by Merry Farmer
“I told her that you were hurt when Sky Bear took you,” she said.
Katie peeked at Magpie Woman, wondering what she thought of her son now. Magpie Woman didn’t look at her. She motioned to Yellow Sun, who still held the Cheyenne dress as she watched the confrontation in shock.
There was nothing for Katie to do but strip off the rest of her clothes. She stopped when she was down to her chemise and drawers, but when Two Spots explained Cheyenne did not wear chemise and drawers, she was forced to remove those too. She only had to stand naked in full view of the others for a few moments, but it was long enough to see the bruises that were coming up all over her body. Her arms ached when she held them up so Yellow Sun could slide the dress over her head. More than anything, Katie wanted to lie down and sleep.
The Cheyenne dress was surprisingly comfortable once she had it on. It was made of some sort of leather that had been worked until it was as soft as wool. The shape was reasonably flattering once she was given a belt decorated with metal discs to cinch around her waist. The beadwork was simple but colorful. They found a pair of moccasins for her as well, and the outfit was finished with a pair of leggings, almost like stockings, that went on over the moccasins and tied just above her knees.
“You look Cheyenne,” Two Spots said to her when she was dressed. She smiled for the first time since Katie had met her. With a smile, Two Spots was very pretty.
“I am not Cheyenne,” Katie told her nonetheless. She didn’t want to hurt the young woman’s feelings, but she didn’t want anyone to think she was accepting her fate either. “The dress is very nice, but I want my own clothes back. I want to go home.”
Two Spots lowered her eyes. “It is a great honor to be considered as the wife for such a great man as Sky Bear.”
Katie snorted. As soon as Two Spots glanced up at her as though she had been insulted, Katie felt terrible. On top of that, her stomach growled.
“Sky Bear is a great warrior,” Two Spots explained, adoration clear in her eyes. “He has fought many battles and killed many buffalo. He was named for the Great Bear that roams the night sky. He is well respected, and his wife will have a high place in the tribe.”
“But I don’t—” Katie stopped mid-protest. Something about the way Two Spots spoke—with such reverence and affection—tickled Katie’s suspicions. If she wasn’t mistaken, Two Spots was in love.
That was it. There was no way anyone—not Magpie Woman, even if she wanted to, not Grandfather, not Sky Bear himself—could do to convince her to marry a man that a friend of hers was in love with. And she had a feeling Two Spots was the only friend she had right now.
Friend.
“Emma,” Katie blurted. She grabbed Two Spots’ arm. “There was another woman who was kidnapped with me. Her name was Emma. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. Do you know where she is?”
Two Spots blinked and shook her head. “You are the only white woman here.”
“Maybe the other brave will bring her back later. Maybe he took her somewhere else first.” The thought wasn’t a comforting one. The other brave could have taken Emma anywhere and done anything to her. Anything. She hoped Dean had found her.
“Sky Bear left the village many days ago,” Two Spots explained. “He went to visit a friend in another village. He—”
Before she could go on, Magpie Woman cut her off. She stepped between the two women and said something that sounded like an order.
Two Spots nodded, then said, “Magpie Woman says she will not have a useless white woman in her tipi. We are to cook the morning meal.”
“Cook?” Katie asked, even as her stomach growled louder. “I don’t know how to cook your way.”
Magpie Woman said something and pointed to the door. Two Spots nodded and took Katie’s hand.
“She says we are to cook on the fire outside so that you will not burn down her tipi.”
“I wasn’t serious,” Katie grumbled under her breath. She followed Two Spots outside anyhow. There was nothing else she could do. Running was impossible. Sitting down like a stubborn lump was beneath her. The only real choice was to go along with whatever they told her to do until she could find a way to escape.
Aiden was shocked that he had been able to sleep a wink. He had ridden and ridden through the night, searching for any sign of Katie and the brave who had taken her until despair and exhaustion swallowed his determination. No matter how hard he rode, no matter how clever and careful he thought he was being as he tried to track the brave’s horse through the moonlit night, once he’d lost them, he didn’t catch sight of them again. Once the moon set, his hopes sank further. He had finally given up and stopped his horse, dismounting and lying down to rest. Somehow sleep took him.
When he awoke, sore and groggy, the sun was already high in the sky. The land around him that had been shrouded in darkness while he rode and searched was bright with sun now, and yet it didn’t help him one bit. As far as he could see, there was nothing but wide-open sky, rolling fields and hills, and snowcapped mountains in the distance. None of it looked remotely familiar to an Irishman who had only set foot on the continent of North America a few months ago. He was as lost as could be, but it had nothing to do with the terrain. He was lost without Katie.
Heart heavy, he dragged himself to stand and shamble to the small stream beside where he had slept. If anything had happened to Katie, if she had been injured or worse, he didn’t know what he would do with himself. He swallowed a few handfuls of water, splashed some on his face, then stood and retrieved his fiddle case from the tuft of grass that had been his makeshift bed. His fingers itched as though he should play to soothe himself, but not even the promise of music could lift the weight from his heart.
“Katie,” he called out to the lonely hills, as if shouting alone could bring his love back to him. Tears stung his eyes, stung his soul. “Katie Boyle, where are you?”
The only answer he had was the wind blowing across the grass. He closed his eyes and fought to pull himself together. If he broke down, he would have no chance at all of finding her. Losing her for good wasn’t an option.
He took in a deep breath to still his pounding heart and the panic that threatened to choke him. There had to be a way to find out where the brave had gone. He opened his eyes and looked, really looked, at everything around him. The stream beside him flowed on, cutting around a bend where a stand of trees grew. The hills around him were gentle, but closer to the mountains they were taller. There were more trees closer to the mountains as well. The grass rippled in the breeze, but not as much as it did on the flat prairie. Clouds skittered across the blue morning sky. A pair of hawks wheeled and danced high above. A faint curl of smoke kissed the horizon.
Aiden almost glanced on, but something about the smoke drew his eyes back. Smoke. Rising over the crest of a hill to the right of where he stood. There was more than one column. It was so far away that it was difficult to make out, but it had to be something. A fire, several fires, of some sort had to be causing the smoke.
With newfound energy, he flung his fiddle case over his shoulder and rushed to his horse. He mounted and nudged his horse to walk toward the smoke. It looked to be miles away, but it was the only thing he had to go on. Maybe it wasn’t Katie, but whatever it was, it could help.
He had no idea how much time passed as he rode toward the smoke. The sun moved in the sky, but as anxious as he was, he could have been walking for minutes that seemed like hours or hours that seemed like minutes. He rounded a few more hills and crossed another stream and then a wider one. The smoke grew closer. Before long, he noticed that the wide stream he’d crossed seemed to be following him, or he was following it. It grew into a small river at the point where he began to smell the fire.
Caution told him to slow down and think about what he was doing. One brave had taken Katie and another had taken Emma, which meant that there could be even more still anywhere around him. It wouldn’t help him at all to run into half a dozen Indians when all he had
to defend himself was a fiddle in a case. He took the horse’s lead and walked it along the edge of the stream.
Minutes later, he was beyond relieved that he had taken the cautious route. As he came around a bush that grew out into the stream, he spotted a trio of Indian girls drawing water in buckets made of skins, and laughing. He moved his horse to tie it behind the bush, making sure it was well concealed. Then he tiptoed along the bend of the river, watching the girls as they scurried up the slope, taking their skins of water somewhere else.
He followed, dropping to his hands and knees and then his belly as he neared the top of the hill they disappeared over. When he reached the top and a cluster of bushes that he could hide behind, the air rushed out of his lungs. On the other side of the hill, a massive Indian camp spread out in a valley. There were easily three dozen tipis—maybe more, he didn’t stop to count them. Men, women, and children were busy throughout the camp with whatever midday chores needed doing. A group of women nearer to him worked scraping what were likely buffalo hides with metal tools. Farther away, a group of three men sat together telling stories with wide, wild gestures. To the right of them, a group of old women sat with what looked like sewing of some sort in their laps, laughing as if they were children.
It was a village, a whole village of Indians. And he’d been worried about what he would do if he came across a half dozen. From what he could see, there were enough people in the valley below him to rival any Irish village.
“You’ve stepped in it now, boy-o,” Aiden muttered to himself.
“Huh?” a small voice asked behind him.
Aiden jumped and flipped onto his back as best he could with his fiddle case still slung over his shoulder. A small boy, not much older than six or seven by the look of him, stood behind him. He was bare-chested, wore a pair of supple hide pants, and carried something that looked like a carved stick in his right hand. He stared at Aiden, completely unperturbed. A young boy, and the sight of him had sent Aiden into a moment of panic that left him dizzy.
The boy said something to him that sounded like a question. There wasn’t a hint of anger or anxiety in the boy’s eyes, only curiosity. He asked his question again and pointed to Aiden’s shoulder. No, not his shoulder, his fiddle case.
Aiden sat up. The situation didn’t seem real. He was desperate to find Katie, had stumbled across an entire village of Indians, and now a small boy was asking him about his fiddle. He blinked, then drew in a breath.
“It’s a fiddle,” he said, twisting so the boy could see the entire case across his back. “It’s for playing music,” he explained. The boy only stared at him. “Music,” Aiden repeated. He mimed holding a fiddle to his chin and playing. The boy still looked confused. “Songs?” Aiden tried. Nothing. He sang a few bars of the first song that popped into his head, “‘Oh the summertime is coming, and the trees are sweetly blooming, and the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather.’”
The boy’s face lit up. He said something sweet and happy, then raised the stick to his mouth and blew. A few warm, woody notes sounded.
“A flute.” Aiden perked up himself. “That’s a flute.”
He shrugged the fiddle case over his shoulder and snapped the clasps open. The boy stopped playing and gasped when he saw Aiden’s fiddle. He asked a question that Aiden didn’t understand. Aiden took the fiddle from the case and drew the bow across the strings lightly, trying to make as little noise as possible.
The boy’s eyes widened, and he said something more and gestured for him to come.
Deep wariness clouded Aiden’s burst of joy. He lowered his fiddle. “I can’t,” he said. “I have to stay hidden.”
The boy ignored his protest and reached out to take his hand. Aiden flinched away from him too late. The boy caught his bow hand and tugged, urging him to stand. All the while, he smiled and chattered with happy, childlike excitement.
“No, wee one, I can’t. I really can’t.”
Aiden’s protests had no effect. The boy wanted him to stand up and follow him. Aiden resisted as much as he could without hurting the boy or his fiddle.
A few moments later, it didn’t matter. The group of men telling each other stories had noticed the boy with the flute, noticed that he had discovered something. They stood and called out, and nothing Aiden could think to do could stop the boy from shouting back in reply. He had been found.
The men who had been telling stories had smiles on their faces as Aiden stood, but the moment they saw him and made out who he was, those smiles dropped to scowls. A heartbeat later, their shouts turned to whoops as they rushed at Aiden.
Chapter Nine
Dizzy with panic, the only thing Aiden could think to do was to raise his fiddle to his chin and play. His fingers shook as he started a happy, calm tune. It was insanity to think that a jig would have any effect against a group of charging braves, but he played on.
The braves slowed their steps, startled as much as anything else, judging from the shock on their faces. They didn’t stop, though. They also weren’t the only ones who noticed Aiden or heard the music. At least a dozen women and older people had stopped what they were doing to listen.
When the braves came within a few yards of Aiden, one of them shouted at him. The man was unarmed, and for some reason his threatening tone of voice bolstered Aiden’s courage. He ignored the words and kept playing, picking up the pace of his tune to something even more spritely and defiant. The other two braves exchanged confused looks at the third one started shouting again. This time he pointed to the fiddle.
Aiden continued to play without answering. A handful of the women and one of the older men who had been watching the scene arrived and asked the other two braves questions. The shouting brave lost his patience and snatched at the fiddle. As he grabbed it away, Aiden’s heart lurched to his gut.
“Be careful with it,” he demanded. The wariness that his music had taken away returned. He didn’t want to cause a confrontation when he was outnumbered by appearing to lose his temper. “It’s very valuable and came all the way from Ireland,” he said in a much calmer voice.
The shouting brave sneered as he looked the fiddle over. He peeked inside the F-holes as if he could see what had been making the noise. Whatever he saw or didn’t see there, he wasn’t impressed. He dropped the fiddle into the grass.
Aiden flinched and swallowed a cry of protest. He wasn’t the only one. Two of the women who had joined the scene cried out as well. To Aiden’s surprise, they barked at the brave as though they were admonishing him. One bent to pick up the fiddle. She held it as though it was a sacred object. Like the shouting brave, she looked inside the F-holes. Then she spoke with a kind of reverence and handed it to her friend, who also peeked inside. The two women murmured to each other, excited curiosity in their eyes, even when the shouting brave said something dismissive and sarcastic.
“It’s a fiddle,” Aiden told the woman. He had no idea how much sway women held in an Indian village, but if it was anything like back home in Ireland, the women could be his salvation. “It’s a stringed instrument, and that one happens to be my lifeblood.”
The women continued to mutter, handing the fiddle over to another group of women who had come to see what was going on. It was then passed to the old man. They all looked inside the F-holes. One of the women accidentally plucked a string, causing a single staccato note. They all hummed in amazement.
The braves were less amused. They grumbled while the others murmured. One of them earned a sharp look from the woman who had first picked up the fiddle. The shouting brave hadn’t forgotten what had drawn them all away from their other activities, though. Aiden watched him with one eye as he kept track of his fiddle with the other. When the shouting brave reached the end of his patience, he blurted out something that sounded dangerously like a threat and grabbed Aiden’s arm.
Aiden had no time to react. The brave tugged at him, shaking him and shouting. He balled a fist, but before he could throw a punch, half
a dozen of the women that had gathered swelled up in protest. Something of a fight broke out between the men and the woman. Aiden wished more than anything that he could understand what was being said.
“I mean you no harm,” he added his own voice into the comments being hurled back and forth. “I’m not even armed. I’m just trying to find the woman I love, Katie.”
The other two braves must not have liked that he was speaking, or else they didn’t like something that had been said in the argument. They surrounded Aiden and grabbed hold of him. One wrenched the bow out of his hand and tossed it to the ground before twisting his arms around his back. Aiden grunted in pain. At least one of the women scooped up his bow before it could be damaged.
“Please,” he tried again. “I’m looking for a woman who was taken from Ft. Caspar last night. She’s beautiful, with curly red hair and emerald green eyes. I need to find her. I love her.”
The shouting brave snapped something loud and angry at him, threatening him with a fist. This time, the old man hushed him and spoke in a tone that wiped the fury off of the shouting brave’s face. The old man raised his voice, and everyone who had gathered—a considerable number now—perked up to listen. Aiden had no idea what he said to make everyone nod, but he got the general idea when the entire mass began to move.
Still being held in a tight grip by two of the braves, Aiden was marched away from his hiding spot and into the heart of the village. All his hopes of lying low and figuring out if Katie was here were dashed. He was the center of attention, whether he liked it or not, and he had no idea if these Indians were all as peaceful and curious as the boy and the women, or if he would lose his scalp. At least the women continued to carry his fiddle and bow with reverence, and at one point he caught sight of the boy who had found him carrying his fiddle case. There was nothing to do but keep silent and wait to see what happened next.
