Savage Courage

by Cassie Edwards

  Had her abductor already killed Shoshana?

  Then another thought came to him that made him almost vomit: Perhaps by now the man had raped her. If so, George would have no mercy for the culprit. He would make sure the man died slowly and painfully.

  He looked over his shoulder and upward at the steep mountain pass they would soon be traveling. He was not sure if he could make it with the awkwardness he felt now while riding a horse. Having only one leg made it difficult to stay in the saddle.

  More than once yesterday he had almost slid off his horse.

  He stared into the fire once again. He hadn’t been aware of how his age had caught up with him until he had come back to the land of the Apache.

  Missouri was tame compared to Arizona.

  He hated himself for being so daft as to think he was young enough to help find the damnable scalp hunter. He must be crazy to have brought Shoshana back to her roots. And he never should have allowed her to leave the safety of the fort.

  Oh, Lord, he thought wearily to himself, who has taken her?

  He wondered if it might be an Apache. If so, would she be safe with her own people?

  Or was it the scalp hunter? He wasn’t sure which would be better. The Apache or Mountain Jack.

  With such thoughts racing inside his head, George decided he must find the strength to climb the mountain. Shoshana came first. If he had to, he would die trying to find and save her.

  With his mind made up, George rose and went to sit beside Colonel Hawkins.

  “I think we should focus on finding Chief Storm’s stronghold,” George said, bringing the colonel’s eyes quickly to him. “There is a strong possibility that he has her . . . don’t you think?”

  “I certainly do not think that Chief Storm has anything to do with this,” Colonel Hawkins said flatly. He accepted his second cup of coffee from a young lieutenant, nodding a silent thanks to him. He took a sip, then glared into George’s eyes. “And I will not search for his stronghold. I am proud to have such a peaceful relationship with the young chief. I don’t want to stir up problems. Must I remind you, George, that my fort is not fortified against attacks?”

  “Yes, I realize that,” George grumbled. “And I think the army was insane to build such a fort in Indian country. Not all the Apache practice peace. Most don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Well, George, I can definitely say that we don’t have anything to fear from Chief Storm,” the colonel said, nodding. “Most of the other Apache are on reservations now, and harmless. Those who are not, are walking a straight line, for they know that one wrong move on their part will make them lose their freedom.”

  George pushed himself up from the ground.

  He placed his hands on his hips and glared down at the colonel. “My daughter has been abducted, and you won’t even listen to reason!” he spat out.

  He leaned down closer to the colonel’s face. “I see where this is coming from,” he growled out. “Your reluctance to go up against the young Apache chief proves only one thing to me. You’re scared. You are damn scared. How can such a young chief put fear in the heart of a powerful colonel? It’s true that most Apache are living on reservations. You’re scared of Chief Storm, or he’d have joined the others long ago and you know it.”

  Colonel Hawkins moved slowly to his feet. He leaned his face into George’s.

  “Get hold of yourself, George. If you want any more cooperation from me and my men, get . . . past . . . this.”

  George sighed and, leaning heavily on his cane, limped away from Colonel Hawkins. He knew now that he had no choice but to do as the colonel said. George was only one man, and his damn “invisible” leg was like a huge, throbbing boil.

  “It’s all in your imagination,” the doctor had told George over and over again.

  He had also told George that it was his guilt over killing so many men, women, and children that made him feel a pain that was not possible.

  Suddenly George turned and went back to the colonel. “Let’s get off our asses and get going before I have to admit that I don’t have the strength to go on,” he said dryly. “Once I give in to my pain, that’ll be the end of me. Come on. Let’s get going. Now. Not later.”

  “Are you certain this is what you want to do?” Colonel Hawkins asked, his eyes searching George’s. “You aren’t looking so good. You are so pale.”

  “Like I said, let’s move on,” George said, turning away. He did not want Colonel Hawkins to see how weak he felt, how difficult it had become to breathe. He started violently when he heard a rustling in the nearby bushes.

  His heart skipped a beat when he saw green eyes and heard a small hiss, then a crashing sound as the animal leapt away.

  “We’ve just been visited by a panther,” the colonel said as he came to stand beside George. “That might change your mind about going on.”

  George turned to the colonel. He glared at him. “Nothing, not even a panther, will stop me from finding my daughter,” he said tightly. “Nothing.”

  “All right, then, we’d best get going now,” Colonel Hawkins said. “I’d like to get as much space between us and that damn panther as possible.”

  George’s heart thumped wildly inside his chest at the thought of having come so close to such a deadly animal.

  He shuddered at the thought of Shoshana not only being at the mercy of a madman scalp hunter and a renegade Apache, but also animals that might enjoy the taste of human flesh.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I believe love pure and true,

  Is to the soul, a sweet immortal dew.

  —Mary Ashley Townsend

  The aroma of food and a feeling of warmth came to Shoshana as she slowly opened her eyes and found Storm sitting across the fire from her, his midnight-dark eyes gazing back at her.

  “Did you sleep the night comfortably enough?” Storm asked as she drew a blanket around her shoulders, then sat up. “Does your head still pound?”

  Shoshana reached a hand to her lump and was stunned to find that touching it no longer hurt, nor did it pound any longer.

  She no longer had blurred vision. She could see Storm perfectly now.

  She had heard about the magic that Apache medicine men could do, and it seemed that this handsome young chief’s shaman had worked magic on her.

  “I did sleep the night,” she murmured. She lowered her hand from her brow. “And . . . and . . . like magic, my pain is gone.”

  “That is good,” Storm said, leaning to slide a log into the fire. Sparks rose quickly from the flames that soon wrapped their fingers around the log. “It is good that you slept. It is good that you no longer feel pain.”

  “But the lump is still there,” Shoshana said, again running her fingers over the injury.

  “That, too, will be gone soon,” Storm said.

  Shoshana felt a certain tension between them. This man stirred delicious feelings within her that she had never known before.

  The sensations seemed to begin down at the very tip of her toes and worked their way up her slender legs to that place at the juncture of her thighs that had never before felt the stirrings of desire.

  When she’d first laid eyes upon Storm’s face, it had been as though something began twining between them, like a vine wraps itself around an object, taking possession of it.

  She felt this bond with the Apache chief even though she was not sure if he saw her in the same light. At times, though, when he let down his guard, he gazed at her with a soft look that seemed fueled by passion.

  Breaking their intense eye contact, Shoshana spotted a black pot hanging on a tripod over the fire. She felt a gnawing at the pit of her stomach and knew it had nothing to do with her infatuation with Chief Storm.

  She was hungry.

  Since her accident, food had been the last thing on her mind. But now that her head no longer ached, and her stomach no longer felt queasy, she wanted to eat whatever was in that pot that smelled so tantalizingly rich and delicious.<
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  Storm noticed how her gaze suddenly fell on the pot of food. He saw the sudden hunger in her eyes and was glad that she had regained her appetite.

  He wanted to know her, truly know her, and now that she was well on the road to recovery, they could become better acquainted.

  “Food was brought to my lodge while you slept,” Storm said, reaching for two wooden bowls and spoons and placing them beside him. He ladled out stew into both bowls, then took one to Shoshana.

  “It looks and smells so good,” Shoshana said, allowing the blanket to fall away from her shoulders as she took the bowl from him with both hands.

  She suddenly became aware of the clothing she now wore. While she had slept, someone had dressed her in a clean, soft doeskin gown. It had no decoration, but felt wonderful against her skin.

  Storm reached for a spoon and placed it beside Shoshana, then moved back to his own pallet of blankets and furs and began eating. As he did so, he watched Shoshana dig into the food, almost ravenously.

  He gazed at the gown that No Name had brought for her, and then at her hair. Both were in disarray.

  But nothing could take away her loveliness.

  The more he was with her, the more he wanted her as his woman, not his captive. He had finally found a woman who spoke to that corner of his heart that had been closed to the love of a woman. But how could he even think of taking her as his wife? Once she was aware of why he had been so eager to take her to his stronghold, she would hate him.

  “You aren’t eating,” Shoshana said, pausing to look up questioning at Storm.

  She saw that he was lost in thought; if his bowl tipped any more, it would spill the hot stew on his bare legs.

  Today he wore only moccasins and a breechclout that bared his body to Shoshana, making her realize that he was more muscular and virile than any other man she had ever seen.

  Both the moccasins and breechclout were made of dressed deerskin.

  The breechclout was a strip of buckskin that passed between the legs around the loins and was adjusted so that the ends fell to just above the knees, both in front and behind.

  The moccasins reached halfway up the thighs, the soles extending and curving up at the toes, terminating in a sort of a button the size of a half dollar. The tops were pushed down below the knees, and the folds looked as though they might be used as pockets for small articles the wearer might want to carry.

  Today Storm didn’t wear his hair in a braid. Instead, he wore it long and free to his waist with a beaded band of buckskin tightly bound about his head to hold his hair back from his face.

  Her heart skipped a beat when she allowed her eyes to wander lower, where only the cloth of his breechclout covered that part of his anatomy that—

  “I am not all that hungry,” Storm said, shaken from his deep thoughts by her voice.

  He realized that he had almost spilled the stew on himself, and felt embarrassed that she had caught him being so distracted.

  If she knew what he’d been thinking, she wouldn’t be sitting there so at ease.

  Knowing how determined she was, he guessed that once she discovered why he had brought her to his stronghold, she would try to find a way to escape. He dreaded the moment when he must reveal the truth to her—that she was not the scalp hunter’s captive, but instead the prisoner of a powerful Apache chief.

  “The food was so good,” Shoshana said, pushing the empty bowl aside. “It brought nourishment to my body, but now I need something else to bring back my full strength. I would like to take a walk to strengthen my legs. While doing this I can see your village and people.”

  She gazed down at herself again. Although the robe was wonderfully soft and comfortable, she had wrinkled it terribly as she slept. After everything she had been through, she longed to freshen up.

  “Before I do anything else, Storm, I need a bath,” she blurted out. “If you could point me to a place where I can bathe, and . . . and . . . even supply me with a clean dress, I would appreciate it.”

  “I would enjoy showing you my home and introducing you to my people,” Storm said, rising. “I will fetch one of our older women, who will bring you a change of clothes,” he said. “She will then take you to a pool of water where you can bathe in full privacy.”

  “Thank you,” Shoshana said, smiling up at him. “You are so very, very kind. I hope one day I can find a way to repay you.”

  She was puzzled when her words made him look uneasy. That look made her wonder if there was a reason why she shouldn’t be so eager to thank him. Something seemed hidden behind those beautiful dark eyes.

  But she had always been teased by her friends back in Missouri about her vivid imagination. They had said that she saw things nobody else saw. She had always believed that was true; she had inner vision that came of her Apache heritage.

  As he walked out of the lodge, she shrugged off her momentary concern about his behavior.

  “This is no time to begin doubting him,” Shoshana said, rising and testing her ability to stand. She was glad when she discovered that her knees weren’t wobbling and she didn’t feel any lightheadedness.

  Yes, she was on the road to full recovery!

  And once she’d recovered, she would begin a serious search among these people for a woman who might have been brought here fifteen winters ago, a woman who could be her mother.

  Suddenly the entrance flap was brushed aside and an elderly woman with snow-white hair and a bent back entered the lodge. She had a very lined face, and eyes that were sunken in their sockets. A beautiful dress was lying across her outstretched arms.

  The woman did not speak. She only motioned with her head.

  Shoshana realized what the woman wanted. She wanted Shoshana to take the dress, which she did. Before she could thank her, the woman had stepped outside the lodge again and just as quickly came back inside with moccasins and a towel.

  Through all of this, Shoshana could not help staring at the elderly woman. She was startled to see something familiar in her features, especially the eyes.

  Yet she was so old, it was hard to see beyond the wrinkles and the pursed, tight lips. Her mother would not be this old. No, this could not be her mother.

  Shoshana turned her eyes quickly away and gazed down at the lovely dress that lay across her own arms. It was snow white with bits of bright metal or glass sewn onto it that shone and twinkled in the fire’s glow.

  The elderly woman nodded toward the door. Shoshana took that to mean that she wanted Shoshana to go with her.

  Shoshana nodded and with the towel draped across one arm, the dress across the other, and carrying the lovely moccasins, she left the tepee in her bare feet and gown and followed the elderly, stooped woman to a beautiful pool of water some distance from the village. It was surrounded by lovely weeping-willow trees, whose fronds hung around the water like a huge blanket.

  Shoshana wondered why the elderly woman couldn’t speak. Was it a physical or an emotional injury that caused her muteness?

  Again the woman nodded, this time toward the water, which Shoshana interpreted as a sign that this was where she was to take her bath.

  She nodded and so began to disrobe as the woman turned her back to give Shoshana privacy.

  When Shoshana stepped into the water, she sighed with pleasure. It totally relaxed her. She wanted to wash her hair but was afraid to get her wound wet, so she just concentrated on bathing the rest of herself.

  After she was out of the water and dressed, she was shaken by a sudden, vivid memory of the day her world had changed forever: her mother gripping Shoshana’s hand desperately as they ran toward the ravine for safety.

  It was as though Shoshana was there now.

  She could hear the gunfire and screams behind her.

  She could feel the pounding of her heartbeat and her mother encouraging her, saying they would be safe soon, not to be afraid.

  And then Shoshana gasped as she heard the sound of a closer volley of gunfire behind her. She stil
l ran, hand in hand with her mother, then her mother dropped Shoshana’s hand; looking behind her, Shoshana saw the blood on her mother’s back as she fell to the ground.

  Then Shoshana suddenly recalled her recent dreams, how her mother had been in the talons of a golden eagle.

  Suddenly Shoshana was aware of something else.

  This was no dream.

  It was happening now, at this very minute!

  She gasped as she gazed heavenward and saw a golden eagle even now circling low overhead, its huge shadow falling over her.

  Shoshana trembled as her eyes and the eagle’s met and held.

  In the eagle’s golden eyes she saw the same look as she had seen in her dreams.

  The eagle was flying away from her now, and as Shoshana followed its flight with her eyes, she saw how it stopped and circled above the old woman’s head.

  Shoshana gasped as again she recalled the dream. The eagle! Her mother!

  She gazed with a thudding heart at the older woman, whose back was still turned to her. Could it be? Could her tragic life have aged her so much? Had it robbed her of her voice?

  Yes, oh, yes, surely this was her mother. Why else would the eagle have come to her like this, in truth, instead of in a dream?

  “Is your name Fawn? Ina . . . mother?” Shoshana asked, her voice trembling. “Ina, it is I, Shoshana. Do you hear me? It is I, your daughter!”

  Her heart stood still as the old woman turned and their eyes met. In the woman’s was the shine of tears.

  Then her mother held her arms out for Shoshana and softly spoke her name.

  “Shoshana . . . Shoshana . . .” Fawn said, tears streaming from her old eyes.

  “It is you!” Shoshana cried. “And you can speak!”

  “I have not talked since the day I lost you,” Fawn cried. “This morning I saw you brought into the village but I did not ask who you were. I did not think it was my business.”

  “But I am your business, Ina,” Shoshana murmured, tears rushing from her eyes. “I am your daughter.”

  Shoshana ran to her. She fell into her embrace. They clung and cried, and then Shoshana gazed heavenward and watched the eagle make a few more circles above them before flying away.