Apache Protectors: Running Wolf Part 8

"You will not harm my mother."

"Never."

"Come to my mother's lodge at sunrise."

He turned and left her. She took one step after him, realized what she was doing and stopped. Why would she follow a Sioux? He was nothing to her.

But despite her convictions, her body would not rest. She tossed for a long time as she thought of his handsome face and deep rumbling voice that made her shiver even while wrapped in a fine blanket. She could not sleep but lay restless as she recalled the touch of his mouth and the feel of his hard body pressed to hers.

For a captive to desire a warrior was madness. He would likely take what she offered, and if she succ.u.mbed, she would earn her place beside the others in the common woman's lodge. She was not a fool, she told herself. She might just as well desire the sun as the war chief of the Sioux.

But why, then, did this truth make her heart ache? And why, whenever he was near, did her body vibrate like the head of a drum?

Chapter Eight.

Running Wolf tumbled into his sleeping robe with the scent of Snow Raven still clinging to his skin like honey. Was the blanket keeping her warm? Not as warm as he could, he realized.

He had planned to wake at dawn and see that Snow Raven made it safely to his mother's lodge, but when he finally opened his eyes the golden color of the buffalo hide of the tepee told him that the day was half over. He jerked upright and slid from his sleeping skins, then grabbed one of the blankets and pushed back the closed flap opening. His mother had not wanted him disturbed.

Where was Snow Raven?

He poked his head from the lodge and did not see his mother or his captive. A sick feeling stirred in his empty stomach. What if they had hurt her while he was sleeping? She was his and her safety was his responsibility.

He stepped from his lodge and offered his morning song of thanks to the Creator. Then he rounded the tepee, going where, he did not know. His mother called to him.

Running Wolf turned to find both his mother and Snow Raven working with the rabbit hides. His mother sc.r.a.ped and Snow Raven tied the hairless leather to a circular hoop of wood with bits of cord.

"Another," said his mother. "She caught another rabbit in the night. Did you say she could have the hides?"

But Running Wolf was no longer listening. Instead, he was looking at Snow Raven and most especially at the purple welt above her left eye.

"Who struck you?" he asked.

She tugged at her hair, pulling the long locks more securely over her naked chest. "I do not know."

"Stand up," he said.

Snow Raven scrambled to her feet.

"Mother, give her a dress."

He waited while his mother ducked into their lodge and returned with a folded garment. "It will be too large."

"She will have one of her own soon." He turned to his captive. "Put it on."

She did, and the two-skin dress hung to her ankles. But it did remove the terrible bruises from his sight. He gathered up his weapons, saddle, blanket and bridle. Then he motioned to her with his head.

"Come with me," he said.

His mother said nothing as he stormed away. He took Raven to the horses and saddled her gray mare. He swung up and reached for her. She accepted his help as she swept up behind his saddle, sitting on her horse's rump.

He rode away from the village, past the boys snickering at their pa.s.sing. They were so sure what the war chief would do with his captive and they were so wrong.

He rode them far down the river to a flat stretch of sand surrounded by thick cottonwood trees. Then he helped her down, only then noticing the many gra.s.s cuts oozing blood. She needed moccasins.

"What did your father teach you?"

"What?" She looked startled and confused and more beautiful than the first time he saw her.

"Riding, shooting, what else?"

"Snares. Tracking, and I know how to throw a lance."

He lifted his bow from his back and handed it to her. "Show me."

She hesitated, her eyes moving from the bow and then to him. "It is taboo for a woman to touch a man's weapons."

"Because you will draw away my power."

She nodded.

"Do you bleed?"

Her eyes rounded and she shook her head.

"Then, if anything, you will add power to them. Take it."

She did, her slim hand circling the smooth surface and hefting the weapon, measuring its weight. No doubt the bow was tighter than hers, and he did not know if she was strong enough to draw back the string. He slung the full quiver across her back.

She glanced over her shoulder at it. When she met his gaze, she was smiling. "Are you not afraid I will shoot you?"

"No."

She notched an arrow, fingering the end. "Why not?"

In answer he drew out one of his knives and hurled it with enough force that the steel tip sank two inches into the trunk of a nearby tree. Raven gaped as he retrieved the weapon.

Her smile was now conspiratorial. "What would you have me hit?"

He pointed at a log on the bank, some twenty paces away. "That."

She drew, sighted and released. The metal tip sank into a knothole that he only now noticed. Had she intended to hit that?

He retrieved his bow and handed her one of the knives. She did not know how to throw, but she was a fast learner and practiced diligently.

"If I use that on anyone, they will kill me," she muttered.

"Use it only to protect your life."

Next he turned to hand-to-hand combat. Her father had taught her nothing in this regard, and he savored pinning her far more than he should have. Then he showed her how to use the momentum of another's attack to her advantage.

"You are small. So you cannot escape a bigger person, unless you find their weakness." He taught her eye gouges, how to draw back a finger or a thumb, how to drop to her knees and roll clear. How to kick out a man's knee or sweep him from his feet. On this, she had little success. But she did manage to throw him over her head, clumsily at first, but finally with some expertise.

She stood, panting, grinning and streaked with mud. "Why are you teaching me this?"

"So you will be safe."

Her lower lip began to tremble. Her eyes swam as tears welled and then fell over her lower lids, wetting her lashes so they stuck in dark clumps. The bruise above her brow had swelled and the color had begun to creep beneath her left eye.

He felt his own throat tighten at her suffering.

"I do not understand," he said, his voice nearly unfamiliar to his own ears. "You were captured, tied, dragged before the village and did not cry. Why now?"

"Because kindness is harder to accept than blows."

He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. He held her as she wept, rocking her as he cradled her head in one hand. Finally her tears turned to sniffles and she drew back.

It was hard to let her go.

"I want you to survive, Little Warrior."

That made her cry again. "Little Warrior," she muttered.

He drew back to look at her, his expression a question. She bowed her head, her hair a mask covering her features. She shook her head and he hooked his finger beneath her chin so he could see her expression.

"I did not mean to bring you more sorrow."

"I know." She wiped her face with both hands. "I have not cried so since my mother crossed the Way of Souls."

She stared up at him with those wide dark eyes luminous with tears.

"Well, past time, then." He took hold of her hand and helped her mount. She let him, though he knew she needed no help. She waited as he retrieved his weapons. Was it the knowledge of how he threw a knife that kept her, or did she feel the same respect for him that he did for her?

He paused a moment, standing by her horse, his hand on her calf muscle.

"You are a very unusual woman, Raven. I am sorry for your capture, but I am also glad to know you."

"And I thank you for the lesson. It is not what I expected."

"Did you think I meant to take your virtue?"

She nodded, her face flushed now.

"I would take it, if you would give it to me."

She looked away. "I cannot."

He drew up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist. "If I were not your enemy?"

She leaned back against him and let him take the reins.

"But you are. How can that ever change?"

There were ways, he thought, recalling his shaman, Turtle Rattler, and his captive. But for him, taking a captive for his own would carry a heavy cost. One he was not prepared to pay.

They returned to camp to find his mother none too happy over the state of the dress. She sent Raven to clean the mud from the buckskin with white clay, and she studied her son.

"What do you do with that one?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Be careful, son. A beautiful woman can make a man her captive."

"Do not talk nonsense."

His mother merely shook her head and fed him a hefty bowl of rabbit stew. When he finished, he told his mother to be sure that Raven ate some of what she caught. His mother's reply was a sullen nod.

He went to find Raven, but was caught up instead with the distribution of the captured horses. It seemed to take forever, and when he returned to his lodge he was famished.

The cooking pot bubbled with more rabbit stew, and his mother turned the horn ladle, calling a greeting. Raven sat beside her, tying a rabbit hide.

"Another?" he asked.

"Yes," said his mother. "This one has had a busy afternoon. Three more rabbits and another fight."

He tensed, looking at Raven, who now sat in only her loincloth, her long hair running in parallel streams down her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He could see no new injury.

"Who attacked her?" said Running Wolf, barely able to contain his rage.

"Why don't you ask her who ended the fight, instead of who began it?" asked his mother.

He looked from one to the other.

"She was carrying the rabbits and Buffalo Calf called her a witch. Some of the women began to throw stones. One hit her here." His mother pointed to the bruise on the back of her hand that he had not noticed until Ebbing Water pointed it out. It was blue and puffy and looked sore. "Buffalo Calf pushed her. And she let her, did not lift a hand or say a word. But when Buffalo Calf tried to take her catch, this one waited until Buffalo Calf is tugging with all her might and then just let go." His mother laughed. "She fell on her bottom in the mud."

Seemed to run in the family, thought Running Wolf.

"So now she is furious. Spitting mad and as red as fresh meat. She runs at your captive with her claws bared. But this one just grabs her by each shoulder and rolls to her own back with two feet planted in Buffalo Calf's soft belly. Did you ever see a buffalo fly? I did." Ebbing Water laughed. "If Weasel hears of this, there will be no stopping him."

He and Raven shared a conspiratorial smile, for she had already put into use the lessons of the day, using Buffalo Calf's own force against her. He nodded his approval as he spoke to his mother.

"What happened then?"