Ice Princess

by Judith B. Glad

"Back when you first come with Silas, the first thing I thought was that you was the prettiest thing I ever see...saw." His voice was soft, now, and reflective. "Then I got to know you and I thought you was the nicest, honestest woman I ever met. Even more than Hattie." His big, dark eyes, captured her gaze, held it. "You always said what you was thinkin' but you always said it kindly." His almost-smile flickered across his face. "And you wasn't ever afeared of me."

  "Afraid? Of you?" Flower hesitated. Even at their first meeting she had sensed a gentle strength in him. "No," she admitted, "I wasn't. Not then."

  "But now you do?"

  "Well, I ..." Flower bit her lip. No matter what she said, she would be admitting more than she wished. She simply shook her head. "Go home, William. Just go home."

  He shook his head. "I reckon not," he said.

  "Seems to me you don't know what you wants." He was tired of being patient. "You wants to be left alone, but you wants company. You hates men, but you're plannin' on takin' a ship across that there ocean with a whole passel of 'em. And you're hurtin', but you won't let anyone give you solace. Dammit, woman, make up your mind."

  "You're angry."

  "Naw, I ain't angry," he drawled. "I been whupped and branded. I been half-drownded, and I been tied up in the sun and left to lay in my own shit. How come you think I be mad at bein' drugged and left behind?" He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. "Woman, you'd make a strong man cry, you're so dam' stubborn."

  She jerked free. "Don't touch me!"

  Deliberately he wrapped his big hand around her wrist and held on, despite her struggles. "You know I ain't gonna harm you."

  She kicked at him then, as her other hand pulled the knife from its sheath. Before William could react, he felt the burn of a sharp blade across his forearm and saw the blood welling from a long, shallow cut. "Let me go," she demanded again, as he rolled atop her and caught the flailing hand that held the knife. "Let me go!"

  "Not 'til you quiets down and listens to me," he said, holding her as well as he could. Lawdy, but she was strong for such a little mite.

  It broke his heart to hear her wordless cries and her gasps as she fought him. Gritting his teeth, he avoided the worst of her scratching fingernails, her snapping teeth. He held her just tight enough to keep her from breaking free. Something told him that if he fought back, she'd never stop resisting him.

  Half the Injuns in the country could have snuck up on them as they thrashed and battled on the dusty ground. William couldn't stop them rolling down the hill and into their camp, but he didn't worry much over the bruises and bumps he got. He did his best to protect her from the worst of it though, despite her wild struggles that didn't leave him much leeway.

  When her fingers stabbed at his eyes, he decided he'd had enough. He wrapped his legs around hers and caught her hands in one of his. With the other, he held her head tight against his chest, careful to give her just enough room to catch her breath. The heat of her against him made his own body surge in response. He adjusted their positions so that her soft breasts didn't lie so sweetly against his chest, so that the warmth of her belly didn't cradle his sex quite so well. He couldn't recall doing a more difficult thing his whole life.

  For a long time they lay that way, as her struggles gradually ceased. William didn't fool himself that he'd won. He'd simply wore her out.

  "You gonna lay there and listen to what I gots to say?" he said when she hadn't moved for several minutes.

  She nodded against his chest.

  He rolled off her carefully, not wanting her to feel the way his body still was aware of hers.

  The instant he no longer touched her, Flower scrambled to her feet. Her knife was gone, lost somewhere in their struggles, but she still had her teeth--and the conviction that William would never seriously hurt her. "Don't touch me," she snarled. "Don't ever touch me again."

  "I didn't mean you no harm," he said in the same gentle tone she'd heard him use with the horses. "All I wanted was for you to listen to what I had to say."

  "You have nothing to say to me," she told him, moving carefully away. "Don't move!" she snapped when he took a step toward her. Backing, she found her pack with the edge of her foot. Quickly she swooped down and pulled the skinning knife from its sheath on the side of the pack. "William, I don't want to hurt you," she said, "but I will if you don't walk away and leave me alone."

  A wave of desolation washed over her, even as she spoke. If William wasn't there, no one would be. She had never been alone in her life, not until this past winter. And that long, cold season had taught her how empty, how forlorn life could be. But he was, perhaps, a greater danger to her than all the Pyzen Joes in the world, for he tempted her. He promised to love her. He promised her a future.

  And the cost was that she stay in this godforsaken land where there was no safety, no refuge from the wicked, no assurance that tomorrow would ever come.

  "Listen to me, William. You have a choice. I can tie you up and let you take your chances, or I can leave you untied with the promise that you won't follow me." He stood where he had been, a good fifteen feet from her, but she didn't trust him. She'd seen how quickly he could move, if the need arose. "Which will it be?"

  "Reckon you'd better tie me then, woman. 'Cause there's no way I's gonna promise not to follow along behind you." He held his hands toward her, fists clenched.

  Not taking her eyes off him, Flower reached into her pack and felt around until she found the packet of rawhide strips. She tugged one loose. "Come here."

  "I reckon not," he said, his eyes daring her to try and force him.

  Flower bit her lip. She didn't trust him.

  Yes, she did. She trusted him to trick her if he thought he could get away with it. "Turn around," she said, still keeping her distance, "and put your hands behind you."

  "I reckon not."

  She bit her lip. Gripping her knife more tightly, she stepped toward him and whipped the thong around his wrists. He stood quietly, letting her tie them together. Neither did he move when she knelt to tie his ankles together. Once he was secure, she pulled the long knife from his belt, then ran her hand down his spine. Sure enough, he carried another inside the back of his shirt, as Emmet had taught him. She pulled it out, too. "Sit down," she told him, no longer fearing that he would grab her.

  He shook his head. "I like standin'."

  "Oh, for..." She put her hands against his chest and pushed.

  He fell backwards bonelessly, lay unmoving.

  For an instant, Flower was certain she'd somehow killed him, then she saw the gleam of his eyes. He was watching her. She had a sudden sympathy for a cat's prey, then told herself she was being fanciful.

  He lay limp and unresisting as she looped a thong from his wrists to his ankles and pulled it just tight enough that he couldn't stand.

  All the while she felt his eyes watching her, felt them like ghostly hands upon her face.

  After testing his bonds, Flower rolled him, unresisting, farther from her pack. Even if he could roll back, there was precious little inside it that could help him escape. "I'll be back," she told him. "Don't go away."

  A grunt was her only answer, and she regretted her sad attempt at humor. It had not been funny. Not at all.

  Her knife lay on the ground not far from where she'd been keeping vigil at the crest of the hill. Running a finger along the blade, she checked to make sure that it had not been damaged in their scuffle. Satisfied, she went back down the slope and found William in the same place, the same position she had left him.

  "I will go now," she said. "But I will leave your knives here for you. All you have to do is reach them and you can cut yourself free." She laid the knives on a hummock a good ten yards from him. Quickly she tossed the packsaddle on the mule and tied her pack and the food bags to it. Her bedroll went across Windchaser's back, secured with a wide leathern strap.

  All the while she fought to stifle the guilt she felt at leaving him alone in the midst of the wil
derness. Without a gun, without a horse, and without food.

  No, she could not leave him without food. She dug around in the linen bags that held their food and pulled out the flitch of bacon and the cornmeal. Dividing them unevenly, she gave him the smaller portions, wrapping them in scraps of cured skin. There was enough to take him back to Cherry Vale. And if she ran short before she reached the falls of the Willamette, she could always hunt.

  As an afterthought, she laid one of the gold coins he'd given her beside the food and the knife. "I'm sorry, William. But I must do this. Please understand."

  Not even a grunt answered her, although she could still feel him watching her every move.

  Flower told herself she hadn't any choice, not if she was to survive as the person she was. She did not fear William as she did other men--why was that, she wondered yet again--but he was a man and he had the power and the ability to hurt her as had those other men.

  She had felt his turgid manhood when he rolled atop her, had known that he was aroused. It was not fair that he would have no satisfaction of her. She was cold, frozen to her very core, and could never be to a man more than a lifeless, loveless puppet.

  William deserved more. He deserved a woman who could respond to him, could appreciate the warmth and love he had to offer.

  She was doing him a great favor, riding out of his life.

  Turning she stared back into the gathering darkness, but was unable to see into the shallow draw where they'd made camp.

  Yes, she was doing William a great kindness, and someday he would understand.

  She hoped.

  Watching her ride away, William lamented his foolishness. He'd let his mad get the best of him, and now look at the fix he was in. She'd not forgive him easy this time.

  On the other hand, she wasn't too awful mad at him either, if the looseness of his bonds was any sign. He'd tightened his fists to make his wrists bigger when she tied him, but he could've got loose even if he hadn't. Despite the heaviness in his heart, he had to chuckle. If he didn't know just how fierce she could be, he'd worry about her safety.

  But his Flower could lick her weight in wildcats, no doubt about it. It was the two-legged skunks he was worried about, the ones like Pyzen Joe and his band. It was up to him to make sure she didn't get tangled up with any of them on her way to wherever she was headed.

  The moon hadn't moved its width across the sky before he was free of the rawhide thongs she'd bound him with. He thought about following her, then realized he could lose her in the dark. Now that they were off the wagon trail, he had no idea where she'd go.

  He looked around the hollow where they'd camped and saw that she'd left his pack and bedroll, along with a couple of packets of food. No, she ain't too mad at me.

  Maybe he'd been crazy, letting her tie him up the way she had. His belly was still clenched from when he'd first felt the thongs tighten around his wrists. Bein' tied and helpless scairt him more'n anything else. He rubbed his wrist, remembering the last time he'd been tied.

  I reckon she remembers just as good as me.

  No, he'd done the right thing. Flower needed to know he wouldn't use his strength and size to force her to do anything but listen to what he had to say.

  His sleep was troubled, with vague dreams of danger and pain. Not since Mist' Em had pulled him from the river, half-drowned, had he suffered from such nightmares. As soon as the sky began to lighten, he sat up, worn out with fighting the nighttime demons.

  William rolled the food and his coat into his bedroll. It was a bigger load than he usually carried, him who'd come so far with only a rusty folding knife and a hank of string for snares. But he'd eat the bacon quick enough, and make up the cornmeal into some dodgers the first time he built a cooking fire.

  Sure would miss having coffee, though. He'd developed a powerful taste for it since coming to live with Hattie and Mist' Em.

  He walked until the sun was overhead, following the fresh trail of a horse and a mule. She hadn't tried to hide where she'd gone, and he wondered at that. Maybe she wants me to cotch up with her.

  "And maybe she don't." With each step, he thought what he could have done different. Could he have kept her from making up her mind to go off and leave him?

  Flower was powerful troubled, and it seemed to him like she was making her troubles worse by worrying 'em like a dog with a sore paw. She'd been hurt something awful, but she was still alive. Maybe what she needed was something that would make her see what good there was in her life.

  He surely wished he knew what that might be.

  When he finally settled for the night, he slipped into a restless sleep, full of images of Flower--smiling down at Hattie's brand-new baby like she held a treasure in her arms; naked to the waist and covered with bruises as they fled the bloodthirsty renegades; looking lost and defeated as she stared into the flickering fire at Buff's cabin.

  But the picture that came back again and again was the day in Cherry Vale when he'd asked her to be his woman.

  For a single instant she'd smiled up at him, glowing with all-too-brief joy. Then the shadows had returned to her eyes and she'd said, "I cannot, William. I am soiled and corrupt. You deserve something better than I can ever be again."

  Each time he heard her words, he woke, feeling as if he could weep, yet so full of rage at her rapists that his whole body shook.

  What was he going to do? She needed him, whether she knew it or not. Needed him to deal with the men she'd encounter along her way.

  But he was scairt. He'd never admit it to her, only to himself. He was so scairt sometimes his belly ached.

  No matter where they went, there would be white men, and some of 'em was bound to be from the South. They'd see him, a big buck Nigra, and they'd know he was a slave. He didn't reckon they was any slave-takers this far from Alabama, but that didn't make no difference. Any man could cotch him, turn him in for the reward.

  He'd kill himself before he'd be a slave again.

  You wouldn't be much good to Flower dead, now would you?

  If only he could be sure he'd be any good to her alive. All he had was a couple of knives and his spear.

  Restlessly he turned once again, willing himself to sleep. No use worryin' about what he couldn't fix.

  * * * *

  Flower watched her back trail all the next day, but saw no sign of William. Since leaving the wagon trail, she'd been in new country, and she had to get back to the trail before it started its torturous climb up the Burnt River. Bearing ever north by northwest, she made poor time, for she frequently stopped and looked backward.

  On the second day she emerged from a narrow draw and spied a hilly profile she recognized. Burnt River was just ahead. Even better, there was a narrow box canyon off to the north of the trail that she remembered from a long ago journey with her parents. It held a minute seep, enough to water two horses and a person, as long as none were overly thirsty. The best part was the stretch of bare limestone in its entrance, hard rock that few trackers could read.

  A curious twisting sensation in her belly gave her pause. Don't be silly, she told herself. Of course you don't want to be found.

  There were other men out there besides William. Men who owed her no goodwill. Men who would see her only as a squaw, ripe for the taking.

  Dear William. If only she deserved him. If only she could be to him the wife he wanted. He was so kind, so gentle, so good.

  But she could not. Her nightmares were no less frequent, no less terrifying, than they'd been right after her escape from Pyzen Joe's band. Her body had not healed either. She had not had her monthly flow since the rape, yet the renegades had not made her pregnant.

  * * * *

  The shadows were long when William heard the mule's raucous call. He paused, looked around. The bray had been quickly cut off, as if someone had caught the animal's mouth and held it shut.

  Flower was about, somewheres.

  He retraced his steps, and still he almost missed it again. The nar
row crack in the hillside was half-hidden by a big cedar tree, growing from a crack in slick, light-colored rock. He slipped behind the tree and saw that the canyon extended back, curving so that he could only see into it a man-length. Cautiously he moved ahead, keeping close to the shadowy wall.

  The soft thud of a hoof on dirt warned him he was close. He stooped, pick up a pebble, and tossed it ahead. It rattled against the rock, and the horse made another cut-off whicker.

  William flattened himself against the rocky wall of the crack, eased forward a step, then two. With a deep breath, he took a last step around the bend.

  And ducked away from the shining blade that had been aimed at his throat. Rolled, and came up on the other side of the mule.

  "You gotta stop and think afore you pulls that knife, woman," he said when a quick flash of her eyes showed she recognized him. "Sooner or later you're gonna kill somebody. Then you be in real trouble."

  Her face went blank and she huddled in on herself. "I know," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I would have killed you," she admitted. "I wanted to. As I wanted to kill the clerk." Her voice rose in pitch until it was high and shrill. "William, I wanted to kill him and all he did was speak harshly to me."

  "You surely do got a powerful anger with all us men," he said, resisting the urge to take her into his arms, to comfort her. "Can't say as I blames you."

  "I hate you...them," she said. "I cannot forget what they did to me..."

  "They's all dead, them bassards what done that to you. That fat little piss-ant the other day, the worse he done was call you a fisheater. That and try to cheat you." He'd wanted to gut the clerk himself, for treating his Flower like dirt. "You can't go along hatin' and fearin' every man you sees."

  "I do not fear you," she said, sounding surprised. Then slapped her palm over her mouth, as if to stop any more foolish words.

  William wished he could read what was in her eyes, but he could see only the dim oval of her face in the deep shadows. "Ain't no reason to," he agreed.

  "You do not understand. The very sight of a man causes a paralyzing fear within my breast." She moved, touching herself, and William wished it was his hand resting on those enticing curves.