Later that night, snug in her blankets in the shelter of the wagon, Katy puzzled over her lack of response to Claude’s kiss. She was very fond of him, and he was physically attractive, yet his touch left her unmoved. It was most peculiar. She remembered how quickly Iron Wing’s kisses had aroused her, how even a mere glance had made her legs go weak with wanting him. Was there something wrong with her, some element of decency lacking in her character so that she could only respond to the caress of a half-naked savage?
Katy firmly put the thought from her mind. Soon she would return to civilization. Thinking of living in a house, of dressing and acting like a white woman again, filled her with restless excitement so that she slept fitfully, tossing and turning far into the night.
It was past midnight when she sat up, suddenly wide awake and filled with a sense of foreboding, as if the night were watching her with hostile eyes and bated breath. She sent a quick glance across the fire, relieved to see Andre standing guard near the flatbed wagon, the butt of his rifle resting across his thigh. Claude and Jean-Paul were snoring softly.
With a sigh, Katy snuggled deeper into her blankets, chiding herself for imagining things. It would be good to live in a real town again, she mused, to be able to sleep without fear. Good to sleep in a real bed between clean sheets instead of beneath a buffalo robe. Good to wear silks and satin instead of skins, shoes and stockings instead of moccasins.
She gazed up at the stars wheeling against the indigo sky and listened to the sounds of the night. A coyote yapped in the distance, and Katy shivered. It was such a sad, melancholy sound. It filled her with a vague sense of loneliness.
Closing her eyes, Katy thought about Claude. He was a good man, as full of mischief as a small boy. Perhaps she would marry him after all. He did not seem to mind that she had been forced to live as a squaw.
“It was not your fault,” he had told her one night, his brown eyes sympathetic and caring. “No one can blame you for surviving.”
Dear Claude! If he asked her to marry him again, she would accept. He was so sweet, his accent charming, his manners impeccable. Smiling sleepily, Katy tried to summon his image to mind. But instead of Claude’s bearded visage, the swarthy countenance of Iron Wing broke into her thoughts, his image clear and sharp in every detail, from his high forehead and strong, hawk-like nose to his wide sensuous mouth and square, stubborn jaw. For all his rough ways, she had to admit there was something undeniably attractive about Iron Wing. He possessed an air of vitality, of animal maleness, that Claude lacked.
But it was Claude she would marry, Katy decided resolutely. He would propose to her again, of that she was certain, and this time she would accept. He would make a good and loyal husband, a kind and loving father for her children.
Sometime later, she stirred fretfully, aware that something was wrong. Swimming through layers of sleep, she opened her eyes, blinked at the dark form bending over her.
Iron Wing! Recognition hit Katy like a physical blow. She lifted her arms to push him away, uttered a small cry of dismay when she realized her hands were tightly bound together.
Fear of what Iron Wing would do to her for running away boiled up inside Katy and she opened her mouth to scream, only to have Iron Wing stuff a rag between her teeth, stifling her startled cry. With ease, he lifted her onto his shoulder and began to carry her from the Frenchmen’s camp.
Katy’s fear increased with each step he took. Frantic, she began to thrash about and her foot struck the rifle Claude had propped near her blankets in case of an emergency. Iron Wing froze as the rifle clattered to the ground.
The noise alerted Andre Bordeaux and he whirled around, tracking the sound. He muttered an obscenity as he saw the Indian outlined in the darkness, and Katy slung over his shoulder. Hoping to make the Indian release Katy, Andre fired at the ground at Iron Wing’s feet. The gunshot was very loud in the stillness of the night.
Iron Wing moved like lightning. Dropping Katy to the ground, his hand caught up the rifle that had betrayed his presence.
Andre fired again, the bullet whining near Iron Wing’s head. Unshaken, the warrior fired a fraction of a second later. His bullet found the Frenchman’s heart, killing him instantly.
And now Claude and Jean-Paul were awake. Claude’s first thought was of Katy. Seeing her lying at Iron Wing’s feet and thinking her dead, he grabbed up his rifle and began firing blindly, his grief making him careless, heedless of his own safety.
Katy huddled on the ground, her heart pounding with fear as the darkness was torn with bright flashes of rifle fire. She worked to spit the rag out of her mouth.
Iron Wing quickly moved away from Katy, fearing she would be hit by a stray bullet. He stood outlined in the darkness, unwavering, as he sighted down the rifle, aiming for Claude’s heart.
Katy screamed as Claude dropped his rifle and stumbled forward, one hand clutching at the gaping hole in his chest.
Jean-Paul was moving, too, running toward Iron Wing, the moonlight shining on the skinning knife in his hand.
“No!” Katy screamed. “Go back, please go back!”
But Jean-Paul came steadily onward, his eyes brimming with tears of rage. With a sob, he launched himself at Iron Wing as Iron Wing squeezed the trigger of his rifle. The bullet slammed into Jean-Paul’s belly, throwing him backward as if he had been grabbed from behind by an invisible hand.
Katy stared at Iron Wing, standing firm as the mountains. Andre and his two sons lay unmoving on the ground.
With a sigh, Iron Wing jacked a fresh round into the breech of the rifle, then went to check on the three men he had shot, making sure they were dead. He thought fleetingly of taking their scalps, but, knowing Katy would never forgive him, he thought better of it.
Tears welled in Katy’s eyes. Why did everyone she cared for die so horribly? Lost in sorrow for Andre and his sons, she did not stop to think she would have grieved more for Iron Wing had he been killed.
Grief washed over her like waves upon the sand, and then was swept away as Iron Wing padded toward her. Fear for her own life made Katy’s nerves grow taut; when she saw the anger shining in his eyes, she began to tremble.
Roughly, Iron Wing pulled her to her feet. A single stroke of his knife freed her hands.
“Come,” Iron Wing said. “It is time to go.”
“I’m not going with you,” Katy said dully. “I hate you.”
“Is there anything you wish to take?” Iron Wing asked, ignoring the silent tears tracking Katy’s cheeks.
“I will not go with you!” Katy screamed, pummeling his chest with her fists. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I will not go!”
With lazy grace, Iron Wing reached out and took hold of Katy’s shoulders, shaking her as a terrier shakes a mouse. The touch of his big brown hands went through her like an electric shock.
“You will come with me, Ka-ty,” Iron Wing said gruffly, speaking her name for the first time. “You are my woman. No other man will possess you so long as I live.”
“How do you know I didn’t let Claude make love to me?” Katy said defiantly. “And his brother, and his father, too?”
She was immediately sorry she had hinted at such an outrageous thing. Iron Wing’s eyes grew ominous as his hand closed tightly over her arm.
“Did you?” he asked, his voice raw with jealousy.
Katy swallowed hard. Too frightened to lie, she shook her head vigorously. “No.”
Iron Wing’s eyes narrowed as he searched Katy’s face. “I do not believe you,” he said angrily. “I saw the way the tall one kissed you, the way he looked at you as if you belonged to him.”
“He only kissed me,” Katy protested. “I swear it!”
Some of the anger went out of Iron Wing’s eyes as he released his hold on Katy’s arm. She had lied to hurt him, he realized grimly, and it had worked. The thought of another man touching her was like slow poison eating away at his heart. He threw a glance at Claude and knew a deep sense of satisfaction because th
e man was dead. The buffalo hunter would never touch Katy again.
Drained by the night’s events, Katy watched numbly as Iron Wing gathered up her blankets. Then, taking her by the hand, he led her away from the camp. On the far side of a small rise, out of sight of the dead men, he spread Katy’s blankets beneath a stunted pine.
“Come, Ka-ty,” he invited as he sat down on her blankets.
“No.”
“Do not make me come after you,” Iron Wing warned.
Woodenly, Katy sank down beside him. What was the use of fighting, or running away? He would never let her go, not so long as he lived.
She did not protest as his arm went around her shoulders, and suddenly she was crying as if her heart would break.
Iron Wing held Katy while she cried, sorry he had caused her pain. He had not wanted to kill the Frenchmen, knowing that Katy would only hate him the more. He had meant only to sneak into camp and steal her away. Still, he could not grieve because the three men were dead. They were white men, his enemies, as all white men were his enemies.
He held Katy in his arms until she cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, Katy asked Iron Wing to bury Andre and his sons. Already, the vultures were circling overhead, their winged grace belying their awkward clumsiness on the ground. She shuddered to think of her friends being ripped apart by the big scavenger birds, their bodies torn to shreds by wolves and coyotes, until only a few bleached bones remained.
But Iron Wing curtly refused to bury the Frenchmen. Eyes narrowed in jealous anger, he watched Katy grab a shovel from the wagon. Face set in determined lines, she began to dig the graves herself. Iron Wing watched her for several minutes before lie grabbed the shovel from her hands and dug a single large, shallow hole.
Katy wept softly as Iron Wing dumped the bodies of the three Frenchmen into the grave and shoveled dirt over them.
Iron Wing left Katy standing beside the grave while he rounded up the horses of the three white men. He quickly saddled one for Katy, dropping lead ropes around the necks of the others. He also took the rifles that had belonged to the Frenchmen, and a couple of warm red blankets.
When he was ready to go, he lifted Katy onto the back of the mare he had saddled for her, then swung aboard his own mount which had been tethered out of sight some yards away. Leading the captured horses, he started for home.
Katy stared after Iron Wing, her mouth set in a grim line. She longed to jab her heels into her horse’s sides and make a run for freedom, but she knew it would be futile. Iron Wing would only come after her again and, in truth, she had no desire to try and cross the plains alone again. She lacked both the strength and the knowledge necessary to survive alone in the wilderness. She knew that now.
With a sigh of resignation, she touched her heels to her horse’s flanks and set out after Iron Wing. It irritated her that he had not once looked back to see if she was following him.
They traveled in silence for several miles, each lost in thoughts that could not be shared. Katy mourned for Claude and Jean-Paul and Andre, and for the promise of freedom Iron Wing had so rudely snatched from her grasp. Was she never to be free again? Was she forever destined to be his prisoner, a slave to his wants and desires, with no rights or privileges, a chattel with no control over her own fate? The thought weighed heavily on her mind, filling her with despair.
Iron Wing’s face was cold and impassive, masking the anger that burned in his soul whenever he recalled the way Katy had willingly gone into the arms of the brown-eyed buffalo hunter. The sight of her tears, shed for the man’s death did little to quench his rage. Jealousy burned hot and bright in Iron Wing’s breast as he remembered how willingly Katy had gone into the Frenchman’s arms. She had not resisted the white man’s touch, or turned away from his kiss. She had not vowed she hated him. Indeed, she had seemed content to stand in his embrace.
It was nearing midday when Iron Wing paused to rest the horses. Dismounting, he handed Katy a strip of jerked venison. Then, turning away from her, he hunkered down on his heels and gazed into the distance, apparently oblivious to her presence.
Katy gnawed at the dried meat absently, perturbed by Iron Wing’s silence. He had not spoken to her since early that morning. Damn him! He chased her, killed for her, and then ignored her!
Fired by her anger, she went to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips, her head thrown back. “How did you find me?” she asked, determined to make him speak. “Why did you come home early from the hunt?”
“A snake spooked Yellow Cloud’s horse on our third night away from home. The horse pulled free of its tether and ran wild through the camp. In passing, it kicked Crooked Lance and broke his arm. The horse also broke my bow.” He shrugged fatalistically. “Since I could not hunt without my bow, I brought Crooked Lance home. Yellow Flower told me you were missing. Your tracks were easy to follow.”
Katy and Iron Wing rode in silence the rest of that day and the next. Katy still grieved for Claude and Andre and Jean-Paul, though she knew now that she had not loved Claude, would never have loved him as a woman loved a husband. But he had been a good friend, and she sorely missed his ready smile and his unfailing ability to make her laugh. Iron Wing remained silent and withdrawn, and his silence weighed heavily on Katy’s mind. She knew he was angry with her for running away, and she waited for him to upbraid her, but he remained stubbornly mute, his face impassive.
The afternoon of the third day, they cut the trail of a small party of Indians on the move. “Crow,” Iron Wing remarked, thinking aloud. “They are moving south toward their winter camp.”
They saw the smoke early the following morning. Katy looked askance at Iron Wing. Thick black smoke could only mean one of two things, a prairie fire, or a massacre.
Iron Wing drummed his heels against his horse’s flanks, putting the stud into a lope. Katy followed reluctantly. Iron Wing would not ride into a prairie fire, and that meant there was likely death and destruction ahead. The thought of viewing any more dead bodies filled Katy with revulsion.
The Crow camp was smoldering when they reached it. Dead Indians, both young and old, lay scattered about like so many broken dolls. Katy could not read trail signs, but she had no trouble figuring out what had transpired. A cavalry patrol had stumbled onto the Indians’ overnight camp and had ambushed them at dawn. The soldiers had even killed the dogs. Katy turned away, sickened by the sight and smell of so much death.
Iron Wing’s face was grim as they rode out of the Crow camp. “White men!” He spat the words out of his mouth as if they tasted bad. “They have no honor!”
“You’re a fine one to talk of honor,” Katy retorted sarcastically, “seeing as how you killed three men who had done you no harm.”
“I killed them in self-defense, Ka-ty,” Iron Wing replied quietly. “And I would kill a dozen more before I let you go.”
Katy felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps, if she had gone quietly away with Iron Wing, Claude and his family would still be alive. It was a thought that haunted her for many days to come.
They were only a mile from the Cheyenne village when Iron Wing reined his horse to a halt and slid to the ground. Lifting Katy from the back of her mount, he pulled a length of rope from his war bag, deftly fashioned a loop in one end, and dropped it around Katy’s neck. Using a strip of rawhide, he bound her hands behind her back.
“Why?” Katy asked, bewildered.
“You have shamed me before my people by running away from my lodge,” he answered as he swung aboard his stallion, the loose end of her tether in his hand.
“And now you mean to shame me.” Katy’s blue eyes flashed defiance. “I shall hate you until the day I die if you drag me into camp like a slave!” Iron Wing turned the full force of his gaze upon her, causing Katy to quail inwardly, but she kept her head up and forced herself to meet his eyes, unwilling to let him know she was terribly afraid of his anger.
“You already hate me,” the warrior reminded her quietly. “You have
told me so many times.”
“Please don’t humiliate me like this,” Katy begged, but he turned a deaf ear to her pleas as he urged his mount forward, forcing her to follow along or risk being dragged, choking, over the rough ground.
It was the most humiliating experience of Katy’s life. The Indians were too polite to laugh aloud, but their dark eyes danced with amusement when Iron Wing rode into camp with his runaway squaw in tow. Yellow Flower was in the crowd, and Katy’s cheeks flamed scarlet as her friend smiled sympathetically then turned away, smothering a grin.
Katy was red-faced with shame when Iron Wing drew rein before his lodge. Dismounting, he threw an arrogant glance at his people, then stalked into the lodge, dragging Katy behind him.
Katy stood meekly inside the doorway, wondering if he would further humiliate her by beating her in public as he had once threatened to do. A part of her longed to strike out at him, to scream her rage and frustration, but the voice of caution warned her to be silent.
After securing the door of the lodge, Iron Wing removed the noose from Katy’s neck and tossed the rope aside. He made no move to untie her hands.
“Why, Ka-ty?” he asked gruffly. “Why did you run away?”
“Because I hate you! Because I want to go back to my own people.” She spoke slowly and distinctly, and she spoke the truth. Why, then, did the words sound flat in her ears?
Iron Wing sighed. “Have I mistreated you?” he queried. “Have I not given you the freedom to come and go as you please?”
“But I’m still your prisoner. Your slave! I hate it here. And I hate you!”
Iron Wing’s expression turned from tolerance to anger. Roughly, he grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her tender flesh.
“Then I will bear your hatred,” he growled. “I will keep you tied inside my lodge night and day if necessary. You are my woman, Ka-ty. You will always be my woman.”
Katy winced as Iron Wing’s fingers bit deeper into her arms. He had never treated her with anything but tenderness before. No matter how she had reviled him, he had always been patient, gentle. But now he seemed to want to hurt her, to prove, by humbling her with pain, that he was her master.
Love in the Wind Page 8
