Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  She lingered at the river, too, casting unhappy glances at her reflection. Surely that sour-faced girl clad in a tattered buckskin dress could not be Katy Marie Alvarez! Katy always wore the most fashionable gowns, and her hair was always clean and shiny, not snarled and lackluster.

  At length, Katy returned to Iron Wing’s lodge to find him reclining against the backrest. He did not remark on her prolonged absence, merely gestured toward the back of the lodge where the cooking pots and utensils were piled in a disorderly heap.

  After a great deal of trial and error, Katy managed to prepare a thin, strong-smelling soup flavored with chunks of meat (she did not ask what kind of meat for fear of the answer) and a handful of wild onions and sage.

  Iron Wing ate the watery soup without comment and when he was finished, he handed his bowl to Katy and indicated she should help herself.

  The idea of eating out of Iron Wing’s unwashed bowl was repugnant, but Katy’s intuition told her it was just another of the warrior’s less than subtle ways of exerting his power over her. If she refused to take his bowl, he would likely make her eat her breakfast off the dirt floor.

  Inwardly seething, her tidy nature rebelling at the idea of eating out of someone else’s dirty dish, Katy ladled a few spoonfuls of soup into the clay bowl and ate under Iron Wing’s amused gaze.

  When the bowl was empty, Katy sat back, thinking she would like nothing more than to lay down and take a nap. Gathering wood and water and cooking were tiring work when you weren’t accustomed to it. Not only that, but she had slept badly the night before, haunted by dreams rife with scar-faced monsters and shadowy figures of death and destruction.

  But there was to be no rest for Katy that day. Iron Wing ordered her to air his sleeping robes, to smooth the dirt floor of his lodge, to mend his war shirt and leggings, to empty the water left over from the day before.

  Katy obeyed the warrior’s commands grudgingly, inwardly raging at him as she saw her pampered white hands growing rough and red before her very eyes. By midafternoon, she had broken two fingernails and burned her thumb trying to light a fire. Her back felt like it was going to break at any minute, while muscles she had never known she possessed began to knot up on her, protesting at the unaccustomed labors she was performing.

  And what was Iron Wing doing while she worked like a field hand? Why, he sat in the shade of a tall tree, his hands folded negligently behind his head, observing her efforts through half-closed eyes.

  In the midst of her chores, Katy noticed that most of the men appeared to do very little work. Many of them sat cross-legged before their lodges, mending their weapons, or fashioning new bows and arrows. Others wandered from lodge to lodge, chatting with their friends and relatives, while the women tended the children, cooked the meals, gathered nuts and berries, dug roots, made moccasins, or worked on the hides pegged to the ground. Obviously, all the women worked like slaves, Katy mused sourly, regardless of whether they were red or white.

  At dusk, Iron Wing rose smoothly to his feet and motioned for Katy to follow him. Without looking back, he walked briskly toward the river, nodding at several warriors as he strode past their lodges.

  Katy followed him obediently. “Just like a darn dog!” she fumed irritably.

  Iron Wing walked perhaps a quarter of a mile upriver before he came to an abrupt halt.

  “We will bathe here,” he stated, pulling off his shirt and leggings.

  “Together?”

  “Do the whites not bathe?” the warrior asked with some curiosity.

  “Of course,” Katy replied, feeling her cheeks grow hot. “But not together.”

  “I am not a white man,” Iron Wing growled. “And it is not safe for you to bathe here alone.”

  Totally unconcerned about his nudity, Iron Wing stepped out of his breechcloth and stood naked on the riverbank. His copper-hued skin was smooth and sleek, like the hide of a panther. Katy could not help noticing that, except for the faint spidery scars on the left side of his face, neck and arm, his skin was firm and unblemished. His chest was broad, his belly flat, his arms and legs were long and corded with muscle.

  Katy had never seen a man fully unclothed before, and her eyes were drawn to his shriveled manhood until she felt Iron Wing’s amused gaze. With a gasp of dismay, Katy whirled around, wishing the earth would open and swallow her up.

  “Undress,” Iron Wing commanded. Grabbing Katy’s shoulder, he forced her to face him again.

  It was in Katy’s mind to refuse, but she had been mindlessly obeying him all day and there seemed no point in arguing now.

  “How easy I am to train,” she thought in disgust. “One day as a slave, and I obey orders like I’ve been doing it all my life!”

  Iron Wing felt his breath catch in his throat as Katy stepped out of her dress, revealing a body that was beautiful and perfectly proportioned. Like some wild woodland nymph, she stood naked before him, her head thrown back, her blue eyes blazing with anger and indignation. She looked incredibly lovely standing there, with the hills and trees behind her and the fading sunlight dancing in her luxurious black hair. Iron Wing’s loins throbbed with a sudden, pulsing desire, but he made no move toward Katy, unwilling to see her expression turn from anger to loathing.

  “Come,” he said huskily, and dove smoothly into the clear water.

  Katy followed timidly, shrieking as the chilly water closed over her. She had never liked swimming, and she swam clumsily, her fear of the water making her awkward. But Iron Wing swam like a fish, his arms and legs propelling him through the water with long, powerful strokes.

  He swam briskly for perhaps ten minutes before going ashore to retrieve a chunk of what Katy later learned was soap made from a yucca plant. Iron Wing handed Katy the soft lump, then floated lazily in the water while she washed her hair. It was embarrassing, taking a bath while he watched, but the water felt so good she thought she would have bathed before a dozen men in order to feel clean again.

  She was soaping her arms when Iron Wing appeared at her side. “Let me,” he said, reaching for the soap.

  “No!”

  “Let me.” It was another command, not a request. Wordlessly, Katy handed him the soap, her whole body tense with dreadful anticipation. Iron Wing’s eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity as he lathered Katy’s arms and shoulders. Her skin was smooth beneath his hand, soft as the petals of a wild rose.

  Without warning, he began to wash her breasts, his hands moving slowly, deliberately, over her naked flesh. Katy cringed at his touch, gasped as she felt his manhood rise against her buttocks.

  Wanting to flee and yet afraid to move, Katy stared unblinking into the distance, remembering how she had threatened to shoot Jake Cardall because he had dared to lay his hand upon her knee. If only she had her little pistol now!

  Time seemed to stand still as Iron Wing dropped the soap and let his lathered hands roam freely over Katy’s body, touching, caressing, intimately exploring the silky hills and hidden valleys of her slender figure. A peculiar singing sensation hummed in Katy’s veins and she felt suddenly hot all over, as if her blood had mysteriously turned to fire. There was an odd tingling in the pit of her stomach, and her heart was hammering so loudly she wondered that Iron Wing could not hear it.

  As Iron Wing’s hands grew more bold, more suggestive, Katy swayed against him, bracing herself against the solid wall of his chest as her knees turned to water. She heard Iron Wing groan low in his throat as her buttocks pressed against his throbbing manhood.

  She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the wondrous sensations his hands were evoking. Her whole being was alive, quivering with delight when, abruptly, Iron Wing turned away from her and plunged into the water, leaving Katy feeling strangely empty and unfulfilled.

  Chapter Five

  Several days passed. Katy obediently followed Iron Wing’s commands, secretly dreaming of the day when someone would rescue her from the Indians and she would be allowed to enter the convent. Surely her mother woul
d send someone out to search for her sooner or later; perhaps, even now, there were soldiers scouring the countryside. Soon, they would find her and take her to the Little Sisters of Mercy convent in Colorado. Katy held fast to the thought of the convent when the Indian women ridiculed her because she was ignorant of their language and customs. She pictured the peaceful walls and candlelit chapel at night when sleep wouldn’t come and nameless fears hovered over her like great birds of prey, waiting to devour her in a weak moment. She conjured up a mental image of the nuns, their faces serene and untroubled, whenever Iron Wing scolded her or his dark eyes smoldered with an emotion she could not fathom.

  Katy had been Iron Wing’s prisoner for almost two weeks the day he gave her a new dress and a pair of handsomely decorated moccasins, offering them to her as if they were of no consequence, requesting only that she wear them to Short Bear’s giveaway feast that night.

  The giveaway feast was an odd ritual among the Cheyenne, one Katy did not fully understand. When Red Elk’s oldest daughter had her first menstrual period, Red Elk gave away all of his horses and many fine robes and furs, leaving his family practically destitute. But the next day there were numerous blankets, furs, and other goods stacked in front of his lodge as members of the tribe gave him gifts in return.

  Tonight, Short Bear was celebrating the birth of his first son. There would be food for all, followed by singing and dancing, and then Short Bear would give gifts, a horse to Tall Buffalo, who had been named as the child’s godfather, a fine black buffalo robe to Sun Dreamer, a red clay pipe for his wife’s father, a dozen beaver skins for his wife’s mother.

  Iron Wing had told Katy about the feast earlier in the day and she thought of it now as she held the new dress against her, admiring the softness of the doeskin. It had been tanned until it was as smooth as velvet, and was as white as snow. Long fringe dangled from the sleeves, red and yellow porcupine quills had been fashioned into a pleasing design across the yoke.

  A new dress! Katy could hardly wait to try it on, and her hands caressed it lovingly a dozen times as she went about her chores that day. When it finally came time to get ready for the feast, she was as excited as a girl going to her first grown-up ball.

  Turning her back to Iron Wing, Katy slipped the dress over her head, wishing for a mirror so she could see how she looked. The dress fit like a dream, outlining her full breasts, flaring softly over her hips. Feeling suddenly shy, she turned to face Iron Wing. The admiration she saw reflected in his dark eyes told her better than any looking glass how beautiful she was.

  A short time later, Katy sat beside Iron Wing, listening to the laughter of those about her while Short Bear’s wife, sisters, and mother-in-law scurried around the large circle making sure everyone had enough to eat. Katy marveled at the large quantity and variety of food being served. Short Bear’s women had obviously spent days just cooking. Little wonder they all looked weary. When the food was gone, one of the ancient warriors told a story for the children and they laughed and giggled and poked each other in the ribs much as children did the world over.

  When the ancient warrior finished his tale, Short Bear asked Iron Wing to recount his battle with the grizzly. At first, Iron Wing declined, but it was a brave story and the people begged to hear it, and finally he relented.

  Rising proudly to his feet, he walked to the center of the crowd. With a shrug, he removed the blanket from his broad shoulders, revealing his naked chest, and the jagged white scar that ran along his neck and down his left arm. He looked tall and forbidding standing there with the firelight playing over his bronze torso, and Katy felt a flutter of excitement quicken in her belly as she stared at him. He was arrogant. He was insufferable. And she hated him. But now, for this moment, he was utterly fascinating.

  Katy did not understand the Cheyenne tongue and at first she had no idea what was being said, but as the minutes passed, she began to understand. Iron Wing was relating, in word, dance and pantomime, how he had met and defeated the bear whose claws he wore on a leather thong around his neck.

  Katy leaned forward, her whole being focused on the man standing in the middle of the gathering. Everything else faded into the distance as she watched him, mesmerized by the story he was telling, a story told so vividly she felt as if she had been there when it happened.

  It was early summer. The sky was blue, the air was warm, the grass green and soft beneath his pony’s feet. He had gone hunting alone that day, riding high in the hills west of the village. He had just rounded a bend in the trail when his horse began to prance nervously. Iron Wing glanced around, his eyes searching for the thing that was spooking his mount, when suddenly the horse reared straight up and fell over backward. Iron Wing rolled free and scrambled to his feet, unhurt, as his horse bolted down the side of the mountain. A low growl reached Iron Wing’s ears and he whirled around, reaching for his bow, only to find it had been broken in the fall.

  Moving slowly so as not to frighten or anger the bear, he drew his knife from the sheath on his belt and began to back away, praying the grizzly would let him go. But the bear followed him, rising on her hind legs to tower over him, her black eyes shining with menace, her yellow teeth bared in an angry snarl. A swipe from one huge claw laid his left arm open to the bone.

  Stifling a cry of pain, Iron Wing stabbed at the bear’s chest and belly as she grabbed him and drew him close. Her breath was foul, her coat rough against his face. With a herculean effort, he freed his knife hand and jabbed the bear in the snout with the point of the blade. Roaring with pain, the bear knocked him aside. It was then that the tip of one razor-sharp claw sliced his cheek.

  Dropping to all fours again, the bear charged. Man and beast came together in a tangle of flailing arms and paws as Iron Wing plunged his knife into the bear’s throat, severing the jugular vein.

  Blood gushed from the wound, drenching Iron Wing in a warm stickiness as the bear toppled over, trapping the unconscious warrior beneath its hindquarters.

  When he regained consciousness, it was dark. Using what little strength he had left, he managed to extricate himself from the bear’s weight. Then, too weak to travel down the mountain, he pulled his knife from the bear’s flesh and cut his tattered shirt into strips with which he bandaged his arm, counting himself lucky as he did so that no veins or arteries had been damaged. He ate raw bear meat when he hungered and it was only when his thirst became intolerable that he crawled down the mountainside to collapse beside a small stream. It was there that Tall Buffalo found him, half out of his mind with pain and fever. Weeks of sickness followed, but when he finally recovered, he returned to the site of the struggle and claimed the bear’s claws and hide.

  Katy sighed as Iron Wing finished his story and returned to her side. He was truly a brave man, to have endured so much and lived to tell the tale. But he was still an Indian, and a heathen.

  It was very late when the giveaway feast ended and they returned to Iron Wing’s lodge. Katy undressed quickly and slipped under the robe she used for a blanket. She could hear Iron Wing moving about in the darkness, the soft whisper of his clothing against his skin as he undressed and crawled under the buffalo robes in the rear of the lodge.

  With a sigh, Katy closed her eyes, remembering how she had lain awake the first few nights, her nerves as taut as a bowstring as she waited for Iron Wing to drag her forcibly to his bed and brutally attack her. But nothing had happened. He had not touched her since that day at the river, or made any comment on the fact that she slept alone. Katy told herself she was glad he did not find her desirable and yet, perversely, she could not help wondering why he did not want to bed her.

  She was almost asleep when Iron Wing’s voice pierced the stillness, calling her to him. Katy’s heart began to pound like a hammer as she lay still in the darkness, feigning sleep. She knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Iron Wing meant to have his way with her before the night was through. What to do, what to do? Thoughts chased themselves across her mind like mice in a maze, h
urrying., scurrying, going nowhere because there was nowhere to go.

  “Woman.” His voice beckoned her a second time. “Come to me.”

  “No.”

  “You are my woman,” he reminded her gently. “You must come when I call you.”

  “No! I don’t belong to you, or to anyone.”

  “You are mine for as long as it pleases me.” There was anger in Iron Wing’s voice now. He had been patient with her, giving her time to adjust to her new life, and to him. But he would be patient no more. The memory of her standing naked on the riverbank was vivid in his mind. “You will come when I call you.”

  “I will not.”

  The words were barely out of Katy’s mouth when he was towering over her, his naked body glistening in the dim light cast by the fire’s dying embers, his swarthy face twisted with rage because she continued to defy him.

  Reaching down, he snatched the cover from her grasp, Katy shivered with fear, and with the knowledge that she had pushed him too far and would now have to pay the penalty.

  “You will obey me,” Iron Wing rasped, and lifted her into his arms effortlessly, as though she weighed no more than a child.

  Only a few short steps across the floor, and she was lying on his bed. The buffalo robes were soft beneath her naked flesh, still warm from Iron Wing’s body. The faint light from the coals cast eerie shadows on the lodge-skins, and it seemed as though she were caught in a strange waking nightmare as Iron Wing slowly sank down beside her, his ebony eyes glittering with the fires of his lust.

  “What do you want from me?” Katy asked, swallowing hard.

  “What every man wants from a woman,” Iron Wing answered huskily. “I have waited long enough.”

  His reply came as no surprise. It was what Katy had been dreading all along, but the reality of the moment was no less disturbing because it had been anticipated.

  Katy gasped, “I can’t!” as she put both hands against Iron Wing’s chest and tried to push him away. It was like trying to dislodge a mountain. Her heart was hammering wildly, and her mouth was suddenly dry as the desert on a summer day as she sobbed, “I can’t, I don’t know how. I’ve never been with a man that way.”