The fact that she had never known a man stoked Iron Wing’s desire. Katy. struggled frantically as he drew her closer, kicking, biting, scratching in an attempt to thwart his assault on her body. But her strength was nothing compared to his. With ease, he threw one long leg over hers, then trapped both of her hands in one of his, leaving her to writhe helplessly beneath him as his free hand boldly explored her flat belly and heaving breasts.
Eventually, Katy ceased her useless struggles and lay passive beneath him, her eyes wide with fear and loathing. Indian! Indian! Her mind screamed the word.
Slowly, Iron Wing rose over her, blocking everything else from her vision. Hating him, she squeezed her eyes tight shut as his manhood violated the most intimate part of her body. And now came the worst indignity of all as her own flesh betrayed her. Unwanted, unexpected, a tiny spark of desire ignited deep in the core of Katy’s being as Iron Wing moved slowly inside her. His hands, hands that had killed and scalped innocent men and women, roamed freely over her sweat-sheened flesh, fanning that spark into a roaring blaze.
A low moan filled the lodge, shocking Katy into silence as she realized the muffled cry of pleasure had erupted from her own throat. No lady was supposed to enjoy sexual intercourse. It was undignified. It was unladylike. Her mother had told her, in hushed whispers, that the act itself was something a woman endured for the sake of having children. But Katy was not enduring it. She was reveling in it.
She offered no resistance as Iron Wing drew her closer still. Instead, she ran her fingers along his sun-bronzed arms, glorying in his hard, masculine strength and in the muscles that bulged beneath her hand. Heart pounding like a drum, she opened her eyes and stared into the face of the man who was driving her wild with desire. If only he would stop torturing her with such exquisite pain. Oh, if he would only stop…if he would never stop.
She cried his name aloud as their passion rose to a flaming crescendo, climaxing in waves of fulfillment that gradually receded in intensity, leaving them breathlessly content.
A long, shuddering sigh escaped Iron Wing as he rolled over onto his side, drawing Katy with him so that she lay locked within the circle of his arms, her face only inches from his own. Now she was truly his woman, and he would kill any man who dared touch her. Smiling drowsily, he fell asleep. Katy lay stiff in Iron Wing’s arms, confused by the conflicting emotions running rampant in her breast. Her mind screamed with outraged innocence. Her virginity, that prize beyond price, had been taken from her by force by a heathen savage. But that was not the worst of it. No, far worse than Iron Wing’s violation of her body was the way she had yielded to his touch. Yielded! Hah! She had surrendered with hardly a struggle.
She grimaced with self-disgust. If the truth be known, she had gloried in his possession of her, delighting in the easy masculine strength that had rendered her helpless. Helpless and loving it, her conscience chided reproachfully. Loving it and already hungry for more. No matter that he was a heathen savage. No matter that they had not received the blessing of a Holy Father, or even a Cheyenne medicine man. In the end, she had risen to meet him, crying his name aloud as his arms pulled her closer, until they were no longer two separate entities, but one flesh forged together by the heat of passion. Even now, with her skin still on fire from his touch, she was wanting him again, wanting to experience the never-imagined pleasure he had brought her. And she had wanted to be a nun! Feeling suddenly dirty and ashamed, Katy eased out of Iron Wing’s embrace and crawled to the opposite side of the lodge where a pot of water stood waiting to be thrown out. It was clean water, but Iron Wing would not use it in the morning because the Indians believed that water left overnight was dead.
Very quietly, Katy dipped a cloth into the water and began to wipe the bright virginal blood from between her thighs. No decent white man would ever want her now, she mused bitterly, forgetting that she had vowed never to love again. No self-respecting white man would want a woman who had been despoiled by a savage.
Katy stared at the red stain on the cloth, and then at Iron Wing sleeping peacefully on the far side of the lodge. Only the sight of his blood on her hands could atone for the loss of her virginity.
Holding her breath, Katy moved stealthily toward the tripod that held Iron Wing’s weapons. The rifle would be too noisy, the lance too awkward. She could not draw the bow. That left the knife. She began to shake all over as she slowly but deliberately drew the wicked-looking blade from the beaded buckskin sheath. On silent feet, she crept to Iron Wing’s side.
He did not look particularly dangerous in repose. With his features relaxed and the habitual bitterness in his eyes shuttered behind closed lids, he looked peaceful, almost benign.
But he was not kind. He was a savage, a murderer, a molester of virgins! Katy’s anger flared hot again and she raised the knife, ready to plunge it to the hilt in Iron Wing’s naked chest, when suddenly his dark eyes snapped open. His left hand, moving swifter than a serpent’s tongue, struck Katy’s wrist as the knife came down, deflecting the blow so that, instead of piercing his heart, the blade sank into his right shoulder.
Katy screamed with fear as her arm went numb from the wrist up to her shoulder. Once he had threatened to beat her publicly if she defied him. What would he do to her now, when she had tried to kill him? Heart pounding with trepidation, she stared in horror at the knife protruding from his shoulder.
Iron Wing sat up slowly, his face taut with pain as he jerked the knife from his flesh. Blood poured from the wound, and he pressed his hand over the gaping hole as his eyes sought her face.
“Why?” he asked softly. “Do I not have scars enough to please you?”
Tears filled Katy’s eyes. She had expected anger, retaliation. But he did not seem angry, only puzzled.
“Because I…I hate you,” Katy murmured, refusing to meet his eyes. “You killed my father and my betrothed. And now you’ve stolen my virginity, and I…” She broke into violent sobs, unable to go on.
There was a sudden pounding on the outside of the lodge cover. Iron Wing rose slowly to his feet, wincing with pain as he opened the lodge flap to admit Tall Buffalo and Sun Dreamer.
“We heard a scream,” Tall Buffalo said, glancing from Katy’s tear-stained face to the blood dripping from Iron Wing’s shoulder. “We thought…” He laughed out loud as he gestured at Iron Wing’s injury. “We thought the white woman had killed you.”
“Not quite,” Iron Wing remarked drily.
“I think we should go,” Sun Dreamer muttered, and the two warriors left the lodge, grinning foolishly.
Iron Wing sat cross-legged on the floor while Katy clumsily bandaged his wound. His blood was warm and sticky, and she grimaced as it dripped onto her skin.
“Only the sight of his blood on my hand…” The words echoed in Katy’s mind, but she found no satisfaction in knowing she had shed his blood, only horror that she had tried to take a human life.
Tying off the ends of the bandage, Katy sat back on her heels, looking up at Iron Wing through the dark fringe of her lashes.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“What did you mean when you said I had killed your father and your betrothed?” Iron Wing asked quietly.
“They were both killed by Apaches,” Katy answered bitterly. “My father was hacked to pieces, and Robert…” She choked on the words.
“I am not an Apache,” Iron Wing reminded her gruffly, but his eyes were kind.
“Injuns is Injuns,” Katy retorted, parroting a phrase she had often heard.
“That may be,” Iron Wing allowed, “but this Indian is tired.” He stretched out on the robes and closed his eyes. “Come to bed.”
It was in Katy’s mind to refuse, but she too was suddenly overcome with weariness. Meekly she crawled under the robes, careful not to jar Iron Wing’s wounded shoulder.
He was soon asleep, but Katy lay awake for hours, trying to sort out her jumbled emotions. She hated Iron Wing, hated everything he represented. Why then did his tou
ch excite her? She had tried only moments before to kill him, and now she lay beside him, feeling strangely content. It was all so confusing.
She was still trying to understand her confusion when sleep claimed her. There were no bad dreams that night.
Chapter Six
In the days that followed, Iron Wing spent long hours with Katy, teaching her to speak the language of the Cheyenne. It was a harsh, guttural tongue, difficult for her to master. Often, he would not speak to her unless she responded in his native tongue. His stubbornness irritated Katy, but it made her learn faster.
She discovered many things about the Indian people as the days went by. She had been taught from childhood that all Indians were godless savages, having no natural affection or human emotions. To her surprise, Katy learned such notions were very wrong. Indian mothers loved their children and prayed for them when they were ill. Husbands argued with their wives. Wives nagged their husbands, but only in the privacy of their lodge. Little boys played harmless pranks on their siblings. Grandfathers told stories of their youth. Young men bragged of their adventures. Young women spent hours preening for the young men, and then took great pains to pretend to ignore the very men they secretly hoped to impress.
Eventually, most of the people in the village accepted Katy. The men treated her with respect because she was Iron Wing’s woman. The women made small overtures of friendship, offering to teach Katy how to dye the porcupine quills that decorated their clothing, showing her how to locate the herbs and vegetables that grew wild on the plains. They taught Katy which plants cured ache in the belly, and which were good for healing headaches and toothaches. She learned which plants were poisonous—and thought, if only halfheartedly, of slipping a few leaves into Iron Wing’s food.
Tall Buffalo’s wife, Yellow Flower, gave Katy a deerskin dress. Pretty Eyes, daughter of Sun Dreamer, the medicine man, gave her several ribbons for her hair and a comb carved from a piece of pine.
Katy was pleased by their friendship. It was nice to have the women smile at her and nod their heads in greeting, nice to know the children were no longer afraid of her, even though she was a “paleface”.
Nicest of all was having Yellow Flower for a friend. Though Katy’s mastery of the Cheyenne tongue was far from complete, the two women managed to communicate quite well by using a combination of English, Cheyenne, and sign language. Yellow Flower taught Katy how to make moccasins, and how to tan into fine robes the furs that Iron Wing brought home. Whenever Katy was not with Iron Wing, she could usually be found in Yellow Flower’s lodge helping to sew things for the baby that was due any day.
Katy had been Iron Wing’s prisoner almost a month to the day the morning she woke with the dull cramping in her belly that signaled the onslaught of her menses. She blushed with embarrassment when Iron Wing noticed the blood on her sleeping robes.
Before she could ask him to please send Yellow Flower to her, Iron Wing hurried her out of their lodge toward a small hut located near the river. It was, Katy soon discovered, the menstrual lodge where women were required to stay until their menses ceased. There were several women inside the lodge and they willingly made room for Katy, patiently explaining that no woman suffering the curse was ever allowed to associate with the men. They must never touch a warrior’s weapons, or prepare his food, lest misfortune befall him. Brave warriors though the Cheyenne were, they still looked upon a menstruating woman with fear and awe, believing her to be possessed of harmful supernatural powers.
At first, Katy was indignant at such treatment, but as time passed, the days in the hut became less of an ordeal. It was a good time to catch up on village gossip, or sew a new dress, or just relax.
A week after Katy returned to Iron Wing’s lodge, Yellow Flower went into labor. Tall Buffalo spent the day with Iron Wing, and Katy almost laughed out loud to see Tall Buffalo restlessly pacing the floor just like any other expectant father. Indians were rumored to be a stoic race, immune to pain or sorrow. Once Katy had believed them incapable of emotion, but now she knew that Indians were just people like everybody else, subject to the same joys, the same fears. They might mask their emotions behind a stern façade in public or in front of strangers, but they felt pain and grief, joy and sorrow, just like whites.
Yellow Flower was in labor for twelve hours, and at last she was delivered of a fat baby boy. Katy felt a surge of maternal longing as she held the baby in her arms and it occurred to her that, if she were forced to remain long with Iron Wing, she too might become pregnant.
Katy stared at the baby in sudden confusion. He was a darling thing, with dark eyes and a thatch of thick black hair. He would be so easy to love. Already she felt a warm swell of affection for him, yet the thought of giving birth to an Indian baby filled her with revulsion.
But perhaps she was worrying needlessly. Iron Wing had not touched her since the night she had stabbed him, although he still insisted she share his bed. For Katy, the nights beside him were long and filled with tension. Each time Iron Wing moved beside her, each time his warm flesh touched hers, she felt her nerves sing with anticipation. She reprimanded herself often for wanting him, reminding herself that sexual intercourse outside of marriage was a sin. Not only that, but Iron Wing was a savage, a heathen. But he had awakened a hunger she had not known she possessed, a hunger that cried out to be fed, and all her arguments to the contrary could not make her stop desiring him.
Chapter Seven
Day followed day, and spring gave way to summer. Katy returned to Iron Wing’s lodge one afternoon in June to find he was preparing to go hunting with a dozen or so of the other warriors. They would be gone for two weeks.
Katy was pleased at the idea of being alone for a while. It would be nice not having Iron Wing underfoot all the time, bossing her around. For once, she would be able to sleep as late as she pleased, or spend the whole day sitting beside the river doing nothing at all.
Iron Wing made love to her that night, callously ignoring her pleas to be left alone.
“Do not fight me, woman,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. “You are mine, and I will have my way with you whenever it pleases me. Why not relax and enjoy it?”
“Hah! I’ll never enjoy it,” Katy hissed, raking her nails across his chest. “You’re a savage, an animal! I hate it when you touch me!” But as she spoke the words, she knew they were lies. She had been wanting him to hold her and caress her ever since the first time, and had wondered why he had not tried to make love to her again.
“Do you?” His hands, big and brown and strong, were gentle yet deliberate as they began to stroke her thigh, making her quiver with delight. Unable to help herself, Katy moaned with pleasure as his mouth descended on hers.
“I love the way you hate me,” Iron Wing whispered as her arms slipped around his neck. “Hate me some more.”
When Katy woke the next morning, she was alone. The lodge seemed strangely empty with Iron Wing gone. Forgetting her intention to remain idle in his absence, she threw herself into vigorous house cleaning, shaking out the sleeping robes and hanging them in the fresh air. She washed all the pots and utensils, and swept the floor of the lodge. She washed all of Iron Wing’s clothes, and hers, and still the day was only half gone. Funny, how slowly the time passed now that she was alone. She sought out Yellow Flower, but Yellow Flower was busy with her baby. Indeed, all the women were involved in their chores.
At a loss, Katy walked down to the river and washed her hair. Sitting on the riverbank, she watched a group of would-be warriors racing their ponies on the other side of the river. There were a dozen boys, ranging in age from eight to twelve, and she smiled as they whooped and hollered. Once when she had remarked on their carefree behavior, Iron Wing had told her that the young boys of the tribe were permitted a great deal of freedom. Their childish pranks were usually ignored, or viewed with amusement.
“The life of a warrior is often short,” Iron Wing had said by way of explanation. “Sometimes a warrior is killed in his
first battle. My people understand this, and let the boys run wild until they become novices. Then the time for play is past, and they must learn the ways of a man. It is not easy, being a warrior.”
With a last look at the young boys, Katy stood up and began walking along the riverbank. Wandering aimlessly, she wondered if her mother had grieved for her at all, or if Sarah had considered her daughter a burden well rid of. She wondered if anyone had been sent out to search for her when she failed to show up at the convent. Surely the nuns would have sent inquiries regarding their missing postulant!
The possibility put a spring in Katy’s step. Perhaps even now the Army was searching for her. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see a rescue party riding toward her. Instead, she realized that the lodges of the Cheyenne were no longer in sight.
“Why, I’m free!” Katy cried aloud, and laughed with the sheer joy of it. Free! Grinning hugely, she began to run, though she had no clear idea where she was running to. Her feet flew as with wings and laughter bubbled in her throat as she put more and more distance between herself and the Cheyenne village.
She ran until her sides ached and her legs were weak, ran until she could not run anymore. Breathless, she fell to her knees beneath a leafy cottonwood for a rest.
Twenty minutes later, she was walking briskly toward the setting sun. Her home was there, somewhere in the shadow of the distant mountains.
Fear strangled Katy’s exuberance as darkness settled over the plains. Strange noises conjured up visions of wild animals, and she huddled deeper into the meager shelter of a decaying windfall where she had decided to spend the night, a large rock clutched in her hand.
Sleep did not come that night. Katy started at every sound. Every moving shadow loomed as a possible danger, a threat to her safety. Visions of wolves preyed on her mind. She had seen them often during her stay with the Indians, lurking on the outskirts of the camp. From a distance, they looked like large furry dogs. Sometimes, with their tongues lolling out and their tails wagging, they looked almost friendly. But they were not dogs, and they were not friendly. They were wild predatory beasts capable of pulling down full-grown deer and elk. There were coyotes, too, and snakes, and bears, and Heaven only knew what else. Iron Wing’s lodge, which she had fled with such joy and relief, suddenly seemed a haven of refuge, and she heartily wished she were there now, safely wrapped in a warm robe beside a cheery fire.
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