Hearing movement, Windhawk turned to see Wolfrunner behind him, staring down at the valley. “I have this feeling that whoever took your sister’s daughter did not come this way, my chief,” the young warrior observed.
“Why do you say this?”
“I have been thinking which way I would take if I wanted to throw someone off the trail and make it difficult to be tracked. I believe I would go to the north toward the Canadas. There are many mountains and rivers to cover one’s tracks in that direction.”
“As you know, I have sent your father and seven warriors toward the Canadas. They reported back that they found nothing.”
The young warrior looked at his chief. Like the rest of the tribe, he loved and admired this man. His heart was heavy for his chief’s grief. “I will go to the north and look for signs. No one can disappear without leaving some sign. If it is possible, I will bring your niece back to you.”
Windhawk looked at Wolfrunner. The young man was the eldest son of his good friend, Gray Fox. He remembered a time when Wolfrunner had been a baby, and Joanna had saved his life by slaying a wild boar. Since that time, Wolfrunner had been a favorite of Joanna’s, and she loved him almost like a son. He was a brave and fearless warrior. Several winters past, Windhawk had given him the name “Wolfrunner” because of his daring and bravery.
“If that is your wish, I will not say no. Perhaps you can find something which has been overlooked.”
“If she is out there, my chief, I will find her and bring her back,” he vowed once more.
Windhawk smiled at the young warrior. “I will trust you to do that. I cannot think who would dare lay hand to someone who belongs to me. I have many enemies, but this one is bold if he will come into my village and take from me. If you find who has done this thing, bring them back to me if you can. Take someone with you if it is your wish.”
“I would rather go by myself, my chief, because I can travel faster alone,” Wolfrunner said, turning his dark eyes northward. His mind wandered to the slight girl who was not accustomed to the harsh ways of the wilderness. He didn’t like her very well, but for his chief’s and Joanna’s sake he would not give up until he found her, dead…or alive.
Danielle looked down at her soiled and torn skirt. Her hair was a mass of tangles. She knew her face was dirty and streaked from the tears she had shed. Her hands were tied behind her. A second rope was tied about her neck, then looped over the arm of the scar-faced Indian.
They were camped in a deep canyon, with high rock walls on three sides. It appeared to Danielle that the Indians no longer feared pursuit, because they had built a campfire. She had lost count of the days they had been traveling, but she knew they always moved in a northerly direction.
Danielle was almost weak with hunger, having eaten nothing since her abduction. She wished she’d eaten the corn the Indian had tried to force on her that morning. She could smell the delicious aroma of the rabbit that was cooking on a spit and felt her stomach growl. Would the Indians share their bounty with her tonight, she wondered, or would they try to force her to eat the dry corn?
For the most part, the two men ignored her, and that suited Danielle just fine. She listened to their guttural talk wishing she could understand what they were saying. She knew they were discussing her by the way they kept nodding in her direction. Perhaps they were at that very moment deciding her fate…good or bad.
Danielle still had no notion as to what these Indians wanted with her. She studied them both now. The one with the scar down his face was much older than the other. He always seemed sullen and quiet. The younger of the two she judged to be about her own age. He seemed to look at her strangely as if he feared her, or perhaps he feared what would happen to him because of her. A new thought came to her—he was frightened of Windhawk!
The scar-faced man removed the rabbit from the spit. Carving off a small slice, he threw it in Danielle’s direction and it landed on the ground. She couldn’t reach for the meat since her hands were tied behind her, so she strained forward to pick the meat up with her mouth. She had almost reached the delicious-smelling meat when the Indian yanked on the rope that was tied about her neck and dragged her back.
Tears of pain and humiliation stung Danielle’s eyes. The harder she struggled, the more the man pulled on the rope, causing it to cut off her breathing. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, Scar Face kicked her in the stomach and sent her sprawling backward. She gasped for breath—the pain in her throat was like an open wound. Doubling up in agony, she felt a burning in her stomach. Just when everything started going black, he released the rope. Apparently the man grew weary of his cruel game—or perhaps he didn’t want her dead.
Danielle lay with her face in the dirt, feeling as low as a human could sink. The man had made her grovel, but he wouldn’t do it again, she vowed. Raising her head, she gave him a cold glare. As hungry as she was, she wouldn’t touch the meat. Let him kill her if he wished; there were far worse things than death. The loss of one’s pride was much worse than dying. Danielle didn’t realize she was changing. She didn’t know that the part of her that came from her Indian mother cried out in protest against being humbled by this man.
Scar Face seemed to sense the change in Danielle. He motioned for her to pick up the meat, but she merely stared at him defiantly.
Standing up, he walked toward her slowly. Jerking on the rope, he pulled her to her feet. Again Danielle felt her breathing closed off, and she threw her head back, gasping for precious air.
“You will eat the meat. Eat or I will slice your heart from your body,” Scar Face ordered in a harsh tone.
Danielle couldn’t understand his words, but she knew what he said. She shook her head. “I will not eat. I would rather you kill me now.”
In spite of his hatred for this Blood Blackfoot maiden, Scar Face had to admire her spirit. Surely this daughter of Windhawk was also touched by the spirits. Her courage bothered him, as bravery will always make a coward feel uneasy. “Why do you speak to me in white man’s tongue, Sky Dancer?” he asked in halting English.
Danielle stared at him in disbelief. This man had abducted her, thinking she was Sky Dancer! Perhaps if she could make him realize he had made a mistake, he would release her. “I am called Danielle James—I come from Philadelphia. Sky Dancer is my cousin. I speak to you in English because I cannot speak the Blackfoot language.” She spoke slow and distinctly, hoping to make him understand.
His eyes half closed, and he smiled, causing the hideous scar to pull the corner of his mouth up, distorting his whole face. “Do you think me a fool? Do I not know who you are? Have I not seen you with your brother one summer back at the Piegan village? Do you not know me, Scar Face?”
“That wasn’t me you saw. I only recently came to the Blackfoot village to stay with my aunt and uncle. My father is not Windhawk; my father is Flaming Hair’s brother, Taggart James.”
Sinister laughter issued from his lips. “You speak not the truth. I know about the Flaming Hair’s brother. When he was but a boy, he was once a captive of my father, Running Elk. It was because of him that my father is dead. Windhawk came to my village to get him and slew my father. I took you to avenge my father’s death.”
Danielle was thoughtful for a moment. She had heard the story of how Windhawk had rescued her father from the Piegan Blackfoot chief. What this Indian didn’t know was that it was not Windhawk who had killed his father that day, but her own father, Taggart James. Scar Face unknowingly had the right person in Danielle, but he didn’t know it. She decided it would do no good to try and prove who she was, he wouldn’t believe her anyway.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, raising her eyes to him and trying to mask her fear.
“It is not for you to know. When the time comes you will cry and beg me for mercy. I will hear you cry out many times before I am through with you. You are dirt beneath my feet, half white woman.”
His eyes dropped down to Dan
ielle’s blouse that had been ripped open in their struggle. She cringed inside, knowing a new fear. Her breasts were clearly visible and there was no way she could cover herself since her hands were tied. She could do no more than suffer his leering glance in silence.
His hand went up to stroke the scar on his face, while his eyes traveled over her scantily clad body. “Yes, Sky Dancer, you will cry out many times before I have had my fill of you. You will not look like a Blood princess when I have finished with you. You will be dead like my father.”
Scar Face jerked forward on the rope and brought her tumbling against him. A shudder racked her body as his filthy hands came up to the back of her neck and he forced her to look at him.
“I say you have never been with a man before. No man would have dared touch Windhawk’s daughter…but I would dare.”
Danielle turned her head away from his foul breath. Her heart was beating with fear. She had to think of a way to save herself.
She remembered her father once telling her that when Windhawk had been a young warrior, he had a vision of a white buffalo. At that time the Blackfoot were starving and her uncle had led his warriors to a place where the vision had told him to go. There they spotted a large herd of buffalo and among that number was the albino buffalo. Windhawk had walked among the animals until he came to the white beast. He slew the animal and ate its heart as the vision had told him to. Her father had told her that because of this, the Indians believed Windhawk to be the chosen of the Great Father. His enemies feared to harm him, lest they incur the wrath of the Napi. She decided it was best to pretend to be Sky Dancer and try to use the Indian’s superstition against him.
“Do you know why no man would touch me?” she asked, looking into the Indian’s eyes—showing no fear.
“I do not fear Windhawk as others do, Sky Dancer,” he said, smiling slightly. “If I wanted you, the thought of your father would not stop me.”
“That is a pity, because if you touch me you will die a long and agonizing death. Have you not heard of the white buffalo my father killed?”
For the first time she saw uneasiness creep into the Indian’s eyes. His friend appeared at his side and tugged at his arm. “What she says is true, Scar Face. Windhawk has the power of the white buffalo. Do not touch this Blood princess or you will die!”
Scar Face shifted his weight. He knew about Windhawk’s awesome power, and he decided it would not be worth testing it. Shoving Danielle down to her knees, he gave her an angry growl.
“You will eat the meat. I do not want you dead yet. I am taking you to a French trading post where you will be sold. Let the man who buys you suffer from Windhawk’s wrath. I do not want to touch you.”
Danielle felt herself go weak all over. A sob rose up in her throat and she bit her lip. Apparently Scar Face had believed the story about her uncle and didn’t want to chance the consequences.
Feeling herself fortunate to have gotten off so easy, she picked up the meat and ate it hungrily. She didn’t want to test Scar Face’s patience any further. It would be best to avoid provoking his anger if possible.
That night as she lay on a bed of soft green grass, Danielle looked at the star-bright sky. She felt different somehow. It was as if all semblance of civilization had been stripped from her. The only thought in her mind at the moment was how to survive. She closed her eyes, calling on all her strength to face what lay ahead.
She didn’t know which would be worse—to be sold to some French trapper, or to have the Indians kill her.
For the first time in her life, Danielle knew what it felt like to be cold and hungry. She felt so alone—was there no one to come to her rescue? Tears spilled from her eyes and her thoughts were of her father who was far away.
Since the Indians no longer feared they might be followed, they must think that her Uncle Windhawk would be unable to track them. Her thoughts turned to her Indian mother. “Mother, I have denied you for so long. Please send your people to save me,” Danielle whispered in a painful voice.
Wolfrunner bathed his face in the small stream, and gazed up at the sky. It seemed as if someone, or something, was beckoning to him—pushing him almost beyond endurance. He had ridden for days and nights, only stopping to rest his horse. As he lay back on the cool grass, he could see Danielle as she had been the day they had gone riding. She had been haughty and insulting, but she had spirit. How long could she survive in this country?
Again it seemed he could hear a voice whispering to him, or was it only the wind?
Chapter Twelve
Skyler stood very still as her aunt laced up the back of her satin gown. Drawing in a deep breath, she hoped she could get through the evening without bursting out of her lacings.
Glancing in the mirror, she saw that the deep, wine-colored gown made her skin appear delicate and golden in color. A satin ribbon of the same color was wound through her hair, and Skyler wondered if Morgan Prescott would think her beautiful.
“My dear, you are simply lovely. It makes me yearn for my younger days just to look at you,” Alexandria observed, smiling brightly.
Skyler glanced at the deep vee that slashed down the bodice of her gown. The swell of her breasts was just visible above the neckline—her eyes went to her aunt. “Is it proper for a girl to show so much of her bosom, Aunt Alexandria? It feels almost indecent.”
Her aunt smiled and turned her around. “It is very proper, my dear. Just take satisfaction in knowing you will be the prettiest girl at the party tonight.”
“I wish you and Uncle Tag were coming with me,” the young girl said wistfully.
“Don’t fret, you are going to have a wonderful time tonight. Morgan Prescott is very respectable and he will see to it that you are not left alone.”
Skyler knew it would do no good to tell Alexandria that she didn’t want to be alone with Mr. Prescott. She would just have to endure the evening, but she was very sure she would never again accept an invitation if she knew Morgan Prescott was also going to attend.
Skyler ran her hand down the skirt of the wine-colored creation, loving the feel of the soft satin. Alexandria gave her niece a look of approval as she handed her a pair of white lace gloves to complete her toilette.
“You look lovely, my dear. One would think you were born to wear satin and lace.”
“It all seems so senseless to me to dress in such a fashion to ride on a boat. One would expect to dress more practically for such an occasion.”
Alexandria laughed. “You would cause quite a stir were you to show up in buckskin and moccasins. Before too long you will become accustomed to wearing all the folderol that goes into the dressing of a young lady.”
“That would be foolish since I will never again have an opportunity to dress in such a fashion once I return to my home, Aunt Alexandria.”
“I have something for you that I think you will like very much, Skyler.” Her aunt’s eyes sparkled.
“What is it?” Skyler asked, watching her remove some kind of necklace from a black velvet chest.
Alexandria held up a golden locket that shimmered in the lamplight. “This locket was your mother’s when she was a young girl. I’m told it was given to Joanna by her mother on her sixteenth birthday.”
Skyler reached for the golden locket feeling tears moisten her eyes. “It is lovely.”
“Let me show you something,” Alexandria said, opening the locket and handing it back to Skyler.
“Oh, it is a picture of my mother and…Uncle Tag when they were young.”
“Indeed it is.”
“May I wear it?”
“Yes. It belongs to you.” Alexandria turned Skyler around and fastened the necklace about her neck. “There are many jewels that belonged to your mother and grandmother James that Tag has been saving for you. Many of them are valuable.”
“Shouldn’t the family jewels go to you and Danielle?” Skyler asked, touching the locket that fell between her breasts.
“Some of them have, but Tag and y
our grandfather James decided that you are to have most of them. I’ll show them to you one day next week.”
“Thank you” was all Skyler could manage to say past the lump in her throat.
Alexandria ushered her toward the bedroom door. “Come. You are not to dwell on homesickness tonight. I want you to have a good time. In fact I insist upon it.”
Skyler took a deep breath as they neared the staircase. She felt like she was being forced to do something against her will, and there seemed no way out. She feared spending the whole evening with Morgan Prescott. Suppose he drew all her secrets out of her? Suppose he made her tell him things that were better left unsaid?
Morgan was standing in the entry way talking to Tag. Hearing someone coming down the stairs, he glanced quickly up and saw a vision of loveliness floating down the stairs in a frothy, wine-colored satin gown. His eyes drank in Skyler’s beauty. His heart seemed to stop and he felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. Her back was straight and her head erect. There was a proud, almost stubborn tilt to her chin.
Even from the distance that separated them, he could see her eyes sparkling—he drew in his breath. Never had there been a woman to rival Skyler Dancing. Her beauty was of such that poems and sonnets were written. In that moment he felt compelled to look away. She was so lovely it was almost physically painful to look upon her.
Tag moved forward to take his niece’s hand and help her down the last few steps. “You are a vision, my dear. I wish your mother could see you now,” he said softly in her ear.
Skyler’s eyes traveled to Colonel Morgan Prescott. His blue dress uniform fit his tall frame to perfection. The brass buttons and gold epaulets lent elegance to the uniform. She felt a tightening in her throat as she watched the soft light fall on his golden head. To her he appeared like some young golden god out of a Greek myth.
Stepping forward, he bowed and his eyes laughingly caressed her face. “Good evening, Miss Dancing. I will be the envy of every man tonight when I enter with you on my arm.”
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