Wind Rider Page 3

  As she ate, Hannah noted Wind Rider’s list-lessness, his flushed skin, the way he favored his wounded leg, and she realized his fever must be rising, as fevers so often did at night. Many times in Ireland she had helped her mother nurse her brothers and sisters through illnesses, and she recognized the signs. She wondered how he expected to keep up with the others tomorrow, ailing as he was. She was nodding over the remnants of her meal when Wind Rider nudged her awake.

  “Lie down and I will tie your hands and feet.”

  Hannah paled. “Must you bind me? I promise not to run away.”

  “If I do not, the others will think I have grown soft. I will not tie you tightly.’’

  Once she was bound it was difficult for Hannah to find a comfortable position, but tired as she was she eventually fell asleep. She didn’t awaken until she heard voices and realized it was daylight. She had slept through the entire night without awakening. Runs-Like-A-Deer was speaking to Wind Rider. She had no idea what was being said, but she knew from the tone of voice that something was wrong.

  “You look ill, Wind Rider,” Runs-Like-A-Deer said. “Is your wound troubling you?”

  Hannah gazed intently at Wind Rider, thinking how unwell he looked. His face was flushed beneath his tan, and his eyes glittered brightly from fever. He had to clutch his hands at his sides to keep them from trembling.

  “It will take more than a simple wound to stop me,” Wind Rider replied.

  “Perhaps you should rest today,” Runs-Like-A-Deer suggested.. “We will linger here until you are well enough to continue.”

  “There are twelve of us and only one of him,” Cut Nose contended. “I say we go on. We still have a long way to go, and the bluecoats are looking for us. It is dangerous for us to linger here longer than necessary. If Wind Rider tries to ride in his condition he will slow us down.” He sent Hannah a hard-eyed look. “Let Wind Rider’s slave nurse him until he is ready to ride;”

  Wind Rider stared at the Sioux warriors with whom he had made his home these past few months. They had welcomed him into their tribe and, despite the fact that he was Southern Cheyenne, had treated him as one of their own. He must think of their welfare. Cut Nose spoke the truth. It was not Wind Rider’s wish to slow them down, nor should he expect them to delay their journey until he was well enough to travel.

  “Cut Nose speaks the truth, Runs-Like-A-Deer. If I try to ride while fever rages through my body I will slow you down. It is best that I remain behind with my captive and ride when I am well. We will meet again at Red Clouds encampment in Powder River country.”

  “I will stay with you.” Another Cheyenne warrior who had joined the Sioux stepped forward. He was not of Wind Rider’s tribe, but he and Wind Rider had become good friends.

  “No, Coyote, you must go with the others,” Wind Rider said, “I am not so ill that I am helpless.”

  Coyote squatted down beside Wind Rider and placed a pouch in his hand. Among the Cheyenne he was known as a medicine man, one knowledgeable in herbs and healing. “Boil these herbs in water and drink them, they will take the fever from your body.”

  “Thank you,” Wind Rider said sincerely. “I will do as you say.”

  “Perhaps we should take your captive off your hands. Cut Nose suggested slyly. “We will clean her up in the stream and use her for our whore. We have been many suns without a woman. True, the woman is ugly, but she need not be pleasing to look at to appease our lust. Unlike our Cheyenne brothers,” he said disparagingly, “Sioux men are not accustomed to long periods of celibacy.”

  “The woman is mine,” Wind Rider insisted. It annoyed him that he was too weak to offer more than token protest if they ruled against him. “I have need of my slave. It is my right/’

  Cut Nose tried not to display his disappointment, realizing that Runs-Like-A-Deer would probably decide in Wind Rider’s favor. It surprised him that he wanted the woman; she was dirty and plain and thin as a stick. But something about her made her desirable to him in a way he could not explain.

  Before the other warriors departed they went through their belongings and generously offered Wind Rider what they did not need. Wind Rider had lost his horse and other items necessary to survival, and he was grateful for the water pouch, cooking kettle, gourd cup, leggings, moccasins, shirt, and small supply of pemmican and parched corn. Someone even added a parfleche in which to carry everything. Fortunately, Wind Rider still carried his medicine bag around his neck, with his personal talisman and good-luck items, his knife and his rifle.

  Hannah sagged in relief when the warriors rode off in a cloud of dust Cut Nose frightened her. She’d take her chances with the devil she knew rather than with the group of bloodthirsty Sioux she didn’t. Once they were out of sight Wind Rider untied Hannah. Weaving from side to side, he stared at her through fever-shot eyes.

  “Find more wood,” he ordered as he dropped down beside the fire. “I will drink Coyote’s remedy.”

  Hannah’s eyes brightened with speculation. Wind Rider was ailing; it wouldn’t be difficult to escape. But escape to where? she wondered dully. She had no idea where she was. Wind Rider had spoken of Powder River country, wherever that was, and the fact that it was inhabited by many, many Indians. Was she already in the middle of Indian country? Would she be safer striking off on her own into unknown territory or remaining with Wind Rider?

  “If you’re thinking about escaping,” Wind Rider said, reading her mind, “it would be most foolish of you. After the massacre at Sand Creek most Indians would kill you on sight, or torture you in the most horrible way imaginable.”

  If he had intended to frighten her he had succeeded. Hannah’s face turned white beneath the dirt. “Does that include you? Are you taking me to Powder River country to torture and kill me? If you are, kill me now. I cannot stand the waiting.”

  Wind Rider frowned. What did he intend to do with the woman? In the village she would be treated with the utmost contempt, tortured by the women of the tribe; starved, maybe, or hurt when he wasn’t around to protect her. That thought led to another: Why did he even care? Except for her vibrant green eyes and lilting voice there was nothing outstanding about Hannah McLin. Small, plain, and colorless, he compared her to a little brown sparrow. She wasn’t even fit to serve as whore to the tribe. White men had strange tastes, indeed, if they would pay to bed so lackluster a creature. Yet a whore was exactly what the woman was, for he had heard her master label her as such when he had been in Denver, posing as a white man.

  “I will not kill you .. . yet,” Wind Rider said in a menacing manner. “I have need of you. Fetch the wood, but stay where I can see you. When you return bring me water so that I can boil the herbs Coyote gave me.”

  Hannah thought about turning and fleeing, but the flash of cold steel in Wind Rider’s eyes changed her mind. He might be feverish and unable to keep up with the furious pace set by his friends, but he was far from helpless. And like it or not, he was the best protection she had at the moment. For some obscure reason he had defended her against Cut Nose, and since she was far too young to lose her life she obeyed Wind Rider. But just because she preferred to remain with Wind Rider for the time being didn’t mean she had lost her fear of the fierce, silver-eyed renegade. Far from it. When he turned his cold, piercing gaze on her the experience left her shaken.

  Wind Rider’s eyes were glazed and his hand unsteady when Hannah handed him the gourd containing the herbal drink she had prepared. She reached out to help him, tipping the gourd to his mouth, momentarily forgetting that she was the captive and he the enemy. She saw only someone who needed help.

  Wind Rider fought to remain conscious. The ride had been a grueling one. He had lost a lot of blood and his strength had slowly drained from his body. If Hannah hadn’t had the courage to remove the bullet and cauterize the wound he might have bled to death. Superbly fit as he was, he knew he would mend swiftly, and within a day or two he would be ready to ride again. His head nodded; his eyes grew heavy. Previous experien
ce had taught him that healing sleep was better than any medicine. Dimly, he wondered if Hannah would still be here when he awoke.

  Hannah watched Wind Rider drift off to sleep. When his body was totally relaxed and she was certain he slept she knelt beside him, looking her fill, something she had wanted to do since the first moment she had seen him. Her gaze roamed the length of his scantily clad body, pausing in her journey to look closely at the blackened wound marring his thigh. It wasn’t pretty to look at, but she supposed in time the scar would blend in with the rest of his golden flesh.

  It amazed Hannah that a man could be so handsome, so perfectly formed. His hard body was so beautiful, it gave her a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Smooth and blemish-free except for a few scattered scars from previous wounds, his flesh flowed over his bones like molten gold. She had noticed immediately that his skin wasn’t as dark as that of his companions, but his long, flowing hair was the same midnight black.

  His chest rippled with corded tendons; his legs were strong and muscular. His breech-clout barely covered the taut twin mounds of his buttocks and the bold thrust of his manhood. Even at rest the outline of his male appendage beneath the scrap of deer hide was awesome. Her face turned beet red and she turned away, embarrassed at the perilous journey upon which her eyes had embarked. Her thoughts still consumed with the handsome Indian, she busied herself with the fire. Hunger gnawed at her, and she sat down on a stump and ate the remains of last night’s meal, left for them by the Sioux war party.

  Wind Rider slept though the day and into the night. When it grew dark Hannah placed the blanket over him and once again considered escape. It would be so easy, she reflected, to quietly disappear into the woods. She could take Wind Rider’s horse, though she wasn’t an experienced rider. There was a world of difference between the plodding farm horse she had ridden back home in Ireland and the wild Indian pony that had carried both her and Wind Rider. Still, it was worth a try, she decided as she moved stealthily from the firelit perimeter of their small camp.

  “You would be foolish to run.” The deep resonance of his voice held a note of warning, sending a tremor of apprehension down her spine.

  Perched on the horns of a dilemma, Hannah paused, regarding Wind Rider speculatively. He rested on his elbows, peering at her through the darkness. She shivered, wondering if his silver eyes had the ability to see through the dark. “You’re awake.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping for some time.”

  Hannah felt herself flush all over. Had he been awake when she had perused him so thoroughly? “You are in no condition to stop me.” She took two steps to test him.

  “Try me.” The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. It made her regret having helped him. He was a savage, for heaven’s sake, capable of all sorts of depravity.

  “Come here.” The authority in his voice was unmistakable.

  Slowly, Hannah approached Wind Rider, her expression wary. “What do you want?”

  “Sit down beside me.”

  Hannah stopped in her tracks. Did he intend to attack her? Had she kept her virginity only to be raped by a heathen Indian? “What are you going to do? If you intend to rape me, 111 fight to the bitter end.”

  Wind Rider looked astonished. “Rape you! Ha!” The air exploded from his chest in a harsh burst of laughter, “Only a blind or desperate man would rape a woman as ugly and undesirable as you, and I am neither. I merely want to tie you so you can’t escape.”

  His words were like a punch to the gut. She had deliberately tried to make herself as unattractive as possible, but for an Indian to tell her she was ugly and undesirable was a blow to her pride. “If I displease you so much, why not let me go?

  The answer was as much a mystery to Wind Rider as it was to Hannah. Releasing her would be a simple matter, and probably best for both of them. He had no idea why he resisted the idea, except that he had convinced himself that he truly needed a slave. He had carefully avoided the Sioux maidens who would have gladly joined with him. Under Sioux law he was allowed more than one wife, but he preferred none. Times were too precarious for him to take wives and raise a family. He had no idea if he’d be alive a day, a month, or a year from now. If he had a family, who would see to their welfare if he was killed in a raid? And living on a reservation like the white eyes wished wasn’t an option.

  “Could you survive in the wilds by yourself?” Wind Rider asked bluntly. “This is Indian country. You could encounter someone who isn’t as disposed to keep you alive as I am. You are far too scrawny and weak to be of much use as a slave. Most Indian men have wives to see to their needs, so your life will be of little value to them. It might be different if you were beautiful, but you are not,” He sent her an inscrutable look. “But if you truly wish to leave, you are free to go.”

  Hannah gave him a startled look. “Do you mean it?”

  “I have said so.”

  Hannah didn’t know what to make of Wind Rider’s words. He sounded sincere, but how far could one trust an Indian? “Thank you,” she said, deciding to take him at his word.

  Narrow-eyed, Wind Rider watched Hannah slip into the woods. He had thought her too intelligent to believe she could survive on her own, but obviously she was so anxious to escape that she gave little consideration to his warning. After she had disappeared he continued to stare at the place where he had last seen her, a grim smile stretching his lips.

  Hannah wanted to run like the wind but bowed to caution as she slipped from tree to tree, following a moonlit path through the woods. She had no idea what or whom she might run into, and crashing heedlessly through the underbrush might alert some unknown enemy. She recalled Wind Rider’s warning and wondered if she had, indeed, been foolish to leave the protection he had offered, such as it was. But she couldn’t help thinking the handsome savage had some ulterior motive where she was concerned. She had never heard of an Indian kindly disposed toward whites, and Wind Rider’s companions had been all for killing her.

  Cautiously, Hannah made her way through the woods, wondering if she’d ever find a trail she could follow to a town. She stopped to rest twice, the last time falling asleep for several hours. She awoke at dawn, disgusted with herself for sleeping when she needed to put distance between herself and the silver-eyed savage. When she heard the rush of water she grew excited. Elated, she raced toward the sound and found a stream, realizing that if she followed it long enough it would eventually lead her to a town.

  Bursting from the trees, Hannah slid to an abrupt halt. She had, indeed, found water, and Wind Rider was calmly bathing in it. A small cry of dismay escaped her lips. Wind Rider heard the sound and turned in her direction, his lips curving into a mirthless smile.

  “What took you so long?”

  Beyond speech, Hannah lost the ability to move. Had she traveled in circles the entire night? Her glance took in the fire for which she had gathered wood and the place where Wind Rider had spent the night. The indentation of his body was still imprinted upon the soft grass.

  ”I-I don’t understand.”

  “An Indian child knows more about the wilderness than you do. You traveled in circles, just as I knew you would.”

  Hannah plopped down on the ground, her expression mutinous. “You never intended to let me go.”

  “I wanted to teach you how little you knew about the wilderness and survival.”

  Hannah mulled over his words then said, “You are cruel. You torment me with freedom, then take it from me.” She stared at him sullenly, resentful that he appeared quite hale, all signs of fever gone.

  “Perhaps,” Wind Rider allowed. “Why don’t you join me? If we are to ride double, I’d prefer to do so without your stench offending me.”

  “I’m perfectly happy the way I am.” She regarded him warily and scooted backward when he walked slowly toward her through the water.

  The breath caught painfully in Hannah’s throat as the sun chose that moment to break through the gray dawn, revealing Wind Rider’s
nude body to her startled gaze. She tried to look away, but the magnificence of his masculine beauty utterly defeated her. Washed clean of the hideous paint, his face held surprisingly few Indian characteristics. She had thought him impressive with his breechclout firmly in place, but without it he was truly breathtaking.

  Wind Rider was surprised that the sight of his nude body turned Hannah’s face a bright red. Even more amazing was the way he hardened beneath the plain little sparrow’s bold perusal. One would think she’d never seen a man’s naked body before. Wind Rider thought her a good actress for he knew she was a whore who sold her body for white man’s coin.

  Hannah was so enthralled with him that she wasn’t aware of his intention until he picked her up and lunged toward the water. She squawked in protest when he flung her into the deepest part of the stream.

  Unable to swim, Hannah clawed her way to the surface, spewing forth a stream of water. ‘Ì-I can’t swim,” she sputtered before sinking beneath the weight of her clothes. She was certain now that Wind Rider meant to drown her. Unwilling to die without a fight, she bobbed to the surface again. Wind Rider was nowhere in sight. She went under again, swallowing a mouthful of water in the process. Just when she stared death in the face she felt a tug on her hair and broke the surface, coughing and gagging.

  Wind Rider dragged Hannah to shallow water, shaking his head in disgust. “Can you do nothing right, woman? You can’t ride and you can’t swim. My sister learned to swim at an early age, like most Indian maidens.”

  “I’m no Indian,” Hannah said, gasping and choking. “Were you trying to drown me?”

  “If I was smart, I would let you drown.”

  She started to rise, but he pushed her back down hard. “Take off your clothes.”

  She glared at him mutinously. “No.”

  He grasped a handful of material and was startled when her dress literally disintegrated in his huge hands. Snorting in disgust, he pulled her free of the dress and tossed it aside. She cried out in alarm when it floated downstream. She wore nothing underneath it but a shift so threadbare that it ripped apart beneath Wind Rider’s hands as he tore it from her body and flung it after the dress.