by Connie Mason
“But it is not the decision of the entire council,” Coyote cautioned. “We will smoke and give the matter more thought.”
Suddenly Wind Rider leaped to his feet, his face stark as he glared at each of the council members in turn. “I will join with the slave.
Once she is my wife none can dispute my legal right to her. It is not uncommon for a brave to join with a white captive. She will give me strong sons and daughters. As my mate she will be integrated into the tribe and become one of us.”
Wind Rider heard his voice and couldn’t believe the words were coming from his mouth. Taking a wife was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, especially a wife so frail a good wind would blow her over. She’d probably be too weak to do all the hard work that needed to be done or bear him strong children. In the past, when he had pictured himself with a mate, she never had soft white skin or hair that rivaled the sunrise.
“You wish to join with her?” Iron Fist repeated. Wind Rider nodded. “It is not unheard of among the People, but I would advise you against it.”
“If Wind Rider joins with the white captive, it will add insult to injury after refusing my sister,” shouted Cut Nose, leaping to his feet and glaring at Wind Rider.
“I will have Little Sparrow,” Wind Rider insisted. “I would prefer to have the council’s approval, but if I do not it will not stop me. I will leave the tribe. There are many tribes scattered throughout the Black Hills and the Badlands in need of a strong warrior to fight the white eyes.”
Iron Fist conferred briefly with the council members while Wind Rider and Cut Nose glared at one another, awaiting their decision. Wind Rider listened closely, smiling when he became aware that the members were voting in his favor.
“It is the council’s decision that Wind Rider should be allowed to remain with the People. We have all seen proof of his courage in battle. Red Cloud himself trusted him enough to send him to Denver to pose as a white man and seek information after the attack at Sand Creek.
“Therefore, we find no cause to question his loyalty or banish him from our tribe. And he may join with whomever he pleases. The white slave is his property. Though Cut Nose has offered in good faith to buy her, it is Wind Rider’s choice, and he has chosen to keep her. Perhaps Wind Rider will take Spotted Doe as a second wife to appease Cut Nose’s family.”
“I will think on it,” Wind Rider said, though in truth he had no intention of taking a second wife. And perhaps not even a first. If he was lucky, he could put off joining with Little Sparrow until the council forgot about it.
Iron Fist quickly laid that hope to rest. “Tonight we will have a celebration in honor of your joining. All the tribe will gather to dance and feast. Since your wife has no relatives among us, Woman-Who-Waddles will act as her family and help her prepare for the celebration.”
Iron Fist dismissed the council with a wave of his hand, and one by one the members drifted away, carrying word of the celebration. Some men went out immediately to hunt, and Wind Rider expressed his desire to join them, but first he had to speak to Hannah. He suspected she’d fight the council’s decision to the bitter end. Cut Nose was so angry, he stomped away in a high rage.
Hannah was a nervous wreck by the time the council members had drifted away. Wind Rider’s stoic expression gave nothing away of the council’s decision. He turned to stare at her, his face dark and unreadable. When he started toward her Woman-Who-Waddles melted away, leaving her alone to face Wind Rider and whatever it was that was making him so angry. Had he been banished from the tribe? she wondered fearfully. She’d run away or die trying before she’d allow Cut Nose to touch her.
Reaching her side, Wind Rider grasped her arm and pulled her inside the lodge. “What is it? What has the council decided? I won’t go to Cut Nose!”
“There is no need. The council has decided in my favor.”
A trembling began in Hannah’s knees. She had been so frightened... “Why are you so angry if the council decided in your favor?”
“Some of the council members wanted to kill you.”
Hannah clutched her throat and her eyes grew round. “Kill me? Am I to die?” She prayed it wouldn’t be by Wind Rider’s hand.
“Perhaps you will prefer death,” he said cryptically. “Tonight we are to join.”
Hannah stared at him. Did that mean what she thought it meant? “I don’t understand.”
“Tonight you will become my wife. After we are joined no one will dare question your place in the tribe.”
“Your wife! How can that be? I don’t want to marry a savage. Besides, there is no priest to perform the ceremony.”
Wind Rider snorted in disgust. “No holy man is necessary. According to tribal laws and tradition, once the bride enters her husband’s lodge they are wed.” He didn’t say that divorce was accomplished just as easily. All a woman had to do was leave her husband’s lodge and they were considered divorced.
“I won’t do it,” Hannah insisted stubbornly. “It won’t be legal.”
“Would you prefer death? Or perhaps,” he added with a hint of malice, “you would prefer Cut Nose. It wasn’t my wish to join with you, but it was either that or watch them kill you.”
Hannah thought neither of those choices particularly palatable. Obviously Wind Rider expected no argument; he went to the back of the tepee and found his bow and quiver of arrows, then ducked beneath the flap. Hannah followed him outside. “Where are you going?”
“Hunting. Woman-Who-Waddles will bring you appropriate clothing for tonight and help you erect our honeymoon lodge.”
”H-honeymoon lodge?”
“It is the custom for the bride to erect a lodge out of sight of the village where the bride and
groom can be alone to get to know one another. They are expected to remain there seven suns or, in your tongue, one week.”
”A week?” Hannah squeaked in disbelief. “Whatever do they do for an entire week?”
Wind Rider’s lips quirked upward. “For a whore you are incredibly stupid. I hope you can remember all the ways in which you pleased your white lovers. It will be interesting to learn if white women act differently between the blankets than Indian maidens.”
Hannah’s mouth dropped open, shocked by Wind Rider’s words. It hit her with stunning impact that tonight she would be expected to lie with the handsome savage. His hands would be all over her body; he’d touch her with his lips, his mouth, and he’d force his way into her body. He’d learn the truth, and never again would he call her whore. Just the thought of what tonight would bring sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. Tongue-tied, she watched him stalk off to join his friends, who were already mounted and waiting for him.
Woman-Who-Waddles appeared the moment Wind Rider left. She giggled and rolled her eyes as she pulled Hannah through the woods to a remote site close to the river. Two women were already there, struggling with a large tepee. They pulled Hannah into their midst, showing her how to place the tent poles and stretch the buffalo skins around the exterior. Within an amazingly short time the honeymoon lodge was ready for occupancy. The two women left and returned shortly with an armful of soft skins and furs for the bed.
Grasping her hand, Woman-Who-Waddles and the others pulled Hannah toward the river. In short order they stripped her of the worn doeskin tunic given to her by Spotted Doe and ducked her beneath the placid surface of the water. Then they literally attacked her with soap plant, scrubbing until her hair and skin was sparkling clean. Wrapping her in a soft blanket, they led her back to Wind Rider’s tepee.
The next hours were spent grooming Hannah’s hair and dressing her in a pure white doeskin tunic richly embroidered with beads and lavishly fringed. Hannah exclaimed over it with delight, which seemed to please Woman-Who-Waddles. Sometime during the long afternoon Hannah heard the hunters return, but since none of the women understood English she could not question them about tonight’s ceremony. The drums began beating at dusk, and Hannah was more frightened than she ha
d ever been in her life.
The women left her then, all but Woman-Who-Waddles, who hovered over Hannah like a mother hen. Suddenly the tent flap opened, and Spotted Doe ducked inside. She faced Hannah squarely, her face dark with hatred.
“It should be I joining with Wind Rider today/’
“You speak English,” Hannah gasped, astounded.
“Do you think we are all stupid? I learned the white man’s tongue from the traders and trappers who visit the tribe regularly. And when the Indian agent comes I listen closely to learn more. Wind Rider is too good for you. The council should have demanded that he join with one of the People and given you to Cut Nose. You are a slave. Cut Nose would treat you as you deserve instead of pampering you.”
“It wasn’t my decision to join with Wind Rider,” Hannah argued defensively. “I didn’t ask to be captured.”
Spotted Doe’s eyes flared in sudden malice. Without warning, she reached for the knife in her belt and advanced toward Hannah. Woman-Who-Waddles saw what was happening and rushed to Hannah’s defense. Blocking Spotted Doe, she berated her roundly and pushed her out the door.
“Thank you,” Hannah whispered shakily.
Woman-Who-Waddles patted her shoulder consolingly, then took her hand and led her outside. The night was fragrant with the scent of spring. The air was soft and mild. A huge fire blazed in the center of the camp, and the beating drums and foreign words that floated around her gave the scene a dreamlike quality. This can’t be real, Hannah thought despairingly. None of this is happening to me.
The wild tempo of the drums increased, and Hannah could see the dancers, circling around the fire to the beat of the heathen music. Most of the dancers were men, joined occasionally by some of the bolder women. Hannah noted that several of the men seated around the fire tipped up bottles and drank deeply of the liquor Hannah assumed was whiskey, provided by unscrupulous traders. Dragging her feet, Hannah would have turned and fled back to the tepee if Woman-Who-Waddles hadn’t tugged her forward with amazing strength considering her advanced age.
Hannah had no idea what to expect. Her eyes were frantic as they searched the crowded area. And then she saw him. He stood head and shoulders above the other braves. Dressed in supple doeskin the shade of pale butter, his tunic and leggings were elaborately decorated with feathers and beads. Fringes hung from both sleeves and down the sides of his leggings. His moccasins were also beaded and laced nearly to his knees. He was magnificent, every golden inch of him. His black hair hung loose, held in place by a rawhide thong sporting a white eagle feather.
Wind Rider sensed Hannah’s presence before he saw her. Turning to look beyond the dancers, he saw her approaching, escorted by Woman-Who-Waddles. She was dressed in white, he thought ironically, the color of purity. Looking at her angelic features, one would never guess she was a whore. His sanity must have deserted him to join with a woman of easy virtue.
In the short time she had been his captive her flesh had filled out. Though she’d never be plump, she could no longer be classified as scrawny. She was perfect, from the top of her burnished head to the tips of her small feet.
He watched her approach, his loins heavy, his manhood stirring restlessly beneath his breechclout, and he knew a need such as he’d never experienced before. In all his years with the Cheyenne he’d never felt such a wild clamoring in his blood or been driven by an almost painful desire to thrust himself into a woman’s body. Not just any woman. His woman. Little Sparrow.
It was the first time in his recent memory that he could recall not cursing the white blood that ran through his veins, for it was the same blood that ran through the veins of Hannah McLin.
She stood before him now, searching his face with frightened green eyes. He took her hand, led her to a place in the circle, and pulled her down beside him. Almost immediately a bowl was placed in her hands, but she could not eat. Neither could Wind Rider, it seemed, for he barely tasted his food before setting down the plate.
“You are very beautiful tonight,” he whispered into her ear. “I did not want to take a wife, but tonight I find little to complain about, unless it is the knowledge that I won’t be getting a woman known for her virtue. Cheyenne men admire purity in a woman, and Cheyenne women guard their virtue zealously. It is a gift they give their husbands upon their marriage.
Tonight I will try not to think about the other men you have lain with.”
Hannah blinked but said nothing. What good would it do? If this was indeed going to be her wedding night, Wind Rider would find out soon enough that she was as virtuous as the purest Cheyenne maiden. Certainly more virtuous than some of the Sioux women she’d seen since her captivity, especially if they were all like Spotted Doe.
The dancing continued, growing more frenzied as the night progressed. Wind Rider grew impatient, and some of his friends realized it. They began taunting him with ribald remarks, as friends were inclined to do to bridegrooms, causing some of the women to cover their ears and giggle. Suddenly Wind Rider had had enough. Without warning he rose to his feet, jerking Hannah with him.
“What is it?” Fear skittered through her. The moment she had dreaded all evening had arrived.
“It is time to go.”
“What about the wedding? I thought there was to be a ceremony. Have you changed your mind about marrying me?”
“The moment we walk inside the honeymoon lodge we are wed,” Wind Rider told her. “No special ceremony exists. According to tribal customs, once we declare our intention to join we are considered wed. Come.” He took her hand, leading her away from the campfire and the celebration.
Dragging her feet, Hannah shook her head in vigorous denial. “It-it’s immoral! It’s sinful. It’s not the way it’s done in white society.”
“Forget about white society. You are the wife of an Indian now. In this village Indian law prevails. Believe me, Little Sparrow, we are wed. And when your soft white belly swells with my child there will be no room for doubt.”
“Oh, my God.”
Her knees buckled beneath her. She would have fallen if Wind Rider hadn’t scooped her up into his arms. When she saw the honeymoon lodge looming before them in the moonlit darkness she repeated softly, “Oh, my God.”
Chapter Seven
Someone had thoughtfully lit a fire inside the lodge and sprinkled it liberally with sweetgrass and sage. It flickered invitingly against the walls. Furs were laid out to form a soft nest and fresh pine boughs scattered about to produce a pleasant scent. But Hannah was aware of nothing except the implied promise of Wind Rider’s hard body as he carried her inside and set her down on her feet.
Refusing to look at the bed, she stared at the small patch of sky visible through the smokehole, seeing the stars gliding lazily by and wishing she could join them. Wind Rider noted the direction of her gaze and said, “The fragrant smoke from the fire carries the prayers of the People to the spirits above through the smokehole. There is much for you to learn. I will teach you/’
He reached for her, his fingers strong and steady as he began to unlace the front of her tunic.
“Tell me more,” Hannah said breathlessly, wanting to put off the inevitable. The movement of his fingers against her flesh sent her senses reeling.
Wind Rider prayed for patience, struggling to still the blood clamoring through his veins. “The floor of the lodge represents the earth, the walls the sky; the tepee poles are the trails leading from the earth to the Spirit World. The tepee has a special place in our lives. When the flap is closed a visitor is required to announce himself and await permission to enter. Men usually go to the right when entering and a woman enters behind her husband and goes to the left. Passing between the fire and anyone else in the lodge is bad etiquette.”
Hannah half listened, all too aware of the way Wind Rider’s eyes were caressing her body. Her breath caught in her throat and held as his words came to a halt and his hands spread the unlaced opening of her tunic apart, baring the rounded curves of her breasts
. His body was taut. A muscle in his jaw jerked. His silver eyes were slumberous, his nostrils flared.
Hannah felt a thrill of apprehension. When Wind Rider slipped the tunic from her shoulders she had to breathe or die. She chose to breathe. When the tunic caught on the upward tilt of her breasts Wind Rider tugged impatiently. Hannah grasped his hands in an effort to stop him.
“Wait! The dress is too beautiful to tear. I will do it.”
Wind Rider nodded. His eyes shimmered like liquid silver. “Woman-Who-Waddles will be pleased to know that you like the dress. She made it for her daughter, who was to marry Coyote.”
Hannah shoved the tunic past her breasts, where it caught on her slim hips. “What happened to her daughter? Why didn’t she wear the dress?”
Wind Rider licked his lips, staring at the pink nipples crowning her pert breasts. He thought them small but perfectly formed, and longed to sample their sweetness. “She died of the spotted sickness. Woman-Who-Waddles is happy to have you wear her daughter’s dress.”
“Thank her for me.”
Wind Rider did not answer. He was too aroused to reply. The breath grated harshly from his lungs and he reached out to stroke her right breast. Her skin was soft and warm, and he rubbed the pad of his finger across her nipple, watching it tauten into a hard bud.
Hannah trembled at the staggering need this man aroused in her. She didn’t understand how she could feel so intensely about a savage who had made her his slave. And she certainly did not feel married. The heathen ceremony was far removed from a proper church wedding officiated by a priest. But Wind Rider s expression left little doubt in her mind that he considered the wedding legal and binding and expected to bed her this very night.
The air between them was charged as they stared at one another, the tension thick enough to slice as Wind Rider placed his hands on her slim hips and pushed downward, shoving the tunic free. It slid down her legs and pooled around her ankles. Wind Rider lifted her effortlessly and kicked it aside; then he bent and removed her moccasins. He could barely find his breath when he slid his eyes upward along her body.
