Feather in the Wind (14 page)

“You know I will.”

He smiled a decidedly pleased masculine smile, then bent his head and kissed her. “I will not be gone long.”

A sudden commotion from outside drew them apart.

“Wait here,” Tate Sapa said. He kissed her once more, then moved toward the door. Before he reached the entrance, the flap was thrown back and several warriors burst into the lodge.

Tate Sapa glared at Mato Mani, the medicine man. “What is going on here?”

The tribal shaman pointed an accusing finger in Susannah’s direction. “
Wakánka
!” he exclaimed.

“What’s he saying?” Susannah asked, alarmed by the tone of the man’s voice.

“He claims you are a witch.”

A witch! Susannah took a step backward, inwardly flinching from the accusation in the medicine man’s eyes.

Tate Sapa put himself between Susannah and the warriors crowding into his lodge. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Wakinyela overheard you talking to the
wakánka winyan
by the river last night. She said the
wakánka
has put you under her spell.”

“And you believe her?”

“I saw the white woman in vision last night,” the medicine man said. “I saw her standing in two worlds. She held a drawing in her hands, Tate Sapa, a drawing with your likeness upon it. I fear she has captured your soul.”

“Black Wind, what is he saying?”

She felt her insides grow cold with fear as Black Wind translated the medicine man’s words. How could the medicine man have known about that picture?

“Wakinyela said you admitted the white woman has bewitched you,” Mato Mani declared.

“Wakinyela is behaving like a jealous child,” Tate Sapa retorted. “She is angry with me and seeks to destroy the white woman.”

“We will discuss it in council,” the medicine man decided. “Until we reach a decision, you will have nothing to do with the white woman.”

“She is here as my guest.”

Mato Mani jerked his head in Susannah’s direction. “Take her.”

“No!” Tate Sapa struggled against the three warriors who restrained him while Susannah was taken from the lodge. “Let me go!”

“Black Wind!” Susannah cried his name as she was hustled out of the lodge. She had no idea what was going on or where they were taking her.

“Su-san-nah!
Hey-ay-hee-ee!
”

“Bind him,” the medicine man said.

“Let me go!” Tate Sapa fought against the men holding him, but it was no use. In minutes, he was alone in the lodge, bound hand and foot. Desperate with concern for Susannah, he cursed under his breath, the swear words he had learned while at the soldier fort coming readily to mind. What would they do with her?

Minutes passed like hours. He worked his hands back and forth, trying to loosen his bonds, but only succeeded in abrading the skin on his wrists.

Where was she? What were they doing to her? Where was his father?

Frustration rose within him. How long since they had taken her away? An hour? Two?

Susannah…

* * * * *

She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life.

One of the Indians had bound her hands behind her and now she stood in the center of a large tipi, surrounded by a dozen grim-faced men and one smug-looking female. She would have given anything to know what Wakinyela was saying, what accusations she was making.

The warriors nodded, their expressions grave, when the Indian woman finished speaking.

There was a moment of taut silence, then two of the warriors grabbed Susannah by the arms and hauled her out of the lodge.

“Black Wind, let me see Black Wind,” Susannah begged as they dragged her across the village toward a lone cottonwood tree.

Careful not to meet her gaze, the two men quickly secured her to the tree, then hurried away, as though they were afraid of her.

Of course they were afraid, Susannah mused bleakly, they thought she was a witch.

What did the Lakota do to witches? It was said that witches had been hanged during the Salem witch trials, although Susannah wasn’t sure if that was fact or fiction.

She had never been so afraid. Time passed with exquisite slowness. Her arms grew numb, her throat was dry, her legs ached. No one ventured near her, or so much as looked in her direction. It was almost as if she had ceased to exist.

She closed her eyes and tried to pray, but fear seemed to have choked off all thought so that she could only murmur, “Help me, Lord, please help me,” over and over again.

Where was Black Wind? Why didn’t he come to her?

Hours passed. She was hungry and thirsty and sick-to-her-stomach afraid. The shadows lengthened. Smoke rose from numerous cook fires as the women prepared the evening meal. She heard the familiar sounds of the village as it settled down for the night, mothers calling their children to come home, a baby crying, dogs fighting over scraps of meat.

And still he didn’t come.

Darkness descended on the village, taking the last shred of hope with it.

Chapter Fourteen

He Wonjetah stood outside his lodge, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The council had decided to destroy the white woman witch. As a people, the Lakota were strong believers in otherworldly powers.
Ptesan-Wi
, the White Buffalo Woman;
Iktomi
, the trickster;
Wakinyan
, the Thunderbird;
Unktehi
, the water monster, all possessed power. There were men and women among the people themselves who were believed to possess magic, but it had been the belief of the council that magic in the hands of a white woman could only bring trouble to the lodges of the Lakota.

He Wonjetah feared that the white woman had indeed cast a spell on his son to make him turn away from his people, from Wakinyela. Tate Sapa was a respected leader, wise beyond his years. Even before he reached manhood, others had looked to him for guidance. All who knew him believed he had been blessed by
Wakán Tanka
. By the time Tate Sapa had become a warrior, the young men would listen to no other, would follow no other.

He Wonjetah took a deep breath, then stepped into the lodge, feeling far older than his years as he prepared to give his son the council’s decision.

“
Ate
, what have they done to Su-san-nah?”

“She is well. For now.”

The cold hand of fear curled around Tate Sapa’s insides. “What did the council decide?”

“They have declared her to be a witch.”

Tate Sapa swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “No.”

He Wonjetah nodded. “She will be destroyed tomorrow morning.”

“Destroyed?” Tate Sapa choked on the word. “How?”

“It will be done quickly and mercifully,” He Wonjetah said reassuringly.

“How?”

“Mato Mani will slit her throat.”

“No.” Tate Sapa shook his head, sickened by the images his father’s words evoked.

“It is for the best,
cinks
.”

“No!” Tate Sapa shook his head again. “You cannot let them kill her. She saved my life.”

He Wonjetah hunkered down on his heels beside his son. “What are you not telling me?”

Tate Sapa shook his head. “It is as I told you. I saw Su-san-nah in vision before I was captured by the Bluecoats. She held a paper bearing my image, just as Mato Mani said.”

“
Ee-hee
! She is truly a witch.”

“No! She is my destiny.”

“
Heyah
!” He Wonjetah exclaimed. “No, that is not possible.”

“It is true,
Ate
.”

He Wonjetah shook his head. “Our people will never accept her now. Even if you could persuade Mato Mani to release her, she would never be trusted.”

“You must release me.”

“
Heyah
, I cannot. There is nothing you can do. There is nothing I can do.” He Wonjetah stood up. “I am sorry, Tate Sapa.”

“
Ate
…”

“Sleep,
cinks
. When you wake, it will be over.”

Tate Sapa stared after his father, his mind in turmoil, his stomach churning as he imagined Mato Mani putting a knife to Susannah’s throat. He closed his eyes, and the images grew brighter, more vivid, terrifyingly real. He could see the terror in her eyes as the blade touched her skin, hear the fierce pounding of her heart, her last anguished cry as she called to him for help, and then the vision dissolved in a sea of crimson…

“No!” He opened his eyes, his heart hammering in his ears. Had he slept through the night? He glanced up at the smoke hole, relieved to see that the sky was still dark.

Heedless of the pain, he struggled against the rope that bound his wrists. He felt the skin give way, felt the warmth of his blood drip down his hands, and still he fought to free himself. Time and again, he gazed up at the sky, judging the time, feeling it slipping away from him.

The rope was wet with his blood by the time he managed to free his hands. He cursed softly as he fumbled with the rope that bound his feet. He filled a
parfleche
with as much pemmican and dried venison as it would hold, shoved in a buckskin shirt and leggings, a pistol taken from the body of a white man. He took a couple of trade blankets and a buffalo robe, grabbed his knife and the rifle and ammunition he had stolen from the fort, then crawled under the back wall of the lodge. He stood in the shadows a moment, listening, then merged into the darkness.

On silent feet, he made his way toward the far end of the village. In the light cast by the moon, he could see Susannah. She was tied to a tree, her head bowed. He searched the surrounding shadows before creeping slowly toward her.

A dog growled as he passed by, then, apparently recognizing Tate Sapa’s scent as a familiar one, lowered his head and went back to sleep.

Dropping the rifle and other supplies on the ground, he cat-footed up behind her, one hand covering her mouth before she could cry out.

“Su-san-nah, it is me,” he whispered. Drawing his knife, he cut her hands free. “Let us go.”

Weak with relief and gratitude, she followed him into the trees beyond the village, her heart pounding like thunder in her ears.

“Wait here,” Black Wind said, and disappeared into the darkness.

She stared after him, every nerve on edge, all her senses alert. Where had he gone?

Five minutes passed. Ten. She rubbed her aching wrists, stretched her back and shoulders. Where was he? Had someone seen him release her? Was he being restrained even now while they looked for her? She peered into the darkness. All seemed quiet. Where was he?

Fifteen minutes later, he returned leading their horses.

Wordlessly, he lifted her onto the back of the bay. He secured the
parfleche
behind the bay’s saddle, draped the buffalo robe over the horse’s withers, slipped a waterskin over the horn. If anything happened to him, if they were separated, she would have food and water, a gun with which to protect herself.

“We are going to ride north,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, do not stop. If we get separated, keep riding north. I will find you.”

“Black Wind…”

“There is no time to argue, Su-san-nah, no time to explain. Just do as I say.”

She nodded, the urgency in his voice communicating itself to her.

She watched him swing onto the back of the stallion with effortless grace. “Stay close.”

She had expected him to ride out as fast as he could, but he held the black to a slow walk, keeping to the trees. Once they reached the river, he turned north. Only when they were well away from the village did he urge the black into a gallop.

The bay needed no urging to follow the stallion. Susannah clung to the saddle horn for dear life as her horse lined out in a dead run. At any moment, she expected to hear war cries rise up behind her, hear the thunder of hooves as the Lakota gave chase. But all she heard was the wind rushing by and the thudding of her own heart.

As the miles went by, new fears crept into her mind. What if the horse ran into a tree? What if it stepped into a prairie dog hole? What if the bay made a quick turn and she tumbled out of the saddle? What if her horse lagged behind his and she got lost?

What if, what if…you could drive yourself crazy wondering what if.

She kept her gaze on Black Wind’s back, confident that he would take care of her.

The prairie stretched ahead of them, flat, endless, looking gray in the moonlight.

She saw a dark shape silhouetted on a rise. Thoughts of wolves sent a quick chill down her spine.

Just when she thought they were going to ride through the night forever, Black Wind reined his stallion to a halt. The bay came to an abrupt halt and Susannah grabbed onto the horn to keep from being pitched over the horse’s neck.

Stillness settled around them, broken only by the sound of the horses blowing through their nostrils. Susannah patted the bay’s neck. It was hot and sweaty and covered with lather.

Tate Sapa lifted his leg over the stallion’s neck and slid to the ground, then helped Susannah from her horse.

She collapsed against him, her legs and back aching from the hard ride. “Do you think they’ll follow us?”

“I do not know.”

His hands slid down her back, then gently massaged her shoulders. Susannah sighed as his strong fingers kneaded the soreness from her muscles.

His lips brushed her hair. “Do you need to rest?”

The thought of sleeping, even on the hard ground, sounded like heaven. “I can go on if you think we should.”

“There is a small canyon not far from here. We would be safer there than out here.”

Climbing back in the saddle was the last thing she wanted to do, but she didn’t want to slow him down, didn’t want him to think she was weak. “Let’s go then.”

He placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. Murmuring, “My brave one,” he lowered his head to hers and kissed her.

Heat flared through her and at that moment, she thought she would gladly ride a thousand miles if he would kiss her like that when they were through.

She moaned softly when he drew away. “It is not far,” he promised as he lifted her into the saddle.

One step was too far, she thought wearily, but she forced a smile as she picked up the reins. If her poor tired horse could make it, so could she.

* * * * *

They rode into the canyon just as the sun climbed over the horizon. Susannah stared in awe as the rising sun streaked the sky with bold slashes of crimson and lavender and bright pink.

Sunlight spilled into the canyon, reflecting off the sides, transforming the smooth stone walls into a fairy tale fortress reminiscent of a scene from
Beauty and the Beast
. A narrow stream cut through the canyon, fed by a waterfall that tumbled down one side of the cliffs. A small pool was located near the base of a narrow waterfall.

“Oh it’s beautiful.”

Tate Sapa nodded, pleased that she found it so. Dismounting, he lifted her from the back of the bay.

It was then that Susannah saw his wrists, the skin rubbed raw and crusted with dried blood. “Black Wind, what happened?”

“It is nothing.”

“Nothing! Nothing…oh Black Wind.”

He was surprised by her tears. “Su-san-nah…”

“Don’t ‘Susannah’ me, you silly man.” Jerking the waterskin from the saddle horn, she splashed water over his wrists, rinsing away the blood. Muttering under her breath, she went searching through his saddlebags, an exclamation of surprise rising to her lips when she found her nightgown stuffed inside. She had forgotten all about it. Ripping a strip of material from the hem, she tore it in half and bandaged the wounds on his wrists. Sniffing back her tears, she tied off the second bandage, then stared up at him, confused by the emotions churning within her.

Tate Sapa brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “
Pilamaya
, Su-san-nah,” he murmured, and lifting the buffalo robe from the stallion’s back, he spread it beneath a tree. “Sleep now.”

She looked up at him, trying to read his thoughts. “You need to get some rest too.”

“I must look after the horses first. Sleep now, Su-san-nah.”

Sleep. Suddenly, it sounded like the sweetest word she had ever heard. With a sigh, she sank down on the robe, asleep almost before she closed her eyes.

Tate Sapa sat on his heels, motionless, as he watched her sleep. She claimed to have come to him from the future. Was it possible? He touched the feather tied in his hair. Eagle feathers were believed to hold powerful medicine. Had his prayer feather been strong enough to bring her back through time? He had told his father that Susannah was his destiny. He had not realized how deeply he believed that until now.

Lifting his head, he gazed at the canyon walls. They had left a trail that would be easy to follow. Would his people come after them, or would the Lakota consider themselves well rid of them both?

He lowered his gaze to the woman sleeping so peacefully on the buffalo robe. They could stay here indefinitely. There was water, graze for the horses, game was plentiful. He could build a rough shelter to protect them from the elements.

Unable to keep from touching her any longer, he brushed a lock of hair from her brow. Her hair was silky, her skin warm and smooth. He had never known a woman with such soft skin, or one who had curly hair. He touched one springy curl, smiled as it coiled around his finger.

“Su-san-nah.” He whispered her name, silently thanking
Wakán Tanka
for bringing her into his life, wondering if she considered being in his time a curse or a blessing, wondering what he would do if she should be taken from him. He had known her such a short time, yet she was already a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his life, so that he could not imagine what it would be like should she suddenly disappear.