Gabrielle's heart fell.

  He parted his legs in a solid stance and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Eyes of steel challenged her to make a move.

  The scream died in her throat. No one would hear her and he knew it.

  “Kuwa yo?” With a slight gesture of his hand, he indicated she move away from the wall.

  “N… nooo. I think I'm fine here.” Did he think she was a fool?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a stone, the size of a baseball. She dropped her hand to the ground and groped around. Her fingers touched the rock's rough surface. With deliberateness she dragged it toward her.

  Forcing a smile, her hand trembling, she inched the rock up her side to rest in her lap beneath the folds of the blanket.

  Again he gestured she move.

  Her fingers closed tightly around her weapon. A tense silence hung heavy in the cave like a guillotine's blade waiting to fall.

  Taking a step closer, he reached out to her.

  Panic, an electrifying shudder surged through her. “Stay where you are,” she screamed. She jerked her hand up and held the rock above her head.

  Dark brows rose in astonishment. He whipped out a knife. His mouth took on an angry twist.

  The rock felt like lead in her palm. “Get away from me. I - I swear, I'll use this. Don't make me use this.”

  Eyeing her with suspicion, he hesitated, then held out his hand to calm her. Watching her intensely, he knelt down. His eyes riveted, he placed the knife by his knees and slowly brought his hand away. With a slight nod, he gestured she do the same.

  “OK. Don't move. I'm going to put this rock down, “she assured him. “See? I'm putting it down.”

  The hint of a smile tipped his mouth as she brought the rock down a notch. He's crazier than I thought. Gabrielle flung with all her might. With a thud, her weapon hit his temple.

  His eyes widened with shock. His brows arched. As he brought his fingers up to touch the trickle of oozing blood, Gabrielle jumped up. He started to rise.

  With a strength she didn't think she had left, she wailed out and kicked him in the one place she knew would hurt. He doubled over in pain. She heard him groan as she ran past him.

  Her surroundings blurred. The only vision before her was the rifle-her chance to escape. Her heart raced. Almost there. Only a few more steps. She reached out her hand. Just a little closer. She stretched, her shaking fingers touching the cool metal of the gun's barrel.

  A guttural barbaric roar, close at her heels, startled her. She jerked her head around. The gun slipped from her grasp as hard fingers gripped hold of her ankles and pulled her off her feet.

  Air rushed from her lungs. Her chest hit the ground with a thud. The gun was so close, inches away from her fingertips. She thrust out her arm, stretching as best as she could to reach the weapon.

  He threw his body atop of her, crushing her breasts into the dirt and her chin to the ground. She cried out in pain. His hand slammed down over the weapon and her fingers. With a forceful shove, the gun slid from her grasp.

  Abruptly flipped onto her back, she stared into his dark hard eyes. Gabrielle jerked her arms before her, shielding her breasts from his gaze. For a moment she thought she saw a look of concern in his eyes. She was wrong. His expression was one of pained tolerance. The veins in his neck bulged tautly.

  Furious at her vulnerability, seized by a blinding fury, Gabrielle reached up and with all her might gave him a shove. The force of her blow did little to move him. “Get away from me, you lunatic!”

  He sat back on his haunches, studying her. The weight of his buttocks atop her thighs pinned her legs to the ground.

  Without thinking of the consequences, her reasoning out of control, she jerked her body forward and pounded on his chest like a wild woman.

  He grabbed her wrists and held them tightly. She struggled against the u
nrelenting force of his hold. Her hair whipped her eyes and clung to her mouth. She couldn't see.– she didn't care. She screamed - frightened - furious.

  His strength overwhelming, he shoved her backward. Together they hit the ground.

  Her high-pitched scream bounced off the cavern’s walls. An angry snarl crossed his tight lips. Before she could break free, he gathered both her wrists in his one hand, thrust them above her head and pressed them firmly against the ground. He pushed himself up onto his forearm and raised his torso off her. His hips and pelvis pressed heavily against her. She could feel his hard erection against her thighs.

  “Stop. You don't want to do this,” she pleaded.

  Struggling against him, she twisted and turned her head from side to side. “Nothing's happened. They'll let you go free. Nothing's happened. Please stop.”

  He studied her a moment, a puzzled look that made her wonder if he really didn’t understand her.

  “You're never going to get away with this. I'm sure my friends… the police are out there right now looking for me. And… and…” Her voice sounded thin, high-hysterical as it broke through the silence of the cave.

  His silence.

  “I'll see that you rot in jail. I swear,” she promised between ragged breaths. Again she tried to break free of his deadly grip, twisting and turning her wrists, but she stopped, realizing the more she struggled, the more her body ground seductively against his.

  An expression of amusement crossed his eyes, then quickly disappeared, replaced with an intense gaze of desire that made her want to vomit.

  As a heavy darkness seeped into her taut chest, Gabrielle closed her eyes against the onslaught she knew to follow.

  ****

  Two Moons stared down at the woman whose ice blue eyes only a moment ago had shown such courage. She was a strong one in mind. That pleased him. With her eyes now closed, his spirit fell. All the desire he felt, the pure physical fire burning in his soul, fell flat. To be weak in spirit was to be dead.