Apache Protectors: Running Wolf Part 9

"Nothing. This one picked up her rabbits and walked away as if she was the daughter of the chief. The women are calling her Kicking Rabbit now."

"Will they attack her again?"

"I would not."

Snow Raven continued tying the wet rabbit skin to the circular frame to stretch and dry.

"Nine rabbits. At this rate she'll have her own tepee by the Hard Freeze Moon."

The thought of Snow Raven with her own tepee made him hard so fast that he gasped.

"What's the matter?" asked his mother.

He shook his head and retreated. He was not gone long, but when he returned his hair was wet and freshly braided for he had missed his usual morning bath. Droplets of water glistened on his skin. He cast Raven a long look as he ducked into the lodge. He carried out his tools wrapped in soft leather and sat down with a bit of flint to begin fletching. When he finished, he had a small white sc.r.a.per. He called Snow Raven to him and pressed the tool into her hand.

"I give you this. See that you remember your promise."

She closed her fist around the sc.r.a.per and smiled.

Ebbing Water called Raven to her and then sent her to the river for water. Raven ducked into the lodge to collect six buffalo bladders and strung the strap connecting them over one shoulder.

But when she stepped out of the lodge, it was to find Running Wolf blocking her way. She stood, still naked from the waist up and vulnerable to his gaze.

Running Wolf looked at her as he spoke to his mother.

"I wish to have a tepee of my own."

Both she and Ebbing Water knew why a young man wanted a lodge of his own, but only Raven could see the fire of want blazing in his eyes.

Raven's attention flicked to Ebbing Water to realize that his mother could not see her from where she sat.

"It is true, then," she said. "You are courting Spotted Fawn. That is why you bring me a captive. So I will have help here. And you find one who can provide me with meat as well as gathering fuel and water. You are a caring son."

Running Wolf lifted a long strand of Raven's hair and brought it up to brush his lips. Raven shivered at the sensual gesture.

"A man needs a woman," he said.

Only Raven noted that he did not say which woman.

Running Wolf released her hair but still held her with his gaze. His expression told her that it was not Spotted Fawn he wanted.

Once he had a lodge, would she find the strength to resist him?

The next morning one of the village dogs woke Raven with a wet nose to her face. The day crawled by with task after task. She carried water and collected fuel. On that trip she met Mouse again, also gathering the dried buffalo paddies. How Raven missed the wood that lay everywhere in the mountains.

Mouse appeared, looking more drawn than before. She had slashed at her forearms as a sign of her mourning and painted her face black with charcoal.

"How goes it with you?" asked Raven.

"I still stand and I still wish to see the mountains before I follow my husband and son."

"Then, we should go speak to the others," said Raven.

A flicker of life showed in Mouse's eyes and she nodded. "I will tell the others to meet us here at sunset when they are sent to gather water."

Raven left her to return to Ebbing Water's lodge. As she walked she thought of the mountains and felt a longing to see them once more. Would she ever?

At the lodge of Running Wolf's mother, Raven sc.r.a.ped and stretched the rest of the hides. Afterward she worked to pound dried buffalo meat to powder. Several Sioux women pa.s.sed by and Ebbing Water greeted each by name. They either stared at Raven or ignored her. None threw stones or even insults.

Her stomach rumbled but she was given no meal until the late afternoon when her work earned one small bowl of rabbit stew. She knew with this amount of food, she would quickly lose weight and grow weak.

Ebbing Water sent Raven to the river again for more water just before sunset as Mouse had predicted. It was the time many captives set about this errand and she went with a slow, reluctant tread, dreading meeting the others.

She moved along in the gathering dusk, taking the trail along the water's edge, following the wide river. She did not find Mouse, so she crossed the narrow tributary and continued on. She heard them before she reached them.

Mouse stood with the others, all women, all overly thin and all dressed in an odd a.s.sortment of ill-fitting, poorly made clothing. She had seen some of them throughout the day, but did not know how many captives the Sioux had.

"Here she is," said one woman.

They grew silent as she approached. The circle opened for her and she stepped into the ring. There were five in all. Mouse, looking gaunter than any of them, made introductions. She told her the Crow name for each woman, her tribe, when she was captured. Then she gave her the name the Sioux had given each one and explained that she must use these names or it would cause trouble. Finally Mouse told what each now did here. They were all young, except for Frog, whose hair was streaked with gray. Two had been invited into lodges, one with an old widow, and Frog with the shaman. Two were common women, and Little Deer, like her, had found no lodge and was in danger of freezing to death this winter.

"We were fourteen last year. The cold and sickness took the rest," said Mouse. "We are like the weak elk. It is easy for the wolves of winter to pick us off. But I, for one, want to return my people."

They all looked at Snow Raven. No, that wasn't right. They all looked to her. To her for hope, for rescue, for salvation. Her, the woman who had unseated a warrior.

"We want to go home," said Snake, a large-boned woman whose flesh now hung on her. She lifted a bridle. "We have made it from our own hair, but I do not know how to steal a horse." She pressed the bridle into Raven's hand. "We can make more."

"I have this," said the one the Sioux called Wren, and produced a knife with a broken point. "It belonged to Pretty Cloud's husband but he will not miss it."

Then they all laughed.

Wren explained for Raven. "I live with an old widow who has no sons." It was a fate all women feared, Raven knew. To have none to protect or provide for you and have to rely on the generosity of others.

Truly, thought Raven, he would not miss the knifepoint.

One by one, each produced a gift. A rope, a basket, tanned buckskin, a bow, six arrows.

Snow Raven gripped the shaft of the unstrung bow. "How did you know?"

"I overheard Red Hawk say you planned to shoot him with an arrow but were too close."

Mouse gripped Raven's hand. "Will you take them home?"

She looked from one hopeful face to the next. The task they set her was impossible. To steal six to twelve horses without notice, escape and stay ahead of pursuit, keep them from discovery by other enemies and predators. Provide food, locate water and, not to forget, actually find one of the three Crow camps that moved with the seasons.

Raven lifted her chin, finally accepting the responsibility she wanted to shirk. She looked from one to the next. Hopeful faces, wide eyes in pale, thin and weak bodies. They wouldn't survive another winter. That much she knew.

"Yes. I will lead you."

Chapter Nine.

Raven moved through the gra.s.s under starlight. The moon had yet to rise but each night it grew larger. When it was full, they would go. She had only to choose the best horses for five women who had never ridden before.

It was not difficult to slip into the hobbled herd. There was no watch at night and the dogs now recognized her scent and did not even lift a head at her pa.s.sing.

She looked from one horse to the next, judging their conformation and gauging their endurance. She needed gentle horses that would tolerate inexperienced riders. As she moved through the herd, past the sleeping horses and a few that were awake and grazing, she kept an eye out for her mare, Song. Finally she gave up and tried a low whistle. She heard a familiar nicker and headed in that direction, reuniting with her best horse. She wept and stroked her mare's neck. Song gave her a thorough checking, searching for the treat of dried cherries that Raven often gave her. Finding none, she returned to grazing.

"Are you ready to go?" she whispered to Song.

Raven hugged her horse's strong neck and then grasped hold of her mane. She did not remove the hobbles on her mare's front feet before she swung up onto her horse. She just sat there for a few moments. Then she lay across her mount's withers, letting the warmth seep into her chilled skin and breathing the familiar smell of horse. After she was warm, she swung back and lay on her back along Song's spine.

"Mother, can you hear your daughter?" she whispered. And again she received no reply.

The horses grazed, some snored and the wind blew through the gra.s.ses. Eventually she was chilled and slipped off Song. She told Song to be good before moving back toward the village.

She was nearly out of the herd when she saw a man standing so still she was not sure that he was real.

"It is good you did not go."

She knew the voice instantly. Running Wolf had followed her here. How long had he been watching? The entire time, she was certain.

"I come here sometimes to be with the horses."

He stood so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

"I will not let you go. That means I must protect you," he whispered. "Even from yourself."

She met the cold accusation in his eyes. "I just wanted to see my horse."

"She is not your horse. She is mine and you are mine."

"But you do not want a Crow captive."

"I want you."

He reached for her, dragging her forward and carrying her down to the gra.s.s. He rolled her to her back and pinned her legs beneath one of his own. She stared up at him, this man she coveted and could not have. But perhaps in the darkness, where no one could see...

She angled her head and lifted her chin in invitation. He took what she offered, his mouth descending fast as a diving hawk. His fingers laced in her hair, controlling her head as their lips met and joined. He gave a low rumbling growl of need deep in his throat and she answered with a whimper.

She opened her mouth to him, savoring the enticing glide of his tongue along hers. His hand crept up her thigh, reaching beneath the soft rabbit pelts to find her own thatch of hair. The shock of his touch at so intimate a place was enough to startle her from her desire into the realization of what she was about to lose.

She pushed at his shoulders. It took a moment for him to realize that she meant to escape him. He lifted his head and she saw the hunger flare before his eyes narrowed. Running Wolf was accustomed to taking what he wanted, and right now he wanted her.

They sat up together, side by side amid the grazing horses.

Running Wolf captured one arm and tugged. She fell against his wide chest and he held her tight, controlling her, bending her to accept his kiss. At first she tried to turn away. But he was so strong and his lips were so firm. She let the night hide her shameful wanting for this man and surrendered to what her heart desired.

His tongue glided into her open mouth and she felt the shot of liquid desire shoot through her body like one of her arrows.

He deepened the kiss, his hand moving along her body, caressing first the back of her hand and then the sensitive skin of her palm. He lifted her hand and pressed it to his chest, her palm flat so she could feel the beat of his heart.

Falling into his arms was like falling into a dream, filled with secret desire and the promise of pleasure she did not fully understand. Her body came alive with his touch, and she found herself pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tight to his chest, struggling against the need for the pressure of his body to hers.

Just when she began to tear at his clothing, he captured her wrists and set her aside. She knelt before him, panting with need, crazed for just one more kiss.

He released her. She reached and he pushed her hand aside. She recoiled at the pain of his rejection, trying to understand. He stared at her, his gaze hot with need, but his jaw tight with denial. And then she understood. She had pushed him away. Now he showed her that she could not stop him physically and she could not stop him emotionally. He had already won.

She gasped. The lesson he taught was too successful because now she understood that her only recourse was escape. If she stayed she would be his whenever he wished.

"You will come with me now. You will sleep inside my lodge and you will not come to the horses again."

She nodded her compliance as her mind screeched a denial.

"Do as I tell you and I will keep you safe. You will survive the winter at my fire."

"What of your mother and of the chief's daughter?"

"They are my concern. Now come."

In the morning, Running Wolf prayed before his lodge and then bathed in the river with the other men. His body was here with them, but his mind was on Snow Raven and her sweet kisses. She had tried to deny him, but she was inexperienced and it was easy to turn her own desire against her. It had taken control to stop her, almost more control than he had.

His mother had been surprised to see Raven sleeping in their lodge before the entrance. He had told his mother that she would be staying inside from now on. His mother had not argued, but she had made a sour face that told him of her objections without words.

But he was the man now. His father was gone and his mother could do as he said or she could find another man to provide for her. Had she seen his resolve? Was that why she had not argued?

The air was cold as he shook off the droplets of water. Soon they would find the buffalo and, after that, a harvest camp to prepare the meat. Before he knew it they would be heading south for their winter camp.

Running Wolf drew on his loincloth, tying the soft leather at his hip and then adjusting the tanned leather to drape evenly over the band.

"Do you think the scouts will find buffalo?" asked Big Thunder as he dragged the soft, absorbent buckskin over his skin to draw away the water.

"Soon," said Running Wolf, confident in the men looking for signs.

Everyone knew that Running Wolf took more buffalo than any two warriors combined. He was unsurpa.s.sed in riding beside a bull and planting his spear into his lung. But he had also perfected the skill of retrieving his lance so he could chase another buffalo. Then he would shoot an arrow into the shoulder to mark the kill for his mother.

The men were now talking about women. This one. That one. They were all the same to him. All but the one he could not claim.

"What about you, Weasel? Do you have a sweetheart?" asked Crazy Riding.