Cheyenne Captive Read online

  The medicine man spread white sage on the floor, and smoked the ceremonial pipe. He sang his chants and prayed, shaking his rattle over her. His lined old face seemed to blur in her vision.

  “I’m—I’m very hot,” she gasped, “burning hot.” She hurt now, and the pain seemed to be spreading through her arm. She felt dizzy, too. Her thoughts seemed to jumble themselves. Dimly, she heard Iron Knife and the medicine man conferring in guttural Cheyenne. Then she was aware that the big savage took out his knife and laid it on a stone at the edge of the fire pit with the blade in the flame.

  He knelt by her and whispered, “Little One, we have to do something about that wound. It must be purified, and fire is the only way!”

  She only half-heard his words, not understanding anything in her fever. Her eyes flickered open and she saw the fat, old squaw enter the tepee, the one who had combed her hair and fed her this morning. The woman knelt to hold down Summer’s feet. Iron Knife held down her left arm with his right hand. Then he very gently turned her face away so that she could not see what the medicine man was doing. She struggled and realized she was powerless. The medicine man was holding down her right arm.

  Uncomprehending, she saw the big savage take his knife from the fire pit, its blade glowing in the semidarkness. He laid it on a stone near the old man and then, gently, he again turned her face away, holding her so that she could not look.

  “I’m sorry, Little One,” he murmured, “but this has to be done. I wish I could bear the pain for you.”

  Dimly, she was aware of the feel of his hand on her face, the weight on all her limbs. Then the hot blade hissed as it cut into the wound. Never had she known such agony! She screamed and bit his hand hard, aware of the taste of his blood. As she teetered on the ragged edge of unconsciousness, she remembered the scene at the stagecoach when the savages had captured her ...

  ... tell her what we will do to her pale body with fire and blade ... fire and blade . . .

  They were torturing her to death, she thought in her pain, and looked up at Iron Knife as she drifted into complete oblivion.

  “You—you promised you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her eyes accused him. She saw him wipe the blood from his bitten hand.

  “It had to be done,” he muttered, “but you will never be hurt again, Little One! I promise it!”

  “I don’t believe you!” she sobbed as she slipped into the blackness. Her last awareness was that he held her left hand and kissed the fingertips and her palm very, very gently.

  She did not know how long the time was that she fainted, but when she awakened she was vaguely aware of him sitting dipping a cloth in water, wiping her face.

  “Oh, that feels so good,” Summer gasped. “I’m so hot!” She closed her burning eyes and enjoyed the feel of the cold water on her fevered face. He wiped her face and throat, down into the neck of the buckskin dress. Her mouth felt dry and fuzzy. She managed to open her cracked lips. “Thirsty,” she managed to whisper, “water ...”

  He held a horn cup to her mouth. She gulped greedily and watched him through half-opened eyes as his big hands caressed her face and arms.

  “Your touch is gentle,” she whispered.

  “With you, I shall always be gentle,” he answered, sponging her face again. “Do you feel any better?”

  “No,” she gasped, “I am warmer than before. I—I feel worse!”

  She could feel drops of perspiration running down her breasts, across her belly. She couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts straight. She closed her eyes again, and in her fevered mind, she was a child once more, running through the summer heat at the big estate next door with her twin brother David’s best friend, Austin. . . .

  “It’s so hot, Austin,” she murmured aloud. “Say, why don’t we have your cook make us some lemonade? The butler can serve it in the conservatory where the flowers bloom . . .”

  She felt herself being lifted, something pulling at her clothes. Vaguely, she opened her eyes, trying to remember where she was and who this big, bronzed man was who pulled her dress off. “No, please don’t!” Even in her delirium, she tried to cover herself modestly with her hands and struggled to push him away.

  But he lifted her lightly as if handling a doll. “Don’t fight me, Summer,” he said tersely, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve got to bring that fever down.”

  Weakly, she struggled while he stripped her naked and laid her back down on the soft fur. He was going to rape her, she knew, and she was too weak to do anything about it. She couldn’t remember who he was or why she was here. There was something about a family quarrel because she had embarrassed the family ... There had been a stagecoach ...

  “Hot. So hot . . .” she whispered and felt the big hands moving over her, wiping her fevered skin with the cold cloth. It felt good and she relaxed, quit struggling, letting his hands move over every inch of her. He sponged her hot skin with the cool water. With her eyes closed, she felt the cold cloth come down her throat, wipe each breast, continuing down the hollow of her belly, across each fevered thigh. From there, the cool massage worked down her long legs, even to the soles of her feet.

  He did it again and again, starting with her perspiring face and working his way down every inch of her. Occasionally, he turned her over, sponging from her neck, down her back, across her slim hips, and down the soles of her feet.

  It occurred to her that even though it felt wonderful, she shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. She struggled again and tried to protest, but strong hands held her down.

  “No, Summer, don’t fight me,” he ordered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Once in the hours that passed, she looked up into his dark eyes as he sponged her face and saw the weariness and concern reflected there.

  “Am—am I dying?” she asked.

  He gathered her into his arms. “No! I won’t let you die! All these lonely years I have waited for you to come along, and I won’t let Heammawihio take you! I promise you will never walk the Ekutsihimmiyo, the Hanging Road to the sky, without me. The seyan, the place of death, will not receive you yet.”

  She felt safe then. Another human was watching after her and cared what became of her. Time passed, and it was a blur of heat with the cool cloth wiping her body continuously. Once, she remembered a horn spoon between her lips and warm broth, and many times there was cold water poured between her cracked lips. Sometimes, she opened her eyes and saw the plump Indian woman in the tepee, and sometimes the old medicine man, but she knew, somehow, that Iron Knife never left her side.

  Then, she was no longer hot, but cold. Her teeth chattered and she shivered uncontrollably. She dreamed of a sleigh ride behind one of her fine-blooded horses back home at Christmas time. She could almost feel the ermine-trimmed blue velvet bonnet and fox-fur muff....

  But when she opened her eyes, she was once again in a strange place, and a handsome, dark man was wrapping a fur robe around her naked body. The soft fur felt good against her skin. She lay there, watching as he built the fire to a roaring blaze and turned back to her.

  “I’m cold,” she whispered through trembling lips, “I’m so cold.”

  He stood looking down at her shivering body and seemed to make a decision. Abruptly, he began peeling his clothes off. Summer had never seen a naked man before. She shivered and stared up at the magnificent, bronzed male. He was wide of shoulder, and narrow at the waist and hip. His hard muscles rippled in the firelight, showing the whip scars on his back, the sun dance scars on his great chest.

  She felt her face flush crimson as she looked away from the beauty of his maleness. She only half realized for a moment that the naked savage was crawling under the robe with her. “No!” She tried to push him away. “No!”

  “You little fool!” he hissed, reaching out to pull her shivering body close to his warm, hard chest. “I’m trying to warm you! Lie still!” he commanded.

  She struggled a moment longer, shaking, thinking she had never been so cold before. As she felt the h
eat from his big body, she instinctively pressed herself against him. She was only dimly aware now of both their nakedness, and the rightness or wrongness of it, only drawn to him like a flower to the warm sun.

  She felt his arms go about her, cradling her blond head in the hollow of his dark shoulder. He half-covered her shivering form with his body and pulled her against him so that she could feel the maleness of him. Summer remained rigid a moment and then; relaxed in his arms and gloried in the warmth that slowly spread through her slender frame.

  His big hands felt like fire as they massaged her back, her hips, returning circulation. It felt good, and since she was powerless to stop him anyhow, she sighed and almost enjoyed the feel of his hands as she drifted in and out of delirium.

  Once, she imagined that his lips kissed the soft hollow of her throat, and she thought he trembled as he held her. But she was warm now and her arm no longer throbbed. For the first time in many hours, she was not in pain. Somehow she felt protected and secure even though she lay naked in his embrace.

  Gradually, she dropped off into a deep, healing sleep.

  When she finally awakened, Summer lay puzzled, looking about the tepee, trying to remember where she was and what had happened. The memories flooded back and suddenly she realized she lay naked with her long blond hair spread out over the hollow of Iron Knife’s shoulder. One of his powerful arms lay possessively across her curved hip under the buffalo robe.

  Horrified, she tried to scurry away from him and realized how weak and exhausted she was. He came out of his deep slumber with a start as she tried to crawl away. Putting his arm under his head, he watched her fumbling with the deerskin dress.

  “Don’t be so terrified,” he assured her. “I didn’t take you.”

  “How do I know that?” she sobbed, struggling with the dress.

  “Do you think I could, and your body not know?”

  He stood up slowly, and she blushed at the sight of his magnificent maleness. She paused, thinking. Of course he hadn’t touched her. Even in her delirium, she knew she would have remembered being invaded by such a stallion.

  He dressed silently and then turned to help her pull her dress down over her head and reexamined her arm. She looked with him, and realized that the swelling had gone. The arm was healing. Trying to stand up, she staggered. She would have fallen had he not caught her in his arms.

  “I—I must have been ill a long time,” she whispered.

  “You were.” He looked down at her, and she saw the weariness in his face, realized he had probably slept very little.

  “Well, I’m very grateful to you,” Summer said primly, trying not to recall the images of his naked body, the warmth of him against her. “When I get back to Fort Smith, my father will reward you.”

  He swore an oath and jerked away from her abruptly. “Do you think I did all that for money? I did it for you, Summer Sky, because you are my woman!”

  “I am not your woman!” she snapped, stiffening. “You can’t own me like you would a rifle or a horse. Anyway,” she shrugged, “the whole idea is ridiculous! After all, I’m a Van Schuyler, and you’re—”

  “Just a dirty, worthless Indian,” he raged, “not fit to touch a white woman! Even a white whore once rejected me this way, luring me into her bed, and then yelling rape,’ because she was ashamed she had let a dirty half-breed touch her!”

  Summer cowered before his rage. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant!” He towered over her. “Twice now, I have saved your life, and yet you spurn me while calling the name of ‘Austin’ in your sickness. Is ‘Austin’ a rich white man, and does he kiss you without your protest as I have longed to?”

  Before she could answer, he jerked her roughly into his arms, forcing her lips apart, kissing her deeply and thoroughly in a way she had never been kissed before. For a split second, she swayed in his embrace, shaken at her own primitive response. Then she pulled away, bringing her hand up to strike him.

  He caught her hand in a steel grip and glared back at her. She shivered as she realized what savage, brute strength was being held back by his sheer will. Abruptly, he freed her hand and turned away, leaning against a lodge pole by the fire pit.

  Why, he’s trembling! she thought, wondering.

  “I didn’t mean what you think,” she said gently. “It isn’t that you’re Indian, but, you see, this is an impossible situation.”

  She went over and touched his arm. He brushed her away. “I meant I won’t forget your kindness when I return to my own people.”

  He turned and looked at her, his face inscrutable. “Enough of this talk of leaving,” he said brusquely. “You are too ill and weak to travel now.”

  “That’s not true!” she protested, even though she had to sit down on the buffalo robe to keep her head from spinning. “I can ride just fine, and I’ll be all right if I can just get back to the fort.”

  “Is the man ‘Austin’ waiting for you there? Are you Austin’s woman?”

  “What an impudent question.” She tossed her head haughtily. “It’s none of your business, but I was being sent to my uncle’s family. He’s the Reverend Harlow, a circuit rider outside Fort Smith. I had displeased my father, and he was angry with me.”

  Iron Knife nodded. “You are at the age when you should have a man. I would know how to deal with such an unbroken filly!”

  “I do not intend to let you deal with me at all.” Her blue eyes flashed fire. ”And I am certainly not used to strangers being so nosy about my personal life!”

  He smiled slowly at her. “After the last several days, I think we are hardly strangers.”

  She felt the blood rush to her face at the memories, and she looked away. It occurred to Summer that it was foolish to make an enemy of the big savage. He was the only one in the encampment who might help her escape. She would do well to make a friend of him. With that thought, she moved closer to him, taking his big hand in her two small ones.

  “I have treated you badly after you have done so much for me. But I will see you are rewarded when I go back.”

  The Indian brushed her hands away, and avoided her eyes. “We will discuss going back when you are stronger,” he said.

  Abruptly, there were sounds outside of a horse reining up, and a male voice called out in Indian. Iron Knife answered and one of his silent sentinels from the stage poked his head through the tepee opening. He eyed Summer curiously, then ignored her as he spoke with Iron Knife in Cheyenne. They talked a few moments and the other nodded and went outside.

  “There is a hunt,” Iron Knife announced to her. “Deer have been seen south of the camp and we are short on meat. Most of the men will be going.” He gathered up his bow and lance.

  “Are you leaving me here alone?” The thought frightened her. She didn’t realize how much she had come to depend on him.

  “Poor little white girl,” he smiled sarcastically, “doesn’t know whether to be more afraid of the big, dirty savage inside or the ones outside the tepee!”

  Summer felt the color rush to her face. She didn’t know the answer to that puzzle herself. Her feelings toward Iron Knife were becoming more and more confused all the time....

  “Will you be gone long?” she asked. Somehow, she didn’t want him to leave. Even though she was a little afraid of him, she trusted him more than the others, and felt secure when he was nearby. The inside of this tepee had begun to feel like home to her, and she had no idea what dangers awaited her outside.

  He finished gathering up his things before he answered. “I don’t think we will be gone more than a few hours. You will be safe enough. The women won’t bother you, and all the men except the very old and the very young are going on the hunt. Everyone knows you are my woman, and would not dare harm you.”

  She started to argue that point again, and decided against it. “But what shall I do while you are gone?”

  He shrugged. “You had better rest, for you are still very weak, but you can go outside if you
feel well enough. A few of the women speak a little English. My uncle’s wife, Pony Woman, is at the big lodge with the white buffalo painted on it.” He gestured. “She will have food for you when you are hungry.”

  He paused in the doorway. “I will return with much meat, and there will be dancing and games. You will see that my people are not so bad to live with.”

  “But what of Fort Smith—?”

  He hesitated. “We will discuss that later.” Then he was gone, leaving her staring into the fire.

  She realized suddenly just how weak she was and lay down and slept. It must have been several hours before she awakened and decided to venture outside. The weather was balmy for early autumn, but the sky was still cloudy from past rains.

  Most of the Indian women smiled shyly at her, but shook their heads when she tried to speak English to them. She remembered what Iron Knife had said about the white buffalo tepee and found it, only a few yards away. A squat, plump squaw had a big buffalo skin pegged to the ground and was scraping it as Summer appeared. She smiled at Summer, and Summer remembered her from her illness.

  “Ah, my nephew’s woman!” She grinned at Summer. “Come! Sit! Eat!”

  Summer smiled back at her warmth, thinking how much the plump little woman reminded her of Mrs. O’Malley, her personal maid; never mind the dark skin.

  She sat down obediently, and watched the big hunk of meat slowly roasting over the open fire. The smell of it enforced her hunger.

  Pony Woman cut off a big piece of the crisp meat, and handed it to her. It was delicious! Summer ate every bite, and licked her fingers. She smiled at the image of her mother’s snooty music society and what they would say if they could see Summer eating like a savage with her bare hands, licking her fingers.

  “Good.” She motioned to Pony Woman, “Very good. Thank you.” She shook her head when offered more, and tried to carry on a conversation with the woman, only to realize how little English Pony Woman spoke. When she got back to civilization, she would send some fine cloth and other things to Iron Knife’s aunt for all her kindness.