Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

“No?” Iron Wing took a tentative step forward, causing a quick shiver of apprehension to skitter along Katy’s spine as she sought a way out of the lodge, and found none. There was only one entrance, and the warrior stood before it, his arms folded negligently across his chest.

  Iron Wing laughed softly, his hooded eyes mocking the fear in Katy’s face. “Sit,” he said again.

  This time Katy quickly did as bidden. “What are you going to do with me?” she demanded, unconsciously drawing her cloak tighter, as if its heavy folds would somehow protect her.

  Iron Wing shrugged. “Tall Buffalo seems to think I need a woman.” Iron Wing made a vague gesture that encompassed his lodge and belongings. “Perhaps my friend is right. It is not fitting for a Cheyenne warrior to gather wood for his fire, or cook his own meals.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to do those things!” Katy exclaimed, aghast at the very idea of acting as the man’s servant.

  “That is exactly what I expect you to do,” Iron Wing replied calmly.

  “Well, I won’t,” Katy retorted indignantly.

  “Do not defy me, white woman,” Iron Wing warned in a tone suddenly gone hard, “or I shall take you outside and beat you in front of my people to prove to them, and to you, who is the master in this lodge.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Katy cried in dismay, but in her heart she knew he would not hesitate to carry out his threat. He looked quite capable of beating her, and enjoying it.

  “I would rather beat Tall Buffalo,” Iron Wing admitted with a wry grin, “but I will beat you if the need arises.”

  Iron Wing studied the white woman intently, his black eyes as fathomless as pools of liquid ebony. She was his, to do with as he pleased. He could keep her for a slave, or give her away. He could bed her once, or a thousand times, or not at all. The idea took some getting used to. Despite her disheveled state, he could see that she was an incredibly beautiful woman. Her long black hair framed a face that was perfect in every detail, from the delicately arched brows and small, tip-tilted nose to her pouting pink lips. But it was her eyes that intrigued him, for they were as blue and clear as a high mountain stream. Her creamy skin, so much lighter than his own, looked soft and inviting, but when he reached out to touch her cheek, she drew away with a little cry of alarm.

  Iron Wing’s hand fell stiffly to his side. It did not occur to him that the woman would have shied away from any Indian, male or female, who endeavored to touch her. He knew only that she looked at him with revulsion, just as Quiet Water had looked at him so long ago. Always it was the same, he thought morosely. Women recoiled in horror from his touch, their eyes reflecting the ugliness they saw whenever they looked upon his scarred face.

  Wordlessly, he turned away from her and left the lodge.

  Katy sat quietly for a long time, trying to reconcile herself to the cataclysmic changes the last few weeks had wrought in her life. She had lost Robert, whom she had loved above all else. She had lost her chance to live in quiet seclusion behind cloistered walls and now, worst of all, she had lost her freedom. She, Katy Marie Alvarez, the sweetheart of Mesa Blanca, heir to the Alvarez fortune, now belonged to a half-naked heathen savage who did not even want her. She was his property, his slave, and he could do with her as he wished, even beat her if he so desired, and no one would dispute his right to do so.

  Katy glanced apprehensively around the lodge. It was sparsely furnished, containing little more than a few clay pots, some tightly woven baskets, the willow backrest she was reclining on. A bow and quiver of feathered arrows hung from one of the lodge poles. There was a shield decorated with an eagle, and a long lance. A thick black scalp dangled from the end of the lance. Fingering a lock of her own hair, Katy wondered, morbidly, if the scalp had come from a woman.

  Katy shuddered as her wandering gaze came to rest on several buffalo robes untidily piled in the rear of the lodge. Her cheeks flamed as she realized it was a bed. Iron Wing had made it quite clear that he expected her to cook and clean for him. Would he also expect her to warm his bed?

  Revulsion rose swift and hot in Katy’s breast. She knew she would simply curl up and die if he so much as touched her. He was so ominous looking. There was no softness in him, no hint of kindness, only a cool arrogance. And his eyes, they were as black as lumps of coal, as depthless as the bowels of hell.

  A wordless groan escaped Katy’s lips as the tension of the past few weeks caught up with her. Quick tears burned her eyes and she began sobbing uncontrollably, rocking back and forth on her heels, her arms clasped around her waist. Why had God spared her life when the Apaches attacked the stagecoach? Why hadn’t he let her die with the others? What sin had she committed that she should be so cruelly punished?

  Katy cried bitter tears, raging at the unkind hand of fate that had snatched her from the safe haven of the convent and abandoned her in an alien world peopled with Godless savages.

  She cried until her eyes were red and swollen, her throat raw. Cried until exhaustion overcame her fear and she curled up into a tight ball on the hard-packed earthen floor, her head pillowed on her arms, and slipped into the merciful oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Captain Michael Sommers sighed heavily as he rapped lightly on the front door of the Alvarez hacienda. Of all the distasteful duties he had drawn during his twenty-two years with the United States Army, notifying the next of kin was by far the worst. There never seemed to be an easy way to say, “I’m sorry, your daughter, or son, or husband, is missing, presumed dead.” And no matter how often you said the words, they never came any easier.

  Sommers came to attention as the heavy oak door swung open to reveal an attractive middle-aged woman clad in a dark blue velvet dress.

  “Mrs. Alvarez?” Sommers inquired, removing his hat.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Captain Sommers. May I come in?”

  Sarah Alvarez nodded as she stepped back to allow the officer to enter the hacienda. She had a quick eye for detail and she quickly noted that his service stripes denoted at least twenty years in the Army, that he was quite handsome, and that he carried himself with a certain air of pride and self-confidence that was peculiar to Army men.

  With a slight gesture of her hand, Sarah beckoned for Sommers to follow her into the parlor. Taking a seat on the sofa, she indicated he should join her.

  “May I offer you a drink, Captain?” Sarah asked. “A glass of lemonade, perhaps, or a cup of tea?”

  “No thank you, ma’am.”

  Sarah smiled up at him. “Won’t you please sit down?”

  “No, thank you.” Sommers swallowed hard as he ran a nervous hand through his wavy blond hair. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Mrs. Alvarez.”

  Sarah stopped smiling, and the day seemed to grow suddenly dark and cold as the icy hand of fear wrapped itself around her heart.

  “Katy?” The word emerged in a choked whisper.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid her coach was attacked by Apaches. We’ve accounted for all the passengers, except your daughter.”

  Sarah nodded, unable to speak.

  “The men traveling with her were all killed. There was no trace of your daughter’s…no trace of your daughter. I’m afraid the Indians took her back to their camp.”

  “No!” Sarah shook her head, not wanting to believe the Captain’s words.

  “Can I call someone for you, Mrs. Alvarez? Your husband? A friend?”

  “No. There’s no one. Do you think Katy is…?” She could not bring herself to say the word dead.

  “I don’t know, ma’am. Much as I hate to say it, I think she’d be better off.”

  Sarah stared blankly at the Captain. It was too awful to think about, too horrible to imagine Katy at the mercy of heathen savages. Katy, who had never known a man, who had never known cruelty or deprivation of any kind.

  A sudden sob tore at Sarah’s throat as she recalled all the times she could have told her only daughter how much she loved her, all the
times she might have put her arms around Katy, and had failed to do so. Now, she would never have the chance. Never again would she hear Katy Marie’s sweet laughter, or see her lovely face. Katy would never know how much she had been loved. How foolish she had been, Sarah realized, to lock her heart against her only child.

  Michael Sommers looked away. It was a terrible thing, to see someone else’s grief. Impulsively, he dropped to his knees at Sarah’s feet and put his arms around her waist.

  At his touch, Sarah’s sobs came harder, and she fell into his arms, finding solace in his embrace. It had been so long since she had felt a man’s arms around her, so long since she had let herself cry. It was a relief to let the tears flow unchecked, to give in to the pain and grief she had bottled so tightly inside her. Somehow, even knowing Katy was dead was, in a way, a relief from the awful pain of not knowing what had become of her. For weeks, she had waited for some word of Katy’s whereabouts, but the convent knew nothing, only that she had never arrived. Perhaps she had changed her mind and was ashamed to go home? But Sarah disregarded that suggestion. Katy was not a coward. If she thought she had made a mistake, she would have come home and said so.

  Michael Sommers sat back on his heels, pulling Sarah into his lap. She came willingly, burying her face against his shoulders as her tears came harder and faster. Tenderly, he stroked her hair, feeling as if he had known her all his life instead of mere moments.

  Gradually, Sarah’s sobs subsided and she was embarrassed to find herself sitting on the floor in the arms of a total stranger. And yet, oddly, he did not seem like a stranger.

  Sarah smiled faintly as the captain pulled a red kerchief from his back pocket and wiped the tears from her face. It was nice, knowing someone cared. For a moment, they sat looking at each other.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said after awhile. “I’m afraid I’ve drenched your shirt front.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sommers said with a mild grin. “I’m truly sorry about your daughter, ma’am. Sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

  “I’m glad it was you,” Sarah replied candidly, and felt her cheeks flame scarlet at her bold reply.

  Rising, she smoothed her dress and patted her hair. Sommers rose in a fluid movement to stand beside her.

  “I wish we had met under more congenial circumstances, Mrs. Alvarez,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Yes. Captain, I…would you think it dreadfully forward of me if I invited you to stay for dinner?”

  “No, ma’am. I’d be happy to oblige.”

  It was the most pleasant evening Sarah had known since Katy Marie’s father had been killed. She discovered, to her delight, that Captain Michael Sommers had read Shakespeare, and that his favorite play was A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which was also her favorite. She learned that he had been born in Boston, that his parents were recently deceased, and that he had three sisters residing in Boston, all married to prominent businessmen.

  “I guess I’m the black sheep in the family,” Sommers mused with a boyish grin. “I ran away from home when I was just a kid and joined the Army. My folks never really forgave me for that, but they accepted my decision. My father was disappointed because I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps and be a railroad tycoon.”

  “I’m so glad you decided to come West instead,” Sarah murmured.

  Michael’s bold brown eyes were warm as they rested on her face. “So am I,” he said quietly. “May I call on you again?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Later that night, alone in her bed, Sarah wept for hours. How foolish she had been to put the ranch before Katy, to keep her emotions locked tightly inside.

  The captain came to call the next night, and every night for the next three weeks. In that time, Sarah Alvarez lost her heart again, and when Michael Sommers proposed, Sarah said yes without hesitation. And when he announced he was retiring from the Army at the end of the year, her joy was complete.

  A week later, they were married in a quiet ceremony in Mesa Blanca.

  Chapter Four

  When Katy woke the next morning, the first thing she saw was Iron Wing squatting on his heels across from her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  Sometime during the night, he had covered her with a soft brown robe and Katy drew it tightly around her as she realized, with alarm, that he had also undressed her, leaving her naked as a newborn babe. The fact that he had touched her while she slept, unaware and defenseless, brought a surge of heat to Katy’s cheeks. And the force of his steady gaze now did little to ease her growing discomfort.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked irritably. “What do you want?”

  “Do you always sleep so late?” he inquired sardonically. “The other women have been up since sunrise. Mine is the only lodge with a cold fire and a hungry warrior.”

  Katy glared at Iron Wing, annoyed by his remarks. “I’m not your slave,” she began crossly, then flushed. She was his slave, for as long as he wanted her.

  “Where are my clothes?” she demanded petulantly.

  Iron Wing gestured to a pile of clothing stacked beside her, and Katy grimaced with disgust. They were not her clothes at all, but a shapeless dress fashioned of crudely tanned animal skins and a pair of worn moccasins.

  “I won’t wear those awful things,” Katy said, her brilliant blue eyes flashing defiance. “I want my own clothes, my own shoes.”

  “I burned them,” Iron Wing remarked calmly.

  “Burned them!” Katy sputtered in helpless fury. “How dare you! You had no right!”

  “You will wear what I provide,” Iron Wing interjected smoothly, “or you will go naked.” His eyes glinted with the threat, causing Katy to recall that he had already seen her naked while she slept. She did not intend to give him a second look.

  Katy glowered at Iron Wing. She was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Always, she had done as she pleased, when she pleased, within the limits of good taste, of course. But no more, she thought bitterly. She was a slave now, no longer free to make her own decisions.

  Iron Wing was still studying Katy intently, and she shivered under the power of his probing gaze. It was like being watched by a snake coiled to strike. Unable to hold his penetrating stare, Katy glanced at the thin white scar along his left cheek, wondering what had caused it.

  Iron Wing’s eyes narrowed ominously as he misinterpreted her curiosity for repugnance.

  “Get dressed,” he ordered brusquely.

  “Not until you leave,” Katy retorted sharply.

  “It is my lodge,” Iron Wing pointed out. “I do not wish to leave. If you do not wish to dress in my presence, go outside.”

  Katy glared at Iron Wing. What a perverse wretch he was! She waited a moment, hoping he would relent and grant her a few minutes of privacy, but he remained where he was, his dark eyes hard upon her, his face impassive.

  With a sigh of exasperation, Katy grabbed the shapeless dress and pulled it inside the protective folds of the blanket, then sat there, perplexed as to how she could slip the dress over her head and still maintain her grip on the blanket.

  Iron Wing solved the problem for her. “You could manage better without this,” he remarked, and snatched the blanket from her grasp.

  Katy blushed from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet as the warrior’s lustful gaze traveled leisurely over her naked flesh. No man had ever seen her unclothed, or even in her chemise, and now this savage was leering at her as if she were some common harlot!

  With a cry of righteous indignation, Katy yanked the dress over her head. Rising, she smoothed the rough material over her sweetly rounded hips, a decidedly feminine gesture that did not go unnoticed, or unappreciated, by Iron Wing.

  The warrior let out a long sigh of regret as Katy’s delectable body was hidden from his sight beneath the shapeless doeskin dress. With an effort, he turned his thoughts in another direction.

  “We need wood,” he told her, annoyed by the husky note of longing t
hat had crept into his voice. “Come, I will show you where to find it.”

  Katy followed Iron Wing outside, acutely aware of the curious glances she received from the Indians, especially the women. Many of them stared at her openly, their interest making them forget their manners. A few glared at her with undisguised loathing. She was a white woman, a paleface. She was the enemy. There was hardly a family in the village who had not lost a loved one to the whites in battle.

  One very old woman who had skin like sunburned leather spat at Katy, reviling her in the Cheyenne tongue, until a harsh word from Iron Wing sent the old crone scurrying for the shelter of her lodge.

  Tears pricked Katy’s eyes. She had never known derision or rejection. Always, she had been pampered and cherished, her wishes catered to. It would have been so easy to cry, to surrender to the tears welling in her eyes, but a pride Katy did not know she possessed came to her rescue. Head high and defiant, Katy followed Iron Wing to a grove of trees as if she were a queen granting favors.

  “You will come here each morning and gather wood,” Iron Wing instructed curtly. “Do not go beyond the trees, or try to cross the river. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Katy answered sullenly. “I’m not completely stupid.”

  “Good,” the warrior replied, ignoring her sarcasm. “After you collect the wood, you will go to the river for water.” He thrust a large yellow gourd into her hands. “After you have drawn the water, you will return to my lodge and prepare my morning meal.”

  Katy stared after Iron Wing as he turned and walked back to the lodge. Who did he think he was, anyway, ordering her around like that.

  Feeling much put upon, Katy wandered beneath the towering pines and oaks searching for twigs. It was a task that could easily have been accomplished in a matter of minutes, but she dawdled along, enjoying the lovely morning, and the chance to be alone, if only for a little while. She bypassed several good-sized hunks of wood, deciding on a whim to gather only those pieces of a certain size and shape.