The Darkest Heart (15 page)

Another sunrise came, and to her surprise, she realized they were heading down now. They had crossed the Catalinas! This thought gave her new hope. Maybe, one day,
when she had her strength back, she could escape and find her way back to Tucson. She had never been a quitter. She would find her way back.

She was dozing again when she realized that her mount had stopped. She forced herself to open her eyes as she sagged low over the pony’s neck. There were all kinds of sounds around her, voices, laughter, children. Candice focused. Hide-covered g
ohwahs
greeted her, perhaps fifteen or twenty. A creek ran along the farthest edge of the camp. A few deep ovens were smoking. Near-naked children ran screaming playfully, a few pausing to point and laugh at her. Women clad in buckskin skirts and shirts were running out to greet their men, then they too turned to stare at her. Her captor had dismounted and was talking to a husky, square-faced squaw. They both turned to regard her, the squaw talking now, animatedly, gesturing, Candice couldn’t understand a word they said. The brave came over, pulling her off the horse. Candice crumpled at his feet.

He pulled her up, and she tottered precariously, then he shoved her back and she tumbled in the direction he was pushing, until she came to a
gohwah
. He gushed her through the opening, and she fell on her face. She couldn’t move. Someone cut her ropes, and she sobbed in relief, trying to bring her paralyzed arms to her sides, trying to move her hands. Whoever had cut the bonds left. Candice closed her eyes, falling into a deep sleep.

She didn’t know how long she had been asleep when she awoke. For an instant she didn’t know where she was, and then the horror of her situation came back to her. She lay in pain in the darkness, her body stiff and throbbing, her face burning—so thirsty, she wanted to die. From beyond the
gohwah
she could hear singing, laughter, drums, and rattles—they were celebrating. She managed to sit up.

She sat very still for a long time, fighting tears of despair and depression and pain, listening to the noises from outside, too numb to think. She began rubbing her sore muscles methodically, despite the discomfort. The hubbub from outside the g
ohwah
increased. Movement was difficult, but not impossible, she found, as she stretched tentatively. Her wrists were scabbed and blistered. She realized that she was hungry.

She crawled toward the uncovered entrance of the
gohwah
, hesitant and cautious. Lying on her stomach, she peered out.

A group of Apache women were dancing wildly, exultantly, with the young vaquero—surrounded by the singing, celebrating tribe. Some of the women were fully clad in buckskins, but three wore nothing but tiny loincloths and their naked bodies and full breasts gleamed in the firelight. The vaquero no longer seemed afraid and, in fact, was dancing rather avidly with one particular slender, near-naked squaw. Their bodies spoke an unmistakable sexual attraction as they swayed and weaved toward and away from each other. The men were watching and drinking and smoking and singing, some occasionally joining in. It seemed harmless enough.

Candice watched the gyrations of the dancers and became mesmerized by the fluid, graceful movements of the squaws.

After a while the slender squaw led the vaquero away, and Candice wondered if they were going to make love. Then she realized that the other women were following in their direction, and her puzzlement increased. Now the braves were dancing, even more wildly than the women, with much shouting and laughter. They had shed their buckskin pants and were naked except for their traditional breechcloths. Candice became fascinated with the display of their naked, gleaming bodies as they pranced and leapt about the firelight.

A horrible scream split the air.

Candice froze, and then it was repeated. Every hair on her body curled up, as she realized, horrified, that the sound was human. The dancers had stopped and were listening intently. Another scream, even worse than before, came curdling through the night.

The braves started dancing again jubilantly.

Three more screams, each worse than the one before, sounded, making Candice sick, terrifying her into immobility. She lay at the entrance to the
gohwah
completely frozen, afraid even to shiver lest she attract attention. What were they doing to the poor vaquero? And would she be next?

Perhaps an hour later, there was light as someone entered with a torch. It was the square-faced squaw. She placed a bowl and pitcher in front of Candice, both woven of straw and cane, and Candice drank desperately. Then she picked up
the bowl and attacked it with her fingers. It was tasteless, almost bitter, some kind of cornmeal. She didn’t care. When she had finished, she looked up to see the squaw staring at her with complete and undisguised animosity. Candice shrank away.

The squaw fingered the neckline of her dress, which was covered with dust and dirt, barely blue anymore. She caressed some ribbons at the neckline, at the cuffs. Then she said something. It was an order.

“What?” Candice felt fear rising up in her.

The woman gestured and spoke rapidly.

“What? I don’t understand.”

The squaw tugged at the dress. Candice suddenly understood. With fumbling fingers, she began to unbutton it. It took her a very long time, but she stepped out of it, wondering why the woman wanted it. The woman gestured at her chemise, which was the only garment between her pantalets and the rest of the world. Candice cringed. The squaw grew angry. Candice pulled it over her head.

The squaw wasn’t satisfied—she wanted her underwear too. Sick, humiliated, feeling beaten, Candice pulled off the drawers, hugging herself modestly. The squaw looked at her sharply. Candice covered her breasts with her arms, drawing her knees up. The squaw yanked her arms down and stared at her body assessingly, rudely. Then she stood abruptly and left.

Candice found a blanket on the bed of hides and wrapped it around her. She sank back down, closing her eyes. Another intruder made her jerk them open. It was her captor.

He grabbed her hand, just missing her bruised wrist, and Candice was pulled to her feet, still clutching the blanket, suddenly realizing that he was drunk. He didn’t stagger, or even totter, but she could smell the whiskey on his breath. He was smiling as he pulled her out of the
gohwah
. To her horror, she saw that a group of braves, all similarly inebriated, were waiting in a semicircle. He pushed her into their midst.

They stared at her and started talking, grinning, laughing. They were evidently awed by the mass of blond hair, and they touched it repeatedly, sometimes pulling it and hurting her. Suddenly her captor yanked the blanket out of her grasp, and Candice stood there, naked and frightened. She thrust
her chin up, gritting her teeth, fighting her first impulse—to try to shield herself—knowing it would be ridiculous. The men had stopped talking and were staring excitedly. Her captor was grinning from ear to ear, and it struck Candice that she was his new possession, and he was showing her off. They all began to speak eagerly, her captor laughing and gesturing, clearly refusing their requests, but happily.

Suddenly they were all silent. Candice looked past her captor at a tall, silent Apache who had materialized out of nowhere. He stared at her, and Candice stared back, hiding her fear and trying to look bold. He was very handsome, as tall as Savage, but leaner, and obviously a man of power. Maybe he could help her. But then he looked past her face, his eyes roving her body, lingering on her breasts, on her womanhood. Candice stood straight and still. Somehow she sensed she would be better off if this man would take her away from her captor.

He spoke quietly, softly, to her captor, who listened intently, then spoke back shortly. They talked for a few more minutes, the handsome Apache becoming persuasive, her captor growing thick with pride, haughty in his replies. Finally the handsome Apache walked over to her.

“You belong to Hayilkah,” he said, in heavily accented English. Candice gaped. “I have suggested you are too rare to hurt and my words carry weight. If you obey and work hard, he will not beat you. Someday you may even choose a husband and become one of us.” He turned.

“Wait,” Candice called. “Please, wait!”

He stopped, turning back to her.

“Please, please help me,” she pleaded.

“I cannot help you,” he said with pity. “You belong to Hayilkah. Only you may help yourself. You are his prize. He can do with you as he wishes. He can keep you or give you away, or beat you if you disobey.”

Candice’s heart was pounding painfully. The tall Apache walked away. The other Indians were dispersing. Her captor, Hayilkah, grabbed her wrist, causing Candice to cry out in pain. She wasn’t aware of it, but Shozkay stopped and looked back, watching, as Hayilkah shoved Candice back into the
gohwah
, following her in.

To Candice’s horror, he dropped the flap closed behind
him. She moved as far away as she could, ducking to stand upright. He stared at her lewdly, assessingly, then spoke to her, but she could not understand. He gestured to her and to the bed of hides.

“No!” Candice spat, suddenly understanding and forgetting everything the tall Apache had said.
He was going to rape her
.

He frowned. With one quick movement he pulled her body against his. Candice found the strength to struggle, but it was useless. His arms were like iron, holding her still, one massive hand pawing her roughly, pausing over her nipples, hurting her. She whimpered in pain. He threw her down and lowered his heavy body on hers. Candice tried to push him off, but his sheer weight pinned her down, and he ignored her pounding fists. He separated her thighs with his own, and she could feel his shaft stabbing her through the breech-cloth. She raked his back with her nails.

He smacked her across the face.

Candice’s head hit the ground with such impact that she saw an explosion of bright lights. Her face was throbbing, and when her vision cleared, she became aware of what the man was doing to her. He had thrust a finger into her and was exploring her insides. She was overwhelmed with fear, terror, and complete revulsion. He jammed his finger in again and again, so deeply that she thought she would faint from the pain. And then his plunging hand stilled and he said something to her. He was pleased.

Candice trembled and fought her terror and kept her eyes shut tightly, waiting for him to rip off the breechcloth and rape her. Instead, she felt his awful fingers violating her again, thrusting against her maidenhood, making a wave of nausea well up in her.

The fingers were withdrawn. Candice tensed, waited, and heard a grunt. She dared to open her eyes, to see him kneeling there, his face contorted, and then she felt his seed spraying over her thighs.

Jack had traveled for two nights and two and half days, making slightly better time than the party he was following. It had soon become apparent that they were crossing the Catalinas, and he was certain he knew the campsite Shozkay was heading for. Still, he didn’t dare get ahead of himself and make directly for it, in case he had guessed incorrectly. Like all Apaches, Shozkay’s band moved from site to site. Unlike all other Apaches, however, his tribe farmed for about a quarter of their sustenance needs.

Now, in mid-October, they would be in the higher elevations harvesting corn, beans, and pumpkin, and baking and packing mescal cakes, smoking and drying beef, in preparation for the long winter ahead. They would not leave the mountains until they had harvested their crops—except to raid or war.

When he rode into the camp it was shortly after sunrise, the air still chill from the mountain night. There was some activity, but not the usual amount. The women were up and about doing their early-morning chores, and he could smell the acorn soup he was so fond of, but the rest of the camp was in a strange silence, which Jack immediately understood. Last night they had arrived and had had a victory celebration. He went to Shozkay’s gohwah.

Now that he was so close he was afraid of what he would find. His entire body was tense with anticipation and dread, his heart pounding painfully. He found Luz hovering over a fire. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.
“Shilah!”

Jack couldn’t return her smile or her greeting, and she instantly sobered. “Where is your husband?” he asked.

She pointed toward the creek.

Jack found Shozkay splashing water over his face and down his bare chest. His brother saw him, eyes widening with amazement, and then they embraced, clapping each other hard.

“Shik’isn
, I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

“The woman,” Jack said abruptly, his eyes burning into Shozkay’s. “The white woman with yellow hair. Is she alive?”

Shozkay stared in surprise. “Yes, she is.”

“And in one piece?” He held his breath.

“I believe so.”

Shozkay regarded him questioningly.

“Who has her?” Jack said, his mouth clamping into a hard line to prevent the relief he felt from flooding his features. But he couldn’t prevent it from reaching his eyes, and Shozkay saw it.

“Hayilkah.”

Jack frowned grimly. There was only one way to free her. “Offer for her.”

Shozkay stared in surprise.

“I mean it,” Jack said grimly. “Offer the black to Chise and Gahgeh.” They were Hayilkah’s wife’s parents.

“You wish to marry this white woman?” Shozkay was incredulous.

“Yes,” Jack said. It was not the truth. The truth was that Hayilkah had captured her, making her his. She was rare. He would not give her as a gift. He would expect many gifts in return for her hand. Or maybe he would want to keep her for himself, as a second wife. It was a thought Jack could not stand.

“The black is a fine stallion,” Shozkay said, still staring at his brother closely. “I doubt that Hayilkah will refuse such a gift.”

Acceptance of an offering meant Jack could take Candice, and in Apache law, once they had slept together in their own g
ohwah
, they would be man and wife. He would not think about those implications, not now.