White Shadows

by Susan Edwards

  Her feet kicked wildly and her balled fists pounded his back. He winced when she raked her nails across his back and pinched his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he ducked beneath a low branch. Night Shadow nearly lost both his balance and the woman when she reared upward. “Eaaa!” Without slowing, he ran between two trees, then jumped over a log, deliberately coming down hard.

  Winona shrieked, but instead of settling down she renewed her struggles. “Wait,” she said, panting. “Just…wait.” She jabbed her elbows into his back, then pounded him with her bound fists. “I…will kill…you…myself.”

  Night Shadow ignored her and made another leap over a log. He flew through the air and came down squarely on both feet, but before he could spring back into a run his captive was yanked from his grasp.

  He whirled around as something slammed into his belly and sent him sprawling. He landed flat on his back. Stunned, breathless, Night Shadow gasped for air. Rolling to the side, then leaning on one elbow, he gasped at the sharp, stabbing pain in his ribs. Great. Bruised or broken ribs. He sucked in a breath of air slowly as he tried to focus on what was happening around him.

  Palming his knife, he jumped to his feet in a low, tight crouch as he sought the enemy who’d snatched his prize. He furrowed his brows. He didn’t see anyone, not even the woman. “Damn,” he said, air hissing through his teeth at the pain burning with each breath. He started to stand, but when something brushed against his head he ducked.

  Glancing up, he blinked with surprise when he saw his captive hanging from the limb of a dead tree. She swung her foot at him again, and again she missed. Reaching up with one hand, Night Shadow tried to grab her ankle.

  She evaded him. “You snake. You low, vile snake. You will die.” She continued to curse him.

  Fury built when Night Shadow realized that Winona had somehow managed to grab the limb with her bound hands when he’d jumped. The blow to his back had been her swift kick. Why didn’t this ploy of hers surprise him? Right then he knew nothing was going to go as planned. He should have stuck to his original plan.

  Beneath his hand he felt the vibrations of an approaching runner. “Stop,” he called out to Crazy Fox, reverting to English without a second thought. But his warning was too late. His friend, hearing the commotion, rounded the stand of trees that Night Shadow had cut through at a full run. As soon as Crazy Fox saw Winona dangling from the branch he tried to stop, but he, too, lost his balance when Winona’s swinging foot made contact with his jaw.

  With a loud grunt, Crazy Fox fell down. A softer groan came from Spotted Deer, who bounced off the Cheyenne’s shoulder and rolled to a stop a few feet away. She yanked the gag from her mouth and screamed.

  Her screams mixed with Winona’s and sent crows flying from the treetops.

  “Shit!” Another expletive that his trapper father had used on a daily basis slipped from the past, into the present and right out his mouth. The white man’s curse fit the moment better than any Cheyenne word, so he cursed again as he reached up and snagged one swinging ankle.

  She screeched. He grabbed hold of her second foot, then yanked hard. The sound of a sharp crack drew from him yet another round of curses. Instinctively he reached out and caught the falling woman and rolled so that the thick branch hit him squarely across the shoulders instead of falling onto the back of her head.

  Winona yelped. He clamped his jaw tight against the pain. So much for an easy capture. Where were the tears? The paralyzing fear? The instant obedience?

  Night Shadow stared down into Winona’s wide gaze. Furious with her stunt, he opened his mouth to threaten dire harm should she try anything else. Nothing came out of his mouth. Her eyes mesmerized him, held him captive. Everything had happened so fast that he’d forgotten how beautiful Winona was.

  Her smooth skin was exquisite, warm in tone as freshly gathered honey. Delicate bones, a short, gently sloping nose and a smooth forehead gave her a fragile perfection.

  But of all her features it was her eyes that held him spellbound. Wide, thickly lashed and enticingly angled, Winona’s eyes were also the eyes of a wild mountain cat. Not brown, not yellow, but a tawny combination.

  He grunted. To go with those eyes, she had the claws of a cat, and the cunning of the majestic animal. For just one breath in time, they stared at each other. Silence surrounded them. She looked as stunned as he. But not for long.

  “Winona!” Spotted Deer’s frantic cry broke the spell.

  Winona sprang to life with a growl and tried to rake her nails down his face. He grabbed her wrists. Her furious curses were added to his. With Crazy Fox’s yelps as he struggled to subdue Spotted Deer, it sounded as though war had broken out in the peaceful forest.

  Feeling the tensing of the woman’s thigh beneath his, Night Shadow shifted his legs and pinned her so she couldn’t do any more damage to his body. He winced. Damn. His chest still hurt and his shoulders ached from being struck by the falling branch.

  “Let us go,” Winona panted, glaring up at him.

  “It will do you no good to fight,” he warned as he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. A ray of sunlight washed over them. She lifted her head and tried to bite his arm.

  “You she-cat. Settle!” How could he ever have thought this woman to be meek and easy to control? He’d assumed that, like most maidens, she knew her place, and would be passive and even boring, as were most of the women whom he encountered. But no. Each of her delicate features expressed emotion, none more than those golden eyes that spat fury.

  With effort he kept control of his emotions. He had no grudge against her—just the man she planned to marry. He had no desire to hurt her or use excessive force—unless he had no other choice.

  Behind him, Night Shadow heard his friend’s low, furious voice as he ordered the other woman to be still. His mind cleared immediately. Rolling, he stood, pulled the woman up and held his knife to her throat as a warning to be still.

  Noticing the broken leaves and branches, freshly scored lines in the dirt and crushed plant life, he swore again. Then he tipped his head back. The raw wood and ragged bit of pale bark where the branch had broken off were signs no warrior—or young brave—would miss—not that he’d be able to cover up all of the other signs of struggle.

  “For a great warrior who earned the name of Night Shadow, my brother makes much noise.” Dream Walker sounded amused as he and Sharp Nose rode into view. Each led a horse.

  Relieved to see the horses, Night Shadow ignored the glint of laughter lurking deep in Dream Walker’s eyes. With his patience just about gone, Night Shadow tightened his grip on Winona’s upper arm and stalked over to Crazy Fox and his wide-eyed captive. Grabbing the girl, he held his knife to her throat.

  “Another word and I will kill her.” He spoke slowly, in English, to be sure Winona understood him, but he didn’t dare glance at Dream Walker or the others, who knew him well. After what had happened to his family they knew Night Shadow would never kill any woman or child. But his captives didn’t know that. “Understand?”

  Subdued, Winona nodded. Stalking off, Night Shadow removed a square of leather from his pouch and used the woman’s knife to pin his demands to a thick tree trunk. Only one person would understand.

  Slowly Night Shadow took out an intricately carved leather sheath from the same pouch and stared at it. A wave of regret pushed through the anger and hate that were as natural to him as breathing.

  “Pa,” he whispered, tracing the curves, noting the worn darkness of the leather. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the faint scent of tobacco that clung to the hard leather after all these years.

  Everything around him faded when he pulled the blade from its sheath. Unlike the woman’s utility knife, the blade on this knife shone brightly but for one dark stain near the hilt. A ray of light sparked off the smooth surface, nearly blinding him. Holding it up, he gripped the handle, noting the weight, the curved fit to his hand.

  After a moment he shoved it back into the sheath,
then hung it from the protruding handle of the woman’s knife. Slowly he stepped back. It was done. Everything was ready. He’d either succeed in finding Jenny and killing the enemy or die trying. Night Shadow stared at the message with his jaw clenched so hard it sent waves of pain clear up to his temples.

  There was only one man who knew where Jenny was. Ultimately, he’d pay with his life.

  Returning to the others, he mounted his horse with Winona before him. “Choose, woman,” he said to her. “Give me no trouble and you ride sitting before me. Struggle, and I will bind your hands to your feet beneath the horse, and you will ride like a sack of flour.”

  Winona turned her back to him. Wrapping a hand around her, he sent his horse surging forward.

  The horses and riders left the cool darkness of the forest for the gentle warmth of a secluded meadow. Surrounded by trees on three sides and rough mounds of rock on the other, the area provided a quiet haven for white-tailed deer, song-birds and other creatures. Above her head, Winona eyed the soaring path of a solitary golden eagle.

  Her captor led the way, following the line of trees. The horses snorted and snatched mouthfuls of soft grass but kept moving. Woven throughout the carpet of grass tiny bursts of spring color gave the scene the appearance and feel of peace and calmness.

  Calm!

  Any other time, this small bit of land would have held Winona enthralled, lured her into spinning around and around until she collapsed onto her back amid the sweetly scented blooms. But now anger and fear dulled her natural appreciation for her surroundings. Worse, guilt made the beauty surrounding her painful.

  It had been her need to be alone, to stand atop the world, that had turned her and Spotted Deer into captives. Her guilt for doing this to her best friend sat like a boulder in her belly. Every time she glanced at Spotted Deer, looked into her friend’s wide, scared eyes, Winona felt sick.

  Grabbing a fistful of flowing black mane in her hands, she felt the arm around her waist tighten. “Do not try anything foolish,” her captor warned, his voice devoid of emotion, as though kidnapping women were an everyday occurrence.

  “I do not have much to lose,” Winona retorted. It would be so easy to yank hard on the mane and send the horse into a rear. Yet as her fingers flexed, she knew she wouldn’t do anything so rash.

  Not only would she risk her own neck should the horse bolt, but she might lose all chance at gaining freedom should her captor truss her up like an animal brought in from a hunt. She chose not to believe his threat to kill Spotted Deer, but wisely decided not to put her instincts to the test.

  Instead she stared down at the muscular arm banding her middle. A long, faded scar as wide as her finger ran from wrist to elbow. For just a moment she wondered about this warrior. Who was he? Why was he risking his life? She shook her head and focused on the rocky ground. They’d left the pretty meadow behind. “You can relax. I am not so foolish as to risk my own neck.”

  Her captor gave a bark of disbelief. “From what I have seen so far, that is precisely something you would risk.”

  Frowning, Winona contemplated not the Cheyenne’s words, but his speech. The more he spoke, the better his English. No, not better, she realized, but more natural, as though most of his life he’d spoken the white man’s tongue.

  “Who are you? Where are you taking us, and why?” Winona wanted to know, yet feared the answer.

  She got no reply, but the warrior loosened his hold slightly as he turned his mount to follow a downward slope. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Spotted Deer was right behind her. The other two warriors brought up the rear. She met Spotted Deer’s gaze.

  Hold on. Be brave. She tried to give comfort and courage but had to wonder if it wasn’t for herself as well. The silence continued but for the sound of horses picking their way over the rocky ground.

  “Afraid to answer?” She tipped her head back. Better to know the enemy, know his plans and motives.

  Though he didn’t look at her, Winona saw the tightening of his jaw—and noticed another scar on the underside of his chin. By the time she’d blinked her eyes, she’d spotted several other scars. Though he bore many scars, she sensed it was the ones inside that had done the most damage. She turned and faced forward again, troubled by her thoughts. It was nothing to do with her if he was dead inside, as he claimed. So he had no heart. No soul.

  A man with no heart or soul also had no conscience. What did that mean for her and Spotted Deer? She didn’t know, and was afraid she’d soon find out.

  Along the path, blackened trees and stumps gave testimony to a fire. Renewal of the land was evidenced by clumps of greenery emerging from the charred ground. As the horse picked his way carefully down the hillside Winona tried to put room between her and the man riding behind her. But he tightened his hold, forcing her to ride with her back firmly against his front.

  As the sun moved overhead, she grew tired but refused to nod off. Instead she kept a careful watch on their progress, noted the sun’s position and any landmarks they passed. While she had confidence in her father’s ability to track them, she had to admit that these warriors knew what they were doing. She’d hoped that the leader would make a mistake that would make it easy for her people to find them, but so far he’d proven his skill at moving across the land with little trace.

  Her spirits sank. When her captor had first run through the trees with her slung over his back, she’d held out more hope. The white warrior had not taken the time to conceal his tracks, and she had been able to snatch at leaves and twigs and leave a trail so obvious a brave as young as her nephew could follow it.

  But ever since they’d mounted to continue on horseback, the warriors traveled slowly and carefully across the land as though unconcerned that they were being followed. Each stream they rode through, each path, had obviously been chosen carefully. This more than words told her that her kidnapping was well planned and not random.

  The fact that he and the other two warriors had been in her camp weeks ago proved this. Despair slid over Winona. Recalling her captor’s fury at the mention of her husband-to-be, she could only assume that the two warriors were enemies and that she was being used as a method of revenge. But for what?

  Once the trail leveled out, Winona sat forward, putting space between her and her captor. This time her act of rebellion was met by indifference, and after a while her back and shoulders ached from the stiff position. Stubbornness kept her upright, and by the time her captor stopped at the edge of a gushing stream, she could have wept with relief.

  “We stop only for a short break.” Without helping her down, the Cheyenne warrior dismounted.

  He paused below her. “Do not try anything foolish,” he warned.

  Head and shoulders straight, Winona refused to speak. Instead she narrowed her eyes and watched as he walked away. Her fingers flexed in the horse’s mane.

  “Do not bother,” the warrior called out without even turning his head. “He won’t respond to any command but mine.” He swung his head around and pierced her with his dark gaze. “We won’t stop again until after nightfall.”

  Did she believe him? Dared she try to escape?

  She glanced at Spotted Deer, who stood on the ground. She looked frightened. With a sigh, Winona swung her leg up and over the broad back of the gleaming horse and dropped down to the ground to join Spotted Deer.

  After a brief hug, Spotted Deer stepped back. “You should have tried to run,” her friend whispered, sending fearful glances at the warriors deep in conversation. “It is not too late. Run. Get free.”

  “No,” Winona said fiercely. “I will not leave you.” She swallowed hard at the ball of guilt lodged in her throat. For the first time since their capture tears threatened to overwhelm her. Not only was this her fault, but she’d made it incredibly easy for these warriors to take them captive.

  She reached out and took Spotted Deer’s hands with her own. “I am so sorry, my sister. This is my fault.”

  Spotted
Deer’s hard grip on her arm made her wince. “No. It just happened.”

  Winona closed her eyes and nearly wept at Spotted Deer’s assumption. But she didn’t say anything—she didn’t want to frighten Spotted Deer further. A sharp tug on her arm brought her attention back to Spotted Deer.

  “Promise that if you get the chance, you will run.” Spotted Deer’s voice wavered, and her grip on Winona’s arm left marks.

  Unwilling to make a promise she could never keep, Winona pulled her friend toward the thicket—and privacy. Though none of the warriors were watching, she knew the leader, the one who’d kidnapped her, was fully aware of their actions. She scowled.

  “He acts too sure of himself,” she muttered. It would serve him right if they kept going or found a place to hide, but realistically Winona knew this wasn’t the moment to do either. She’d just have to bide her time. And the time would come, she vowed. She’d gotten them into this mess; she’d get them out of it.

  Each woman kept an eye on the conversing warriors while the other took advantage of the stop and relieved herself. When they were finished, Winona led them back to the edge of the thicket. Rebellion kept her from returning to their captors like a well-trained dog.

  Three of the warriors wore their long hair in twin braids that reached midback. The leader, the one she’d been forced to ride with, wore his hair short and free, the soft strands brushing the tops of his broad shoulders.

  With breechclouts swaying in the brisk breeze, leggings accenting long, strong legs and tight buckskin shirts that outlined bodies honed to perfection, any maiden—attached or unattached—would cast her admiring gaze over these men.

  Curving her lips into another scowl, Winona tipped her chin. But not her. Hoka Luta was the only warrior for her. She ignored the small voice that reminded her that she had noticed these warriors weeks ago, as had every maiden.