“I am sure this will amuse you,” Iron Wing remarked bitterly. Then turning from her, he stared into the fire, his eyes growing dark with the memory. “It was in the spring,” he began slowly. “I was fourteen, and eager to count my first coup. Tall Buffalo and I were both novices that year, out on our first war party. We were after some Crow who had raided our pony herd, but when the leader of our war party spotted some soldier coats camped in a coulee, he decided white scalps would be better than red.
“It was a foolish decision. We lost many of our young men that day. I was shot off my horse during the battle and knocked unconscious. When I came to, I was tied up in one of the white man’s wagons. The soldiers took me to their fort and locked me in the stockade.
“A missionary lady was staying at the fort at the time. The soldiers were going to hang me, but she argued that I was just a child. She persuaded the other women in the fort to go to the commanding officer and plead for my life, and he finally relented and said I should live.”
Iron Wing laughed bitterly. “They wouldn’t let me out of their jail, though, because I was a savage and even though I was not a proven warrior, they were all afraid of me. All but the missionary lady. She came to see me every day. She cut my hair and dressed me in the clothes of a white man. And she taught me to speak the white man’s tongue.
“They kept me in jail for eight months, until the missionary lady convinced the commanding officer that I was civilized enough to live in her house. I ran away the first night.”
“It must have been hard for you, being a prisoner for such a long time.”
“Yes.”
“It’s hard for me, too,” Katy said, her eyes darkly accusing.
“You are my woman. It is not the same.”
“No, it’s not the same,” Katy snapped. “It’s worse!”
Their eyes met and held across the fire, Katy’s as blue as a summer sky, Iron Wing’s as black as ten feet down.
“I want to go home!” Katy flung the words at him. “I want to see my mother. I want to live with my own people.”
“No. You are my woman.”
Always the same answer, Katy thought hopelessly. It was futile to argue with him. What did he care if she was homesick? Home… She sighed wistfully as she recalled the soft, rolling hills, the fat, white-faced cattle, the young vaqueros who had teased her and laughingly called her “the little princess”. She thought longingly of her bedroom, all done in soft blue, and of her warm feather bed and crisp linen sheets. Of the dozens of dresses and hats and shoes she had once taken for granted. Now, she would have given anything to sleep in her own bed instead of beneath a furry robe, to bathe in a tub of scented hot water instead of a kettle of melted snow, to wear a velvet gown instead of an ankle-length dress fashioned of animal skins.
Feeling lost and alone, she began to weep softly, the tears rolling down her cheeks like fat raindrops. She made no effort to wipe the tears away, just sat there, crying harder and harder.
Compassion stirred in Iron Wing’s breast. She was so young, so beautiful. He would willingly give her anything her heart desired; anything but her freedom.
On silent feet, he skirted the fire and knelt before her. There was no anger in his eyes now, only a smoldering hunger. Reaching out, he wiped away her tears with the tips of his fingers.
“Ka-ty.”
His voice was husky with longing and when Katy met his eyes, she felt a shiver of anticipation run through her. She knew what that look meant. She had seen it, and dreaded it, countless times before.
Iron Wing’s hand caressed Katy’s cheek, moved down the soft curve of her throat. Leaning forward, he kissed her, his mouth gently coaxing.
A thrill of excitement raced down Katy’s spine as Iron Wing’s arms drew her close. For once, she did not fight him. He had not held her for a long time, and she was surprised to find she had missed having his arms around her. His chest was hard, as unyielding as stone, and yet so very comforting. His mouth was moving across her face and neck, lightly kissing every inch of her flesh, pleasuring her in a way that left her weak with wanting.
But she had fought him too hard and too long to surrender without at least a token show of resistance, and so she murmured, “I hate you,” as her arms twined around his neck, the words sounding more like a caress than a curse.
Somehow, she was lying naked beneath him, her arms pulling him down, her thighs parting to receive him. His skin was smooth beneath her hands, his hair soft across her breasts, his mouth like fire against her naked flesh.
“Hate me, Ka-ty,” Iron Wing whispered thickly. “Hate me some more.”
Chapter Twelve
Spring, 1875
It seemed like the winter would last forever, but eventually the rains stopped and the snow began to melt, revealing tender shoots of grass. The sky turned a brilliant, breathtaking blue, the river ran high between its banks. Almost overnight, the trees were clothed in bright green leaves and wildflowers bloomed on the hillside. The horses that had been spared began to grow fat on the lush grass. Baby birds chirped in the trees, leggy foals ran alongside their mothers, puppies wobbled through camp, always underfoot.
Katy spent long hours outside, reveling in the warmth of the sun on her face and arms. How wonderful to be able to go outside without bundling up in a heavy fur robe and fur leggings just to keep from freezing.
The first day Iron Wing came home with a rabbit, she almost cried for joy. Fresh meat at last! She skinned the buck quickly, expertly, cooked it over a low fire with infinite care, served it with wild onions and squash, and congratulated herself on the best dinner she had ever prepared.
The medicine man, Sun Dreamer, consulted his omens and proclaimed that the next day would be favorable for the move to their summer camp. This announcement occasioned great excitement, as the summer camp in the hills of Montana was a favorite place of the Cheyenne.
Yellow Flower came early the following morning to show Katy how to dismantle the lodge and fold the skins. The covers, along with the lodge poles, were placed on a travois for transport to their new camp.
Katy was amazed that anything could be accomplished in the midst of such chaos, but in a short time all the lodges were down, belongings were packed, and everyone was ready to go.
Now Katy saw the wisdom in sparing some of the horses. They pulled the heavy travois loaded with the lodge and camp possessions. They carried the Indians who were too sick or too old to make the long trek on foot. Everyone else walked, except the warriors. Mounted on their painted and feathered war ponies, they rode beside the caravan, keeping a watchful eye peeled for their longtime enemy, the Crow.
Katy saw Bull Calf walking with a group of young boys. He had grown at least a foot since she had first seen him. Next year he would take his place with the novice warriors. Already, he possessed the arrogant mien of a seasoned brave.
Feeling her gaze, Bull Calf waved at Katy, then went red around the ears when the other boys began to tease him.
Katy looked for Yellow Flower and saw her friend standing beside Tall Buffalo. Yellow Flower smiled faintly as Katy joined them.
“Are you ready to go?” Yellow Flower asked.
Katy shrugged. “I guess so.” She glanced at the Indians moving across the plains, and then at the place where Iron Wing’s lodge had stood only an hour ago. Nothing remained now but a pile of cold ashes, and the vague outline of the lodge.
Tall Buffalo gave Yellow Flower’s hand a squeeze before he vaulted onto his horse and rode off to join the other warriors. Yellow Flower’s eyes followed her husband as she and Katy fell in behind the last of the women and children. The Cheyenne chief, Little Eagles Flying, rode at the head of the caravan.
Laughter filled the air as the Cheyenne left the site of their winter camp behind. Moving to their summer camp was always a time for rejoicing. Soon they would have fresh buffalo meat. The berry bushes would bloom, the wild fruits and vegetables would ripen, and there would be full bellies and good times for eve
ryone.
Children ran back and forth along the line, shouting and giggling as they played tag. Mothers nursed their young as they walked along. The old ones dozed, lulled to sleep by the noise and the rocking motion of the horses.
Katy walked beside Yellow Flower, grumbling to herself because she had to lead a travois pony while Iron Wing rode in comfort. She could see him just ahead, mounted on his big, spotted stallion. He rode easily, as if he and the horse were a single being. He was clad only in a breech-clout and ankle-high moccasins, and Katy marveled anew at the aura of strength and confidence that surrounded him. More and more she had noticed the other warriors seeking his advice. Even Little Eagles Flying respected Iron Wing’s counsel.
Katy felt an odd flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach as she studied the powerful muscles that rippled across Iron Wing’s back and shoulders. She thrilled at the span of his chest, at the muscles corded in the long brown legs that grasped the stud’s spotted flanks, and then felt her cheeks grow hot as she recalled the possessive way his arms tightened around her in the middle of the night when the lodge was dark and the touch of his hands worked their magic on her all-too-willing flesh.
Iron Wing turned to speak to Tall Buffalo, and Katy grudgingly admitted that he had a strong, handsome face, and a proud profile. She did not want to admire him, did not want to be aroused by his touch, but she could not help herself.
The first day passed uneventfully. Katy was almost asleep on her feet when they finally halted for the night, and she fell into her sleeping robes, exhausted, immediately after dinner.
The afternoon of the second day, they met a large number of Sioux who were also leading for Montana. The Sioux and the Cheyenne were longtime allies, and they stopped to talk, exchanging news and gossip. There were many white men crossing the plains, the Sioux said. Soldier-coats with big guns mounted on wagons. Several small Arapahoe villages located near the mouth of the Tongue River had been attacked without provocation, the people killed, their lodges burned to the ground.
Katy paid little attention to the Sioux. Instead, she went to sit beside Yellow Flower, who was resting in the shade of a gnarled, fire-blackened pine tree. Yellow Flower was still grieving for her son. She rarely laughed anymore, and her dark, luminous eyes were always sad.
Katy was wondering what she could say to lift her friend’s sagging spirits when she felt someone watching her. Glancing sideways, Katy noticed a Sioux warrior gazing intently at her. He was of medium height, with a barrel chest and sloping shoulders. His skin was dark copper; his black hair was worn in two braids, a single eagle feather his only decoration. Something in the way the warrior looked at her made Katy nervous and she began talking to Yellow Flower about the new dress she was making, but Yellow Flower was not listening.
Katy glanced over her shoulder to see what was holding Yellow Flower’s attention, and felt a chill creep along the back of her neck. The Sioux warrior who had been staring at her was arguing with Iron Wing. Katy could not make out their words, but when the Sioux brave gestured in her direction, Katy felt a premonition of danger.
Iron Wing shook his head one last time, and then stalked over to Katy. “What did you say to Lame Calf Running?” he demanded angrily.
“I didn’t say anything to him,” Katy retorted, annoyed by his accusing tone. “Why?”
“He wants to buy you. He offered me twenty ponies.”
“Buy me?” Katy repeated, baffled. “Why would he want to buy me?”
“He said you smiled at him and indicated you would be willing to share his lodge.”
“I never… I didn’t,” Katy sputtered, astonished by his accusation. “Ask Yellow Flower.”
“The man is lying,” Yellow Flower stated calmly. “Katy never spoke to him. She has been with me the whole time.”
“I believe you,” Iron Wing said gruffly.
“Oh, so you believe her,” Katy exclaimed irritably. “Why didn’t you believe me?”
Iron Wing’s eyes were cold as ice when he looked at her. “Why should I believe you?” he asked harshly. “You have made it known many times that you are not happy in my lodge. Perhaps you think life in a Lakota lodge would be better than living with me.”
“Perhaps it would be!” Katy snapped.
“Perhaps,” Iron Wing sneered. “But you will never know.”
“I will give you thirty ponies,” Lame Calf Running said, coming up behind them.
Iron Wing whirled around, his eyes glittering savagely. “She is my woman!” he roared. “Mine! And she is not for sale at any price.”
Lame Calf Running drew himself up to his full height. He was a proven warrior, a man accustomed to having his own way, to taking what he wanted. And he wanted the white woman. His eyes went over her in a long, lingering glance. Her skin was smooth, unlined by age. Her figure was full and feminine, and his hands itched to stroke the curve of her breasts. He would not rest until she was his.
“I will fight you for her,” Lame Calf Running declared. Taking a step back, he reached for the knife sheathed on his belt.
“To the death?” Iron Wing asked, drawing his own blade.
“To the death,” the Sioux agreed.
Katy shook her head, stunned by the sudden turn of events. “No!” she cried. “Stop!”
But it was too late. Already, the two warriors were in a crouch, circling each other warily. A crowd gathered quickly around them, the people standing silent as statues. This was no contest of skill, but a fight to the death.
Lame Calf Running was a few years older than Iron Wing, heavier, and very sure of himself. Among his own people, there was no warrior better with a knife. His mouth curved in an arrogant grin as he lashed out at his opponent. His blade, long and thin and made for fighting, sliced a wicked gash across Iron Wing’s rib cage. There was a low murmur of approval from the watching Sioux as their warrior drew first blood.
Iron Wing’s eyes glittered with a cold fire. Intent on the other man, he did not hear the whisper of the crowd, did not feel the knife pierce his flesh.
Katy watched in growing horror as the two men circled each other like angry dogs.
Knives flashed in the sunlight, and only the harsh scrape of metal against metal and the soft scuffle of moccasined feet broke the heavy stillness. Lame Calf Running hurled himself at Iron Wing, gambling everything on a quick lunge, his blade poised to rip into Iron Wing’s taut belly. It was a maneuver that had worked countless times before. But Iron Wing stepped nimbly aside, pivoting on the ball of his foot. His right arm came down in a wide arc as he buried his knife to the hilt in the Sioux warrior’s back.
Lame Calf Running grunted heavily as he fell face down in the dirt. He shuddered convulsively, his eyes on Katy’s face, and then he lay still.
Katy turned away, sick at heart to think a man had been killed because of her.
Iron Wing jerked his knife from the dead man’s flesh. Sweat poured down his face and chest, mingling with his blood. His black eyes were wild as he faced the crowd.
“Are there others among the warriors of the Lakota who would take my woman from me?” he challenged.
A few of the Sioux braves looked away, others shook their heads. No complaints were raised as the body of Lame Calf Running was carried away.
As quickly as the crowd had gathered, it dispersed. Minutes later, the Sioux were gone.
Katy stared at the bright red blood dribbling from Iron Wing’s side. It was not a deep cut, but it needed bandaging. She took a step forward, intending to bind the wound with the sash from her dress, but Iron Wing refused her help.
“Are you sorry, Ka-ty?” he asked angrily. “Sorry it is not Lame Calf Running who stands before you?” His eyes were intent upon her face as he waited for her answer.
Confusion filled Katy’s mind. Was she sorry Iron Wing was still alive? Could she bear it if it was Iron Wing lying dead in the dirt, his masculine strength forever stilled, his ebony eyes cold and empty of life? In truth, she did not know, and s
he mumbled, “Yes…no, I don’t know,” and then fell silent.
“I know,” Iron Wing said quietly. He looked at Katy for a long moment, his eyes mirroring a deep hurt that had nothing to do with the wound in his side. “I think it would give you much pleasure to see me lying dead at your feet.”
Abruptly, he turned and walked away from her, his right hand pressed against the still-bleeding wound in his side.
Speechless, Katy stared after Iron Wing, watching as he mounted his spotted stallion and rode to the head of the caravan. In the back of her mind, she saw him as he had looked while fighting the Sioux, his face twisted savagely, his eyes dark and menacing. Never had he looked more dangerous, more like the savage she so often accused him of being. And then that image was wiped away, replaced by the haunting look in his eyes when he accused her of being sorry he was still alive. Did he care for her after all? Was it affection for her that made him refuse to give her the freedom she desired? The thought filled her with a pleasant warmth.
Moments later, they were on the move again.
Chapter Thirteen
The summer camp of the Cheyenne was truly a beautiful place. Game was plentiful in the wooded hills, wild fruits and vegetables were abundant, a wide, clear river provided fresh water. And over all loomed the Big Horn Mountains. Though they had been in their new camp less than a week, it looked as though they had been there forever. Each lodge stood in its accustomed place, with Chief Little Eagles Flying’s lodge nearest the center.
And life went on, the same as before. In the morning, Katy gathered wood for the fire, fresh water for cooking and drinking. She shook out their sleeping robes, prepared breakfast, and tidied up the lodge. In the afternoon, she went with the women to gather nuts and berries, and more wood, if necessary. She mended their clothes, tanned the hides Iron Wing brought her. In the evening, she made up the bed, prepared dinner, and accompanied Iron Wing to the river to bathe. Katy would have preferred to bathe in the morning, but Iron Wing enjoyed the river just after dusk, so that was when they bathed. In truth, it was not a bad life, but Katy would not admit it to anyone, not even herself.
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