Wind Warrior (Historical Romance) (19 page)

The troops from Fort Benton were making camp for the night. Susan’s husband, or widower, Major Cullen Worthington, was in command of the patrol that was heading into Blackfoot country.

Just looking at the major made Lillian’s heart race. He was a handsome man, tall, with blond hair and sideburns, and real pretty gray eyes. He had been a bit cold and standoffish to her at first, and he still was, but she had won men over before.

The patrol was bivouacked beside the Milk River. Sentries on high alert were posted every hundred feet because they were in the heart of Blackfoot country.

Lillian sat on her cot, her chin resting on her folded hands. Going home had not turned out as she had expected.

She was glad to hear her father was still alive, even if he had remarried and moved to California. Some of the army wives she’d known before were still there. Though they had offered her sympathy and felt sorry for all she had endured, they stared at her as if she were an abomination. It had not escaped her notice that they sent their children from the room when she went to call on them.

Well, let them think what they wanted to—she didn’t care.

After she had told her story, and she had of course deviated a bit from the truth about herself, the commanding officer had agreed that a rescue should be mounted to recover Marianna Bryant.

Lillian was left to wonder if they would have made such a fuss to rescue her. She doubted they would.

Of course, Marianna’s uncle was now a high-ranking officer attached to the White House, and her aunt had once again taken up her career as an opera singer. Lillian learned that Marianna’s aunt and uncle now had a son and daughter of their own. She couldn’t understand why they would want to recover Marianna if they had their own children. They had sent a telegram asking the army for help and said they were coming as soon as they could.

Frowning in disgust, Lillian wished she’d told everyone Marianna was dead. No one had welcomed
her
home. Ike Everett, who had bought the trading post from her pa, had even shunned her. He’d been a friend of her family at one time, but was no friend to her.

Lillian was sorry now she had told the commander of the post that she could find her way back to the Blackfoot village. She had never wanted to see the place of her greatest humiliations again. Not that she was afraid to go near the Blackfoot, even though Broken Lance had banished her and Dull Knife would want to kill her. She had a full patrol of soldiers and two cannons to guard her.

Once she’d come past the Great Falls, and across the wide prairie, she had had little trouble finding
her way. She hoped the Blackfoot resisted when they saw the army patrol. Then they would be wiped out, every last man, woman, and child.

Hatred was a bitter pill, and Lillian almost choked on it.

Dull Knife dropped to his knees, sifting through the ashes. Puzzled, he saw that no meat had been roasted at this campsite. Why, then, light a fire? Wind Warrior must have known he would see it and track him.

It made no sense.

Looking about, he could tell that his brother had swept the site with tree branches. Wind Warrior was in a hurry—he was getting careless.

But no, he would not be careless. Something was wrong.

Heading into the woods, he found his brother’s footprints. Wind Warrior was moving fast—running. Dull Knife found no second set of tracks.

Wind Warrior was alone.

Dull Knife turned back to look at the mountains, a frown on his face. Rain Song was not with his brother. He could not imagine Wind Warrior being so careless as to leave her behind.

Wind Warrior would not have left her unguarded.

What if she was dead?

If that were so, Wind Warrior would not be trying so hard to get Dull Knife to follow him away from the mountain.

“You made a big mistake, my brother. Did you really think you could outsmart me?”

Shouldering his pack, Dull Knife headed back toward the mountain, a smile twisting his lips.

He had her now.

He was almost disappointed he would not have to fight his brother for her.

That would come later.

After Rain Song was his.

Wind Warrior stumbled and fell. He had been running for most of the day, even when he thought he could not take another step. His chest burned and he heaved, trying to catch his breath.

He was very near the village now—he could see the campfires.

As he stumbled into camp, he fell hard and everything went black.

Wind Warrior did not know how long he had been unconscious, but when he woke, he found a frantic Tall Woman holding his head and trying to get him to drink.

“Where is my daughter?” she demanded.

“Why is Rain Song not with you?” Broken Lance wanted to know.

The closer the soldiers got to the Blackfoot village, the more hatred Lillian felt for the Indians who had held her captive for so many years and then kicked her out with nowhere to go. She could have died for all they cared.

She wanted to see Charging Bull with a bullet through his heart. And she would be glad to hold Yellow Bird down while they shot her. She thought about
her daughter and shrugged. She’d never liked her; the girl looked too much like Charging Bull. And there wasn’t any way she’d be saddled with the brat now that she was back in civilization.

They would all pay for what had been done to her—Broken Lance, Tall Woman, even Wind Warrior. If she was lucky, the soldiers would mistake Rain Song for an Indian squaw and kill her before they realized what they’d done. Lillian’s eyes gleamed with anticipation at that thought.

Last of all, she considered Dull Knife. If the soldiers killed him, she wouldn’t ever have to worry about him coming after her because she’d stolen furs and horses from him.

The years she had lived among the Blackfoot as Spotted Flower gave her the knowledge to destroy them.

The countryside was very familiar to her now. The Milk River could not be many miles ahead. There she would find the village where Broken Lance’s Blackfoot people would dwell for the winter months.

Wearing a green gown one of the women at the fort had given her, Lillian had twisted her hair up in green ribbons, hoping to attract the handsome major’s notice tonight. Even if he wasn’t interested, several of his soldiers had certainly noticed her.

Lillian found Major Worthington seated on a stool inside his tent, with a map spread out before him on a camp table.

He glanced up at her. “Tell me what you can about this particular tribe of Blackfoot.”

She leaned over him, pretending to study the map
and brushing her breasts against his arm. She felt him stiffen before he stood and walked a few paces away from her.

“Major,” she said in an annoyed tone, “the Blackfoot are fierce fighters. It would be best if you hit them at night, and hit them with all you got. Don’t give them time to fight back.”

Major Worthington looked disgusted and turned to his second-in-command, who had just entered the tent. “You might explain to Miss Baskin here that we did not come to slaughter the Blackfoot. Our orders are to bring Miss Bryant out safely. Peacefully.”

“That’s right, miss,” Sergeant Sanderson agreed. “If we start shooting, no telling who we’ll hit.” Then he addressed the major. “If you have nothing for me, sir, I think I’ll turn in.”

“Dismissed, Sergeant,” Major Worthington said. “And thank you.”

Standing a safe distance from Lillian, the major said, “Tell me again what you know about Miss Bryant.”

Lillian sighed. “It’s like I told you before—she’s the reason your wife was killed. She told Susan to run and hide, and ‘course Dull Knife went after her, and I told you what he did.”

Major Worthington turned his back on her, closing his eyes. “Miss Bryant was but thirteen when she was captured. How can you say it was her fault my wife was killed by one of the savages who took her captive?”

“Well, it
was
her fault. She’s always telling everybody what to do.”

“A prisoner telling her captors what to do,” the major said disbelievingly. “She must have been a fearsome thirteen-year-old.”

“You don’t know her or you wouldn’t defend her,” Lillian said sulkily.

“Let’s move on from that,” the major said icily, remembering Susan had once told him she liked Marianna Bryant. Maybe that was part of the reason he’d volunteered to lead this mission, and why he wanted to rescue the girl and return her safely to her aunt and uncle.

“I suffered more than she did,” Lillian said bitterly. “With my ma and brother dead, and my pa pulling up stakes and moving to California, I don’t have anyone.”

“Miss Baskin, I am sorry for your loss,” the major said a bit more gently. “But you are already safe. If we can rescue Miss Bryant, maybe my wife will rest in peace, and so can I.”

“I’ll tell you what I do know of Marianna, or Rain Song, as the Blackfoot renamed her. Chief Broken Lance and his wife, Tall Woman, adopted her. They treated her good, which is more than I can say for those who took me.”

“You were adopted by another family?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s right.” She saw no reason to tell anyone that she’d been taken as a wife and borne one child, then lost another. “Those Blackfoot need killing for what they did to us—for what they did to Susan.”

Major Worthington waved her aside, unwilling to listen to any more of her venom. “That’s all I need from you. The hour is late, seek your bed.”

“Major,” she said, sidling up to him. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

His head snapped up and he glared at her. “There is nothing you have that I want, Miss Baskin.”

She tossed her head. “You don’t know what you’re missin’.”

Lillian cringed inside when she saw the look of distaste on his face. No one had ever looked at her that way.

“Good night,” he said stiffly.

She whirled around and stomped off to her tent. “It’s California for you, gal,” she told herself. “Maybe I’ll find Pa.” And even if she didn’t, no one would know about her past in California and she could start a new life.

Removing her gown, she folded it neatly before climbing onto the cot. She would pass herself off as a widow, destitute and in need of a good husband. It was said there was a shortage of women in California.

She smiled. Yes, she would be a very respectable widow.

After Lillian had gone, Major Worthington took a cleansing breath. He didn’t know how much truth Lillian Baskin had told him, but she didn’t seem to mind expressing her opinion.

He had served in the war, not caring if he lived or died. It did not even matter to him when he had been promoted to the rank of major. Susan had been his only love and her capture had left him bereft. He had hunted for months to find her, and he did finally find her body. He had known the skeletal remains
had been hers, because he recognized the scraps of her gown.

After the war, he had felt compelled to take the assignment at Fort Benton. It had been painful at first to return to the place where he and Susan had been so happy.

Everyone told him to go forward and forget the past, but something kept holding him back. He had been in love with Susan since they had been mere children back in Philadelphia.

Now he had the strangest feeling he needed to rescue Marianna Bryant. He owed it to Susan to try.

The raid had happened over six years earlier. He would rescue Marianna Bryant, without bloodshed if possible. If not possible, he would do whatever he deemed necessary to return her to her family.

The major glanced back down at his map and studied it for a moment. If the Baskin woman was telling the truth, they were no more than two days from the Blackfoot village.

Wearily he rubbed the back of his neck. In the morning they would head out again, and there was every reason to believe they would meet up with the Blackfoot, who might very well object to the intrusion into their territory.

No one knew much about this particular tribe, so there was no telling if he would be offered the hand of friendship, or the war lance.

In a hastily assembled council meeting, Wind Warrior explained to the elders and Broken Lance that he felt they should move the village as soon as possible.

“I do not understand your reason,” Running Elk stated, taking a draw on a pipe and watching the smoke circle above him. “You have said nothing that convinces me we should leave when we are already settled for the winter.”

Wind Warrior shook his head. “I cannot give you a reason, except to say I feel it in my mind, in my head. I feel it so strongly I left my wife, who is with child, to bring you this warning.”

Broken Lance took a puff on the pipe Running Elk handed him, and nodded. “Each time we have followed Wind Warrior’s advice, it has been proven sound. But to move the women and children this late in the year is a major undertaking.”

“That is so,” one of the other elders agreed. “It will cause hardship for many.”

Wind Warrior placed his hand on his father-in-law’s shoulder. “You know I would not be here if I did not feel great need. I sense danger. Where it
will come from, I do not know. I only know it is real, and it is imminent.”

Broken Lance nodded. “Then let us have our women make ready to leave. It will take at least two days for that.”

“Two days,” Wind Warrior said, frowning. “I press you to make ready in one day. Leave behind that which you cannot take. Lives are more precious than possessions.”

Broken Lance looked into the young warrior’s eyes and knew there was danger for those who did not follow his advice. “Let us call everyone together. We will be ready to leave in one day.”

The elders finally nodded in agreement.

“Let us see it done,” Broken Lance said. “I trust in Wind Warrior’s words.”

At that moment raised voices were heard in the village and Falling Thunder rode to the council lodge, jumping from his horse and rushing inside. “I saw many soldiers camped not more than a day’s ride from here! They are heavily armed and it looks like they are coming this way.”

Those who had not been convinced by Wind Warrior’s warning now stared at him in wonder. Everyone quickly scattered to their own tipis to help get their families out of the village and into the foothills.

Wind Warrior followed Broken Lance outside. “I must leave at once and return to Rain Song. We will join you in the foothills.” When Wind Warrior took a step, he stumbled, catching Broken Lance’s arm to keep from falling.

“You are ill, my son?”

“I am but weary. I have not slept. I ran all the way.”

The chief’s eyes were troubled. “Then you must rest.”

“I dare not. Dull Knife searches for Rain Song. You understand I did not want to leave her.”

Broken Lance nodded, seeing for the first time the torment Wind Warrior suffered because of his spiritual gift. “Take my swiftest horse. Tall Woman will see that you have food to sustain you.”

A short time later Wind Warrior raced out of the village on a spirited mare. He had done all he could to help his people. Now he would return to Rain Song.

Suddenly a feeling of dread touched his mind and tears choked him. Something was wrong.

He would not make it back to her in time.