Beyond The Horizon

by Connie Mason

  “I am called Singing Rain.”

  “Thank God you speak English. Can you help me?”

  “I am powerless to help you return to your people,” Singing Rain said sadly. “I can only ease your mind about Mad Wolf’s intentions. If you obey Mad Wolf, you will not be harmed.”

  Mad Wolf grunted his approval. Singing Rain interpreted it as permission to continue. “Mad Wolf is a mighty warrior. You and your children will be amply provided for.”

  “Children! I—I don’t understand.” Deep in her heart she knew exactly what Mad Wolf wanted from her, but she had deliberately blanked it from her mind.

  “Mad Wolf isn’t required to mate with you,” Singing Rain tried to impress upon Shannon. “He could use you himself or give you to the other men to use as they please. He does you honor by taking you to wife. You must accept your new life.”

  “Never!” denied Shannon, her blue eyes wide with horror. “I won’t be a wife to a—a red savage!”

  “Enough!” Mad Wolf barked. “I will tell Little Firebird all she needs to know.” Grasping her wrist he pulled her along behind him.

  “Singing Rain! Don’t let him take me away!” Shannon beseeched.

  “Quiet!” Mad Wolf admonished. Harsh disapproval made him unnecessarily rough as he jerked her forward.

  Abruptly he halted before a tipi, threw open the flap, and flung Shannon inside. “What are you going to do?” she asked, looking around furtively for a way to escape.

  “I will send Crow Woman to you,” Mad Wolf said, unable to disguise the flare of desire turning his body to granite hardness. Never had he wanted a woman as badly as he did Little Firebird. His nostrils flared and his mouth quivered with a need that no other woman could assuage.

  “Who is Crow Woman?” Shannon demanded to know, “and why are you sending her to me?”

  Mad Wolf’s lips curled in a curiously smug smile. “Crow Woman is my wife. You will obey her.”

  “Your wife! Why do you want me if you already have a wife?”

  “It is our way,” Mad Wolf said tersely. “Tonight you will mate with me and share the chores with Crow Woman.” Having said all he intended, Mad Wolf turned to leave.

  “I won’t do it!” Shannon defied, eyes ablaze, her body tense. Mad Wolf merely smiled with chilling effect as he left the tipi.

  Shannon rushed to the entrance, lifting the flap and peering out—only to find one of Mad Wolf’s followers stationed outside. Whirling, she calmed down long enough to examine the interior of the tipi, hoping to find another way of escape.

  The tipi was surprisingly spacious. Four long poles held the buffalo hide in place with an adjustable flap at the top to either retain heat or provide ventilation. Wooden lodge pins held the skins in place and were easily removable so the tent could be folded for traveling. A firepit had been dug at its center for cooking; a tripod and buffalo-pouch cooking pot stood nearby. In addition to rolled buffalo-skin bedding, a backrest leaned against one of the poles. Several parfleches, used primarily for storage, hung from the walls, as did a medicine bag holding sacred items. A wooden bow and quiver with arrows also hung from the tent’s interior, but Shannon realized they’d be useless in her unskilled hands.

  Shannon was about to search the parfleches when the tent flap was flung aside and a woman, somewhere near her own age, entered. She was possessed of a striking handsomeness, but she was not pretty in a strictly feminine sense. She was tall; her figure was good but not extraordinary. Her coal-black eyes blazed at Shannon with implacable fury.

  “Who are you?” Shannon asked, backing away. The Indian woman was several inches taller and many pounds heavier than she. Shannon’s question was met with bared teeth and a snarl. “Are you Crow Woman?”

  “Crow Woman speaks no English.” Mad Wolf had entered behind Crow Woman. “Do not anger her. She is here at my bidding.” Then he turned abruptly and left the tent.

  Crow Woman advanced on Shannon, an unholy glint in her black eyes. Obviously the woman was less than pleased with the prospect other husband’s taking another wife. Shannon wasn’t happy about that herself. Then Crow Woman began tearing at Shannon’s clothes. Shannon protested vigorously, for all the good it did her. The woman’s strength was awesome, and soon Shannon stood gloriously nude before Crow Woman’s appraising glare. Shannon was stunned when the woman turned and left with every stitch of her clothes clutched in her hands.

  “Wait! My clothes!” Shannon’s temper flared as she raged at God for letting this happen. Surely this wasn’t in his plan for her. She knew she wasn’t always as good a person as her mother would like her to be, but she had a deep and abiding faith in God that did not waver despite her predilection for getting herself into trouble and expecting God to rescue her. This time she’d really done it!

  By the time Crow Woman returned with a pouch of water, Shannon had found a blanket to cover her nakedness. Crow Woman snorted in disgust and indicated that Shannon was to use the water for bathing. Shannon wanted to resist, but then relented, deciding she could indeed benefit from a bath. Using the blanket as a shield she washed hurriedly under Crow Woman’s menacing glare. When she finished, Crow Woman removed a soft doeskin dress from a basket and tossed it at Shannon. Grateful for any decent covering, Shannon shrugged into the single garment.

  The doeskin dress felt soft and exquisitely comfortable against her skin. A dull tan color and richly embroidered and fringed, it skimmed her body, falling in graceful lines to midcalf. Moccasins laced to her knees were provided somewhat grudgingly by Crow Woman. When Shannon was dressed Crow Woman pushed her outside, pinching her painfully when she failed to move fast enough. She set Shannon to the task of grinding dried corn into fine meal. Mad Wolf came by once, stared at her with expressionless eyes, then left. No one else seemed to pay her any heed except for Crow Woman, who observed Shannon with bitter resentment.

  The chore Shannon performed left sufficient time to ponder her fate and what was likely to happen to her tonight. She hadn’t entirely abandoned hope that God would somehow perform a miracle and arrange a rescue from this terrible situation. But with each passing hour she grew more doubtful. Shannon knew that when darkness arrived Mad Wolf would rape her, proving his mastery over her in the most basic way.

  Time and again her mind turned to Blade and how his kisses made her feel, the way his hands turned her flesh to liquid fire. What would have happened if she had succumbed to Blade’s desire and her own? she wondered wistfully. At least she would have known what to expect tonight. Without being told, Shannon knew Blade would have made her first time memorable.

  Then Shannon thought of her family—how much she loved them, how she longed to see them again—and resolve stiffened her spine. She would see them again. Stubborn to a fault, courageous, fiercely proud—just like all the Branigans—Shannon had already decided she wouldn’t submit easily to Mad Wolf. She might earn herself a beating, or worse, but she’d resist to her dying breath. Mama didn’t raise any timid girls, Shannon reflected, but if she ever needed the Branigan courage, it was now.

  Chapter Six

  Dusk brought a flurry of activity to the village as the women prepared supper. Shannon, instructed by Crow Woman, prepared a sort of fried bread made out of the cornmeal she had ground earlier. When the meal was prepared, Mad Wolf returned to the tipi, sitting in stoic contemplation while Shannon served him. Shannon felt his dark eyes follow her—probing, unfathomable, stark in their intensity—and she shuddered. Revulsion rose stark and black in her breast and panic nearly paralyzed her.

  Mad Wolf was so immersed in his fantasies of Shannon and how he would subdue and possess her that he failed to hear the commotion outside the tipi or the sound of voices raised in excitement. Even Crow Woman seemed unaware of the disturbance, her jealousy making her oblivious to all but Mad Wolf’s obsession with the white woman.

  “Leave us!” Mad Wolf snarled at Crow Woman, making a chopping motion toward the door. Slanting Shannon a malevolent glare, Crow Woman turned a
bruptly and left the tipi.

  “No! Don’t go!” Shannon cried, stiff with terror. She didn’t understand what Mad Wolf said but when Crow Woman left, she knew. Oh yes, she knew, but she wasn’t going to submit meekly.

  Eyeing the entrance of the tent in a speculative manner, Shannon came to a sudden decision. Gathering her courage, she bolted from the tipi, not caring where she went as long as it was far away from Mad Wolf. In her heart she knew she hadn’t a prayer of escaping Mad Wolf or leaving the village alive, yet Shannon ran—and ran—and ran straight into a massive bronze chest and a pair of arms that trapped her as effectively as steel bands. A ragged scream ripped from her throat.

  Blade rode into the village a few hours behind Mad Wolf and Shannon. He knew exactly where Mad Wolf was headed. Having spent many happy years there with his mother and father, he knew the precise location of the village. The last rays of the waning sun reflected off the broad expanse of his pale bronze chest and his buckskin clad legs clung firmly to the back of his saddleless gray pony. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes dark and potent with determination.

  The people watched curiously as Blade rode through the village, some hostile but most merely inquisitive. It had been ten years since anyone in the village had seen Swift Blade, and during those years his youthful form, though strong and powerful even then had matured into a finely tuned machine of muscle and brawn. He rode with the superb horsemanship of the Sioux, his body a part of the animal, his movements fluid and graceful. His carriage was proud, yet that part of him that was white was easily discernible in the light hue of his skin and slight wave to his thick black hair.

  Suddenly a tall young man burst forth from the throng of people, his face wreathed in smiles. “Swift Blade!”

  A wide grin parted Blade’s full lips as he brought one long leg over Warrior’s neck and slid from his broad back. Immediately one of the children sprinted forward to take the reins and lead the big gray away.

  “It is good to see you again, Jumping Buffalo,” Blade greeted warmly. “It has been many moons.” The two men embraced, clasping forearms and pounding each other on the back.

  “Your mother and grandfather have awaited your return.”

  “How are they?”

  Jumping Buffalo beamed. “Judge for yourself, they approach now.”

  Leaving Chief Yellow Dog behind, Singing Rain’s face was radiantly alive and happy as she rushed toward her tall son. She had prayed daily to Wakan Takan for his safe return, and at long last her prayers had been answered. Blade held out his arms and Singing Rain was swept into her son’s brawny embrace.

  “Mother,” he said with quiet dignity. “I am sorry about Father.”

  With stoic Indian fatalism, Singing Rain said, “He died bravely, my son. He killed the grizzly, but his wounds proved fatal. He survived but a few hours.”

  Yellow Dog reached Blade now, his faded eyes alight with fierce pride. “Welcome home, my grandson.

  “Thank you, Grandfather,” Blade answered with warm regard. He loved this wise old man dearly.

  “Have you come home to stay?”

  “Is Mad Wolf here?” Blade asked, deliberately disregarding Yellow Dog’s question.

  Yellow Dog and Singing Rain exchanged worried looks. “Why do you seek Mad Wolf?” Singing Rain asked cautiously.

  “Mad Wolf has stolen my woman.”

  “Your woman!” Singing Rain repeated, stunned. “Mad Wolf told us he stole Little Firebird from a wagon train.”

  “He did,” Blade said tightly. “Like a coward, he stole Shannon Branigan after I told him he couldn’t buy her. Like thieves in the night they came and took what was mine.” He turned and looked pointedly at Jumping Buffalo, his eyes accusing.

  Jumping Buffalo stepped forward, his expression indignant, his head held high. “I do not ride with those hot-bloods. I follow the rules set forth by Yellow Dog and the council.”

  “I am happy to hear it.” Then he turned to Yellow Dog. “Where has Mad Wolf taken my woman?” His eyes were hard, his tone implacable.

  He hoped Shannon would play along with him on this. The only hope he had of wresting her from Mad Wolf’s grasp was by claiming her himself. He prayed Mad Wolf hadn’t already taken Shannon by force. Not only would it make his job more difficult, but he worried about what it might do to Shannon’s spirit. It was one of the traits he admired so much in her.

  Yellow Dog pointed to Mad Wolf’s tipi just as Crow Woman stomped out of it in angry defiance. Blade looked to Yellow Dog for confirmation. The old chief nodded and Blade set his long legs in motion. He had taken but a few steps when Shannon burst from the tipi, her eyes wild, her face masked in terror. Mad Wolf followed in hot pursuit. A ragged scream ripped from Shannon’s throat when Blade snatched her up in his arms, pulling her against his bare chest. His arms enclosed her like bands of tempered steel as he held her soft body, a pang of something deep and profoundly moving jolting through him.

  “Shannon,” he said. “Little Firebird,” he repeated, attempting to calm her without adding to her fright. Mad Wolf had already done an admirable job of that. “Stop fighting me.”

  The voice hardly registered as Shannon struggled against the restraining arms holding her prisoner. His strength was awesome, his powerful, bulging muscles effectively quelling Shannon’s struggles.

  “Shannon,” Blade repeated once more.

  Shannon froze. Blade! Blade had come to help her. She went limp, profound relief turning her muscles to jelly. Then she realized that nothing had changed when Mad Wolf, following close behind, pulled her rudely from Blade’s arms. He was determined to have Shannon at any cost.

  Blade knew the moment Shannon recognized him, for she went limp in his arms. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be all right, longed to ask her if Mad Wolf had hurt her—but there wasn’t time. Hard on Shannon’s heels, Mad Wolf yanked her from Blade’s arms, his mouth curved in a snarl.

  “Little Firebird is mine,” Mad Wolf rasped menacingly.

  “You have no right,” Blade challenged. “Little Firebird is my woman.” Addressing Shannon, he asked, “Has Mad Wolf hurt you, Shannon?”

  “N-no,” Shannon stammered. Try as she might, she found it difficult to believe that Blade had arrived so quickly.

  Blade drew in a ragged breath. “Thank God.”

  “Blade, don’t let him take me,” Shannon implored, aware that Blade and Mad Wolf were arguing over her. “Tell me what is going on?” Not knowing what was happening made the situation seem even more desperate.

  “It’s all right, Shannon,” Blade explained, slipping easily into English. “I told them you belonged to me, that Mad Wolf couldn’t have you.”

  Shannon mulled over Blade’s words; the intensity of his gaze begged—nay, demanded—her compliance. In her mind she knew he was trying to convey something—something vital to her survival. If she expected to walk away from this intolerable situation she had to place her trust in Blade. For some unexplained reason, it seemed imperative that she proclaim herself Blade’s woman.

  Wise from the weight of many years, Yellow Dog intuitively sensed Shannon’s confusion. In halting English, he asked, “Does my grandson speak the truth? Are you his woman?”

  “Grandson! Is Blade your grandson?” Shannon asked, stunned.

  “And my son,” Singing Rain claimed, stepping forward. Maternal pride brought a softness to her voice and a special brightness to her eyes.

  “Answer Grandfather’s question, Shannon,” Blade prodded. He spoke in low urgent tones that demanded total submission to his will.

  Shannon hesitated a brief instant before responding. “Blade does not lie, I am his woman.” She nearly choked on the words.

  “She lies!” Mad Wolf blasted, increasing his grip on Shannon’s arm. “I watched the wagon train for many suns, and not once did Swift Blade share a mat with Little Firebird. She travels with another man, his mate and their papoose. She sleeps alone each night.” He slanted Blade a fulminating lo
ok. “Do you truly believe a virile man like Swift Blade would allow his woman to sleep alone?”

  “You do not understand the white man’s ways,” Blade replied, unperturbed. “Little Firebird is my woman, but if her people suspected they would despise and shun her. White women do not bed halfbreeds.”

  Mad Wolf looked confused and Blade used his confusion to press on. “I will take Little Firebird back to her people.” With determined force he claimed Shannon’s arm from Mad Wolf’s grasp.

  Mad Wolf exploded in angry frustration. “No! Little Firebird is mine. Together we will produce strong sons.”

  “Perhaps she is already carrying mine,” Blade hinted.

  The two men appeared ready to tear each other apart—and would have if Yellow Dog hadn’t interceded.

  “Cease! The council of elders will decide who will claim Little Firebird. Mad Wolf must adhere to tribal law as long as he remains in our village. It is the same with you, Swift Blade. No man is above our law.”

  The Sioux nation was divided into several independent bands, united under no central government. They rarely united, even in war, though they spoke the same language and had the same usages and superstitions. Each band was divided into villages; each village ruled by a chief who was honored and respected only so long as his personal qualities commanded respect and fear. Sometimes the chiefs authority was absolute, and often a council of elders influenced his decisions. Because this decision involved his grandson, Yellow Dog wisely elected to call a council meeting to help him reach a fair conclusion. It was due to his just judgment, courage, and sense of fairness that the aging chief still ruled his village. Among the Sioux, who wandered incessantly winter and summer, he was well loved and obeyed by all, but for men like Mad Wolf who sought to usurp his power.