Savage Autumn (12 page)

Windhawk stopped in front of Joanna, seeing the fear in her beautiful violet-blue eyes. He knew what she would be feeling this morning. Last night he had awakened her virgin body, but he had not touched her heart. He was confused, not knowing how to win her. She was different from the Indian maidens he had been with. He had never before faced a reluctant woman the day after taking her to his mat.

He extended his hand to her, but Joanna only raised her chin and gave him an insolent glare.

“I want no more than to take you for a walk, Jo-anna. I wish to talk to you.”

“No! I will not go with you.”

He smiled, and her heart quickened. Why did he have this strange effect on her? She was unaware that her violet-colored eyes dilated and she reminded Windhawk of a frightened little girl.

He picked her up in his arms, and when she began to struggle, he held her tightly against his body. How he loved her! He could not stand the thought that he had hurt her. It should not be that Joanna was frightened of him.

Windhawk carried her out of the tipi and down to the river. Joanna knew that it would be futile to struggle—he was stronger than she, and in the end his strength would win over her determination. She felt his hair brush against her cheek, and she remembered his gentleness the night before. He had shown her what it felt like to be a woman, and she could not deny that he had awakened her body. Even now, resenting him as she did, Joanna could remember vividly how it had felt when he made love to her.

Next time, she vowed, he would not have such an easy conquest. If there were a next time she would fight him all the way.

When they reached the river, Windhawk set her on her feet. “If you would like to bathe I will turn my back,” he said.

Joanna was sure she saw an amused twinkle in his eyes. She felt angry that he was referring to the fact that he already knew her body very well.

“How do I know I can trust you not to look?” she said, eyeing the water and knowing she would welcome a bath.

“I give you my word.”

“I do not trust your word,” she said raising her chin proudly.

Without further comment, Windhawk lifted her gown over her head and tossed it on the grass. She saw him smile as he turned his back and folded his arms across his chest.

Joanna stood undecided for a moment. If she didn’t remove her undergarments they would be wet and uncomfortable, but she hesitated to go into the water naked. Even if Windhawk had given his word that he would not watch her, she didn’t trust him.

With a stubborn determination, she waded into the river, still wearing her undergarments, and began scrubbing all over. She kept a watchful eye on Windhawk, but he didn’t once turn in her direction.

Wading out of the water, Joanna quickly pulled her gown over her head and fastened it about her neck.

At last Windhawk turned to her and motioned that she
should sit on the grass beside him. Joanna was reluctant to obey, but she decided against testing him, fearing a recurrence of the night before.

He didn’t look at her, but stared instead across the river. Against her will, Joanna’s eyes were drawn to him. He was beautiful, she thought. She could never remember seeing any man who could match him in handsomeness.

Windhawk felt her watching him and turned his head to look at her. Joanna drew back, fearing he would be able to read her thoughts.

“Jo-anna. I wish to say so many things to you, but I have not the words. I want you to know that I would never harm you.”

“What would you call what you did to me last night?” she asked, looking away. “I have never been as harmed as I was by you!”

He took her chin and forced her to look at him. “What happened between us was meant to be. You will come to know this in time.”

“Is that your way of justifying what you did to me?”

“I do not understand this—justify.”

She pushed his hand away. “You think you were right in what you did to me? Are you trying to convince me also?”

“Joanna, had you ever been with a man before, you would know that what was between us was…good.”

As his hand drifted down her cheek, Joanna looked into his eyes and found a soft light glowing there. She was unable to look away when he smiled.

“I once had a horse, Jo-anna. She was beautiful and untamed, allowing no one near her. I knew that there had never been such an animal, and I wanted to tame her. I knew that first I must win her trust. It is that way with you, Jo-anna.”

“I don’t think I like being compared to a horse,” she said with a pretty pout on her lips.

Windhawk laughed softly. “The Indian treasures his horse, even as he loves his woman.”

“I am not your woman!”

His dark eyes rested on her lips, and Joanna drew in her breath at the intense feelings that settled over her.

“You will be my woman, Jo-anna. One day you will come to me and take my hand willingly.”

“Never!”

He gave her a look which made her doubt her own resolve, but he said nothing.

They both stared across the river without speaking, until Joanna broke the silence. “What became of the horse?”

Windhawk looked down at her with a smile on his lips. “When I call, she comes to me. She will eat from my hand and will allow no other man to ride her.”

Once again color stained Joanna’s cheeks. “I will never be like your horse, so you might as well allow me to return to my people right now.”

Windhawk stood up and offered Joanna his hand. “One day, when I beckon, you will come. You will eat from my hand…and you will allow no other man to…to love you.”

Before Joanna could protest, he bent and scooped her into his arms. “Come, it grows late,” he said.

Joanna pondered his words. No, she would never come at his bidding. She might be his prisoner, but her heart and her mind were still under her own control. One day she would find a way to escape. He couldn’t watch her every day for the rest of her life. Sooner or later he would let his guard down, and that would be the day she would be free!

It would have surprised Joanna if she had known that Windhawk could read her thoughts. He was sad that Joanna should suffer so needlessly. In the end she would belong to him. Nothing on earth could stop the hand of fate from fulfilling its destiny.

Joanna had lost track of the number of days they had been traveling. Each day they would continue to ride north, covering as much territory as they possibly could between sunrise and sunset. The civilized world as Joanna knew it had been left far behind.

Joanna was weary, and she wondered if they would ever reach the Blackfoot village. Some mornings she had to mentally force herself to climb on her horse. She had plenty of time to reflect on her plight, and at night she would think of Tag and Franny. She wondered if the pain of losing them would ever lessen. She tried not to think about what had happened between her and Windhawk, but each time he looked at her with those dark brooding eyes, her face would flush, and she would look quickly away.

Sometimes at night, she would dream about when Windhawk had taken her body. In her dreams she could almost feel his stroking hands moving over her hips, then up to cup her aching breasts. Her young body had been introduced to sensuous feelings, and try as she might she couldn’t seem to forget those feelings.

When Windhawk came near Joanna, she would feel her heartbeat accelerate, and she was honest enough with herself to admit that her body yearned for the touch of his hands. Many nights she would toss and turn feverishly, trying to put an end to her torment.

Once Windhawk had touched her hand when he handed her a drink of water, and Joanna had been horrified that she found herself wishing he would take her in his arms. It was becoming a daily battle, trying to appear aloof and unmoved by him.

Joanna pulled up her mount and gazed at the breathtaking
countryside. They were now in a valley which was surrounded by huge mountains, and had stopped at a small stream to water their horses.

Her eyes wandered downstream where she saw a herd of deer grazing on the sweet green grass that grew beside the water’s edge. Her eyes widened when she saw several huge shaggy brown beasts with humps on their backs grazing alongside the deer. She knew without being told that the strange looking animals were buffalo. She was so intent on watching them that she had not been aware that someone rode up beside her.

Windhawk was scouting ahead and he had told Gray Fox to stay near Joanna. Gray Fox and the other Blood braves had not approached Windhawk’s woman before, and he hesitated to speak to her now. He saw the awe in her eyes as she watched the buffaloes, and he smiled at her.

“If you will look above the overhanging ledge,” he said, drawing Joanna’s attention, “you will see the stag keeping watch.”

Joanna’s eyes followed his direction and she saw the proud animal standing as a sentinel, guarding against trouble. Its great antlered horns gleamed in the afternoon sunlight.

“He is magnificent,” Joanna said, unable to tear her eyes away. Somehow the stag’s magnificent aloofness reminded her of Windhawk.

She turned to Gray Fox and smiled. “This land is beautiful. It almost seems as if we’re intruding where we do not belong.”

Gray Fox nodded. “I sometimes feel that way myself, Joanna. This is the land of the Blackfoot!” he said with pride.

Joanna was surprised that this man had spoken to her since he had not done so before. She recognized him as the Indian who had taken her away from Running Elk, the day she had crossed the river in search of Tag.

“You speak English very well. May I ask your name?”

“I am called Gray Fox. I learned to speak English when I was very young, as did Windhawk. He did not care for the white man’s tongue, so at that time he learned only what he needed to know to be able to trade with them. Later he realized that if he did not learn the white man’s language he would be unable
to communicate with them. As you know, he speaks the English good. That’s the kind of man Windhawk is. If he wants to do something, he does it well.”

“Tell me some of the Blackfoot words,” Joanna urged, not wanting to talk about Windhawk. “What is the Blackfoot name for white man?”

“That would be
napik wan,
which means, old man person.”

She repeated the words hesitantly and Gray Fox smiled at her encouragingly. She would point out different things and he would tell her the Blackfoot word for them.

Joanna soon forgot that Gray Fox was the enemy, and began to talk and laugh with him. When they rode away from the stream, Gray Fox rode beside her. He is a kind man, she thought. Somehow she couldn’t associate him with raiding and murdering. But then she reminded herself that he was an Indian, like Windhawk. His views on what was right and wrong would be different from hers.

Windhawk had been strangely distant and withdrawn for several days now. He still slept in the tipi with Joanna, but he never came near her. She began to feel hurt by his disinterest in her, and she chided herself for caring. She should be glad that he didn’t want to come near her. Most of the time he was not with the group of Indians who rode beside Joanna and she wondered why he was avoiding her. Perhaps he didn’t care for her any more after she had so easily given in to him, allowing him to make love to her.

Joanna’s thoughts were troubled. What if he had a wife who awaited his return? Maybe he had more than one wife, she thought in horror.

They had slowed their pace to ford a shallow stream and she turned to Gray Fox. “I have heard it said that it is permissible for the Blackfoot to have more than one wife. Can this be true?”

Gray Fox nodded soberly. “I, myself, have two wives. Is it not the custom in the white man’s world to have more than one wife?”

Joanna felt dejected for some strange reason. “No, it is not
permitted. Do most of your men have more than one wife?” she dared to ask.

Gray Fox smiled to himself, knowing why she was so curious. She thought Windhawk might already have a wife, and she was feeling jealous. If Windhawk had not already told her he had no wife, it was not his place to interfere.

“If a man is wealthy, then more often than not he will have more than one wife,” he answered.

He scanned Joanna’s beautiful face. He could see why Windhawk had been drawn to her. She was very beautiful, and it was only right that a great chief such as Windhawk should have such a woman to walk beside him.

Tag lifted the heavy waterskin and hoisted it up to his shoulder. As he approached Running Elk’s lodge, he paused outside the entrance. The Indians were holding a council meeting and he knew if he entered now he would be severely punished. His back was already streaked with red welts. Running Elk had given him a beating with a leather whip just two days ago when he had caught Tag talking to Amanda.

He hung the waterskin on a wooden peg, then sat down, feeling miserable. He ached all over, but he reminded himself that his suffering in no way compared to Amanda’s. She had been forced to stay in Running Elk’s lodge, and Tag knew that the chief had taken her to his bed.

Hatred burned in his heart for the man who had raided the wagon train and caused his sister’s death.

One of Running Elk’s numerous wives passed by, and when she saw Tag sitting down, she picked up a big stick and began hitting him across the face. He held up his hands, trying to protect himself, but the heavy blows found their target. He stood up when she motioned for him to follow her. Tag knew to refuse would mean his death, and he had developed a strong sense of survival since becoming a captive. He had many reasons to live, not the least of which was revenge.

The first thing he must do was to get Amanda away from Running Elk. She no longer resembled the happy, smiling girl
she had once been. Until two days ago he had only seen her one time, and that had been at a distance.

Amanda had been standing in front of Running Elk’s lodge and Tag had crept around the corner, hoping to speak to her.

Her eyes had filled with tears when she saw him. She had then begged Tag to try to escape, telling him there was no hope for her.

Tag knew he would never leave Amanda behind. When he left the village she would be with him.

His sense of values had changed over the past weeks. Before the raid, the uppermost thought in his mind had been to get to his father so they could deal with his aunt and uncle. Now the most important thing in his life was just trying to stay alive.

Running Elk’s wife caught Tag by the ear and shoved him down on his knees, motioning for him to pick up the grinding-stone to grind the corn. He did not hesitate, knowing the woman would punish him should she think he was not obeying her.

Tag could understand why Running Elk had taken Amanda as his captive, but he had no notion why the chief had spared his life.

He began pounding the corn under the watchful eye of Running Elk’s wife. Somehow, someway, he would find a way to escape—but not before he avenged Joanna’s death by killing Running Elk.

Once again tears blinded Tag’s eyes. He was glad that Joanna had not lived to be taken captive by Running Elk; for had she lived, she would now be suffering the same fate as Amanda. But, oh, he did miss her so badly.

The night was quiet, and the campfire had died down, leaving only smoldering ashes. While the days were quite warm and pleasant, the nights were often cold. Joanna snuggled down between two buffalo robes, glad for their warmth.

She rubbed her arms and shoulders thinking they were stiff
and sore from riding so much. She tried to calculate what the date was, but she had lost all track of time. It must be late September, she thought.

Joanna looked at the empty buffalo robe where Windhawk always slept. She had decided the reason he no longer showed an interest in her was because he had a wife waiting for him. If he did, his wife might be jealous of another woman. Had Windhawk merely used her? she wondered bitterly. Could that be why he no longer looked at her? Yes, that must be why he was ignoring her. She felt hurt and jealous thinking of some dark-eyed wife waiting for Windhawk’s return.

She closed her eyes, wishing for sleep, but her thoughts wouldn’t allow her the peace of mind she craved. When was it that she had begun to feel jealous at the thought of Windhawk having a wife? Why did she feel rejected because he paid so little attention to her now?

Windhawk entered the tipi, and Joanna closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. After a time she opened them a crack to see if he was sleeping. He was lying on the buffalo robe, and his eyes were closed. Her eyes traveled the length of his long, lean body, which was visible in the soft glow from the burning embers of the campfire.

Windhawk was lying on his back with his head resting against his folded arms. Joanna could not keep her eyes from wandering over his chest, which was bare, with the exception of the bear-claws that he wore about his neck. His shoulders were wide and muscular. Her eyes traveled down his chest to his stomach, and she felt a tightening in her throat.

Ashamed of her daring thoughts, Joanna glanced at his ebony hair. He had removed the leather band, and his dark hair fell loosely across his shoulders. Had there ever before been a man such as he? His darkly bronzed skin took on a golden hue in the soft glow inside the tipi.

Joanna drew in her breath when she looked at his eyes and saw that he was staring at her. Even from across the tipi, she could feel the intensity of his dark gaze. Forcing herself to turn
over, she faced the wall of the tipi. Her body began to tremble with some wild, pent-up emotion, and she placed her hand over her mouth, willing those feelings to go away. Joanna was aware that he still stared at her, and buried her face in her hands.

What did she want from him? Was she so brazen that she wanted him to make love to her as he had before? Moments passed, and she thought she would scream from the tension that knifed through the air.

Joanna heard movement and turned over quickly, fearing Windhawk was approaching her. She watched as he left the tipi, and instead of feeling relieved, she felt rejected again. What was happening to her? She was changing, and it was very unsettling. Her nerves were on edge, as if waiting for something to happen. Why did Windhawk no longer come near her? Did he not want her any more? Suppose she had displeased him when he had made love to her. She had been inexperienced.

Joanna turned over on her back and stared at the top of the tipi where she could see tiny stars twinkling through the opening. She tried to remember the girl she had once been, but could not associate herself with the girl who had worn silks and satins and was served tea in an exquisite drawing room. That girl was gone forever. She now wore a shabby blue riding habit and slept on a buffalo robe. Her life was not her own, but was dictated by the chief of the Blackfoot Indians. She tried to remember Captain Thatcher’s face, but it was only a vague shadow. She was becoming resigned to her fate, she thought. She had lost the will to escape.

Joanna was amazed at the beautiful lands they were now traveling through. There were mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers. The wildlife was abundant. Joanna had seen huge herds of buffalo, elk, deer, antelope, and many different varieties of waterfowl and wild duck. She remembered the day they had sighted a large herd of buffalo. The shaggy beasts had passed in a valley below them, and the thundering of their hooves could be heard long after they had passed from sight.

She could feel this land closing in on her, separating her from her father. How would she ever be able to find her way to him?

She couldn’t picture herself living out the rest of her life in some Indian village. What would become of her? Windhawk was still so distant and cold to her. Had it not been for Gray Fox, she knew she would be completely alone. Gray Fox would often ride beside her, explaining the many things that she questioned. Joanna was pleased that she was rapidly picking up the Blackfoot phrases he had taught her, and could even speak a few sentences.

When they rode to the top of a small hill Joanna saw a wide river which stretched on for miles. On the other side of that river was an Indian village. Joanna could see the numerous tipis and her heart felt heavy. She didn’t need to be told they had reached Windhawk’s village.

How could she be expected to just forget about her old life? She wouldn’t, and no one could make her stay where she didn’t want to be. She would never allow herself to lose her identity. She would always remember that she was Joanna James, daughter of Russell and Althea James.