Lifting her in his arms, Iron Wing carried Katy to his sleeping robes and placed her upon them. Eyes blazing, he stripped off his clout to stand naked before her, his desire evident and throbbing. Katy’s bound hands prevented him from removing her dress. Instead, he lifted her skirt, pulling it up over her hips, making Katy feel cheap and degraded, as if she were a whore.
There was no tenderness in him now, no regard for Katy’s feelings. She had often accused him of being a savage and that was how he took her—savagely, hurting her so that she cried out with pain and humiliation. His mouth came down hard on hers, bruising her lips as he stifled her cries.
And then it began, the sweet torture that made her body yield to his touch even as her mind screamed her loathing. With malicious delight, Iron Wing aroused Katy until she thought she would go crazy with wanting him. Whispering his name, she begged him to end her torment, but he refused. Again and again, he carried her up, up, only to withdraw his body and lips, until her need for him was more than she could bear.
“Now,” she moaned. “Now, now, now!”
But again Iron Wing withdrew. Sitting back on his haunches, his glittering black eyes mocked her need.
“Say it, Ka-ty,” he demanded cruelly. “Tell me you want me.”
“No! Never!” she gasped, and then sighed as his hands began their sweet torment again. She arched upward as his hands stroked her thighs, her belly, her breasts. Tears of humiliation welled in her eyes as she choked out the words he waited to hear.
“I—want—you.”
His eyes never left her face. “Only me?” he demanded.
“Only you.”
At last he entered her, his manhood filling her, making her complete as he carried her higher, higher, until fulfillment burst inside her like Fourth of July fireworks, drowning her in pleasure beyond description or belief.
Chapter Nine
Katy had hoped, from the force of their lovemaking the night before, that Iron Wing’s anger was past. But she was sorely mistaken. He had left her hands tied through the night, and released her bonds only long enough for her to prepare the morning meal, and eat.
In the afternoon, her humiliation continued. Dropping the hated rope around her neck once again, Iron Wing led Katy outside and secured the loose end of the noose around her neck to the punishment post that stood in the center of the camp. Then, taking up his knife and lance, Iron Wing left the village, ostensibly to go hunting.
Katy stared after him in disbelief. Surely he did not mean to leave her tied up? Only enemy prisoners, or seasoned warriors who had violated some serious tribal law, were ever subjected to such treatment.
Knowing it was useless, Katy pulled against the rope binding her wrists together. People passed within inches of her, but they all ignored her, not wanting to add to her disgrace by acknowledging her presence.
An hour passed—two. Katy stared into the distance, her eyes straining for some sign of Iron Wing. Surely he would return soon. Even he could not be so cruel as to leave her tied up in the hot sun all day!
Another hour passed, each minute seeming even longer than the last. Sweat gathered across Katy’s brow and trickled down her neck and face. She fretted over an itch she could not scratch. Another hour crawled by, and she stared longingly at the river, plagued by a thirst such as she had rarely known. But no one offered her a drink of cool water. She was Iron Wing’s prisoner, and though she had made friends in the village, they would not interfere between a warrior and his slave.
Katy’s arms and legs grew weary, her back began to ache, but she could not sit down. To do so would tighten the noose around her neck.
Tears burned Katy’s eyes, but she blinked them back, too proud to let anyone see how truly miserable she was. Had she known the words, she would have cursed Iron Wing soundly, but the few obscenities she knew seemed hopelessly inadequate to express the hatred sizzling in her veins. How she loathed him! She would never forgive him for tormenting her in such a cruel fashion. Never, so long as she lived.
The sun was turning the western sky to flame when Iron Wing rode into the village. Oblivious to the curious eyes of those who gathered around him, he reined his horse to a halt near the punishment post and stepped agilely from his mount. Slipping the noose from Katy’s neck, he turned on his heel and walked to his lodge. He did not look back to see if Katy followed him.
Katy stared after Iron Wing, her mind in turmoil. The temptation was strong to run as far away from him as her legs would carry her, but she knew it was useless to try to escape. He would only come after her, and there was no point in making him any madder than he already was. Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she walked to Iron Wing’s lodge, her attitude one of proud defiance.
Iron Wing was waiting for her inside his lodge, his arms folded across his chest, his face inscrutable. Katy entered their dwelling with great trepidation, uncertain as to what Iron Wing’s mood might be. Was he still angry with her? Did he really intend to keep her hands tied behind her back indefinitely? Already her wrists were sore and swollen from the chafing of the rough hemp. She gazed up at Iron Wing, a mute appeal in her eyes.
“Do you want a drink, Ka-ty?” he asked solicitously, ignoring the question in her eyes.
“No.”
One black brow arched inquisitively. She was lying, and they both knew it, but Iron Wing felt a quick admiration for the stubborn pride that kept Katy from admitting it.
“Have you learned anything from this?” Iron Wing queried.
A dozen sarcastic retorts ran through Katy’s mind before she replied coldly, “Yes. I’ve learned to hate you even more than I did before, if that’s possible.”
An angry fire consumed the admiration in Iron Wing’s eyes; a cold black fire that made Katy shiver with apprehension as he slowly pulled his knife from the deerskin sheath on his belt.
“Come to me, Ka-ty.”
Katy shook her head, hypnotized by the knife in Iron Wing’s hand. Would he use it on her if she continued to defy him?
“Come to me, Ka-ty,” he called insistently.
“No,” she gasped, hating the way her trembling voice betrayed the fear she was trying so hard to hide. “I will never come to you willingly, or love you.”
Iron Wing cocked his head to one side as he threw Katy a mocking grin. “Love?” he muttered sardonically. “Have I ever asked for your love?”
Cheeks flaming, Katy shook her head vigorously, wondering whatever had possessed her to even mention the word. Love was something he could not begin to comprehend.
“I do not need your love,” Iron Wing said with a sneer. “I am a warrior.”
“Some warrior,” Katy scoffed. “Are you as brave with your enemies as you are with one helpless woman?”
Fresh anger narrowed Iron Wing’s eyes, making them glitter like chips of polished obsidian. His fingers grew white around the handle of his knife. Forgetting he had drawn it to cut Katy’s hands free, he tossed it aside. Her nearness, and the thought that he had almost lost her to another, fired his desire for her. She was like a fever in his blood, a thirst he could not quench. He knew Katy hated him, would always hate him, but he did not care. She was his, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
“You are my woman, Ka-ty,” he said harshly. “I do not need your love, nor do I need you warm and willing.” His mouth descended on hers, blazing a trail of fire as he kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, the soft white curve of her slender neck.
Katy struggled in Iron Wing’s grasp, but it was useless with her hands bound behind her back, and his arms strong around her. She uttered a gasp as she felt his manhood rise against her thigh.
Iron Wing laughed triumphantly as Katy’s eyes grew dark with hatred. Her hatred never lasted long, and even now the hate was turning to desire, causing her eyes to burn with a soft blue fire as his hands caressed her smooth flesh.
“Hate me all you want, Ka-ty,” he taunted softly. “I will be content with that.”
In the morning, Iron Wing freed Katy’s hands. She moved silently about the lodge, preparing breakfast, resigned to the fact that there was no way to escape from Iron Wing. He had been right all along. She belonged to him, and she would belong to him until the day she died, or until he grew tired of her and traded her away.
Surprisingly, once Katy acknowledged the fact that there was no way to escape from the Indians, life with the Cheyenne grew easier to bear. What could not be changed must be endured, and Katy decided to stop complaining about her lot in life and make the best of it.
She asked Iron Wing for new hides and refurbished their bedding. She traded some deerskins for a new cookpot and threw away some old utensils that were taking up space in the rear of the lodge.
To pass the time, she made herself a new dress and a pair of moccasins. And then she cut out a new shirt for Iron Wing. She spent long hours painstakingly decorating the back and yoke with dyed porcupine quills, telling herself all the while that she was going to so much trouble simply to have something to do.
She experimented in cooking, and eventually learned to prepare meals that were varied and tasty. She practiced the Cheyenne language, learning all the gestures and nuances so that she could understand what was going on around her and better communicate with the other women.
She took no pride in her accomplishments, experienced no joy in the knowledge she gained, or in the skills she acquired. Cooking, sewing, tidying up the lodge, they were simply tasks to while away the time.
Her relationship with Iron Wing remained unchanged. He was the master, and she was the slave. She obeyed his commands without question, cooked his food, cleaned his lodge, mended his clothes. The one thing she was grateful for was that he no longer seemed to find her desirable. At least he no longer made any attempt to take her to his bed.
Iron Wing spent much of his time with the warriors, leaving Katy to fill her days as best she could. She had said often enough that she hated him, and he believed her. But he could not give her up. Better to have her in his lodge, cold and untouchable, than to set her free and never see her again. There were many men in the tribe who would gladly have bought the captive white woman from Iron Wing and sometimes, when Katy looked at him through eyes that were cold and unforgiving, Iron Wing considered selling her. But the thought of another man bedding Katy was more than Iron Wing could bear. She was his. She would always be his.
Katy spent many hours with Yellow Flower and her son, Laughing Turtle. The boy was four months old now and growing every day. Brown and chubby as a bear cub, he was a darling child, and Katy loved to hold him and play with him. He was a good-natured baby and rarely cried or fussed except at bath time.
As the days passed, Katy grew increasingly grateful for Yellow Flower’s friendship. The Indian woman was unfailingly cheerful, and her buoyant spirits often boosted Katy’s sagging morale. Life with the Cheyenne was hard. You could not go to the store in town for cloth when you needed a new dress. Instead, a deer or some other animal had to be killed and skinned. The hair had to be scraped from the hide, and then the hide had to be worked until it was soft and pliable. You couldn’t run to the store for a sugar stick when you had a craving for sweets, or for a spool of thread, or a ribbon for your hair. Everything you needed, you made yourself or you did without, unless you were lucky enough to find someone to trade with.
Sometimes, when Katy looked at her hands, hands that had never done anything more difficult then embroider a piece of fancy work until she was taken by the Indians, she wanted to cry. Gone were the smooth white hands she had once been so proud of. Now they were hardened and calloused, the nails broken and uneven. Her creamy complexion was gone, too. Months of living outdoors had darkened her skin to a deep golden brown. When she studied her reflection in the river, she did not notice that her tanned skin and black hair made her eyes glow with a lovely blue fire, she saw only that the fair skin she had once cherished was gone and that, except for the color of her eyes, she looked almost like an Indian herself. And that was frightening.
As time passed, Katy began to miss more and more the small things she had once taken for granted, a glass of cold buttermilk on a hot day, a slice of dark chocolate cake smothered with frosting, a hot bubble bath, sweet-smelling cologne, the touch of silk against her skin, the sound of the mission bell at Mesa Blanca on Sunday morning, Maria singing off-key as she made the beds and dusted the furniture.
“If I ever get home again, I’ll never leave,” Katy vowed fervently. “And I’ll never take anything for granted again. Never!”
The thought of home brought quick tears to Katy’s eyes, and she threw herself into the task at hand, determined not to give in to her tears. Crying accomplished nothing, solved nothing. It only made her eyes burn, and her throat ache.
Chapter Ten
On a day in early autumn, Katy followed Iron Wing into the woods. He had decided to go hunting, and he had decided Katy should go with him, even though she had no desire to go along. How long they would be gone would be up to Iron Wing. If the hunting was good, they might be gone more than two weeks.
The ground was heavy with gold and red leaves that rustled loudly as their horses made their way deeper into the gloomy forest. Katy spared hardly a glance at her surroundings as her eyes were drawn again and again toward the warrior riding ahead of her. Iron Wing rode straight and tall, his waist-length black hair hanging loose down his bronzed back, his long muscular legs encased in a pair of knee-high moccasins that Katy had made for him. He carried his hunting bow in his right hand, a quiver of arrows was slung over his left shoulder. A rifle rested in a fringed scabbard under his right leg. A long-bladed, bone-handled knife was sheathed in his belt.
Katy grinned as she surveyed his array of weapons. They were only going hunting, she thought, amused, not to war.
They rode steadily for several hours, passing through the forest and climbing high into the tree-studded hills. Squirrels and jays chattered and scolded them as they passed by. Once a raccoon scurried across their path.
Riding on, Katy was struck anew by the beauty of the land the Cheyenne called home. The sky was a cloudless, vibrant blue, the trees were alive with changing colors of autumn, the air was crisp and cold. The shallow stream they forded was crystal clear, and Katy saw the silver flash of a fish.
Gazing past Iron Wing, she saw a deer outlined between two tall trees. Iron Wing spotted the buck at the same time, and in a single fluid movement he brought his horse to a halt, put an arrow to his bow, and sighted down the shaft.
Katy looked away, not wanting to see the beautiful animal killed. She held her breath, waiting for the hiss of the arrow leaving the bowstring. Instead, she heard Iron Wing gasp. Turning, she saw a red-feathered shaft protruding from the outside of Iron Wing’s left thigh. For a moment, Katy thought he had accidentally shot himself and a faint smile played over her lips. How she would love teasing him about his hunting ability, and how the Indians would laugh when they learned of his accident. And she would be sure they learned of it!
She was about to go to his aid when, to her horror, she saw a Crow warrior rise from the brush sixty feet away.
Katy’s heart went cold as she saw a second Crow warrior rise to stand beside the first, his bowstring pulled back as he prepared to let an arrow fly.
What happened next seemed to transpire in slow motion. A war cry rose on Iron Wing’s lips as he loosed the arrow meant for the deer. The shaft caught the second Crow brave full in the throat, and he died where he stood, a slightly sheepish expression on his paint-streaked face.
The first Crow nocked a second arrow to his bow and let it fly. Within a second of the time the Crow loosed his arrow, Iron Wing’s arrow sliced through the air. Katy screamed as the Crow arrow creased Iron Wing’s left temple, knocking him from his horse so that he fell heavily on his wounded leg. There was a sharp crack as the arrow already embedded in Iron Wing’s thigh broke in half.
Galvanized into action by a sudden fear for her
own life, Katy slid from her horse and ran toward Iron Wing. “Get up!” she shrieked, shaking his shoulder. “Iron Wing, please get up!”
When there was no response, she peered anxiously into his face and saw, to her horror, that he was unconscious. Jerking her head up, she saw the Crow moving toward Iron Wing’s horse. If only she could reach Iron Wing’s rifle before the Crow warrior!
But even as the thought crossed her mind, the Crow brave was pulling the rifle from the scabbard. He threw Katy a knowing grin as he swung the rifle over his shoulder. It was obvious from the glint in his dark eyes that he did not intend to kill Katy, at least not right away.
Katy’s eyes darted from the Crow to Iron Wing, who lay unmoving on the ground. Blood seeped from the arrow wound in his thigh, and flowed freely from the gash in his head. He could not help her now.
With a loud cry of anguish, Katy threw herself across Iron Wing’s inert body. Shielding her movements with her own form, she pulled Iron Wing’s knife from his belt.
She heard the Crow speaking to her as he advanced toward her, and though Katy could not understand his words, there was no mistaking the ribald glitter in his eyes.
Swallowing hard, Katy scrambled to her feet and hurled the knife at the warrior. The weapon, thrown with little skill and not much strength, caught the Crow brave high in the chest near his shoulder. The warrior’s expression was more of stunned surprise than alarm as he stared at the blade partially embedded in his chest. The look in his deep-set black eyes quickly changed from lust to anger as he dropped the rifle and yanked the knife from his flesh.
In that instant, Katy dived for the rifle. Scooping it up, she rolled onto her side and fired blindly in the Indian’s direction. The bullet caught the startled warrior just under his heart and he fell heavily, his blood soaking into the earth.
Love in the Wind Page 9
