Wolf Shadow Read online

  “There will be no wedding.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  She placed one hand over her heart. “It does not feel right. In here.”

  He took a step toward her. “Is that the only reason?”

  She felt her heart begin to pound as he took another step toward her. “I…” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I think you know the reason.”

  One more step, and he was near enough to touch. “Tell me.”

  She looked up at him, feeling as though her heart were trapped in her throat. What if she poured out her heart to him and he didn’t feel the same? How could he, when she wasn’t sure what it was she was feeling?

  “Tell me, Rain. Why can’t you marry him?”

  “Because when I lay in my bed, it is you that I think of when I should be thinking of him,” she said, the words pouring out of her in a rush. “Because I cannot stop thinking of you, dreaming of you. Because…”

  He didn’t let her finish. His hands curled around her upper arms and he drew her up against him. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky.

  “Because he doesn’t make you feel like this,” he said. And kissed her.

  Her eyelids fluttered down as she gave herself up to his kisses. Warmth flowed through her. Millions of butterflies seemed to be dancing in the pit of her stomach. She pressed herself against him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her arms locked around his waist. A low moan filled her ears. She was embarrassed when she realized it was coming from her own throat.

  She was dazed, disoriented, when he put her away from him. “What…what’s wrong?”

  She stared at him a moment, only then realizing he was not looking at her. She followed his gaze, gasped when she saw they were surrounded by a group of mounted warriors armed and painted for war.

  “Don’t move,” Wolf Shadow said quietly. “They might take you alive.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  He stared at the warrior riding toward him, war club raised above his head. “I’m a dead man,” he muttered. “Remember what I said. Don’t fight them.”

  The words had barely left Wolf Shadow’s mouth when a warrior clubbed him along the side of the head. Wolf Shadow dropped to the ground, a splash of bright red blood spreading across his temple.

  She would have screamed if another warrior hadn’t grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with his hand. She stared at Wolf Shadow, at the blood dripping down the side of his face.

  She tried to go to him, to see if he was dead, but the warrior behind her refused to let her go. Moments later, she was laying face down over the withers of one of the Crow horses, her hands and feet tied beneath the horse’s belly, unable to see what was happening behind her.

  She heard the sound of hoof beats and knew with dreadful certainly that the Crow were going to attack the village. There was silence for what seemed a very long while and then a blood-curdling war cry rent the stillness of the early morning. The sound seemed to vibrate within her and she closed her eyes. From deep within her memory she heard a voice crying, No! No! La non mia ragazza piccola! Non prendere la mia ragazza piccola! Teressa!

  Teressa! She opened her eyes and the memory faded. Though faint, she could hear an occasional scream, a gunshot, the terrified wailing of a child. She tried to block out the sounds of the battle but to not avail. Her thoughts turned to Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance. Hot tears stung her eyes. Even if her parents survived the battle, she might never see them again. If the Crow were victorious, she would be their prisoner. They would take her to their village where she would be killed or forced to be a slave.

  She looked over at Wolf Shadow, and fear wrapped around her heart. He lay so still. Was he dead?

  She lost track of time. Her wrists and ankles ached. Her back ached. She closed her eyes again and her mind flooded with images of paint-streaked warriors swooping down on her, of golden brown eyes filled with fear and concern. Confused, she opened her eyes. Spots danced before her eyes. She was trying to work her hands free when she realized the sounds of battle had ceased. It occurred to her that it had been quiet for some time.

  She felt her blood run cold when she heard a high-pitched cry of victory.

  The Crow had won the battle.

  * * * * *

  Chance groaned softly as consciousness returned, bringing a wave of pain and nausea. He opened his eyes and quickly closed them again. Where was he?

  Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. The world spun out of focus and he groaned again as pain slashed through the side of his head. A Crow warrior jerked his arms behind his back and bound his wrists together, then dropped a noose around his neck and pulled it tight.

  What the hell had happened? Squinting against the sunlight, Chance slowly looked around. At first, nothing made sense. Not the warriors painted for war. Not the bloody scalps tied to their horses. Not the thick black smoke spreading like ink across the sky. And then it all came back to him. The Crow war party. The club swinging at his head.

  Gradually, he realized the battle was over and the Crow had won. Where was Winter Rain? Had they killed her? And what of Kills-Like-a-Hawk and Dancing Crane? What of Bear Chaser? Were they all dead?

  He took a step toward the village, grief welling up within him, only to come to an abrupt halt as the warrior holding the rope gave it a sharp jerk, nearly knocking Chance off his feet. Muttering an oath, he stumbled, barely managing to keep his feet as the warrior urged his horse into walk. Chance shuffled along in the horse’s wake, every step sending shards of pain lancing through his skull.

  By midafternoon, his head was throbbing incessantly. Sweat stung his eyes, ran down his back, his chest. His shoulders ached from having his arms drawn tightly behind his back.

  A short time later, the war party stopped near a shallow stream to rest and water their horses. Chance stared at the water. He moved toward the stream. Just one drink, he thought. He hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when the rope around his neck brought him up short, the rough hemp cutting into his skin.

  He heard the sound of laughter behind him. Slowly, he turned to find a trio of warriors watching him. One of them spoke in a guttural tongue, gesturing for Chance to get down on his knees. He caught the word “dog” and knew they wanted him to beg for a drink.

  Fighting off the urge to do so, he turned his back on them and closed his eyes, quietly cursing himself for his show of pride. He couldn’t go on much longer without water. Why not beg for it now? He would have to, sooner or later. Why suffer any more than he had to? But some deep inner wellspring of pride refused to let him abase himself while he still had the strength to resist.

  All too soon, the rope around his neck grew taut. Reaching deep down inside himself, he found the strength and the will to put one foot in front of the other.

  He lost track of time. One hour blurred into the next. Every step sent new slivers of pain knifing through his skull. Time and again he thought of giving up. If he’d been certain they would shoot him and put him out of his misery, he might have surrendered to the pain and given up, but the thought of being dragged was more than he could bear.

  At dusk, the Crow made camp.

  Chance dropped to the ground the minute the horse ahead of him came to a stop. Closing his eyes, he tried to pretend the pounding in his head belonged to someone else.

  He was on the brink of unconsciousness when a few drops of blessedly cool water fell over his face. With an effort, he opened his eyes to find Winter Rain kneeling beside him.

  “Here.” She helped him sit up, then held a waterskin to his lips. “Drink this.”

  He gulped the cold water greedily. He’d never tasted anything better in his life, he thought, not even his old man’s bonded bourbon.

  “Drink it slowly,” Winter Rain admonished.

  The warning came too late. Turning on his side, he retched, then lay there panting, thinking he had never felt more miserable in his whole life.

  Wi
nter Rain brushed his hair away from his face, then offered him another drink.

  Chance rinsed his mouth and spit, then took several slow sips. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Will they kill us, do you think?”

  He took a deep breath, let it out in a long slow sigh. “I don’t know.” There were worse things than death, he thought. Prisoners not killed out of hand usually faced one of three fates: they were tortured, they were forced to become slaves, or they were traded to another tribe for goods. Winter Rain knew the consequences of being captured as well as he did. No doubt she was looking for reassurance from him, but he had none to give.

  Winter Rain gazed into the distance, her lower lip trembling. “They are dead, aren’t they? My mother and father. Strong Elk. Dawn Song and her family. All of them.”

  Chance looked at her, wondering if a lie would be kinder than the truth, but before he could answer, a tall warrior wearing black and white war paint strode up to them. He kicked Chance in the side, then grabbed Winter Rain by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

  Chance swore as he doubled over, the pain lancing through his ribs rivaling the ache in his head. Curled up on the ground, he watched the warrior push Winter Rain toward a flat stretch of ground, gesturing that she should build a fire.

  With a sigh, Chance closed his eyes and slid into oblivion.

  Chapter Eight

  “Wolf Shadow? Wolf Shadow, wake up!”

  He climbed up out of the darkness through layers of pain, drawn by the sound of her voice and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek.

  He opened his eyes to find Winter Rain staring down at him.

  “You are still alive!” she exclaimed, the worry in her eyes quickly turning to relief.

  He had to be alive, he thought. He couldn’t be dead and hurt this bad. His head ached. His ribs ached. His arms were numb.

  “Can you sit up?” she asked. “I brought you something to eat.”

  “Water.” He forced the word through a throat that felt as dry as the Arizona desert.

  “All right.” She helped him to a sitting position, then offered him a drink. Remembering his earlier experience, he sipped it slowly, felt the coolness revive him.

  Glancing at his surroundings, he saw that the Crow warriors were gathered around several small fires. Though he couldn’t understand much of their language, it was obvious that they were bragging about their victory over the Lakota. His thoughts turned toward his cousin’s family again. Were they all dead?

  “Here.” Winter Rain offered him a chunk of meat. “You must eat something.”

  He ate if from her hand, surprised to find that he was ravenous. Sitting there, letting him feed her as if he was a heel hound, took a hefty slice out of his pride but there was no help for it. And he had a nasty feeling that things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.

  A short time later the warrior who had claimed Winter Rain as his prisoner came after her. Jerking her to her feet, he dragged her over to his blankets and pushed her down. He quickly tied her hands and feet together, then stretched out beside her.

  One by one, the warriors turned in for the night, save for the two armed men who stood beside the nearest fire, keeping watch.

  Neither of them seemed to be paying Chance any mind and after a few minutes, he scooted backward a little, and then a little more, and then a little more. With any luck, he could lose himself in the shadows and work his hands free. And then he’d…

  He swore softly as the taller of the two warriors turned to look in his direction. The man spoke to his companion, then walked toward Chance. Grabbing Chance by the arm, he pulled him to his feet and freed his hands, gesturing for him to relieve himself.

  Chance stifled a groan as feeling returned to his hands and arms. Jaw clenched, he stretched his back and shoulders. All too soon, his hands were tied tightly behind him again.

  Lying on his side, he stared up at the sky. It was going to be a long, long night.

  * * * * *

  Winter Rain lay rigid beside the Crow warrior, afraid to move, afraid, almost, to breathe for fear of waking him. What did he intend to do with her? He had not touched her tonight, but what of tomorrow? Was she to be violated? Made a slave? Killed? Though she had no wish to die, she thought she would prefer death to being raped or enslaved by the enemy.

  She stared up at the sky. Had her parents been killed? Tears burned her eyes. She should be lying dead beside them, she thought, blinking back her tears. She would be dead now if she hadn’t gone down to the river. And what of Strong Elk? And Dawn Song? She had not spoken to Dawn since the night of the dance at the Strong Heart lodge.

  Winter Rain closed her eyes, overcome with a sense of guilt. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to live if everyone she knew and loved was dead.

  But not everyone she knew was dead. Wolf Shadow was still alive. What would his fate be? Did they mean to take him back to their village and torture him for the amusement of the Crow people? If they killed him, she would truly be alone.

  It was that depressing prospect that followed her to sleep.

  * * * * *

  Chance woke with a low groan. Every muscle in his body ached from sleeping on the cold hard ground. His ribs ached. His head throbbed monotonously. He knew he should be glad to be alive but at the moment, it was hard to remember why.

  One of the warriors freed his hands and gestured for him to get up. Feeling like he was a hundred years old, Chance gained his feet. He lifted a hand to his head, winced as his fingers touched a lump the size of a goose egg. There was blood matted in his hair.

  With a grunt, the warrior pushed him toward a stand of timber, indicating he should relieve himself.

  Chance did so gratefully. For a moment, he considered trying to overpower the Crow warrior and making a run for it even though he wasn’t sure how far he’d get on foot in his present condition. Still, he might have tried it if not for Winter Rain. He couldn’t leave her behind.

  With that in mind, he didn’t offer any resistance when the Crow bound his hands behind his back once again.

  Returning to the campsite, Chance saw that the warriors were getting ready to leave. He spied Winter Rain standing off by herself. Since no one seemed to be paying any attention to him, he walked over to her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, her gaze moving over him. “Are you?”

  “My head hurts. Other than that, I’m fine, all things considered.”

  “Here.” She offered him a bite of the pemmican one of the warriors had given her.

  Chance took a bite and chewed it slowly, only then realizing how hungry he really was.

  Winter Rain took another bite, and then gave him the rest. “How long do you think it will be before we get to their village?” she asked.

  Before Chance could reply, one of the warriors came striding toward them. Lashing Winter Rain’s hands together, the Crow lifted her onto the back of a horse. The warrior then grabbed Chance by the arm and helped him onto the back of another horse. Though he was only guessing, Chance figured he’d been slowing them down. Now that he was mounted, they could make better time.

  In minutes, the rest of the war party was mounted and they were on their way.

  Chance closed his eyes and willed the hours to pass.

  When they stopped to water the horses at midday, Chance knelt beside the stream. Stretching out on his belly, he took a drink, then dipped the side of his head into the water. The cold water numbed the pain in his head even as it rinsed the blood from his hair.

  He stayed there for several minutes before levering upright. Cold water dripped onto his shoulder and down his back.

  A short time later, they were on the move again. Chance glanced at the surrounding countryside. If he recollected right, the Crow village was no more than an hour or two away. He’d be glad to get off the back of this horse, he mused, and yet he couldn’t stifle a sense of growing unease as he wondered wh
at his fate would be when they reached their destination. And what of Winter Rain? Would she be passed from warrior to warrior? Or would the Crow who had captured her make her his slave?

  Dammit, he had to get away from here, had to find a way to get Winter Rain back to the Bryants so he could collect the rest of the reward, hopefully in time to pay off the mortgage on the ranch.

  Lost in thoughts of escape, he was hardly aware of the passage of time until he looked up and saw the Crow camp. Dozens of lodges were spread in a shallow valley. The Crow horse herd grazed alongside a winding river. It was a peaceful scene, he mused, reminiscent of what the Lakota village had looked like before the Crow attack. He hated to think of how it must look now. For the first time, he wondered what had provoked the Crow’s raid. Had it been in retaliation for the horses stolen by Strong Elk? Chance grunted softly. Neither the Crow nor the Lakota needed a reason. They were enemies and that was reason enough.

  As they neared the village, a number of dogs came running toward them, barking furiously. Men, women, and children stopped what they were doing and surged toward the returning war party. The warriors dismounted and tossed the reins of their horses to their wives or children. A few women and young girls moved through the throng, obviously searching for their husbands or fathers. Soon after, a high keening wail broke the still afternoon air as the bereaved gave voice to their grief.

  One of the warriors pulled Chance off the back of his horse and dragged him toward a tree. A noose dangled from a limb. The warrior tugged the loop over Chance’s head and tightened it around his neck, then hurried toward his lodge.

  There was just enough play in the rope to allow Chance to sit down and he did so, resting his back against the trunk.

  He saw Winter Rain standing between the warrior who had claimed her and a very pregnant woman. Speaking rapidly, the woman gestured at Winter Rain and shook her head, apparently not at all happy that her husband had returned with a slave. Chance couldn’t blame her. The Crow woman was as homely as a horse. Little wonder that she didn’t want a pretty young maiden to share her lodge.