English,” Hannah gasped, astounded.
“Do you think we are all stupid? I learned the white man’s tongue from the traders and trappers who visit the tribe regularly. And when the Indian agent comes I listen closely to learn more. Wind Rider is too good for you. The coun cil should have demanded that he join with one of the People and given you to Cut Nose. You are a slave. Cut Nose would treat you as you deserve instead of pampering you.”
“It wasn’t my decision to join with Wind Rid er,” Hannah argued defensively. “I didn’t ask to be captured.”
Spotted Doe’s eyes flared in sudden malice. Without warning, she reached for the knife in her belt and advanced toward Hannah. Woman- Who-Waddles saw what was happening and rushed to Hannah’s defense. Blocking Spotted Doe, she berated her roundly and pushed her out the door.
“Thank you,” Hannah whispered shakily.
Woman-Who-Waddles patted her shoulder consolingly, then took her hand and led her outside. The night was fragrant with the scent of spring. The air was soft and mild. A huge fire blazed in the center of the camp, and the beating drums and foreign words that floated around her gave the scene a dreamlike quality. This can’t be real, Hannah thought despairingly. None of this is happening to me.
The wild tempo of the drums increased, and Hannah could see the dancers, circling around the fire to the beat of the heathen music. Most of the dancers were men, joined occasionally by some of the bolder women. Hannah noted that several of the men seated around the fire tipped up bottles and drank deeply of the liquor Hannah assumed was whiskey, provided by unscrupulous traders. Dragging her feet, Hannah would have turned and fled back to the tepee if Woman-Who-Waddles hadn’t tugged her forward with amazing strength considering her advanced age.
Hannah had no idea what to expect. Her eyes were frantic as they searched the crowded area. And then she saw him. He stood head and shoul ders above the other braves. Dressed in supple doeskin the shade of pale butter, his tunic and leggings were elaborately decorated with feathers and beads. Fringes hung from both sleeves and down the sides of his leggings. His moccasins were also beaded and laced nearly to his knees. He was magnificent, every golden inch of him. His black hair hung loose, held in place by a rawhide thong sporting a white eagle feather.
Wind Rider sensed Hannah’s presence before he saw her. Turning to look beyond the dancers, he saw her approaching, escorted by Woman- Who-Waddles. She was dressed in white, he thought ironically, the color of purity. Looking at her angelic features, one would never guess she was a whore. His sanity must have deserted him to join with a woman of easy virtue.
In the short time she had been his captive her flesh had filled out. Though she’d never be plump, she could no longer be classified as scrawny. She was perfect, from the top of her burnished head to the tips of her small feet.
He watched her approach, his loins heavy, his manhood stirring restlessly beneath his breechclout, and he knew a need such as he’d never experienced before. In all his years with the Cheyenne he’d never felt such a wild clamoring in his blood or been driven by an almost painful desire to thrust himself into a woman’s body. Not just any woman. His wom an. Little Sparrow.
It was the first time in his recent memory that he could recall not cursing the white blood that ran through his veins, for it was the same blood that ran through the veins of Hannah McLin.
She stood before him now, searching his face with frightened green eyes. He took her hand, led her to a place in the circle, and pulled her down beside him. Almost immediately a bowl was placed in her hands, but she could not eat. Neither could Wind Rider, it seemed, for he barely tasted his food before setting down the plate.
“You are very beautiful tonight,” he whis pered into her ear. “I did not want to take a
“Do you think we are all stupid? I learned the white man’s tongue from the traders and trappers who visit the tribe regularly. And when the Indian agent comes I listen closely to learn more. Wind Rider is too good for you. The coun cil should have demanded that he join with one of the People and given you to Cut Nose. You are a slave. Cut Nose would treat you as you deserve instead of pampering you.”
“It wasn’t my decision to join with Wind Rid er,” Hannah argued defensively. “I didn’t ask to be captured.”
Spotted Doe’s eyes flared in sudden malice. Without warning, she reached for the knife in her belt and advanced toward Hannah. Woman- Who-Waddles saw what was happening and rushed to Hannah’s defense. Blocking Spotted Doe, she berated her roundly and pushed her out the door.
“Thank you,” Hannah whispered shakily.
Woman-Who-Waddles patted her shoulder consolingly, then took her hand and led her outside. The night was fragrant with the scent of spring. The air was soft and mild. A huge fire blazed in the center of the camp, and the beating drums and foreign words that floated around her gave the scene a dreamlike quality. This can’t be real, Hannah thought despairingly. None of this is happening to me.
The wild tempo of the drums increased, and Hannah could see the dancers, circling around the fire to the beat of the heathen music. Most of the dancers were men, joined occasionally by some of the bolder women. Hannah noted that several of the men seated around the fire tipped up bottles and drank deeply of the liquor Hannah assumed was whiskey, provided by unscrupulous traders. Dragging her feet, Hannah would have turned and fled back to the tepee if Woman-Who-Waddles hadn’t tugged her forward with amazing strength considering her advanced age.
Hannah had no idea what to expect. Her eyes were frantic as they searched the crowded area. And then she saw him. He stood head and shoul ders above the other braves. Dressed in supple doeskin the shade of pale butter, his tunic and leggings were elaborately decorated with feathers and beads. Fringes hung from both sleeves and down the sides of his leggings. His moccasins were also beaded and laced nearly to his knees. He was magnificent, every golden inch of him. His black hair hung loose, held in place by a rawhide thong sporting a white eagle feather.
Wind Rider sensed Hannah’s presence before he saw her. Turning to look beyond the dancers, he saw her approaching, escorted by Woman- Who-Waddles. She was dressed in white, he thought ironically, the color of purity. Looking at her angelic features, one would never guess she was a whore. His sanity must have deserted him to join with a woman of easy virtue.
In the short time she had been his captive her flesh had filled out. Though she’d never be plump, she could no longer be classified as scrawny. She was perfect, from the top of her burnished head to the tips of her small feet.
He watched her approach, his loins heavy, his manhood stirring restlessly beneath his breechclout, and he knew a need such as he’d never experienced before. In all his years with the Cheyenne he’d never felt such a wild clamoring in his blood or been driven by an almost painful desire to thrust himself into a woman’s body. Not just any woman. His wom an. Little Sparrow.
It was the first time in his recent memory that he could recall not cursing the white blood that ran through his veins, for it was the same blood that ran through the veins of Hannah McLin.
She stood before him now, searching his face with frightened green eyes. He took her hand, led her to a place in the circle, and pulled her down beside him. Almost immediately a bowl was placed in her hands, but she could not eat. Neither could Wind Rider, it seemed, for he barely tasted his food before setting down the plate.
“You are very beautiful tonight,” he whis pered into her ear. “I did not want to take a
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