He didn’t answer, either too weak or perhaps turning over the wisdom of her words in his mind. Anyway, staked out as he was, he didn’t have a great deal of choice in the matter. As a man, all this must gall him, she thought–especially as a white man who seemed as if he were used to having people obey his orders without question.
Rand looked up at the girl. In the semidarkness, her face was shadowed, but from his hazy memory of the camp circle, he knew that she was pretty. In his delirium he had mistaken her for the elegant Lenore Carstairs. Lenore had black hair, too. Wouldn’t his fiancee be furious at the comparison? There was something unusual about this savage little bitch that pulled at his mind: What was it?
An unusually pretty Indian girl, he thought, with ebony braids and dark skin, but not nearly as dark as the others. His throbbing leg made his mind a blur.
At least he was alive, if only temporarily. Maybe that was something to be grateful for. He had fully expected to be gelded, scalped alive, and then slowly tortured to death with fire. From the mixed bits of Lakota and English he’d heard, he understood they were keeping him alive as a hostage and maybe to be used as a slave.
Rand shuddered at the thought. How ironic that a man who was heir to one of the biggest plantations and thoroughbred farms in Kentucky, complete with several hundred blacks, was a slave himself in this camp.
Rand tried to clear his mind enough to think about his options. Even if he got the ropes off, he couldn’t travel far with that wound. He needed to bide his time until his leg healed enough to escape.
He watched the girl finish with the bandage. She resumed washing his body. He pretended to be unconscious so he could observe her without her realizing he did so. Very pretty and probably not more than fifteen or sixteen and a widow in mourning, judging from the cuts on her arms and her torn clothes. The Indians mated them young, he thought in disgust. A girl that age back home would be in school.
He felt her washing his naked skin and sighed. It felt so good, even though he was trussed and couldn’t move. He was at the mercy of her whims, he knew. Whatever she did to him, probably no one in the camp would care or question. If she decided later to slash his throat and let him bleed to death, or geld him, torture him, or whatever, no one around here knew or cared that he was Randolph Erikson of Randolph Hall plantation or that he came from money and social position. In this camp, he was going to be a lowly slave, and he was helpless to do anything about it until his leg healed. A man who couldn’t walk could not escape.
Her hands moved gently down his naked body as she washed him. He closed his eyes, tried to forget the throbbing pain of his thigh and concentrate on her hands touching him. In his mind, he imagined her as the slave, doing as she was ordered, washing every inch of his body while he lay back lazily and enjoyed it. It was also very arousing to have his wet, soapy flesh stroked by her small hands.
When he managed to escape, he might kidnap this girl and take her with him. Kimimila. Butterfly. Her small hands caressed his skin. Yes, Butterfly was a good name for her. If she were in a fancy brothel, she could earn good money for herself doing just what she was doing at this very moment, tantalizing a man with her velvet touch. He should be ashamed of himself for what he was thinking. It wasn’t gallant at all. Besides she wasn’t much more than a child.
He had not had a woman in a long time. Even with his leg aching, he looked at this girl’s full, ripe lips and remembered the hot, honeyed taste when he had pulled her mouth down on his to shut her up in his futile escape attempt. Girl? She had a woman’s body. As she moved, he saw the swell of her full breasts beneath the soft doeskin of her shift.
He must not think about that right now, or what he would like to do to this girl. He wouldn’t even need to tie her up to enjoy the fantasy he imagined. He’d humble her all right. She had ordered him to beg like a dutiful dog. He knew about women; he had charmed enough of them. Before this was over, he intended that she would be the one who was doing the begging.
However, all that would take time–time for his leg to heal so he could escape. In the meantime, he would have to behave like a whipped, dominated pup, which didn’t sit well with his upperclass arrogance.
When he finally got the chance, he’d teach this dark-haired little chit about obedience and domination. For now, all he could do was pretend to obey–to behave like a gelding so she would let down her guard. He would charm this Indian girl into helping him escape when he was up to it. Indian girl. Abruptly he remembered what it was that had tugged at his mind when he stared into her eyes–that incredible fact. Now he looked up into her face to make certain. The sunlight streaming through the tipi flap reassured him that he hadn’t been either blind or crazy.
Indian girl? Rand’s eyes widened and he cursed under his breath. She might be a half-breed, but no more than that. She looked down at him, and he almost smiled as he saw her face in the light. He had almost begun to believe he had imagined it, but now, there was clearly no mistake. Kimi had bright green eyes.
Four
Kimi struggled for the white words and finally spoke in a mixture of English and Lakota. “Hinzi soldier, what are you staring at?” She glared at him. “What is it?”
He seemed to recover his composure. “I–I, nothing,” he said humbly and gave her a weak but engaging smile. “I reckon you are right. I’ll do whatever you want, and hope that eventually the army will ransom me. Forgive me for staring. I haven’t seen such a pretty girl in a long time.”
She searched for the English words, bristling with annoyance at his attempt to flatter her. “Do you think me some stupid whore to be bought cheap as the soldiers do the Pawnee or Crow chits that hang around the forts?” She didn’t trust him in this new meekness. She checked his bonds.
“I’m too weak to escape,” he whispered, “even if I weren’t tied up like a horse.”
“Remember that,” she cautioned. “You wouldn’t get very far on that leg before you were recaptured. Besides, you are a slave, a hostage, which makes your position around this camp even lower than a horse.”
Kimi touched the spirit object that hung between her full breasts under the doeskin shift, then reached for the quill work she was doing on a pair of fine moccasins. She was completing them out of habit. They had been meant as a gift for Mato. She felt ashamed and guilty that she had not even given her husband very much thought since his death. Her thoughts and emotions had been concerned only with the white man.
She sneaked a look at him. He seemed to be drifting off to sleep. As young and strong as he was, that leg should heal enough for him to get around in a few days. Then he’d be a real threat if she didn’t watch out.
In more than one way. Kimi tried not to look at the curve of his mouth, tried not to remember the taste of his lips when he had grabbed her in his escape attempt. She ought to turn the captive over to others to guard. But One Eye or any of the other families might mistreat him, and after all, with that wound, if he didn’t get good care, he could still get gangrene and die. A dead hostage wasn’t of much value or much assurance to the camp against attack.
He was asleep now, and she stared at him, thinking another girl might think him handsome. No doubt he was used to having any woman he wanted, playing with them as a bobcat might toy with its prey before devouring it. This Hinzi had obviously decided to try his charm on her, to get her to help him escape. Out of vengeance, she might play along, let him think he was charming her, but she was not the stupid little fool he seemed to think Indian girls were.
She went about her chores and let him sleep. Outside, when others asked about him, she shrugged and said she supposed he would live, as if it didn’t much matter whether he did or not.
Only her mother seemed tight–lipped and hostile. “I wish we had killed that soldier! Kimi, you should turn this prisoner over to the Shirt Wearers or the chiefs to look after. There might be talk with you spending so much time caring for him”
Kimi bristled. “Who would dare say such a thing? Our family r
eputation is without stain and I have only just buried a respected husband. I think only of the good of our people.”
Wagnuka looked ashamed. “You are right. It’s only that I fear . . .”
Kimi waited for her mother to finish, but the old woman only bit her lip.
“What is it you fear?” Kimi prompted.
“Nothing. I have said too much already. I fear to lose you, daughter.”
“Is that it?” With her left hand, she patted her mother’s arm reassuringly. “You think I would be swayed by some soldier’s lying tongue? I have heard what happens to the Indian girls they seduce and keep around the forts for their pleasure.”
“No,” she shook her gray braids, “It’s not just the soldiers. If the whites decide to take you away–”
“Mother, I will never leave you.” Kimi put her arm around the bowed, thin shoulders. “Now stop worrying about this one wounded soldier. He’s too weak to be of any real danger. Maybe later if the braves decide not to offer him for ransom, we might trade him to another tribe. Ever since the attack at Sand Creek a few moons ago, the Cheyenne have been eager to kill white soldiers.”
“Your father joined them in a revenge raid only a little more than one moon later,” Wagnuka remembered. “They nearly destroyed the town the whites call Julesburg. He spoke well of one big half-breed Dog Soldier, Iron Knife. Yes, our brothers, the Cheyenne, would deal harshly with any wasicu right now.”
Kimi shrugged carelessly. “Perhaps should we run across the Dog Soldiers in our summer hunts, we will trade them the soldier for their revenge. It matters little to me.”
Her mother nodded and shuffled off, apparently satisfied that her suspicions were unjustified; that it didn’t matter one way or another to her daughter what happened to the Hinzi.
When Kimi returned to the tipi later, he was awake. “Feeling better?”
He pulled at his thongs. “I’d feel much better if I could free my hands for a little while. My muscles are cramping.” He seemed to force himself to give her a charming smile.
Arrogant, dangerous, and trying to appear harmless. He must think of her as just another stupid squaw, Kimi frowned. She made no move to untie him.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
The question caught her off-guard, and she shook her ebony braids. “It is your people who hate mine. The soldiers come into our land, try to tell us where to live, what we must do, kill, hurt us–”
“I would never hurt you, Kimi, believe that.” His handsome face seemed sincere, his drawling voice gentle.
“Your tongue is as forked as the snake’s!” Kimi almost screamed it at him. “Yesterday, you helped kill my man!”
A look of sudden realization crossed his face. “So that’s what this is all about! Believe me, Kimi, I didn’t kill him. At heart, I’m not even a bluecoat.”
“You wear the uniform. Do you take me for a fool?”
He looked weak and a little weary. “I reckon in your position, I wouldn’t believe me, either.” He moaned softly. “My–my leg hurts. If you would untie it, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.”
“Why should I care whether it hurts you or not?” Yet she felt a little tug at her heart for his pain, despite herself.
He stared at her a long moment. “I don’t think you are as hard-hearted as you want me to believe. I saw the look on your face when the warrior handed you that knife.”
“I still might do it. Don’t goad me.” She glared back.
“I think not,” he said softly. “A good stallion is of more value than a gelding.”
Kimi laughed bitterly. “Not to me.”
“How do you know?” he whispered. “Have you ever ridden a stallion?” He stared deep into her eyes and his expression sent a heat running up and down her back that shook her a little.
She looked away first, furious at his double meaning. “I am a widow, of course I know.”
“I think the circulation is giving out in that leg,” he muttered. “Even a gelding is useless if he loses a leg.”
That alarmed her “Maybe,” she said grudgingly, “maybe I can at least untie your legs. After all, you are too hurt to escape.”
“Pilamaya,” he whispered. Thank you.
She untied his feet, too aware of the warmth of his body against her hand. Then she reached out and touched his forehead. “You’re burning with fever.”
He smiled weakly. “Perhaps I’ll die and you’ll lose your valuable slave....”
It was a possibility, Kimi thought, as she studied his wan face and watched him lick his dry lips. “Here, I have water.”
She had to cradle his head against her to lift his face up so he could drink without choking. The heat of his fevered flesh seemed to burn through her deerskin shift and into the softness of her breasts. She had a sudden vision of his face cradled against her bare nipple, his lips opening against it....
“You blush,” he said, “why?”
“Nothing!” She put his head back down and pulled away from him. She must not think about that anymore. Perhaps it was only natural that a woman who had only yesterday been a wife, but had never been mated, should think much about a man’s touch. “Why do you say you are not a bluecoat?”
“I wear the uniform. I am not really one of them,” he said. The dim light gleamed on his yellow hair. “Have you heard that the white men now fight each other?”
Kimi nodded. “Yes, but we do not understand it. Sometimes we hear that those in blue fight those in coats the color of smoke.”
“I was one of those in gray,” Hinzi drawled with a sigh. “I was captured, locked in a bluecoat prison with some of my fellows. Many died or lost their minds. I began to think I might die, too, if I didn’t get out.”
Kimi nodded in sudden understanding. “We have heard about the soldiers’ cages. Sometimes they put our warriors in them, too. Those who escape say it is a living death.”
The soldier nodded. “It is. I watched men die around me. Finally some of us were given a chance to save our lives by joining the bluecoats and coming West. I have no designs on your land. Those who wore gray only want to keep those in blue out of our country and live as we lived before.”
“So now you invade my land and kill my people.”
“It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” he asked ruefully. “I wasn’t sacrificing my life for a cause or even for love.”
“No sacrifice is too great for love,” Kimi whispered. She thought about her mother, her people. She had never known that kind of love with a man. She didn’t even want to think about it.
The soldier looked listless and ill. A sheen of sweat gleamed on his handsome face. She reached out slowly and put her hand on his forehead. His fair skin burned with fever. She wished she could get a shaman to look at his wound, but a lowly captive was beneath the dignity of any important Lakota. Like a mongrel dog of no value, it mattered little to anyone whether this soldier slave survived. Why should it matter to her?
But of course it didn’t, except for his value as a hostage. “Hinzi, are you hungry?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“You must eat. I’ll get you some broth.” She went out, came back with some steaming meat broth, sat down by him.
He smiled. “I could feed myself better.”
“I remember what happened last time you got an arm free,” Kimi said wryly.
“I haven’t forgotten either; believe that.” His look seemed so earnest that she was almost touched. Then she remembered also that whites were no more to be trusted than a sly coyote. She began to spoon the broth between his lips.
“Left-handed,” he said. “You’re unusual in more ways than one.”
She felt flustered in spite of herself. “No doubt you have kissed so many Indian girls, you wouldn’t know one from another.” She spooned broth into his mouth.
“Not many, but a few,” he admitted with a shrug. “There are several who hang around the fort.”
“Pawnee or Crow tramps!” Kimi sneered.
“Their men sell themselves to the whites as scouts, their women trade their bodies for a little whiskey or a few trinkets.”
“A man has needs,” he said and his gaze swept over her body. There was no doubt what he meant.
She finished feeding him the broth and watched as he drifted back off to sleep. Needs. Did women have needs too? She looked at his prominent manhood and sighed. Kimi reached out and put her fingertips on his forehead ever so gently. His skin felt like fire. He moved restlessly in his sleep, writhed in a way that dislodged the bandage. What was it he saw in his dreams? She hummed her spirit song and it seemed to calm him. He stopped thrashing about and smiled ever so slightly.
Did he dream of another woman? Kimi looked at the virile, half naked man, wondering suddenly how it would feel to have this stallion make a woman of her? Then she felt her face burn and was relieved his eyes were closed so that he could not see her flush and wonder what had caused it.
For the next several hours, when she was not busy with chores, she checked on the delirious soldier, bathing his big body with cool water. She was glad no one saw her do this. Wagnuka would not approve of her touching the man’s body. Not that he could harm her; his arms were still securely tied. In spite of his size and strength, he was a helpless prisoner, and she could do anything she wanted with him.
The thought that he was not really a bluecoat made her hate him a little less. Or was he lying? When he seemed restless, Kimi stroked his face and hummed her spirit song to him.
“Lenore ...” he whispered, “Lenore ...”
A white woman’s name. The thought annoyed her. She was doing everything for him, and yet he dreamed of another woman, a civilized woman far away.
In his delirium, he twisted again and Kimi took a cool cloth and stroked his face, sponging his half-naked body, trying to quiet him. If he kept moving and twisting, he might tear open that leg wound, and he was weak from loss of blood already.
Sioux Slave Page 6
