Seated behind him on the horse, Hannah
clung to his narrow waist with fierce desperation. She’d ridden docile farm animals in Ireland but never anything like this swift Indian
pony. Despite her reluctance to touch Wind
Rider’s smooth dark skin she was forced to
press herself against him so tightly, she could
feel the scalding heat of his bare flesh through
her rough clothing, providing mute evidence of
the fever raging within him.
“Let me go and you can be rid of me,” Hannah
said hopefully. “I don’t wish to offend you.”
“You will bathe,” Wind Rider decided. “You
will wash your body and hair at the next stream we come to.”
“No!” Though Hannah hated being unclean,
she appreciated the fact that it protected her from unwanted attention. She had deliberately
become the disgustingly filthy creature Wind
Rider thought her when she realized that the sight of her unwashed flesh and matted hair
kept Mr. Harley’s customers away from her.
It was a small sacrifice to keep her virginity
intact. She could not bear the disgrace if she was forced to become one of those poor crea
tures who sold their bodies for a living.
“I do not understand white women,” Wind
Rider snorted, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“If you are to prepare my food, you will be
clean.”
“Prepare your own food,” Hannah remarked sullenly. “I don’t want to be your slave. Had
I enjoyed slavery I could have remained with
Mr. Harley.”
“Would you rather be dead? Cut Nose was all for killing you outright, and Runs-Like-A-
Deer thought it a good idea. You are alive only
through my intervention. If you wish to live,
you will be my slave and do as I say.”
Wind Rider kneed his mount, and all conver
sation ceased as Hannah clutched his middle
to keep from falling.
They rode without respite until nightfall,
when the war party made camp beside a stream swollen by spring rains. Wind Rider slid off his
mount, favoring his wounded leg. He grunted
in pain, then turned and pulled Hannah none
too gently to the ground.
“Gather firewood,” he ordered Hannah as several men went off into the woods to hunt. “Do not try to escape; it will only make the others angry.” He dropped to the ground so
heavily, Hannah realized he must be exhausted
after suffering so grave a wound and losing so
much blood.
Fearing the other Indians, Hannah stayed
within sight of Wind Rider as she gathered driftwood for the fire. She returned with an armful of sticks and dropped them at Wind
Rider’s feet. In a very short time he had built a
fire to cook the game his companions provided
for their supper.
That night they feasted on squirrel and rab
bit, roasted wild onions, and clear, cool water.
Wind Rider gave Hannah a small portion of
the meat, and when she gobbled it down as if she were starving—which, in truth, she was— he offered her more, despite Cut Nose’s snide
remark about wasting good food on a woman
too ugly to warm a man’s blankets.
As she ate, Hannah noted Wind Rider’s list-
lessness, his flushed skin, the way he favored
his wounded leg, and she realized his fever must
be rising, as fevers so often did at night. Many
times in Ireland she had helped her mother
nurse her brothers and sisters through illness
es, and she recognized the signs. She won
dered how he expected to keep up with the
others tomorrow, ailing as he was. She was
nodding over the remnants of her meal when
Wind Rider nudged her awake.
“Lie down and I will tie your hands and feet.”
Hannah paled. “Must you bind me? I prom
ise not to run away.”
“If I do not, the others will think I have grown
soft. I will not tie you tightly.’’
Once she was bound it was difficult for
Hannah to find a comfortable position, but
tired as she was she eventually fell asleep.
She didn’t awaken until she heard voices and
realized it was daylight. She had slept through
the entire night without awakening. Runs-Like-
A-Deer was speaking to Wind Rider. She had no
idea what was being said, but she knew from the tone of voice that something was wrong.
“You look ill, Wind Rider,” Runs-Like-A-Deer
said. “Is your wound troubling you?”
Hannah gazed intently at Wind Rider, think
ing how unwell he looked. His face was flushed
beneath his tan, and his eyes glittered brightly
from fever. He had to clutch his hands at his
sides to keep them from trembling.
“It will take more than a simple wound to
stop me,” Wind Rider replied.
“Perhaps you should rest today,” Runs-Like-
A-Deer suggested.. “We will linger here until
you are well enough to continue.”
“There are twelve of us and only one of him,”
Cut Nose contended. “I say we go on. We still have a long way to go, and the bluecoats are
looking for us. It is dangerous for us to linger
here longer than necessary. If Wind Rider tries
to ride in his condition he will slow us down.”
He sent Hannah a hard-eyed look. “Let Wind Rider’s slave nurse him until he is ready to
ride;”
Wind Rider stared at the Sioux warriors with
whom he had made his home these past few
months. They had welcomed him into their
tribe and, despite the fact that he was South
ern Cheyenne, had treated him as one of their
own. He must think of their welfare. Cut Nose
spoke the truth. It was not Wind Rider’s wish
to slow them down, nor should he expect them
to delay their journey until he was well enough to travel.
“Cut Nose speaks the truth, Runs-Like-A-
Deer. If I try to ride while fever rages through my body I will slow you down. It is best that I
remain behind with my captive and ride when
I am well. We will meet again at Red Clouds
encampment in Powder River country.”
“I will stay with you.” Another Cheyenne war
rior who had joined the Sioux stepped forward.
He was not of Wind Rider’s tribe, but he and Wind Rider had become good friends.
“No, Coyote, you must go with the others,” Wind Rider said, “I am not so ill that I am
helpless.”
Coyote squatted down beside Wind Rider
and placed a pouch in his hand. Among the Cheyenne he was known as a medicine man,
one knowledgeable in herbs and healing. “Boil
these herbs in water and drink them, they will
take the fever from your body.”
“Thank you,” Wind Rider said sincerely. “I will do as you say.”
“Perhaps we should take your captive off your
hands. Cut Nose suggested slyly. “We will clean her up in the stream and use her for our whore. We have been many suns without a woman.
True, the woman is ugly, but she need not be
pleasing to look at to appease our lust. Unlike
our Cheyenne brothers,” he said disparagingly,
“Sioux men are not accustomed to long periods of celibacy.”
“The woman is mine,” Wind Rider insisted. It annoyed him that he was too weak to offer
more than token protest if they ruled against
him. “I have need of my slave. It is my right/’
Cut Nose tried not to display his disappoint
ment, realizing that Runs-Like-A-Deer would
probably decide in Wind Rider’s favor. It sur
prised him that he wanted the woman; she was
dirty and plain and thin as a stick. But some
thing about her made her desirable to him in
a way he could not explain.
Before the other warriors departed they
went through their belongings and generous
ly offered Wind Rider what they did not need.
Wind Rider had lost his horse and other items necessary to survival, and he was grateful for
the water pouch, cooking kettle, gourd cup,
leggings, moccasins, shirt, and small supply of
pemmican and parched corn. Someone even
added a parfleche in which to carry everything.
Fortunately, Wind Rider still carried his medi
cine bag around his neck, with his personal
talisman and good-luck items, his knife and
his rifle.
Hannah sagged in relief when the warriors
rode off in a cloud of dust Cut Nose frightened her. She’d take her chances with the devil
she knew rather than with the group of blood
thirsty Sioux she didn’t. Once they were out
of sight Wind Rider untied Hannah. Weaving
from side to side, he stared at her through
fever-shot eyes.
“Find more wood,” he ordered as he dropped
down beside the fire. “I will drink Coyote’s
remedy.”
Hannah’s eyes brightened with speculation.
Wind Rider was ailing; it wouldn’t be difficult to
escape. But escape to where? she wondered dul
ly. She had no idea where she was. Wind Rider
had spoken of Powder River country, wherever
that was, and the fact that it was inhabited by many, many Indians. Was she already in the middle of Indian country? Would she be safer
striking off on her own into unknown territory
or remaining with Wind Rider?
“If you’re thinking about escaping,” Wind
Rider said, reading her mind, “it would be most foolish of you. After the massacre at Sand Creek most Indians would kill you on sight, or torture you in the most horrible way
imaginable.”
If he had intended to frighten her he had
succeeded. Hannah’s face turned white beneath
the dirt. “Does that include you? Are you taking
me to Powder River country to torture and kill
me? If you are, kill me now. I cannot stand the
waiting.”
Wind Rider frowned. What
did
he intend to
do with the woman? In the village she would be treated with the utmost contempt, tortured by the women of the tribe; starved, maybe, or
hurt when he wasn’t around to protect her. That
thought led to another: Why did he even care? Except for her vibrant green eyes and lilting voice there was nothing outstanding about
Hannah McLin. Small, plain, and colorless, he
compared her to a little brown sparrow. She
wasn’t even fit to serve as whore to the tribe. White men had strange tastes, indeed, if they
would pay to bed so lackluster a creature. Yet a
whore was exactly what the woman was, for he
had heard her master label her as such when he
had been in Denver, posing as a white man.
“I will not kill you .. . yet,” Wind Rider said
in a menacing manner. “I have need of you.
Fetch the wood, but stay where I can see you.
When you return bring me water so that I can
boil the herbs Coyote gave me.”
Hannah thought about turning and fleeing, but the flash of cold steel in Wind Rider’s eyes
changed her mind. He might be feverish and
unable to keep up with the furious pace set by his friends, but he was far from helpless. And
like it or not, he was the best protection she had at the moment. For some obscure reason
he had defended her against Cut Nose, and
since she was far too young to lose her life
she obeyed Wind Rider. But just because she preferred to remain with Wind Rider for the
time being didn’t mean she had lost her fear
of the fierce, silver-eyed renegade. Far from it.
When he turned his cold, piercing gaze on her
the experience left her shaken.
Wind Rider’s eyes were glazed and his hand
unsteady when Hannah handed him the gourd
containing the herbal drink she had prepared.
She reached out to help him, tipping the gourd to his mouth, momentarily forgetting that she
was the captive and he the enemy. She saw
only someone who needed help.
Wind Rider fought to remain conscious. The
ride had been a grueling one. He had lost
a lot of blood and his strength had slowly
drained from his body. If Hannah hadn’t
had the courage to remove the bullet and
cauterize the wound he might have bled to
death. Superbly fit as he was, he knew he
would mend swiftly, and within a day or
two he would be ready to ride again. His
head nodded; his eyes grew heavy. Previous experience had taught him that healing sleep was better than any medicine. Dimly, he won
dered if Hannah would still be here when he
awoke.
Hannah watched Wind Rider drift off to
sleep. When his body was totally relaxed and she was certain he slept she knelt beside him, looking her fill, something she had wanted to do since the first moment she had seen him.
Her gaze roamed the length of his scantily clad
body, pausing in her journey to look closely
at the blackened wound marring his thigh. It
wasn’t pretty to look at, but she supposed in
time the scar would blend in with the rest of
his golden flesh.