by tiffy
I know you love him.ʺ At Orlenaʹs flush, Little Otter only nodded sagely and continued, ʺWhen he returns, put the past behind you. Do not speak of Quinn.
Your future is here.ʺ She reached over and touched Orlenaʹs slightly swollen belly.
ʺPerhaps you are right. I do not know. Night Wind is a man of many secrets, filled with bitterness. It is not easy for him to love . . . I am not at all certain that he can love.ʺ Her voice had faded to a pained whisper.
Before Little Otter could respond, the sound of voices raised in great excitement interrupted the two women. Orlena was the first one out of the tepee. She saw Night Wind leading his men into camp, surrounded by curious and agitated villagers.
He had a new captive. Was it another woman? Then she recognized the slight figure tied to his horse. ʺSantiago!ʺ The cry was torn from her as she raced toward the crowd, rudely pushing and elbowing aside women, children, even large men in her path.
When Night Wind saw her approach, he swung down from Warpaint and restrained her before she could reach the boy. ʺHe is unharmed, Lioness,ʺ he said quietly.
She yanked free of him as if he were a leper, scorching him with blazing golden eyes. ʺIs it not enough that you have me? Does your hatred of Conal know no limits?ʺ
Night Wind had no chance to answer before the boy, recognizing his sisterʹs golden hair, cried out, ʺOrlena! Holy Mother and all the Saints, you are alive!ʺ He struggled to dismount with his hands tied.
Orlena helped him down under Night Windʹs baleful stare. ʺI am alive and well.
And you? What have they done to you?ʺ She examined his face where several bruises discolored his eye and cheek, then turned to his wrists, chaffed by the rawhide bindings. Night Wind interrupted, ʺThis is touching, but as you can see, his injuries are superficial. It seems he shares your unrealistic penchant for escape, Lioness. He received the bruises and cuts from falls. The wrist bands were essential to keep him from harming any more of my men! The cub is a fighter,ʺ he said with grudging admiration.
ʺWhy have you done this, Night Wind? He is only thirteen years old!ʺ
ʺBartolome is nearing fifty, a priest and a friar who did naught but succor those who came to him for refuge. Your beloved Conal holds him prisonerin exchange for you.ʺ
A look of incredulity washed over her face. Could this be true? With a sinking certainty, she looked at Santiagoʹs crestfallen face and knew it was. ʺAnd so, you have taken my brother in exchange for the priest. Where will it end, Night Wind?ʺ
ʺAsk Quinn,ʺ he replied tersely as he took Santiago by his bound wrists and led him toward Hoarse Barkʹs small lodge. Orlena stalked furiously behind him.
ʺBring him to our lodge, not the Mescaleroʹs,ʺ she demanded.
He paused and looked at her with a caustic smile playing about his lips. ʺSurely you would not want his innocent eyes to see . . . what he would see.ʺ
Santiago looked from his red‐faced, furious sister to the tall, hard‐looking renegade with dawning comprehension. When Orlena let out an oath and slapped Night Wind, he let go of Santiago and grabbed her roughly, pulling her against his body and securing her hands behind her back. She struggled and kicked as Santiago also launched himself at his sisterʹs lover, clubbing awkwardly with his bound fists.
Holding the slim woman with one arm, he cuffed the youth, knocking him to the ground. ʺEnough!ʺ He turned to Orlena. ʺIf you would not see him harmed, do not incite him to foolish bravery.ʺ
Realizing that Santiago could be seriously injured, she ceased her struggles. ʺLet me release his bonds and tend his injuries. Or is that beyond your fine Lipan sense of honor?ʺ
He shrugged in acquiescence and released her silently, noting that a number of curious spectators had followed them across the camp. Looking around, he said, ʺGo about your work. My wife will see to my new captive.ʺ
As they disappeared, Orlena knelt down and pulled a small dagger from her belt. She cut the bonds on Santiagoʹs wrists, then quickly replaced the blade beneath her tunic before her impetuous brother could repeat her early mistakes.
ʺCome with me,ʺ she said, not meeting the crestfallen expression on his face.
Santiago followed his sister to one of the larger skin‐covered lodges. He noticed the assured way she walked and the Apache clothing she wore. But for her golden plait of hair and pale skin, she could have been one of the savages! As they neared the tepee, she even exchanged words with several women in their strange, harsh language.
When they entered the lodge, the boy looked around, curious about how the fearsome Apache lived in spite of his righteous anger. On one side of the circular skin wall, two woven willow backrests sat with soft skins thrown over them. A large buckskin pouch sat between them. In one corner lay a pallet covered with rich pelts. More were piled near the door. A fire burned low in the center of the lodge, with its smoke curling eagerly toward the small opening at the apex of the poles.
ʺSit down while I get my medicines,ʺ Orlena commanded as she began to rummage through a large buckskin bag.
ʹʹIt is warm in here . . . and clean,ʺ he added, almost to himself. The surprise in his voice was evident. Many of the paisanosʹ adobe huts were not nearly so well kept as this portable dwelling. He watched his sisterʹs hands as she nervously selected several herbs and added them to a small bowl of water.
When she approached him with the healing paste and began to smear it on his cuts and bruises, he looked at her and worked up his courage.
ʺYou have a knifegive it to me and let us escape. I can steal horsesʺ
ʺDo not be foolish,ʺ Orlena retorted sharply as she continued her work. ʺWe are hundreds of leagues in the mountains of southern New Mexico. Even if we could get away from this village, where would we go? What would we eat or drink?
The nearest Spanish settlement is many days of hard riding from here.ʺ
ʺYou dress as one of them and speak their language . . . and . . .ʺ
ʺAnd I am Night Windʹs woman,ʺ she finished the sentence softly. ʺI cannot return to Santa Fe, Santiago. You will be ransomed, but Night Wind will keep me. Even if I were free, women who have been captives are treated differently.
You know that.ʺ
ʺWe could go all the way to the City of Mexicoor back to Madrid! No one there would know what had happened here, Orlena.ʺ
ʺYes, they would.ʺ She hesitated. How could she tell a thirteen‐year‐old boy this?
ʺII am married to Night Wind,ʺ she began.
ʺMarried! How? By some medicine man of the savages? You were not blessed in the churchyou are not his wife,ʺ Santiago protested stubbornly.
Taking a deep breath, Orlena said quietly, ʺNight Wind married me by tribal law . . . and I carry his child, Santiago.ʺ
ʺHe raped you! I will kill him!ʺ His freckled face looked so hurt and vulnerable that it tore at her, but she grabbed him before he could dash outside and again attack Night Wind. Hugging him closely, she said, ʺNo, he did not . . . force me.
I . . . he . . . oh, Santiago, it is too complicated to explain, but I cannot go back with you. You must tell Conal that I am well treated and wish to stay here. You and your father have a different road to travel than I now,ʺ she added softly.
Burying his head on her shoulder, Santiago hugged her tightly and finally the tears he had held back in front of the men poured out. ʺOrlena, my sister, why has this happened to you? If only I had not let you wear my clothes. I should have told Papaʺ
ʺNo, hush, little brother. None of this is your fault. The hatred between your father and Night Wind is old and bitter. We have been caught up in it, but perhaps some good may yet come of the accident which brought me here.ʺ
His head shot up and he studied her face. The half‐caste was educated and, he supposed, from a girlʹs point of view, handsome. ʺDo you want to be his wife, Orlena?ʺ he asked, not sure how he should feel about her relationship with the renegade.
ʺI . . . do not know,ʺ she replied evasively. ʺSometimes I want to k
ill him . . . yet other times, he can be kind. He has endured much at the hands of the Spanish, Santiago, yet he has not harmed me or you.ʺ
ʺHe kidnapped us both!ʺ
She sighed. ʺYes, but Conal kidnapped his friend, the Franciscan who saved his life and educated him. It is a long, bitter tale . . . I do not know all of it. Tʹwould serve naught to speak of it even if I did.ʺ
She resumed her attention to his bruised face. ʺNight Wind said you tried to escape several times.ʺ
He puffed out his thin chest and replied, ʺOnce I knocked my guard off his horse and rode for miles before they caught me. I would have made away if my horse had not stumbled and broken his leg. I was sorry about the horse, not the guard,ʺ
he added impenitently.
Orlena chuckled, her mood lightening as they talked like conspirators of old. ʺI also tried to escape several times. Finally, when they learned how well I could ride, they put me on a burro!ʺ
ʺA burro!ʺ In spite of their circumstances in this hostile world, the image of his proud, elegant sister mounted on a burro brought a twitch to his lips, then a burble of laughter.
Hearing the laughter erupt, Night Wind restrained his impulse to enter the lodge. He had faced the worst when Orlena came charging toward her brother like a lioness defending her cub. The boy had intelligence and courage, and he loved his sisterthat was evident. The half‐caste swore at Conal Quinn, who had begun this bitter tangle so many years ago. How would it all end?
ʺWe go hunting for elk this fine morning. Do you wish to go with us? I will teach you to hunt with bow and arrow,ʺ Night Wind said to the boy who sat hunkered, shivering before the open campfire. It was barely dawn, but Santiago had been unable to sleep for the past several nights. He brooded over his sister, who lived in the lodge a scant fifty feet from where he slept in Hoarse Barkʹs tepee. Orlena was considered by these people to be Night Windʹs wife. She carried his child.
Worst and most confusing of all, as he observed the relationship between the renegade and his sister, Santiago realized that she considered herself Night Windʹs woman. She had come under his spell.
Now, looking up at the tall, commanding presence of the half‐caste, he could understand why it was so. ʺI have never hunted with bow and arrow,ʺ he said uncertainly, his youthful curiosity piqued by the offer.
Night Windʹs handsome face split in a smile. ʺIf you can fire a musket, you can learn to fire an arrowthey strike with far more accuracy, once you master the technique.ʺ Night Wind watched the boy agonize, looking over to the lodge where Orlena slept. She had been tired the past weeks as the child began to grow in her. He let her sleep and slipped quietly from their pallet many mornings. The boy was over‐protective of her and jealous. He wanted to change that and win the loyalty of Conalʹs cub. ʺWhat say you?ʺ he asked again, showing the boy a splendid bow made of Osage orangewood.
Hypnotically, Santiago stood up and reached for the bow, running his fingers along its gleaming length. ʺIt is beautiful,ʺ he whispered in awe. Then with a truculent look, he asked Night Wind, ʺWhat makes you so certain I will not shoot you with one of those arrows?ʺ He gestured toward the quiver slung carelessly over the half‐casteʹs shoulder.
Night Wind laughed. ʺYou and your sister are much alike. As I treated her, I shall treat youand never turn my back to provide you an easy target. Is that fair?
Or do you wish to stay a prisoner in camp doing womenʹs chores?ʺ
That brought an end to the boyʹs ambivalence. ʺI will learn to shoot. But mark me, Night Wind,ʺ Santiago said with a tone of voice old beyond his years, ʺdo not turn your back and present too tempting a target.ʺ
They rode all morning, into brushy, rough terrain, far from the sheltered valley where the band wintered, patiently stalking the fleet elk. Hoarse Bark, Strong Bow, and Cloth Fox accompanied them. As they traveled, Night Wind patiently explained to the boy how the tracking was done, what signs to watch for, and how a small group of men could cooperate to flush a fat deer or elk for one manʹs easy shot. It was understood that all meat taken was to be shared.
While Cloth Fox, a surly fellow who refused to speak Spanish, rode ahead with Hoarse Bark, the friendly young Strong Bow helped Night Wind give Santiago a bit of target practice. Each man smoothly nocked an arrow against a tautly drawn bowstring and let fly at a small maple sapling, hitting it dead center.
Carefully coached by Night Wind, Santiago followed suit. Several arrows went far wide of the mark.
Gritting his teeth in frustration, he said, ʺIf only I had my Miquelet Lock, I could hit the smallest twig on that tree!ʺ
ʺBut how quickly could you fire a second shot?ʺ Strong Bow asked innocently.
He quickly nocked and let fly six arrows in blurringly rapid succession. Each found its mark.
ʺI understand what you mean,ʺ Santiago said grimly. ʺLet me try again.ʺ
Having been well trained with long and short arms, Santiago possessed a natural marksmanʹs eye. Allowing for wind and distance were concepts he had already mastered. Hitting a stationary target did not prove too difficult. When the others returned with one large elk and said they had sighted another a short distance away, Santiago was eager to try his new hunting skills. He had been given a pair of soft moccasins, enabling him to walk more quietly than in hard‐soled boots, but he quickly learned how many skills he had yet to master. Kicking a rock and snapping a dead twig, he sent the first elk into flight. The second encounter proved even more disastrous, for he was able to get near enough for a clean shot.
A slight movement by the animal combined with his own nervousness led him to wound the elk and send it into frenzied flight. Cloth Fox brought it down with one clean shot.
ʺQuinnʹs cub has much to learn before he can be Apache,ʺ Cloth Fox said contemptuously in perfectly clear Spanish.
ʺHe will learn well enough,ʺ Night Wind said, giving the Lipan a quelling look.
ʺThis morning he draws a bow for the first timeand hits his target with little practice,ʺ Strong Bow added.
Over the next weeks, Santiago practiced with the bow and with a war lance. He joined the other boys of the camp in their games, learning to run and wrestle, to swim in cold winter weather, impervious to the icy water.
ʺThe boy grows more Lipan each day. It will be a hard thing to return him to his father,ʺ White Crane said to Night Wind as they sat watching the children cavort about the central campfire one evening.
ʺOnce I wanted to make him Lipan, to teach him to hate the Spanish, to kill whites. Now, I must send him to Conal for Bartolome,ʺ Night Wind replied.
The old man lit his pipe and took a long draw on it. ʺYou would not make him a renegade risking death, even if you did not have to ransom him for the Blue Robe,ʺ White Crane said levelly. ʺHe is brother to your wife. His heart is like hersgood. We do not return evil for good.ʺ ʺIf we return him to Conal, is that not evil?ʺ Night Wind asked. The question had caused him anguish during the weeks since they had abducted the boy.
ʺYou ask this not only about Santiago, but about your woman also.ʺ It was not a question.
Looking up from the fire to meet the clear brown eyes of his mentor, Night Wind said with a sad smile, ʺShe Who Dreams is not the only one who sees into menʹs hearts and minds.ʺ He sighed and took a pull from the soothing tobacco himself.
Exhaling the fragrant smoke, he pondered. ʺI fear for Sun in Splendor. She is still Orlena Valdéz, and her life in Spain would have been better than sharing our danger. But Conal lured her here and now . . . I have added to her hardship. She is too delicate to grow old traveling from the mountains to the plains, moving lodges and building wickiups.ʺ
ʺYet you would not be parted from her or your child,ʺ White Crane supplied.
ʺThere is another answer. You are rightthe Quinn is evil. But you are half white.
You could leave this life and live among the Spanish. This would be good for Sun in Splendor and for Santiago.ʺ
ʺI will never live as a white man! You know
why!ʺ Angrily, Night Wind stood up and strode off into the gathering darkness, feeling the old manʹs sorrowful eyes follow him.
ʺYou have received no word from Conal about the exchange?ʺ Orlena asked Night Wind early one morning. They had just made love in the warmth of their bed of thick pelts. Her amber eyes were still heavy lidded with satiated passion as she stroked the hard muscles on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
ʺThese things take time. Especially in winter, when travel is slower. My men must send my message through several intermediaries to reach Quinn. Then he must reply.ʺ
ʺSantiago is becoming very fond of you, Night Wind,ʺ Orlena said hesitantly, uncertain of how to explain her confused feelings.
ʺLike sister, like brother,ʺ he teased and nuzzled a fat golden curl away from her cheek. ʺAre you afraid I will make an Apache out of him?ʺ
ʺHave you not done so with me?ʺ She pulled away from him and sat up, holding a fluffy fox fur against her bare breasts.
He looked up at her beautiful profile, unable to read her thoughts. ʺWould you choose to return with him, Lioness?ʺ he asked softly.
ʺNo. I cannot. But I am a woman, and he will be a man. It is different for Santiago.ʺ
ʺThat is not what I asked you, Sun in Splendorwife. If you could choose without penalty, what would you do? Remain with me . . . or return to be Conalʹs darling?ʺ Hurt and anger warred within him. He had enslaved her body, but did he hold any part of her heart? Gently, he reached one long‐fingered hand up and turned her chin so her eyes met his.
They gleamed with unshed tears. Her hand softly caressed his in an unconscious gesture of conciliation. ʺThings now are not what they were. It is useless to pose hypothetical questions. I do not know what I would do if I could choose the circumstances under which we met.ʺ Unless you loved me. Then nothing else would matter.
Chapter 15
The weather had warmed a bit, hinting of spring. Santiago and two other youths, Swallow Hawk and Yellow Deer, decided on a great adventure.
ʺI thought the caves were forbidden. My sister told me a fearful tale about them,ʺ
