Wind Warrior (Historical Romance) (4 page)

But whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

“I want to rest and the ground’s cold and wet,” Lillian whined.

Susan looked at Marianna and shrugged, both of them silently agreeing that hard wet ground was the least of their worries.

Wind Warrior ran across the shallow stream in pursuit of a large buck with twelve points on its antlers. He strung his bow as he ran, never losing sight of his prey.

He placed his arrow in the bow and took aim without slowing his pace. The arrow flew true and brought the animal crashing down.

Bending down beside the dead buck, Wind Warrior gently touched each velvety point. “You will feed those who are hungry, my brother. I will take your knowledge and be better for it.” Suddenly Wind Warrior rose to his feet. He listened to the wind and raised his head skyward.

His eyes widened, and he grabbed up his bow and quiver of arrows and ran toward the village, leaving the buck where it lay.

Quickly he crossed the river, heading for the other side of the village and into the forest beyond. Once again he placed an arrow in his bow and ran up a small incline, watchful.

Lean Bear was walking with his young grandson, Small Tree, regaling him with stories of his youth, when an enormous puma appeared on the cliff above them and started following them.

For long moments, the cat stealthily stalked its prey, its yellow gaze fixed intently on the young boy.

When gravel rolled down the bluff, Lean Bear looked up and saw the predator. He lunged for his grandson, but the child, unaware of the danger, thought Lean Bear was playing a game with him and ran ahead, his path taking him nearer the puma. Lean Bear called out frantically for the boy to stop, but it was too late. He saw no way he could reach his grandson before the puma leaped.

Suddenly the old man heard an arrow whiz past him and watched it strike the big cat right in the heart. Hurrying forward, Lean Bear drew his now frightened grandson away from the dead animal, which had tumbled off the cliff and landed at the boy’s feet.

The old man turned as Wind Warrior appeared beside him.

“Is the boy unharmed?” the younger man asked.

Lean Bear nodded, too overcome to speak.

Wind Warrior bent down so he was eye level with the wide-eyed Small Tree. “You are brave,” he said, “but also foolish. Never run ahead unless you know what is waiting for you.”

“You saved my grandson’s life,” Lean Bear said as his heartbeat finally returned to normal. “I will always honor you for this deed.”

Wind Warrior shook his head, his eyes on the dead cat. “Somehow I sensed you were in trouble. I do not know how.”

Lean Bear placed his hand on the young warrior’s shoulder. “You knew because the animal spoke to you, as it was foretold.”

Wind Warrior would not believe that—did not want it to be true. He did not want to be set apart from others any more than he already was. He just wanted to be like everyone else. “No. That is not so,” he insisted.

“Then you were walking nearby and saw the danger?” the elder questioned.

“I had just slain a deer, on the other side of the village, and something…told me to come here with all haste,” Wind Warrior admitted reluctantly, knowing Lean Bear would think that “something” had been the puma.

Lean Bear’s eyes widened with awe. “You are truly the great warrior your father saw in his vision quest. From this day forward, we will honor you—you shall become adviser to the council.”

“I do not deserve such an honor,” Wind Warrior protested. “I do not want it. Surely I am too young.”

Lean Bear took his grandson’s hand. “Look upon this great warrior and remember he saved you from death this day. When you are grown and have a grandson of your own, tell him your life was granted to you by Wind Warrior himself.”

That night around the campfires of the Blackfoot village, the story of the puma was told and retold, and the legend of Wind Warrior began.

A heavy gray mist hung over the land at sundown, but Marianna was glad it had stopped raining. Her head was throbbing, the pain in her arm was almost unbearable, and the world spun sickeningly. Her captor had made her walk the last few miles, taking Susan up on the horse with him instead. Now as they drew to a halt, Marianna staggered, trying to keep her footing, and he merely laughed at her.

Glaring into cold hard eyes that made her shiver, she said pleadingly, “I’m hungry, and cold, and tired, and my arm hurts.”

When the Indian slid off the horse, he grabbed Marianna by her good arm and tilted her head upward, scrutinizing her closely. She flinched, wanting to push his hand away, but she dared not for fear of what he would do to her. He touched a lock of her hair, studying it with a curious expression.

The rain had washed the gruesome paint from his face, and she was surprised to find he was handsome, or he would have been if not for those angry black eyes. He saw her studying him, and his eyes narrowed.

Unable to stand his hands on her for a moment longer, Marianna cringed and stepped back. “Don’t
touch me,” she said, her chin going up at a stubborn angle. “I don’t like you.” She didn’t know if he understood her words, but her tone was clear.

To Marianna’s surprise, instead of reacting with anger, the Indian actually smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly smile; it was more of a sneer.

When she stepped back another pace, he frowned and shoved her so hard, she slammed into the trunk of a pine tree. Gasping to catch her breath, Marianna quickly cradled her injured arm. Even though the pain was excruciating, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

He pointed, indicating that she should join Lillian and Susan, who were huddled at the edge of a thick forest. Marianna lost no time in joining her friends. She was relieved to see Susan’s wound was no longer bleeding.

“We are going to die of hunger,” Lillian moaned, as Marianna sat down beside her. “Aren’t they ever gonna feed us?”

Susan shushed her. “Lillian, don’t call attention to yourself.”

“Well, I’m starving. And you can’t tell me you and Marianna aren’t hungry too. I’ll die if I don’t get something to eat.”

“The tall Indian seems to be the leader and I wouldn’t count on anything from him,” Marianna said, nodding at her tormentor. “I don’t think he understands English. And I don’t think he cares anything about our comfort.”

Marianna noticed a fresh cut on Lillian’s face and dabbed at the blood with the sleeve of her gown.
“Your captor has already hurt you. Don’t give him cause to do it again,” she cautioned.

Lillian met Marianna’s gaze. “He hits me if I say anything. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut.”

Fighting against tears, Marianna turned her gaze on Susan. “I guess they are taking us to their village.” Looking at the soles of her red slippers, which now had holes in the bottoms, she wiped away blood where stones had cut her feet.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, Lillian slumped forward. “I keep seeing my ma bleeding, and my pa…I don’t even know what happened to him.” A deep sob tore from her lips. “One of the Indians—I think it was the tall one who captured you—took Mrs. Truckles into the forest, and didn’t bring her back. He must have raped and killed her.”

Susan, who had been trying to be strong for the two younger girls, closed her eyes. “I don’t think they will be taking me to their village. That brute that captured you and me, Marianna, watches me all the time. He…t…touches me.”

Marianna understood and tears gathered in her eyes. She laid her hand on Susan’s shoulder. “Then you must run into the woods and hide. Go now. They aren’t watching us at the moment.”

“I can’t leave you and Lillian.”

“Susan, if we went with you, we’d only slow you down, and Lillian would…they would hear her crying. Go! Run while you can!”

Susan drew in a deep breath and rose, leaning against the tree trunk. Nodding at Marianna, she took several cautious steps backward. Then she
turned, running as fast as she could toward the thickest part of the woods.

With her heart in her mouth Marianna watched Susan until she was out of sight, and prayed as hard as she could that she would be able to hide where the Indians couldn’t find her.

Lillian dropped her face in her hands and sobbed. “Why did you tell her to leave? We’ll be punished when they find her missing. They’ll take it out on us.”

Becoming weary of Lillian’s constant complaints, Marianna turned to her. “Stop it! Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

Lillian jerked her head up, her anger boiling. “I’ve got reason to complain. And don’t you ever speak to me that way again. You’re just a child.”

Marianna was only half listening to Lillian—her gaze was glued to the place where Susan had disappeared. Turning to watch the tall Indian, she knew the very moment he realized Susan had escaped. She swallowed her fear as he ran toward the woods. She held her breath, praying harder that God would give wings to Susan’s feet so she could outrun the Indian. Her blood turned to ice when she heard Susan scream, and scream, and scream.

Without thinking, Marianna jumped to her feet, running into the woods, not knowing what she could do to help Susan, but certain she had to try. “Susan,” she cried. “Susan, where are you?”

Suddenly Marianna came to a halt. The Indian had Susan on the ground with her gown above her waist and he was laboring over her. Marianna was an innocent and she didn’t know what he was doing to Susan but she knew it was something bad.

“No!” Marianna cried, running toward them. “What are you doing to her? Let her go!”

The Indian turned his malevolent gaze on Marianna and although she did not understand his words, she knew he’d ordered her to leave. She flinched when he withdrew his knife and held it at Susan’s throat.

Susan looked at Marianna and shook her head, saying forcefully, “You can’t help me. Go away!”

The Indian ran the blade down one of Susan’s cheeks, cutting her. Glaring at Marianna, he moved the knife back to Susan’s throat. Marianna knew as well as if he had said it in English, he would cut Susan again if she didn’t leave. With despair in her heart, she turned away, knowing there was nothing she could do to help her friend.

Just as she reached Lillian, they both heard a shrill scream, followed by an eerie silence.

Marianna and Lillian stared at each other in horror.

“She’s dead and it’s your fault,” Lillian accused. “You told her to run. If you hadn’t, she’d still be alive.”

Guilt lay heavily on Marianna’s shoulders. For all she knew, the tall Indian would have allowed Susan to live if she hadn’t interfered. More than likely it
was
her fault that dear sweet Susan was dead. Sobbing, she dropped her head, whispering a prayer that Susan had died a quick death.

“You know what he did to her,” Lillian said, reaching out and giving Marianna’s hair a yank. “I hope you remember this forever.”

Shivering, Marianna wiped tears on the back of
her hand. “I will never forget the sight of Susan—” She broke off, shivering. “I just hope I can be as brave as she was if he—” Tears washed down her face, and she grieved for Susan. The hurt was so deep she would carry the scar forever.

“I hope he takes you into the woods and does the same thing to you,” Lillian spat. “You deserve it.”

Marianna stared into the gathering darkness with growing apprehension. Moments later, the tall Indian stalked out of the woods, wiping his bloody knife on his leggings.

Marianna hated him with such passion, she wanted to run at him and pound him with her fists, to drive his knife into his black heart. But all she could do was shiver with fright and feel cowardly because she was completely at the savage’s mercy, just as Susan had been.

Marianna flinched when her captor stopped in front of her. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to strike her, but nothing happened. She heard him walk away and was overcome with relief.

Lillian trembled. “He raped her, didn’t he, and now he’s killed her?” Sobs shook the older girl’s shoulders. “I don’t want to die like that!”

Marianna couldn’t find the right words to comfort Lillian, so she wept with her. She wept for the young woman who had been a bride for only such a short time and had been so brutally slain, and she wept for the sorrow Susan’s husband would feel at the loss of his wife. Marianna tried to think of something to say that would give Lillian hope, but there was no hope.

“Lillian, they will be coming for us shortly. Don’t let them see you crying. You know they don’t like it.”

Glowering at Marianna, Lillian shook her fist at her. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

“Listen to me, Lillian,” Marianna said forcefully, knowing they didn’t have much time. “I’ve been thinking about something. Do you remember that white woman a French fur trapper brought to the fort last year—the one who had been kidnapped by the Shoshoni when she was a child?”

Lillian wiped her eyes. “I didn’t see her, but I heard about her.”

“I saw her.” Marianna closed her eyes to gather her strength. “She was half crazed and didn’t even remember her real name or how to speak English. Her hair was dirty and tangled, and she wore buckskin and moccasins. The day after the trapper brought her in, when no one was watching, she shoved a knife into her own heart.”

Lillian nodded. “I remember. What’s that got to do with us?”

“I’ll never forget who I am, or how to speak English. The very first chance I get, I’m going back home, and I’m taking you with me.”

Lillian shook her head, her face a mask of rage. “It’s not possible, Marianna. Even if we did manage to escape, we couldn’t find our way home. We’d end up being supper for a bear, or a mountain lion. Or the Indians would catch us and do to us what they did to Susan.”

Grabbing Lillian’s chin, Marianna looked her squarely in the eye. “You can’t think like that. Every night whisper your name over and over. Remember your folks, and talk to them like they were with you.”

“I…I’ll try. But we don’t know what those devils are going to do with us.”

“You have to try to remember, or you’ll become like that woman who lost her mind.”

“I want my ma,” Lillian said, her body shaking with fear.

Marianna held Lillian’s hand, trying to comfort her. The poor girl’s face was so dirty it was difficult to see her freckles. Marianna knew she was just as dirty. She was weak from hunger and exhaustion, in constant pain from her arm, and uncertain what action of hers might anger her brutal captor and cause him to lash out at her. She wondered how much longer she could endure this torture. Then she remembered that Susan had expected her to take care of Lillian. She set her jaw stubbornly. Susan had been so brave; could she do any less?

Marianna felt a hand on her arm as someone abruptly shook her awake. Needing more sleep, she shoved the hand away.

Whoever it was became more persistent; fingers dug into her arm. Her eyes flew open, and she blinked awake. It wasn’t a nightmare—she hadn’t been dreaming. Cautiously rising from the grass where she’d been sleeping, she watched the Indian with dread in her heart. She moved back, shaking her head when she saw the leather rope in his hand. Marianna understood that she would pay for what had happened the day before.

Terror stabbed into her mind like thorns, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as he made a noose and slipped it over her head, tightening it just
enough to make her choke. Then just as suddenly, he released her, handing her a chunk of dried meat. She gobbled it down, all the while watching the Indian with suspicion.

Marianna was relieved when he muttered something and pushed her toward the horse. It looked as if she was going to live another day. She tripped on a root and would have fallen if she hadn’t reached out to steady herself against a tree trunk.

The Indian smiled cunningly and yanked on the rope. She would receive no mercy from this man. What else could he do to torture her? she wondered. Then she thought of what Susan had suffered and knew there was much more he could do to her if he wished.

As she stood by the horse waiting for the Indian, he pulled the rope, tightening it so she could barely breathe. Marianna had never imagined anyone could derive such pleasure from torturing another. She clawed at the robe, trying to loosen it. The world around her darkened and she had difficulty focusing.

Gasping for air, she slid to her knees. Everything was spinning and she truly believed she was going to die.

Suddenly her tormentor loosened the rope and laughed when she gasped, filling her lungs with air.

“You are a monster,” she said, her voice coming out in a painful croak. “I despise you.”

His eyes suddenly became dark and dangerous. Using the rope to yank her to her feet, he mounted his horse and swung her up behind him.

Marianna worked her fingers between her neck and the rope, loosening it a bit so she could breathe.

Later in the day the clouds moved away and Marianna could see tall mountains in the distance. She guessed they must be nearing the border of Canada.

She doubted that any white man had ever left footprints on this pristine wilderness. Low-hanging branches tangled in her hair, while thornbushes dug into her skin. Misery settled on her young shoulders—how would she ever find her way home?

Marianna lost track of the days they had been traveling. Had it been two weeks or three?

Maybe more.

Would this journey never end?

When would they reach their destination, and when they did, what would happen to her and Lillian?

For torturous days they traveled deeper into the wilderness. The only thing that kept Marianna sane was the thought that she might one day escape and find her way back to Aunt Cora and Uncle Matt.

She had not seen the sun for days, but one afternoon it broke through the clouds and a warming breeze touched her cheek.

Marianna’s heart stopped and all hope died. In the distance she saw an Indian village.

As they crossed a river, laughing children dove into the water, swimming to meet them. When they rode through the village, many Indians came out of their tipis to greet the returning warriors.