Wolf Shadow

by Madeline Baker

  The conversation went on for several minutes. Then, with an air of defeat, the warrior nodded. Indicating Winter Rain should follow him, he walked toward a small Crow lodge and rapped on the door flap. A wrinkled old woman with gray hair stepped out of the lodge. He spoke to the old woman for several minutes. She nodded and the warrior untied Winter Rain’s hands. The old woman motioned for Winter Rain to enter the lodge.

  She spoke to the warrior, and then followed Winter Rain inside. The warrior stood there for a moment, then turned and went back to his own dwelling.

  Chance grunted softly, pleased that Winter Rain would be living with the old woman. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about some randy young buck stealing into her bed late at night. And stealing her away from an old woman would be a sight easier than trying to spirit her away from a warrior’s lodge, assuming he could find a way before they killed him.

  With that grim thought in mind, he rested his head against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. Rest was what he needed now. He had to regain his strength, had to be ready to make a break for it should the opportunity arise.

  * * * * *

  Winter Rain stepped inside the old woman’s lodge and glanced around. There were a few cooking pots stacked on one side of the doorway. Several storage containers were located on the other side. A backrest made of willow branches and covered by a thick robe was located alongside the fire pit. A bedroll was situated against the back wall of the lodge.

  She stood in the center of the lodge, wondering what would be expected of her. She didn’t speak Crow; it was doubtful the old woman spoke Lakota.

  The old woman solved the problem of speech with sign language.

  “What is your name?”

  “Winter Rain.”

  Murmuring, “Itche,” the old woman nodded, then went on signing. “I am called Blackbird-in-the-Morning. You will keep my lodge clean, gather wood and water. If you try to escape, you will be whipped. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Itche,” the old woman said again.

  Winter Rain repeated the word in her mind, deciding it must be the word for “good” in the Crow language.

  The old woman gestured at the door. “Go. Get wood for fire.” She pointed at a small pile of twigs and branches. “Bale,” she said, then, pointing at the fire pit, “bilee.”

  Winter Rain nodded. “Bale. Bilee.”

  “Itche,” Blackbird-in-the-Morning said. She gestured at the doorway. “Go now.”

  Winter Rain stepped out of the lodge. Things could be worse, she thought. She could be the slave of that warrior and his wife. Given her choice, she would much rather be Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s slave, she thought, and then frowned. Given her choice, she’d rather be back home. She blinked back her tears. Would she ever see Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance again?

  With a sigh, she started toward a stand of timber when she spied Chance sitting against a tree. Changing course, she walked toward him, wondering what his fate would be.

  As she drew closer, she saw that his eyes were closed. Thinking he was asleep, she turned away, only to do an about face when he called her name.

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “Just dozing a little.” He winced as he sat up straighter. “Everything all right?”

  “I guess so. I am to be a slave for an old woman. Her name is Blackbird-in-the-Morning.”

  Chance nodded. “I reckon you’ll be fine as long as you don’t give her any excuse to beat you.”

  “What will they do with you?”

  He grunted softly. “Nothing good, I’m sure of that.”

  Her eyes widened. “They won’t…” She bit down on her lip, reluctant to put the thought into words.

  “Kill me? I’m pretty sure that’s what they have in mind.”

  “No! What can I do?”

  “Nothing,” he said sharply.

  “But…”

  “Winter Rain, listen to me. If you interfere, you’ll just make more trouble for yourself. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. She understood, but she didn’t have to like it. “I must go,” she said with regret. “Blackbird-in-the-Morning told me to gather wood.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  With a nod, she headed toward the timber line. She couldn’t just sit idly by while they killed him. Tonight, after the village was asleep, she would sneak out of Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge and cut Wolf Shadow loose. If she didn’t get caught, they could escape. Together. Smiling inwardly, she began gathering wood for Blackbird-in-the-Morning. Tonight, she thought. And then her optimism vanished.

  What if he was dead by tonight?

  Chapter Nine

  Winter Rain’s first day as a slave passed quietly enough. After she gathered wood for Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s fire, she straightened the old woman’s lodge. A short time after that, the old woman’s son, Elk Moon, stopped by to drop off a deer that he had killed. Like the Lakota, the Crow apparently looked after their aged parents by providing them with meat. Along with the meat, he had brought the heart, liver, kidney and pancreas bundled in the paunch, which had first been turned inside out and cleaned.

  Naturally, it was left to Winter Rain to butcher the carcass. First, she cut off the front legs close to the ribs and set them aside. The rear legs came next, and then she removed the takoan, or great sinew, that ran over the backbone from the rump to the shoulder, which was considered a delicacy to the Lakota. Setting the takoan aside, she split the carcass along one side of the backbone and then cut each half in half just below the rib cage, so that she had four large pieces. The neck and head were the last to be removed. She hung one hindquarter of the meat from a pole near the lodge. Tomorrow, she would prepare it for drying. If she was still here.

  She cut a chunk of meat into small pieces and dropped them into Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s kettle for the evening meal. She added some water, a few wild onions, and a pinch of sage. She lit a fire beneath the kettle and when she was sure it was burning evenly, she wrapped the remainder of the meat in a piece of hide, then went down to the river to wash her hands.

  She saw a few of the Crow women at the river. Some were filling water pots, others were washing clothes or bathing their children. The women stared at her suspiciously, their expressions unfriendly and suspicious. The children eyed her with curiosity. One little boy smiled shyly, then ducked behind his mother and peeked at Winter Rain from behind his mother’s back.

  Winter Rain grinned at him, then knelt on the bank to rinse off her hands. She sat there for a time, watching the swirling water. Now and then a fish swam by. She saw a turtle climb up on the far bank and disappear into the cattails. Somewhere in the distance she heard the deep croak of a bullfrog.

  The other women left one by one. Winter Rain sat there a little while longer, watching the sky turn to flame as the sun went down behind the mountains.

  By the time she made it back to Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge, it was full dark.

  Blackbird-in-the-Morning was waiting for her outside the lodge. With an impatient gesture, she handed Winter Rain two bowls. Winter Rain filled one with stew and handed it to the old woman, who went back inside her lodge to eat.

  After filling a bowl for herself, Winter Rain sat down with her back to the lodge. She could see Wolf Shadow across the way and she wondered if anyone had given him anything to eat or drink. When she finished eating, she filled the bowl again and carried it over to him.

  Several men and women stared at her as she made her way toward him, but no one tried to stop her.

  “I brought you something to eat,” she said, kneeling down beside him.

  “Thanks.”

  She dipped her spoon in the bowl and offered him a bite. “Does your head still hurt?”

  “A little.”

  She offered him another bite and then another, noticing, as she did so, that several warriors were adding wood to the fire burning near the center of the village. Gradually, a crowd gathe
red around the fire.

  When she offered Wolf Shadow another bite, he refused.

  “You cannot be full already,” she said, frowning.

  He shook his head, his gaze on the crackling flames.

  “What is it?”

  “I think the entertainment is about to start. And I’m it.”

  She looked at him blankly for a moment and then, as comprehension dawned, her eyes widened in horror.

  Chance nodded. “Go on back to the old woman’s lodge and stay inside until it’s over.”

  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 rol
led 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.