One Hundred Horses (2 page)

Oh my God... he is... Comanche!

She had to fight to gain focus, but she was certain that the nearly naked savage looked back at her with a hard, narrow and angry expression. His large, almond-shaped eyes resembled black orbs that sat on top of large, protruding cheek bones. The heavy, raven wing-shaped brows added a wild fierceness to his face that made her involuntarily recoil.

As her sight became clearer, she also noticed that he was inflicted with heavy scars across his shoulders and down an arm. She shuddered, her mind spinning as she wondered how he had gotten all those and still lived. He was only a few feet away, but his figure was large enough that he cast a giant shadow over her, relaying the fact that he could overpower her at will.

The tight grip of fear squeezed until her mouth went dry and her throat painfully constricted. She forced herself to push past the choking sensation when she somehow managed a good and loud scream that she knew nobody except him would hear.

Sarah Cashion threw her hands over her head, tried to swallow her hysteria and squeezed her eyes closed as she expected him to deliver her heavy blow. Her clouded thinking reasoned that the savage would beat her for screaming. When nothing happened, she slowly opened her eyes to find that the man actually just ignored her. He had bent over and began to pack up the rest of his food into his leather bag.  He seemed none too interested in her at all.

She watched, slightly relieved until he straightened once again and looked down on her with hard lines of anger still etched upon his features. Never had she seen such a mountain of a man. Never in her young years had she witnessed another human being with such strength and power. Fear trickled through every throb of her veins.  He looked ever bit as formidable as the stories she heard.  No wonder the soldiers could not defeat them all.

Sarah tried not to make a sound as she continued to eye him with weary and wonder.  Every inch of him seemed to ripple with tense muscles poised for battle. Even as shook up as she was, she knew she could never outrun him, never over power his strength if she tried to escape. It would be utterly useless.

He continued to stand over her waiting, expecting...
What does he want from me? Does he want me to stand?
She licked her lips and focused her gaze away from his as she stared down at the sand trying not to do anything to anger him.  When he tapped the top of her head, she struggled to get to her own feet while pain shot through her and knocked her back, taking her breath. All she could now manage to do, was to just lie helpless and fight her tears. The realization of her own death swept over her like a giant vulture. Sarah Rose Cashion closed her eyes for what she believed would be the final time. The last thing she felt were her own tears stream down the side of her face, and the gentle hands of God lifting her toward the sky.

***

She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, didn’t know where she was; but she felt strong arms wrap around her almost protectively.

Someone, maybe God, maybe a brutal savage, held her tight and left her no room to even wiggle. She came in and out of consciousness so often that she easily became confused on whether she was actually with an Indian or being led past the ranch by one of the ranch hands. She desperately wanted to see the buffalo the cowboys had promised. Then the smell of smoke, musk and something masculine filled her senses, reminding her that she was, in fact, being carried away by a large savage. She wanted to scream, but his tight hold on her did not allow for such foolishness, and it would be useless anyway. He had carried her far into their territory. There wasn’t another soul for miles. Knowing she could not win a struggle with this man, she finally allowed herself to go limp and rested her head against his bulging shoulder.

The more time passed, the more the fog began to clear and her thoughts made sense to her again. She remembered that she had been riding her horse when the mare had spooked at something. Sable had reared and spun into a circle, leaving her hurt and stranded. What she couldn’t remember was how she ended up with this Comanche.

A new fear bubbled up inside her as she realized that this man was walking with purpose; he was taking her somewhere. Nothing around her seemed familiar, so she did not fool herself with hope that he planned to return her to Cashion Ranch or even the fort. She watched the ground pass beneath his long strides in shock: she had become a Comanche captive.

***

The change of her breathing across his shoulder and her slight movement alerted Grey Fox that the woman had awoken. Gently, he placed her on her feet. It was the first time they had stood next to each other. He regarded her with expectation. He thought that maybe she would choose this moment to run, or maybe try to attack him. Instead, he noticed her trembling body, her eyes

'eyes twisting'? Not sure if 'twisting' is what was intended. Perhaps ‘twitching’?

twisting with the sense of pain, and wrestling with her understandable fear. However, instead of cowering, or weeping, she regarded him with a brave face even though she had to lean her head way back to look up at him. Her ability to look him in the eye without shifting or flinching begrudgingly impressed him.

The woman swayed suddenly and reached out at thin air to steady herself. When it was clear she was going to lose her balance, he reached out a hand and gripped her completely around her upper arm. She was way too thin, he thought. Again, doubts about her resurfaced, making him frown. He then watched with amusement as she began to point to a nearby bush and wiggle. He only grunted his approval for her to relieve herself. He watched her as she slowly walked on her shaky legs to a nearby bush.

The woman looked cautiously around her. He could easily read her thoughts. She was trying to gauge the distance between them, trying to decide if she had enough of a head start if she were to somehow break out into a run with her weak legs. He almost laughed. Was she still delirious? Grey Fox saw the indecisiveness on her face and waited. Surely, the woman realized she was still trapped with him even as far away as she was. Her quandary interested him. He waited and watched.

Then she collapsed.

***

“Tom! What did you find out? Is she at the Fort?” Deidre had seen her ranch foreman ride up the entrance of Cashion, and she raced outside and confronted him before he could dismount from his horse. He appeared ashen; his sullen expression bespoke volumes. She knew then that the news would be bad, so she covered her mouth with her hands, waiting.

“I talked to the Captain. There have been no visitors to the Fort in weeks. Gerald, Wade and I searched all over the territory. We found...”

“What? Oh, sweet Lord, what did you find?” Deidre’s voice rose to a feverish pitch, causing the cowboy to flinch. He removed his hat and held it to his chest.

“We found Sable, her horse, dead on the trail. I’m guessing about a day’s ride from here. We found where she had begun to walk, but it was in the wrong direction. She must have been really confused. We lost the tracks due to all this rain. Any clues have been washed out.”

She watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose. While he obviously didn’t want to tell her what he found next, she continued to stare at him expectantly, trying not to cry. He took a deep breath. His hesitation ignited her worst fears, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Just tell me, Tom. That’s my baby out there.”

He looked away for a moment. When he finally spoke, it came out apologetic and shaky. “Deidre, I also found a dead lion with an arrow through its side. There were also remnants of her shirt by the kill. I think the Comanche have her.”

***

Everything went still. The abrupt stop to the rocking motion of the Indian’s steps jarred her awake. It was morning again and she couldn’t believe he had carried her all through the night. Not once had he stopped until now. He put her down on her feet, holding her for a moment so she could steady herself. Sarah swept a glance up to him, and she could see that he was keenly interested at something over her head that pleased him. His eyes revealed a prideful expression, prompting her to wearily see what had pleased the man so much.

They were on a ridge, looking down below at a tiny valley hidden between two giant mesas. The valley was ripe and overflowing with swaying, green grass, and through the center rippled a large, bubbling creek. On one side of the creek stood several dozen tipis and lodges with grey smoke trailing skyward from their tops. Packs of dogs were running and barking, and children were playing everywhere. There was at least a fifty head of horses grazing on the other side of the creek, all of them appearing healthy and strong. Even from where they were up on that ridge, the smell of cooking fires assaulted her senses. Sarah’s mouth was gaping, and her heart started pounding heavily in her chest again. This was his home. This is where he meant to take her. Sarah grabbed his arm for support, the earth rocking beneath her.

If I go down there, I’ll never get back home.

Chapter Two

“Please just let me go! Please don’t take me down there. Please. I have my own home to go to... please!”

She clutched onto his arm, and the tone of her voice and the fear in her eyes told Grey Fox everything she was trying to convey. He knew she was pleading for her freedom. Even if he gave it to her, she would either die from her infections or be killed by a beast. For a flash of a second, Grey Fox felt sympathy for her, along with an unwelcoming surge of protectiveness—and he hated it. He grabbed her a little harder than he intended, and she let out a sharp cry at his roughness. It didn’t matter what she wanted or what he wanted. His honor demanded he see this through; he could not let her go free. Grey Fox pulled her up and over his shoulder once more as he made his way down the slope, heading for the home of the Coyote Clan.

When they reached the bottom of the slope, Grey Fox hesitated in thought. Finally, he decided to put her back down. He wanted her to walk into the village and show her strength. He would not cater to her, he would not show the people any pampering from him, since he did not love her. And if she was the woman of the vision, the woman that was worthy of him, she should walk. He nudged her forward.

***

The wound from her thigh seeped fresh blood. Her legs trembled so badly she wasn’t sure she could walk. But the savage urged her ahead, using the tip of his bow to tap on her back. She attempted to pick up her speed when she stumbled. He muttered under his breath. His rudeness, and sudden careless treatment of her sparked a nerve. A voice in her head kept repeating not to give in to him, not to cower or cry no matter how much she wanted to.

Drumming up strength from somewhere deep inside of her, she resolved herself. If this was to be her fate, she would face it head on. She did her best to stand tall and with her head up. Somehow she knew not to come into this village afraid. She heard once from the cowboys back home how these savages preyed on the weak, how they mocked the whites and turned them into slaves. She could not allow herself to become a victim. Renewing her sense of preservation, Sarah willed her legs not to buckle and bit down on her lip.

They entered the village to a stunned and hushed crowd. The onlookers watched with what she assumed was trepidation and maybe excitement. Some of the children wrapped their arms around their mothers’ legs, their dirty little faces peering at her, their eyes wide and mouths open. She swallowed down the sudden bubble of acid that formed in her throat.

Each step became harder to take; each step felt like one step further from her old life and one step closer to her certain death. She had no idea where she was being pushed. The hot sun bore down on her as she made her way through. Wave after wave of pungent odors emanated off the cooking pots. Blood rushed past her ears, and her stomach rolled from raw nerves. How would she survive this? Forcing herself to focus, she tried to concentrate on her surroundings. She would need her bearings if an opportunity came to escape. But her focus shifted as she realized that nothing here bespoke of savages. There were only women cooking, children playing, men working with weapons or horses. Everything appeared peaceful, organized and civil. She was surprised to see some of the women were topless, and almost all the children were nude as well. But even then, this appeared normal and was not deemed to be extraordinary.

She tried to take a fortifying breath. She fought for control of her body. The Comanche continued to push her through the crowd. She couldn’t help notice the looks of respect the villagers gave to him. It was obvious he was highly regarded, that she was somehow property of his, and for that, they gave her plenty of space and acted submissively. None of these things made her feel any better. They had made it to the center of the village when she was now face to face with two more Comanche men. The last thing she expected to hear was resounding, vivacious laughter.

“Oh, Grey Fox, it is as if you brought Mother Earth herself right to my sleeping mat!” a younger, unusual-looking Comanche observed with a chuckle. Sarah’s body startled at his words. Her worried gaze traveled up to the face of the manwho was fluently speaking English. What’s more, he appeared to be white! His hair was dark, and his skin well-exposed to the sun, but he had blue eyes that reminded her of Tom’s or her mother’s. The man smiled while his humorous gaze traveled the length of her. Sarah recoiled. Humor was the last emotion she could possibly feel at the moment. Whatever amused him left her even more frightened than before, if that were possible.

“Ha ha, brother, you’ve got your hands full with this one. Look at how she stands despite her wounds. Her spirit is strong. She is going to claw you with that spirit!” The white man laughed again while his gaze raked over her. Sarah could sense that the warrior behind her bristled; she felt the air shift as her captor moved in close behind her. He was near enough now that the shadow of his large frame loomed over her. Inexplicably, she leaned back into him, an unconscious move on her part, seeking out his protection. The man before her may have been white, but he was nonetheless Comanche. Her heart sank. “I’ll make room in my tipi for her. I don’t mind,” he teased again.

Horror struck her. Until now, she hadn’t considered that the Comanche would want to have sex with her. Her knees buckled, and whatever shred of her false bravado that remained had shattered. Sarah saw the vision of the white man before her turn to liquid as large, copper hands grasped her firmly by the arms to steady her. Then an old man, who quietly stood on the side, suddenly reached out to touch her face with his hand. She turned her head away, fearing she was going to expel the contents of her stomach. Her eyes rolled backwards, and the world around her tunneled to black.

***

“She is as hot as Father Sun!” Crazy Goose snapped, pushing Crow Feather out of the way to get a better look at the golden woman. Grey Fox gathered her up in his arms and felt a stab of shame. The Shaman did not look happy with him.

“I did my best,” he said as he peered down at her.

“Take her inside my tipi. I will tend to her.”

Grey Fox’s thoughts tumbled as he laid her gently down on a thick pile of buffalo pelts. Her tiny frame dropped into all the long fur, further solidifying the fact that she was too small, not of his world, and that even in her sleep was lost inside something as simple as an animal pelt.

He stood over her for a long while with pent-up breath, knowing he should have no feelings for such a puny, strange-looking woman. Yet Crow’s teasing of her had brought on strange feelings of jealousy and protection. He had to make sure not to let that happen again. This woman truly must have magic for him to already be waging a battle between his body and his mind.

Crazy Goose approached with a bowl of thick syrup. He gave the War Chief a knowing look and then gestured him out of the lodge. Grey Fox looked at the bowl and winced. The broth smelled like deer urine. He had been forced to drink it many times. He shuddered, recalling the strong bitter flavor, but he knew it would allow the woman to sleep and fight her infections. He left in a hurry. He needed to think.

***

Crazy Goose washed and treated the woman’s wounds with salve. As he ministered over her body he lifted his voice in song, changing notes as he guided his hands over her many wounds. He summoned the spirits of his ancestors to call upon those to usher away the burden upon his patient and carry her sickness away with the wind. With skill passed down to him from generations of medicine men, Crazy Goose expertly wrapped her with soft cloth. He continued his prayers over her while he set her shoulder back in its place. For two days, the medicine man kept her in slumber, allowing her spirit to heal and so she could dream. He knew she would need her dreams to find her direction in her new world.

***

The Shaman’s song could be heard outside his tipi where Grey Fox seemed to form a new habit of walking by and stealing peeks between the flaps of the entrance.

“Grey Fox! Red Dawn is asking for you!” Startled by the boy, Grey Fox jumped a bit and gave the teenager a frown. He did not mean to scare the young warrior, who made haste and disappeared behind a long row of tipis. Grey Fox exhaled as he peered down the row to where Red Dawn’s tipi sat. He knew that Red Dawn would want to talk to him about the woman. The warrior’s muscles tightened along his neck and down his spine. He should have made a visit to the old woman sooner.

When he entered inside Red Dawn’s tipi, the first thing that assailed him was the smell. Red Dawn was always burning sage, lavender or some other herb, and it sat heavily in the air. Grey Fox rubbed his nose in a weak attempt to soothe the sting. He looked down at the elder sister of Crazy Goose. Her eyes were sunken in even further than the last time he had seen her. Her constantly swaying head only revealed that she had less and less ability to see the world around her. He wondered momentarily if she was older than the dirt itself when he settled himself next to her small fire. He waited patiently. It would be several moments before she spoke.

“There is much talk about you bringing home a yellow, cat-like woman,” Red Dawn said at last. Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“She is with Crazy Goose. She is sick and badly injured,” Grey Fox told her.

“Does she bear the mark of Brother Lion?” The old woman asked.

Grey Fox nodded. “It is deep. It was a big lion.”

“Ah, all the better. I am glad she is here. How is your heart, Grey Fox?”

Grey Fox stiffened, and his lips formed a frown. He hated talk of his feelings. He had buried his feelings when he buried his Moon Water and his mother, She Who Wanders. There was nothing inside him, and he certainly did not want to discuss his feelings towards the woman. “My heart is unchanged. If I must have a mate, I want a Comanche woman. Not this weak and fragile creature. I don’t even think she could bear a Comanche baby,” Grey Fox said, the words tight and strained.

Red Dawn chuckled. Her reaction caused a terrible bout of coughing fits as the war chief watched the old woman with both surprise and dread. He wasn’t sure what she found so funny.

“This woman, she survives the attack of a cat, a few days out in the wilderness with you, and you think she is weak? Huh,
who is weak
? The Fox does not overpower a Cat. The Cat cannot beat the Fox. Huh, you will find your way.” With those words, Red Dawn lay down on her mat. Grey Fox took it as his cue to leave.

As he stood he remembered what his brother Crow Feather had said:
She will claw you with her spirit.
If this was true, how could he mate with a woman with such a strong spirit? Frustrated, he flung back the flap of the tipi with force and headed toward the small river to cool himself in the water. Maybe he would seek out release between the thighs of a woman tonight. Any woman, and certainly not
that
woman, who could barely carry her own bird-like weight!

***

When Sarah opened her eyes she felt nothing. No pain. In fact, she realized she felt nearly as good as when this whole nightmare began. Momentarily confused, she forced her mind to comply. Where was she, exactly? A vague memory of being carried into the old man’s tipi began to take shape. She sat up slowly and surveyed the area around her. In this room sat a central pit where a pot of something was bubbling away. On the walls hung strange objects from strips of hide. Everything looked neat and tidy. A cool breeze brushed across her breast, alerting her to her nakedness. Her arms wrapped around her body as she tried to focus through the darkened shadows for any signs of her clothing.

Her search came up empty. Her clothes were gone. She did manage to locate a soft leather short dress. Slipping it over her head, she didn’t know what to do, so she just sat there, listening to the old man snore, staring at the pot and smelling the strange odors that emanated from it.

As the time passed, thoughts of her fate in this strange place tortured her nerves. Her eyes darted from the old man to the entrance, wondering if she could be quiet enough to leave unnoticed. A soft breeze played with the opening of the tipi, reminding her of a hand waving her out. Sarah looked at the loose flap and then back to the Shaman, biting her lip in indecision. What would happen to her if she was caught? How badly would they treat her? What kind of torture was in store for her if she stayed? Then she remembered the events of the days before and how that man with blue eyes talked of sleeping with her, and she shivered. Without further hesitation, she sprang to her feet and tiptoed out into the cool evening.

The evening air hit her square in the face. Sarah immediately sought refuge in the shadow of a neighboring tipi. Whispering her thanks to God that there was no moon this night, she hoped the darkness would be her friend. She would only need to navigate through the intermittent light, where several small fires cast shadows over the hides that covered the tipis. She crept, breathless, amongst the dancing shadows. She had to think. She remembered seeing the horses grazing near the creek. If she could make it that far, she might have a chance.

In the distance, the wail of an infant cut through the still night air, raising goose bumps on her skin. Then, as she made her way toward the edge of the village, the sound of the infant was soon mingled with the much closer, unmistakable moans from a couple making love. Images of the act played inside her mind, reminding her that she needed to save herself from that fate and get out.

Sarah’s hair fell into her face as she struggled to see in the dark. As if on cue, just across the creek blew a soft nicker from a horse. Hope surged within her so hot and fast that without thinking, she sprinted to the creek. Thinking she had found a safe and shallow place to cross, she plunged into the inky, icy water. She couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath at the coldness against her skin. A violent shudder raced through her body as she forced her muscles to pull her across to the meadow on the other side. Dripping wet, shivering and with waves of apprehension searing, Sarah found herself on the opposite shoreline. The horses were nearly within reach.