Savage Betrayal (20 page)

As these worries buzzed around Sarita’s tired brain, she fought down the feelings of panic that threatened to engulf her. Breathing deeply, she at last regained a measure of control.

She dressed in her soft-weave cedar robe and walked with dragging steps into the central living area.

Several of the others were already breakfasting on appetizing chunks of smoked cod. Precious Copper smiled and greeted her, as pleasant as always. Sarita sighed in relief. Fighting Wolf obviously had not said anything to his sister. Perhaps everything would work out, after all.

The other women ignored her as was often their wont. She set about getting her own breakfast.

She no sooner sat down by the fire, about to breakfast from a platter of warm chunks of cod, when she looked up to see Fighting Wolf approaching the breakfast circle. He grunted surly greetings in response to the cheerful feminine chorus directed at him. But it was on Sarita that his direct gaze fell.

He reached for some of the smoked cod, then parked himself across the fire from her. Ignoring everyone, he stared aggressively at Sarita as he ate his smoked cod. The tension in the room was so tangible, Sarita felt she could have touched it.

Her appetite gone, Sarita sat twisting her hands nervously in her lap. Fighting Wolf continued his intimidating stare. Sarita could stand it no longer. She rose and fled the main area.

Word spread rapidly through the longhouse that Fighting Wolf had withdrawn his protection. Sarita saw the other slave women talking and giggling behind their hands whenever she approached them. A sick knot of fear gripped her stomach.

Precious Copper seemed oblivious to the gossip and kept finding indoor tasks for her to do. Sarita guessed that Precious Copper realized her brother had withdrawn his protection, but the petite woman was determined to help in spite of his displeasure. Sarita was grateful for the kindness.

Time and again, Sarita would catch Fighting Wolf staring at her, utter contempt in his black eyes. She refused to cringe as if guilty and gazed back steadily at him before turning away.

Sarita became aware, too, of how quickly word spread widely throughout the village that Fighting Wolf no longer offered her any protection. Several men made insulting proposals to her, and some even tried to maul her. Because of these incidents, she was glad to stay close to the longhouse near Precious Copper’s guardianship.

One afternoon, she ventured out to fetch water from the river. As she was carrying a cedar container full of the cold, clear liquid back to the longhouse, she had to pass by several men lounging around outside. Fighting Wolf was among them. She guessed from their vigorous head shaking and wild gesticulations that they were discussing politics and war.

As she walked by lugging the heavy container in her arms, the men halted their conversation. The uncomfortable silence was broken by several rude suggestions. One man made a lewd gesture at her. Cheeks flaming, Sarita struggled onwards, giving no sign she’d heard their crude remarks.

She was almost past them when Birdwhistle grabbed her arm. Water sloshed over her hands and arms as she stared at him uncertainly. He was dressed in his usual finery and paint. Several of the men guffawed as he leaned over to whisper a vulgar proposition in Sarita’s ear. Fighting Wolf merely stood there, watching her. A contemptuous sneer crossed his face as he leaned casually against the longhouse, his arms folded across his chest. He murmured a low comment to his friends, and Sarita cringed inside to hear the burst of ribald laughter.

Suddenly she’d had enough! Clearly realizing that no one would protect her from any oaf who approached her; she had no choice but to defend herself.

Smiling sweetly, as if considering Birdwhistle’s filthy proposal, she leaned towards him. The other men were watching avidly. When she had their full attention, she quickly raised the container of cold water and upended the frigid contents all over the unsuspecting Birdwhistle!

A sopping wet Birdwhistle, his careful toilette in ruins, stood there gasping. Around him, the warriors were doubled over in laughter. Fighting Wolf was laughing the loudest of all.

Birdwhistle was enraged. Furious, he groped blindly for Sarita, but she easily eluded his grasping hands. Unfortunately, she did not elude a second warrior’s hands. Fighting Wolf grabbed and imprisoned her, holding her firmly against him.

Sarita knew that what she had just done was a serious offense—could in fact carry a death penalty. Striking a chief was no light matter, but she could not stifle the small glow of satisfaction she felt as Birdwhistle stood wet and dripping, his carefully arranged hair in bedraggled ruins.

For one moment, she twisted around and her golden eyes met Fighting Wolf’s, then she turned back and faced the others proudly. She would not beg for mercy. She stood silent, proud and beautiful, awaiting the verdict of death.

A furious Birdwhistle was sputtering at the top of his lungs. “This woman must be killed,” he screamed, “for daring to strike a high-ranking chief such as myself!” The tendons on his neck stood out like cords, he was so enraged.

His screaming pronouncement made the others laugh even harder. They asked each other why an important chief like Birdwhistle would want anything to do with such a lowly slave in the first place. Various comments traveled back and forth about how badly Birdwhistle had needed a bath.

These witticisms were interrupted by another piercing howl from Birdwhistle who was insisting vehemently, “This girl must be killed! How else can I save face? That she dare strike me! Me—a chief!” he sputtered in outrage. “I will settle for nothing less than her death!”

Sarita stood frozen. Bitterness overwhelmed her. It was too unjust that her attempts to defend herself against his unwanted advances should meet with her death. She felt Fighting Wolf’s hands drop from her arms as he stepped to one side.

She was alone. Her chin jutting defiantly, the empty bucket on the ground at her bare feet, she faced the Ahousats. Some of the men stopped laughing as they realized Birdwhistle was indeed serious in his demands for Sarita’s death.

“Really, Birdwhistle,” came a laconic drawl, “will killing a worthless slave truly save your good name?” Fighting Wolf paused, all eyes upon him. “I think not. Who would even care about her death?” He shrugged casually. “A feast, however, is more likely to save your good name—a big, expensive feast. A feast that welcomes the whole village. Who, then, would dare malign you or your name? No one. Not after they ate your food and accepted your hospitality.”

The sound of the calm voice, the excellent suggestion, the murmurs of approval from his friends, all combined to cool Birdwhistle’s raging fury. Fighting Wolf did indeed have a point. Who would care if one useless slave girl lived or died?

Birdwhistle was finding it hard to remember why he had thought the girl so attractive in the first place. She had been nothing but trouble to him. A feast for the whole village! Yes, the idea had merit. He could recover his good name and save face much more effectively that way.

Fighting Wolf’s suggestion was greeted by the others with conspiratorial winks and nods. Birdwhistle thought he heard a snicker or two, but decided he must have been mistaken. Hearing his friends’ agreement and encouragement mollified him.

Sarita glanced quickly at Fighting Wolf. Golden eyes met piercing black ones for a timeless moment. They both knew she owed him her life. She wondered why he had bothered to intervene, when his contempt for her was so obvious.

Snatching up the water container, she fled towards the longhouse. No one stopped her.

The men continued to sit or stand around and laugh about the incident. Finally Birdwhistle, shivering theatrically, invited all who had witnessed the ignominious fall of his good name to a feast to be given two days hence. Bidding good-bye to his friends, he slowly sloshed off in the direction of his longhouse.

After his departure, several sarcastic comments flew back and forth about Birdwhistle’s smooth charm with women. Women were constantly throwing themselves at him, it seemed. And all those present could attest to how effortlessly he seduced them. One well-fed wag suggested his friends would do well to emulate the skillful maneuvers of Birdwhistle. Then there’d be feasts every night in Ahousat village!

Fighting Wolf, joining in the general laughter, gave no indication of the true direction of his thoughts. But he wondered to himself about his championing of a woman who had such loose ways. She seemed to bewitch him! He smiled ruefully to himself. He only knew he could not stand by and let such an intriguing woman die as a sop to the oft-besmirched name of Birdwhistle.

Sarita awoke. As she munched her breakfast of roasted fern root left over from the night before, she thought over the events of the past few days.

Things had been going much better lately—due to the incident with Birdwhistle, she suspected. She had shown the villagers that she would protect herself. Men seldom made bold approaches to her, and she enjoyed the respite from unwanted advances. She had hated being constantly on guard against lechers. It was a relief to be able to relax her vigil.

She remained concerned about Fighting Wolf, however. True, he had made no overt move towards her—had barely acknowledged her existence—but she could not dispel the fear that flickered over her whenever she felt his cold eyes upon her. And his eyes were cold. She could not dispute that. Whenever his glance happened to fall on her as she worked about the longhouse, or as she did chores in the village, always the cold contempt in those piercing ebony eyes unnerved her. She knew he thought her a loose woman, but what could she do? To tell him she had not been party to a romantic rendezvous would be to seal her own death. Or Rottenwood’s. No, better to let him think what he would, and continue to avoid him as much as possible.

Her thoughts returned rapidly to the present as she became aware of Precious Copper speaking to her.

“Please take my little cousins down to the beach,” Precious Copper was saying. “I promised to take Duck Feather and her cousin for a swim.” Sarita nodded, glad of the chore. She found the two active children a delight to be with. And since her lecture to the cousins, she’d found they minded her very well.

Sarita went to her alcove to fetch her cedar cape. It was a sunny morning, but there was a slight chill in the air. She was surprised the children would swim so early in the day, but then children always wanted to swim and play in the salt water, no matter how cold it was. She remembered how, as a child, she loved to splash with her brother in the cool waters of the summer village bay. The nostalgic thought brought a soft sigh to her lips.

Sarita was unaware of how beautiful she looked this morning. The golden tan of her skin contrasted favorably with the darker brown color of her kutsack. She had tied her hair back with a strip of rawhide. The plain hairstyle suited her patrician features, emphasizing strong cheekbones and large, innocent golden eyes. Clutching the cape in one hand, she returned to the main area.

“Little sister,” she heard a deep voice drawl as she reentered, “you’ll have to find someone else to take our cousins swimming. This woman is coming with me.”

Sarita swallowed nervously and looked suspiciously into Fighting Wolf’s watchful ebony eyes. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

Precious Copper’s gaze shifted from her brother to Sarita. The girl’s body trembled and a flash of fear crossed her face. Precious Copper sighed heavily, but there was nothing she could do to protect Sarita. “As you wish, my brother," she responded calmly, turning away to begin separating stacks of dried berries.

Fighting Wolf picked up a nearby basket, then headed for the door. He was dressed in a fur-trimmed, pale yellow, cedar kutsack that emphasized the dark bronze of his skin. His thick blue-black mane of hair hung in gentle waves to his shoulders. Rings of polished copper encircled both his wrists and ankles. Around his waist was twisted a belt of sea otter fur from which hung the ever-present daggers. Sarita counted three of them, each with a sharp, wicked-looking blade. She noted also that he carried a small cedar mat tucked under one arm.

Fighting Wolf exited the longhouse without a backward glance, obviously expecting Sarita to follow.

She stumbled blindly after him. A shiver of fear ran through her as she puzzled over why he had decided to take her with him today. She did not trust that gleam in his eye. For too long he had looked at her with anger and contempt and she wondered what he could possibly have planned that would bring a new look to those hard eyes.

Once outside the longhouse, Sarita paused briefly, breathing deeply of the crisp morning air. Fighting Wolf jerked his head, impatient for her to follow him.

Slowly Sarita walked behind him, wondering why he was leading her to the beach. Did he want her to help him work on his canoe? Puzzled, she continued to follow at a slow pace.

She was still pondering what he had in mind when he threw the basket into a small canoe that bobbed up and down in the shallow waves. He waded into the cold water and held the canoe steady, gesturing for her to climb aboard.

The thought briefly of dashing back to the longhouse came to mind. She discarded the notion, realizing he would easily catch her. Holding her body proudly, she stepped gracefully into the canoe and knelt on the bottom near the bow. She watched the strong muscles of his arms flex as he pushed the small craft effortlessly from shore. Then he stepped in, shifting his weight to keep the bobbing craft from tipping.

Kneeling on the small cedar mat, Fighting Wolf picked up two paddles that were lying next to his bow and several arrows. Wordlessly, he handed one of the paddles to Sarita. She faced the front, squatting on her heels in a comfortable paddling position. At the stern, Fighting Wolf paddled the small canoe, steering it out of the harbor and straight out to sea.

The two paddled in silence for a long while, their rhythm even as they skimmed over the waves. The sun was beginning to feel hot on Sarita’s back, but she dared not stop paddling to remove her cloak. She would ask nothing from Fighting Wolf, nor would she let him see her discomfort.