Spirit's Song (3 page)

She stared at him a moment longer, then turned on her heel and bolted back the way she had come.

With a grin, Jesse pulled on his clout and swung onto the roan’s back. The conquest would be all the sweeter for the chase.

Chapter Five

Kaylynn ran as though pursued by a thousand devils. She had lived with the Indians for nearly eight months. In the beginning, she had been afraid of them. In the East, there had been talk about the Indian problem, about how savage they were. Godless, inhuman creatures, people said, who wore animal skins and feathers and ate raw meat. Indian men were said to lust after white women, and she had lived in constant fear that she would be raped by every man in the village. And surprised when it hadn’t happened.

Some of the men had looked at her with desire in their eyes, but none had approached her, not even the warrior who had captured her. He had brought her home to be a slave in his lodge, and that was all.

She ran blindly on, heedless of the coming night, of the branches that scratched her skin and legs. Propelled by a nameless fear, she ran deeper into the woods, certain she would rather face whatever wild beasts lurked there than the man she had left behind.

It seemed she had been running for hours. Her sides hurt, her lungs hurt, she was seeing spots before her eyes. She would have to stop soon, find a place to rest, to hide.

And then, through the fog of fear, she heard the sound of hoofbeats coming up fast behind her. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, felt a new surge of terror rise within her when she saw the stranger riding toward her. He was leaning over his horse’s neck, his long black hair streaming behind him.

“No,” she gasped. “No, no.”

Fear lent wings to her feet, but she couldn’t outrun the big blue mare. She screamed as the horse brushed her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. She rolled over twice, the breath knocked from her body.

Quick as a cat, he was beside her, jerking her to her feet, his hands imprisoning her arms.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was silky-soft, low and dangerous.

Kaylynn stared into his cool gray eyes, unable to think, unable to speak. She couldn’t draw her gaze from the scar on his face, could hardly draw a breath for the fear congealed in her throat. A shiver slid down her spine.

A muscle throbbed in Jesse’s cheek as he endured her scrutiny. Most of the women he met were repulsed by his appearance; whores always charged him extra. He had thought himself used to it by now.

He leaned toward her, until their faces were only a breath apart. “Go ahead,” he said gruffly. “Take a good look.”

She blinked at him, a slow blush rising in her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She spoke automatically, years of schooling in etiquette and manners coming to the fore. “It was rude of me to stare.”

Rude? He almost laughed out loud. No one had ever apologized for staring at him before. But he wasn’t interested in her good manners now; didn’t care if she was sincere. He was only aware of the soft feminine curves brushing against his chest, of the nearness of her lips.

Muttering an oath, he pulled her body up against his and kissed her. There was nothing of softness in his kiss, no gentleness, no tenderness. He cupped her head with one hand and ground his lips against hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

Kaylynn struggled against him, beating at his face with her fists, scratching his cheek, his neck. And when that didn’t stop him, she bit down on his tongue, recoiling when she tasted his blood in her mouth.

With a vile oath, he jerked away, his gray eyes filled with rage. “Damn you! Don’t ever do that again.” His hands closed over her shoulders and he shook her. “Do you understand me? You belong to me now, and that means you’ll make yourself available to me whenever and however I want you.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her face pale. For a moment, it was Alan staring down at her, Alan’s voice ringing in her ears, his hands like claws where they gripped her shoulders.
You’re mine, do you understand? Mine…

“No.” She formed the words, but no sound issued from her lips. “No.”

“Yes,” he said, his expression as implacable as his tone. “I don’t want to have to beat you, but I will.”

Kaylynn felt the blood drain from her face as she remembered the sound of Alan’s fist repeatedly striking her flesh, accusing her of being frigid, barren, the pain that had engulfed her before she fainted, the ugly bruises his fists left behind. She clenched her hands. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of this stranger, wouldn’t let him see how frightened she was. And she was frightened. More frightened than she had ever been in her life. Because she had no doubt at all that, like Alan, this man meant every word. And she knew the pain of a man’s hand all too well.

“Do we understand each other?” he asked.

She nodded, once, curtly. She understood. Understood that she was going to run away the first chance she got. She would rather take her chances out on the prairie with the wolves and the snakes than stay here, at the mercy of this savage. It had taken her years to find the courage to run away from Alan, but on that day, her mouth bleeding and her eye blackened from his fist, she had vowed that no man would ever lay a hand on her in anger again.

“Go back to camp and wait for me,” he said, his voice gruff.

She didn’t have to be told twice. Eager to be away from him, she turned and ran back to the village.

There was a tipi waiting for Jesse when he returned to the village, compliments of Bear Robe’s wives.

He found the white woman sitting in the shade, her knees drawn up to her chest. Dismounting, he beckoned her with a look, then thrust a rabbit and two quail into her hands.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “Cook the rabbit tonight. We’ll have the quail tomorrow.”

Kaylynn felt a rush of resentment as she entered the lodge. She belonged to this man now. She would be spending the night in this lodge, alone, with the stranger.

She glanced around. There was wood laid in a fire pit near the center of the floor, two willow backrests, a few cook pots and utensils, several baskets of raw vegetables.

Refusing to think of what might happen later that night, she knelt beside the fire. Pulling a flint from her sash, she lit the fire. She found a knife in the cooking utensils. Testing the edge against her thumb, she doubted if it would cut through butter, much less the carcass of a rabbit.

She was looking for another knife when she sensed she was no longer alone. Awareness slid down her spine, a soft, tingling sensation that was oddly pleasurable.

“Here.” Jesse knelt beside her, withdrew his knife from his sheath and offered it to her. He watched her turn it over in her hand, knew she was trying to find the courage to plunge the blade into his heart. “Careful with that. It’s sharp.”

Jesse stared at her a moment, then rose to his feet and left the lodge.

Outside, he stood with his hands clenched, unable to believe he had threatened to beat her. He had never hit a woman in his life, but something in her eyes, the fear, perhaps, or the repugnance, had triggered his rage, making him want to lash out. He had thought himself used to it by now, he mused bleakly, used to the looks, the shudders, the pity. Used to taking what he wanted whenever he wanted. So why did this woman’s reaction disturb him so badly?

He swore, using every foul word he had ever heard, but it didn’t help. He’d been a fool to gamble for the woman, but there was something about her that called to him. He had known he would win the race, had known that she would be his. Waiting for the race to start, he’d had a fleeting. foolish thought that destiny had brought him here, not for Ravenhawk, but for the woman.

With a rueful shake of his head, he thrust such nonsense aside. Tomorrow morning, he would give the woman back to Bear Robe and then he’d go check out the Lakota encampment and see if he could find Ravenhawk. He hadn’t had a woman in almost a year; he could wait another few weeks. He would haul Ravenhawk into Red Creek and turn him over to the sheriff there, and then he’d go hole up at the saloon with his favorite whore and get good and drunk.

The smell of roast rabbit reached his nostrils. He thought about going to eat with his cousin, then discarded the idea. He had killed that rabbit and by damn, he was going to eat it.

The woman jumped to her feet when he stepped into the lodge. The wariness in her eyes pricked his conscience, what little he had left.

“Smells good,” he said gruffly. “Is it ready?”

She nodded.

Jesse sat down, watching her while she removed the rabbit from the spit and split it in half. She placed the meat in a bowl, along with some cooked vegetables, and offered it to him.

He nodded his thanks as he took the bowl from her hand. She stood beside the fire, watching him.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asked.

Kaylynn shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a thing with him watching her every move.

He looked up at her, one brow arched, as her stomach growled loudly.

Kaylynn stared back at him, her cheeks burning, acutely aware of his presence, his nearness. Like it or not, she belonged to him now.

With a shrug, he turned back to his dinner. He ate quickly, then stood up. “Where’s my knife?”

“Here.” She picked it up and offered it to him.

He wiped the blade off on the side of his trousers, then left the lodge.

Kaylynn breathed a sigh of relief when he went outside. Tonight, she thought, nibbling on a piece of meat. She was leaving tonight.

Jesse spent an hour wandering through the village, renewing old acquaintances. He shared a pipe with Grey Wolf, watched a half-dozen boys trying to outdo each other with bow and arrow.

He paused outside the shaman’s lodge, stood in the shade, listening as the medicine man related the Hummingbird Story to a handful of children.

“It was a long time ago,” the old man said, his gaze moving over each child’s face. “A time when the animals and the birds still had their voices. Hummingbird fell in love with a handsome warrior. She would fly near him and make her colors bright so he would notice her beauty. One day, she flew so close that she heard him talking to his father. The warrior said he had made a bet with Crane that he could beat him in a flight around the world.

“Now,” the shaman went on, “the world was not as we know it now. There were three levels. The upper level was akin to heaven. The bottom level was chaos. But the middle was the earth as we know it. Racing around the three levels could upset the balance of all three, allowing heaven and chaos and earth to mix.

“The hummingbird was very upset when she heard this. She had always assumed that the handsome young warrior was as balanced and pure as he was beautiful. Hummingbird flew off to think about what she had heard and to see if the Willow could answer her questions. On the day that the race was meant to be run, the young warrior sat crying. He knew he would lose the race. Crane was faster and needed less sleep. He was a mere man with too much pride. Hummingbird heard his tears and cried out to the Creator for him. She asked that he might be free of his bet with Crane. As punishment for his boastful spirit, his ears would no longer be able to hear the voices of the plants and animals. The young warrior accepted his punishment and forever after the voices of the plants and animals have been silent to man.

“Now,” the shaman asked, “what have you learned from this story?”

Jesse nodded to the shaman and continued on his way. He told himself he was relaxing, that he was actually listening for some word of Ravenhawk when the truth was, he didn’t want to go back to his lodge, didn’t want to be near the woman. Didn’t want to see the apprehension and loathing in her eyes when she looked at him. No doubt she would faint dead away if he touched her again. He lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the rough edge of the scar that puckered his flesh. Who the hell could blame her?

He walked out to the horse herd, whistled for the roan. The mare came at his call, nuzzling his arm.

“You’re the only girl who loves me, aren’t you?” He scratched the mare between the ears and under her jaw. “You don’t care what I look like, do you?”

The mare made a soft snuffling sound as she pushed her nose against his chest.

Murmuring an oath, he gave the mare a last pat on the shoulder, then walked down by the river. He would bed down here tonight. Tomorrow, he would get rid of the woman. She wasn’t his type anyway. She was too tall for his taste, too skinny. He liked a woman with a little meat on her.

With a shake of his head, he pulled off his clout and moccasins and plunged into the icy water.

He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone. Not anymore.

Chapter Six

Kaylynn peered outside. It was almost midnight, and Yellow Thunder still hadn’t returned to the lodge. Clutching the small buckskin bag that held a change of clothing and all the food that had been in the lodge, she stepped out into the shadows, a rough woolen blanket draped around her shoulders.

Moving as quietly as possible, she made her way toward the river and turned east. Towns and forts were usually located near water. Maybe, if she was lucky, there was some sort of settlement nearby. Maybe, if she hadn’t been such a hopeless coward, she could have found her way to civilization months ago.

Clouds hovered low in the sky, hiding the moon and stars. A dog growled as she passed by the last lodge, but, other than that, the night was quiet.

She walked as swiftly as she dared in the dark, her heart pounding with trepidation. She wished she’d had the nerve to try to steal one of the horses. She wished she had a weapon other than the skinning knife tucked in her sash. She wished she had stayed in New York where she belonged.

A sigh of resignation escaped her lips. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

It was eerie, walking alone beside the river. A cool breeze stirred the leaves of the cottonwoods. Wispy white clouds drifted before the wind like horses running before a storm. A rustle in the underbrush made her shiver with fear. There were wolves and grizzly bears and coyotes in the hills. It was a wild, unforgiving land, the strong preying on the weak, and she was definitely one of the weak. She had no defense other than her wits and the knife in her belt.

Straightening her shoulders, she pushed her fears into the back of her mind. She had survived with the Indians for eight months. She was physically stronger now than she had ever been in her life, thanks to the hard work she had been forced to endure. Her hands were calloused. She could carry heavy loads of wood. She knew how to skin and gut a deer, though it still made her stomach churn to do so. She knew how to start a fire with a flint. Knew that bees would lead her to water.

She laughed softly. No doubt her mother would be shocked when she saw her again, with her calloused hands and sun-browned skin. Her mother had always said you could tell a lady by her hands. Well, she hadn’t been a lady for quite some time.

“You can do this, Kaylynn,” she said aloud. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Nothing but the stranger with his cold gray eyes and scarred face.

She wondered if he would come after her. The thought made her walk faster. She would rather face a mama grizzly defending her cub than be at the stranger’s mercy.

She walked for hours, stopping only briefly to rest and drink from the river. To pass the time, she thought of her room at home, of all the dresses and shoes and hats she had once had. Her mouth watered as she thought of sitting down to one of Mrs. Moseley’s elaborate dinners. Ah, what she wouldn’t give for a slice of thick, succulent ham, or a plate of chicken and dumplings. And one of Mrs. Moseley’s heavenly pumpkin pies… It would be wonderful to have crepes and sausages and hot cocoa for breakfast. To sleep in her old feather bed as late as she pleased. To spend her days shopping with her friends, taking tea at La Belle Cafe, having Christmas again, parties again. She wondered how Grandmother Dearmond was doing, and if she still spent long hours working in her garden. Kaylynn had loved to spend time with her grandmother, had loved listening to Grams tell stories of the old country, and how her family had sold everything they owned and left England to come to America.

Lost in pleasant memories of home, the time passed quickly.

At dawn, she found a secluded thicket and crawled inside. She ate a little of the jerky she had packed, then curled up on a makeshift bed of leaves and closed her eyes.

* * * * *

Jesse stood inside the empty lodge, his eyes narrowed. She was gone, there was no doubt of that. The ashes were cold; one of the blankets was missing, all the foodstuffs were gone.

He loosed a long, shuddering sigh. So, rather than stay with him, she had run away. He grunted softly. It didn’t matter. He was well rid of her.

Turning on his heel, he left the lodge. Outside, he mounted his horse and rode toward the Lakota encampment. He had wasted enough time. It was time to get on with his reason for coming here.

It was early morning and the people were just beginning to stir. Blue-gray smoke from hundreds of cook fires rose skyward. He rode among the lodges, nodding to men he knew. And then he saw Ravenhawk walking toward the river, alone.

Jesse grinned. Sometimes, Fate was kind.

* * * * *

Ravenhawk floated lazily in a quiet part of the river. After days of hard riding, it felt good to relax, to do nothing but gaze up at the sky. Maybe he would stay here this time. His mother had been glad to see him. He knew she would welcome his company. Living alone was hard on a woman. With no man in her lodge, she was forced to rely on the generosity of others for meat and protection.

Grunting softly, he stood up. He might as well stay. He had nowhere else to go, and plenty of time to get there.

He turned at the sound of hoofbeats, swore under his breath when he recognized the scar-faced man sitting astride the big blue roan mare. Jesse Yellow Thunder. Damn!

“What do you want?” Ravenhawk asked. He glanced at his knife, lying on the riverbank beside his clout and moccasins.

Yellow Thunder grunted softly as he pulled a set of handcuffs out of his back pocket. “What do you think?”

Ravenhawk shook his head. “I’m not going back to jail.”

A slow smile spread over the bounty hunter’s face as he drew his revolver. “I think you are.”

“You’re crazy if you think my people will let you take me.”

“That’s up to you. The reward says dead or alive. Dead’s easier.”

“Dammit, I didn’t do it.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

“All right, I robbed the damn bank. I was drunk and broke.”

“Been there a time or two myself,” Jesse admitted. “But I never robbed any banks.”

“I’m not going back.” Ravenhawk shook his head. “You know what it’s like, being locked up. I’ve done enough time. I can’t do any more.”

“Like I said, we can do this easy or hard. If we have to do it the hard way, you’re gonna end up dead, and some innocent people are likely to get hurt. But that’s up to you.”

“You bastard.”

Jesse nodded. “What’s it gonna be?”

“I’ll go with you, on one condition. You let me tell my mother goodbye, and you don’t put those cuffs on me until we’re out of the village.”

“No.”

“Dammit, I won’t try anything. I give you my word.”

“As what? A bank robber?”

Ravenhawk drew himself up to his full height, his black eyes narrowed and angry. “My word is as good as yours, bounty hunter.”

“All right. Your word that you’ll come peaceably, right now. But you make one false move, and you’re dead where you stand. We understand each other?”

Ravenhawk nodded.

“Let’s go.” Jesse shoved the handcuffs back into his pocket and holstered his gun, then rested his forearms on his saddle horn while he watched Ravenhawk step out of the water.

The Lakota were a handsome people, and Ravenhawk was no exception. He was tall and broad-shouldered, well-muscled but not bulky. He wore the faint white scars of the Sun Dance on his chest.

Under other circumstances, they might have been friends, Jesse mused. They were both half-breeds, both hunted men. But Jesse worked mostly within the law, while Ravenhawk traveled the outside.

“I’ll take that knife,” Jesse said.

Ravenhawk picked up the sheathed blade and tossed it to the bounty hunter, then pulled on his clout and moccasins. Anger churned deep within him. He’d been a fool to let his guard down. He should have known that Yellow Thunder would be on his trail as soon as that wanted poster came out, but the last he’d heard, the bounty hunter had been over in Colorado chasing down the last of the Dawson gang.

He swore softly, wondering if maybe he should make a run for it now and take his chances with a bullet. Anything would be better than going back to jail. He had already decided he had taken his last bank. It was time to try another line of work.

“Let’s go,” Yellow Thunder said.

Blowing out a sigh of resignation, Ravenhawk headed for the village.

Yellow Thunder rode up alongside him. “Where’s the money?”

“It’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was only a few hundred dollars.” Ravenhawk shrugged. “I spent some. Lost the rest in a poker game.”

“You robbed a bank, and then blew the take in a poker game?” Jesse shook his head. “You really should find a new line of work.”

“Go to hell.”

“All in good time. All right. This is how we’ll play it. We’ll mosey over to your lodge. You tell your mama goodbye, and we’re out of here. Nice and quiet.”

Ravenhawk nodded.

The village had awakened in his absence. There was a sense of anticipation in the air as the people contemplated the last four days of the Sun Dance festival. It was the high point of the year, a time for renewing the sacred arrows, a time for seeking power. He had planned to take part in the Sun Dance, to offer his blood and his pain to Maheo as a token of his vow to return to the ways of the
Tsis-tsistas
.

He saw his mother sitting before their lodge. She had aged since his last visit a year ago. There was gray in her hair now; fine lines in her face that he had never noticed before.

She looked up and smiled as he approached. “
Hinhanni waste, cinksi.
”

Ravenhawk smiled back at her. “
Hinhanni, waste, ina.
” Good morning, my mother.

“Will you eat?”

Ravenhawk glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. “I must leave.”

His mother stood up, her brow furrowed, her eyes worried. “Leave? So soon?”

He jerked a thumb in Yellow Thunder’s direction. “This man needs my help. I must go with him.”

She turned and looked at up Yellow Thunder, who nodded at her. She studied him a moment, then looked at her son again. “How soon will you return to us?”

“I don’t know. As soon as I can.” Ravenhawk glanced over his shoulder at the bounty hunter. “Just let me get my gear,” he said, in English.

Jesse placed his hand over the butt of his Colt, then nodded. “You do that.”

Ravenhawk ducked inside his mother’s lodge. He stood there for a moment, his hand caressing his rifle, his honor warring with his revulsion at going back to jail. He lifted a corner of the lodge flap and peered outside. Yellow Thunder had dismounted, and now his mother stood between the lodge and the bounty hunter.

Swearing softly, he picked up his saddlebags, slid a knife inside his left moccasin, pulled on a long-sleeved buckskin shirt, and left the lodge. “I’m ready.”

Jesse regarded Ravenhawk a moment, then gestured toward the horse herd. “Let’s go.”

Ravenhawk embraced his mother, wondering if he would ever see her again, then grabbed his saddle and bridle and walked toward the herd. The bounty hunter walked behind him, one hand brushing his gun butt. The roan followed behind.

When they were out of sight of the lodges, Jesse said, “Hold on.”

Ravenhawk stopped, every muscle taut.

“Get your hands up where I can see ’em.”

Ravenhawk dropped the saddle and bridle on the ground and lifted his arms, his jaw clenching as the bounty hunter searched him. Yellow Thunder made a clucking sound when he pulled the knife from Ravenhawk’s moccasin.

“All right,” Jesse said. “Let’s go get your horse.”

When they reached the herd, Ravenhawk whistled up his mount, a long-legged, deep-chested Appaloosa gelding. He quickly bridled the horse, cinched the saddle in place, lashed his saddlebags behind the cantle; then, taking up the reins, he swung into the saddle.

Jesse had mounted his own horse and now he fixed Ravenhawk with a hard stare. “Remember, you gave me your word.”

Ravenhawk nodded curtly. “Until we’re out of the village.”

The bounty hunter nodded, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Ravenhawk intended to make a break for it when they left the village behind.

And Jesse intended to stop him.

* * * * *

It was late morning when Kaylynn crawled out of the thicket. Brushing the dirt from her hair and clothes as best she could, she made her way to the river and rinsed her mouth, then took a long drink.

A handful of berries plucked from a nearby bush, together with a chunk of pemmican, eased her hunger.

The sun felt warm on her face and she sat down at the river’s edge. The water sang a cheerful tune as it tumbled over the rocks. She looked to the west, wondering how far she had come the night before, and then looked ahead, wondering how far she would have to walk until she reached civilization.

It had taken her hours to get to sleep the night before. She had started at every sound until, at last, exhaustion had claimed her. She had slept restlessly, her dreams troubled, yet she couldn’t remember them when she woke.