Spirit's Song

by Madeline Baker

  She looked at a fallen log lying near the river’s edge. It would be easy to climb up on the log, then pull herself onto the mare’s back. The roan seemed to be a docile creature.

  It was tempting, so tempting, but her fear of the unknown was stronger than her fear of the stranger. There were wild animals out there, and wilder Indians, Crow and Blackfoot. She had no food, no guarantee she could find enough to sustain her until she reached a town, assuming she could locate one. She had no blanket, no coat. And though the days were warm, the nights were sometimes cool. She didn’t relish the idea of freezing to death, or starving, or being taken prisoner by another tribe.

  Chiding herself for being a coward, she turned around and started back the way she had come. Someday, she vowed, someday she would find the nerve to run away.

  But not today.

  * * * * *

  Jesse swam briskly for fifteen minutes, then climbed out of the water. It was good to be home, good to hear the language of his mother’s people again, to see the faces of men and women he had grown up with. Even though he had always felt himself a man apart because of his mixed blood, this was the only place on Earth where he felt he belonged, the only place where he could relax, where the bad dreams didn’t bother him, where he slept the whole night through. No one was gunning for him here.

  Standing on the edge of the riverbank, he closed his eyes and let the sun’s warmth dry him off. Taking part in the Sun Dance had restored his inner spirit, reminded him of who and what he was. Gazing at the sun, lost in a hazy world of pain, he had seen a vision which had made no sense to him and which he could not now clearly remember save that it had concerned a red-tailed vixen who had sung a song he could not now recall, a gentle creature who had seen beyond the hideous scars on his face and body and had, with a single touch, healed the scars on his soul. Perhaps it had not been a true vision at all, but merely a dream born out of a desperate hope for redemption.

  Opening his eyes, he shook the vision from his mind. He had not seen Ravenhawk at the Sun Dance ceremony. He would start asking after the man’s whereabouts when he got back to the village. He was certain his quarry would show up sooner or later. Once he found Ravenhawk, he would sell the woman, then haul the Lakota into Red Creek to collect the reward. And then…an awareness that he was no longer alone prickled over his skin. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the woman.

  His gaze traveled over her. She was tall and lithe and lovely, he mused. The sunlight emphasized the red in her hair, making him think of autumn leaves. Her eyes were dark brown, her mouth a tempting pouty pink. Long hours in the sun had tanned her skin a smooth golden-brown. He felt a warm rush of desire pool in his groin as he watched the subtle sway of her hips.

  He hadn’t had a woman in a long time.

  And this one was his to do with as he pleased.

  Ravenhawk could wait one more day.

  Kaylynn came to an abrupt halt when she saw Yellow Thunder. He was standing on the riverbank, naked as a jaybird. She tried not to look, but she couldn’t seem to draw her gaze away. He was tall and lean and well-muscled, with a broad back and firm buttocks. He had a birthmark on his derriere. It was about an inch long, dark brown, in the shape of a dagger. His body, the color of burnished copper, was as badly scarred as his face.

  She felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks when he turned to face her, felt her mouth go suddenly dry when she saw the desire in his eyes. She gasped, one hand covering her rapidly beating heart, when she saw his body’s reaction to what he was thinking.

  With a low cry, she dropped the horse’s reins, intending to run to Mo’e’ha’s lodge, only to recall that she was no longer welcome there. She belonged to this stranger now.

  She stared at him a moment longer, then turned on her heel and bolted back the way she had come.

  With a grin, Jesse pulled on his clout and swung onto the roan’s back. The conquest would be all the sweeter for the chase.

  Chapter Five

  Kaylynn ran as though pursued by a thousand devils. She had lived with the Indians for nearly eight months. In the beginning, she had been afraid of them. In the East, there had been talk about the Indian problem, about how savage they were. Godless, inhuman creatures, people said, who wore animal skins and feathers and ate raw meat. Indian men were said to lust after white women, and she had lived in constant fear that she would be raped by every man in the village. And surprised when it hadn’t happened.

  Some of the men had looked at her with desire in their eyes, but none had approached her, not even the warrior who had captured her. He had brought her home to be a slave in his lodge, and that was all.

  She ran blindly on, heedless of the coming night, of the branches that scratched her skin and legs. Propelled by a nameless fear, she ran deeper into the woods, certain she would rather face whatever wild beasts lurked there than the man she had left behind.

  It seemed she had been running for hours. Her sides hurt, her lungs hurt, she was seeing spots before her eyes. She would have to stop soon, find a place to rest, to hide.

  And then, through the fog of fear, she heard the sound of hoofbeats coming up fast behind her. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, felt a new surge of terror rise within her when she saw the stranger riding toward her. He was leaning over his horse’s neck, his long black hair streaming behind him.

  “No,” she gasped. “No, no.”

  Fear lent wings to her feet, but she couldn’t outrun the big blue mare. She screamed as the horse brushed her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. She rolled over twice, the breath knocked from her body.

  Quick as a cat, he was beside her, jerking her to her feet, his hands imprisoning her arms.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was silky-soft, low and dangerous.

  Kaylynn stared into his cool gray eyes, unable to think, unable to speak. She couldn’t draw her gaze from the scar on his face, could hardly draw a breath for the fear congealed in her throat. A shiver slid down her spine.

  A muscle throbbed in Jesse’s cheek as he endured her scrutiny. Most of the women he met were repulsed by his appearance; whores always charged him extra. He had thought himself used to it by now.

  He leaned toward her, until their faces were only a breath apart. “Go ahead,” he said gruffly. “Take a good look.”

  She blinked at him, a slow blush rising in her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She spoke automatically, years of schooling in etiquette and manners coming to the fore. “It was rude of me to stare.”

  Rude? He almost laughed out loud. No one had ever apologized for staring at him before. But he wasn’t interested in her good manners now; didn’t care if she was sincere. He was only aware of the soft feminine curves brushing against his chest, of the nearness of her lips.

  Muttering an oath, he pulled her body up against his and kissed her. There was nothing of softness in his kiss, no gentleness, no tenderness. He cupped her head with one hand and ground his lips against hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

  Kaylynn struggled against him, beating at his face with her fists, scratching his cheek, his neck. And when that didn’t stop him, she bit down on his tongue, recoiling when she tasted his blood in her mouth.

  With a vile oath, he jerked away, his gray eyes filled with rage. “Damn you! Don’t ever do that again.” His hands closed over her shoulders and he shook her. “Do you understand me? You belong to me now, and that means you’ll make yourself available to me whenever and however I want you.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide, her face pale. For a moment, it was Alan staring down at her, Alan’s voice ringing in her ears, his hands like claws where they gripped her shoulders. You’re mine, do you understand? Mine…

  “No.” She formed the words, but no sound issued from her lips. “No.”

  “Yes,” he said, his expression as implacable as his tone. “I don’t want to have to beat you, but I will.”

  Kaylynn felt the blood drain from her face as she remembered the
sound of Alan’s fist repeatedly striking her flesh, accusing her of being frigid, barren, the pain that had engulfed her before she fainted, the ugly bruises his fists left behind. She clenched her hands. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of this stranger, wouldn’t let him see how frightened she was. And she was frightened. More frightened than she had ever been in her life. Because she had no doubt at all that, like Alan, this man meant every word. And she knew the pain of a man’s hand all too well.

  “Do we understand each other?” he asked.

  She nodded, once, curtly. She understood. Understood that she was going to run away the first chance she got. She would rather take her chances out on the prairie with the wolves and the snakes than stay here, at the mercy of this savage. It had taken her years to find the courage to run away from Alan, but on that day, her mouth bleeding and her eye blackened from his fist, she had vowed that no man would ever lay a hand on her in anger again.

  “Go back to camp and wait for me,” he said, his voice gruff.

  She didn’t have to be told twice. Eager to be away from him, she turned and ran back to the village.

  There was a tipi waiting for Jesse when he returned to the village, compliments of Bear Robe’s wives.

  He found the white woman sitting in the shade, her knees drawn up to her chest. Dismounting, he beckoned her with a look, then thrust a rabbit and two quail into her hands.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “Cook the rabbit tonight. We’ll have the quail tomorrow.”

  Kaylynn felt a rush of resentment as she entered the lodge. She belonged to this man now. She would be spending the night in this lodge, alone, with the stranger.

  She glanced around. There was wood laid in a fire pit near the center of the floor, two willow backrests, a few cook pots and utensils, several baskets of raw vegetables.

  Refusing to think of what might happen later that night, she knelt beside the fire. Pulling a flint from her sash, she lit the fire. She found a knife in the cooking utensils. Testing the edge against her thumb, she doubted if it would cut through butter, much less the carcass of a rabbit.

  She was looking for another knife when she sensed she was no longer alone. Awareness slid down her spine, a soft, tingling sensation that was oddly pleasurable.

  “Here.” Jesse knelt beside her, withdrew his knife from his sheath and offered it to her. He watched her turn it over in her hand, knew she was trying to find the courage to plunge the blade into his heart. “Careful with that. It’s sharp.”

  Jesse stared at her a moment, then rose to his feet and left the lodge.

  Outside, he stood with his hands clenched, unable to believe he had threatened to beat her. He had never hit a woman in his life, but something in her eyes, the fear, perhaps, or the repugnance, had triggered his rage, making him want to lash out. He had thought himself used to it by now, he mused bleakly, used to the looks, the shudders, the pity. Used to taking what he wanted whenever he wanted. So why did this woman’s reaction disturb him so badly?

  He swore, using every foul word he had ever heard, but it didn’t help. He’d been a fool to gamble for the woman, but there was something about her that called to him. He had known he would win the race, had known that she would be his. Waiting for the race to start, he’d had a fleeting. foolish thought that destiny had brought him here, not for Ravenhawk, but for the woman.

  With a rueful shake of his head, he thrust such nonsense aside. Tomorrow morning, he would give the woman back to Bear Robe and then he’d go check out the Lakota encampment and see if he could find Ravenhawk. He hadn’t had a woman in almost a year; he could wait another few weeks. He would haul Ravenhawk into Red Creek and turn him over to the sheriff there, and then he’d go hole up at the saloon with his favorite whore and get good and drunk.

  The smell of roast rabbit reached his nostrils. He thought about going to eat with his cousin, then discarded the idea. He had killed that rabbit and by damn, he was going to eat it.

  The woman jumped to her feet when he stepped into the lodge. The wariness in her eyes pricked his conscience, what little he had left.

  “Smells good,” he said gruffly. “Is it ready?”

  She nodded.

  Jesse sat down, watching her while she removed the rabbit from the spit and split it in half. She placed the meat in a bowl, along with some cooked vegetables, and offered it to him.

  He nodded his thanks as he took the bowl from her hand. She stood beside the fire, watching him.

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asked.

  Kaylynn shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a thing with him watching her every move.

  He looked up at her, one brow arched, as her stomach growled loudly.

  Kaylynn stared back at him, her cheeks burning, acutely aware of his presence, his nearness. Like it or not, she belonged to him now.

  With a shrug, he turned back to his dinner. He ate quickly, then stood up. “Where’s my knife?”

  “Here.” She picked it up and offered it to him.

  He wiped the blade off on the side of his trousers, then left the lodge.

  Kaylynn breathed a sigh of relief when he went outside. Tonight, she thought, nibbling on a piece of meat. She was leaving tonight.

  Jesse spent an hour wandering through the village, renewing old acquaintances. He shared a pipe with Grey Wolf, watched a half-dozen boys trying to outdo each other with bow and arrow.

  He paused outside the shaman’s lodge, stood in the shade, listening as the medicine man related the Hummingbird Story to a handful of children.

  “It was a long time ago,” the old man said, his gaze moving over each child’s face. “A time when the animals and the birds still had their voices. Hummingbird fell in love with a handsome warrior. She would fly near him and make her colors bright so he would notice her beauty. One day, she flew so close that she heard him talking to his father. The warrior said he had made a bet with Crane that he could beat him in a flight around the world.

  “Now,” the shaman went on, “the world was not as we know it now. There were three levels. The upper level was akin to heaven. The bottom level was chaos. But the middle was the earth as we know it. Racing around the three levels could upset the balance of all three, allowing heaven and chaos and earth to mix.

  “The hummingbird was very upset when she heard this. She had always assumed that the handsome young warrior was as balanced and pure as he was beautiful. Hummingbird flew off to think about what she had heard and to see if the Willow could answer her questions. On the day that the race was meant to be run, the young warrior sat crying. He knew he would lose the race. Crane was faster and needed less sleep. He was a mere man with too much pride. Hummingbird heard his tears and cried out to the Creator for him. She asked that he might be free of his bet with Crane. As punishment for his boastful spirit, his ears would no longer be able to hear the voices of the plants and animals. The young warrior accepted his punishment and forever after the voices of the plants and animals have been silent to man.

  “Now,” the shaman asked, “what have you learned from this story?”

  Jesse nodded to the shaman and continued on his way. He told himself he was relaxing, that he was actually listening for some word of Ravenhawk when the truth was, he didn’t want to go back to his lodge, didn’t want to be near the woman. Didn’t want to see the apprehension and loathing in her eyes when she looked at him. No doubt she would faint dead away if he touched her again. He lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the rough edge of the scar that puckered his flesh. Who the hell could blame her?

  He walked out to the horse herd, whistled for the roan. The mare came at his call, nuzzling his arm.

  “You’re the only girl who loves me, aren’t you?” He scratched the mare between the ears and under her jaw. “You don’t care what I look like, do you?”

  The mare made a soft snuffling sound as she pushed her nose against his chest.

  Murmuring an oath,
he gave the mare a last pat on the shoulder, then walked down by the river. He would bed down here tonight. Tomorrow, he would get rid of the woman. She wasn’t his type anyway. She was too tall for his taste, too skinny. He liked a woman with a little meat on her.

  With a shake of his head, he pulled off his clout and moccasins and plunged into the icy water.

  He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone. Not anymore.

  Chapter Six

  Kaylynn peered outside. It was almost midnight, and Yellow Thunder still hadn’t returned to the lodge. Clutching the small buckskin bag that held a change of clothing and all the food that had been in the lodge, she stepped out into the shadows, a rough woolen blanket draped around her shoulders.

  Moving as quietly as possible, she made her way toward the river and turned east. Towns and forts were usually located near water. Maybe, if she was lucky, there was some sort of settlement nearby. Maybe, if she hadn’t been such a hopeless coward, she could have found her way to civilization months ago.

  Clouds hovered low in the sky, hiding the moon and stars. A dog growled as she passed by the last lodge, but, other than that, the night was quiet.

  She walked as swiftly as she dared in the dark, her heart pounding with trepidation. She wished she’d had the nerve to try to steal one of the horses. She wished she had a weapon other than the skinning knife tucked in her sash. She wished she had stayed in New York where she belonged.

  A sigh of resignation escaped her lips. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

  It was eerie, walking alone beside the river. A cool breeze stirred the leaves of the cottonwoods. Wispy white clouds drifted before the wind like horses running before a storm. A rustle in the underbrush made her shiver with fear. There were wolves and grizzly bears and coyotes in the hills. It was a wild, unforgiving land, the strong preying on the weak, and she was definitely one of the weak. She had no defense other than her wits and the knife in her belt.