Her silky hair tickled his nose and he brushed it away, amazed at the softness and texture. A
few days ago it had been so filthy he wouldn’t
have dared touch it for fear of encountering
vermin.
Of its own volition his hand left her breast and slid down the curve of her hip. When he
met bare flesh he inserted his hand beneath
the fringed hem and inched the shirt upward, seeking the warmth of her inner thighs. The smoothness and heat of her flesh startled him,
and he groaned as if in physical pain. If anyone
had told him a month ago that he’d desire a
white woman with such intense longing, he
would have laughed. It had never occurred to
him that he’d find Hannah desirable.
His hand slid higher, gravitating toward a
beckoning heat, recalling how astounded he’d
been when he’d first seen the glorious, fiery
crown of her woman’s mound. Exhausted,
Hannah groaned but did not awaken when
Wind Rider slid a finger into the tender
cleft between her legs. Moistness flowed from
her honeyed depths and Wind Rider won
dered how many men had feasted upon her tainted flesh. But tainted or not, the compel
ling need to join the ranks of those nameless
men who had lain with her existed deep
inside him.
Feeling vaguely uncomfortable, Hannah
groaned and jerked awake, startled to find
Wind Rider bending over her, his hands
doing
indecent
things
to
her.
Things
that
made her tingle and burn between her
legs. “What are you doing? Don’t touch
me!” A forbidden heat welled up from her
loins.
Wind Rider’s generous mouth stretched into
a mirthless grin. “You are wet and hot for a
man.”
”I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He slipped a finger inside her and her body
lurched upward. “Please! Don’t do that.”
“What would you prefer I do? Do white men
arouse their women differently? Or do you
wish me to pay in white man’s coin to lie with
you?”
Hannah shoved at his chest, trying to push him away. It was too dark to see his expres
sion, but the warmth of his silver eyes and the heat of his body scorched her flesh. “I’m not
what you think. I’ve never lain with a man.”
Wind Rider laughed harshly. “Perhaps you’ve
never lain with an Indian, but I know you’ve
lain with white men. Do not lie, Hannah McLin,
for I know what it means when a woman
is called whore.” His finger slid deeper and
Hannah gasped, squirming to accommodate
the foreign object into her narrow passage.
“Do not fear, Little Sparrow; I am capable
of giving you pleasure if I so desire. Did
you receive pleasure from the others, or was
their coin more important to you than their
manhood?”
Hannah paled. “No, please ... I’m not a
whore. Where did you hear that? Don’t do
this to me. I’ll be your slave, I’ll work hard, but don’t rape me.”
If Hannah did not remember him, he wasn’t
going to tell her that he’d seen her in Denver many moons ago. ”A slave is less than dirt,”
Wind Rider spat, so desperate to thrust himself inside her that his heart was thumping
wildly against his ribs. ‘1 can use you in any
way I desire. If you do not please me, I can
kill you.”
“I’d prefer you killed me,” Hannah said soft
ly. Abruptly, the building pressure inside her
eased as Wind Rider removed his finger.
“You’d prefer death to me? Is lying with an Indian so repulsive to you?”
Hannah swallowed convulsively, searching her heart for an answer. Truth be known, Wind
Rider wasn’t repulsive at all. It frightened her to think she’d even consider bedding with the
heathen savage. She’d always assumed that one day she’d many; lacking worldly goods, she intended to give the gift of her virginity to her
bridegroom. After her period of indenture she’d
be free to live her own life, find a mate, and settle
down to raise a family. Maybe in time she could
bring some of her younger brothers and sisters
to America. What she hadn’t counted on was a vicious master like Mr. Harley, or being taken
captive by Indians.
“Answer me,” Wind Rider repeated. “Is death
preferable to bedding an Indian?”
“Yes!” Hannah shouted recklessly. “If you rape me, I’ll find a way to kill you and then myself.” They were fearless words, spoken in the heat of passion.
Wind Rider went still. It seemed inconceiv
able that a whore would prefer death to lying
with a man, Indian or no. He was sorely tempted
to grant her wish. His hand curled around the
hilt of his hunting knife and he slowly drew it
forth. Hannah had no idea what he intended
until the sharp point pricked the skin at the
base of her neck and she felt the warm trickle
of blood.
“Go ahead,” she taunted, tossing caution
to the wind. Wouldn’t death be preferable
to enforced slavery? Having to answer to
a master like Wind Rider would test her
sorely. She must never let down her guard
and forget that her captor was a vicious
savage. Wind Rider had already threatened
to give her to his friends if she didn’t please
him.
Impressed by her courage, Wind Rider’s
grip on the blade eased. How could a little brown sparrow possess such amazing forti
tude? he wondered. She had goaded him
beyond restraint and still he wanted her.
And,
Hannah who is
willing, he’d have her.
Only it wouldn’t be rape. He would slow
ly destroy her will until she willingly—nay, eagerly—spread her legs for him, submitting
to him just as she had submitted to the
white men she had welcomed into her bed.
He would bring her to passion slowly, with
great expertise, until she panted for want of
him. And after he’d had her he’d give her to
his friends to use for their pleasure. He must never forget that Hannah belonged to a race he
hated passionately.
Wind Rider smiled, pleased with the picture
he’d just painted in his mind. Deep in his heart
he knew something was flawed with the image,
but he buried it deep inside him, intending to
face the problem when the need arose. The
knife slipped from his fingers to the ground.
Hannah knew the moment Wind Rider decid
ed to spare her life. The pressure on her neck eased and she could feel the tenseness leave his body. “I will have you, Little Spar
row,” Wind Rider vowed. “When it pleases me. Right now you do not tempt me. Your
bones are so sharp, they will likely puncture
my flesh.”
Wind Rider smiled at his cleverness. He thought Little Sparrow a fitting name for such a scrawny little bird as Hannah McLin.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered curtly. “Tomorrow
we ride hard to reach Red Cloud’s village.” He
turned his back on her.
Hannah sought to control her erratic breath
ing as Wind Rider drifted toward sleep. It
seemed forever before his body relaxed. Rising to her elbow, careful not to disturb the sleeping man at her side, she held her breath and reached across his body for the knife he
had dropped after deciding not to kill her.
There was just enough moonlight for her to see
the gleaming outline of the blade. Her fingers curled around the hilt and she hugged it close to her body.
After making certain Wind Rider still slept,
she sawed at the length of rope connecting their bodies. Plunging the knife into Wind
Rider never entered her mind, for she doubted
she could strike a killing blow, and anything less would spell her doom. Escape from the
heathen devil was a driving force inside her
as she felt the rope slacken and separate. In seconds her hands were free, and she knotted
the rope around her waist and thrust the blade
inside.
She slipped away in the early hours before
dawn, determined not to walk in circles again.
Instinct told her to follow the stream and she
did, walking in shallow water so as to leave
no tracks. Her shoes had been ruined when
Wind Rider tossed her into the river the day
before, and now she carefully avoided sharp
rocks and stones. Later, when she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she’d gather leaves and tie them to her feet to protect the tender soles of her feet. For now, walking on the sandy stream bottom was protection enough.
Hannah trudged through the murky dawn
into a dull morning dominated by dark skies
and distant thunder. The roiling clouds over
head looked ominous, and she hoped the storm
would hold off until she found adequate shelter. To her chagrin, a slow rain began falling
immediately, turning into a downpour within
minutes. Lightning danced across the sky and
thunder rattled the heavens. When a bolt of fire struck a few feet away she scrambled from the
stream, frantically searching for a safe haven. All she found was a small indentation carved
out of the bank by high water. It appeared just
big enough for her to scoot beneath.
The rain continued without respite. Rivulets
of muddy water cascaded down the bank and into her shelter, dirtying her skin and matting
her hair. When the storm abated an hour
later she crawled from her crude shelter, so
splattered with mud and filth, her own moth
er wouldn’t have known her. Unfortunately,
Wind Rider had no difficulty recognizing her.
Her untimely exit from beneath the overhang
occurred at the exact moment Wind Rider passed by her hiding place. He had been
searching for her since he had awoken and
found her gone.
“Foolish girl,” he chided derisively. His hood
ed eyes made a slow perusal of her filthy state, satisfied that she hadn’t been harmed, although she was soaked to the skin and shivering. He tried not to notice the way the buckskin shirt
clung to her wet skin but failed miserably.
“Don’t you know by now you cannot escape
from me?”
Hannah turned to run, but he was upon her in
seconds as he slid from his mount and sprinted
after her. Pinning her to the ground, he slid
a length of rope around her neck and tugged her to her feet. “I warned you about trying to
escape.”
Impetuous by nature, she knew it had been
foolish to flee into hostile territory, but desper
ate times called for desperate measures. “What
are you going to do?”
“You shall see.” He tied the other end of
the rope to his waist and remounted. Hannah expected to be lifted up to ride before him, but
he merely jerked the rope, forcing her to walk beside his horse.
“This is how we treat captives. Learn from it, Little Sparrow.” The name came easily to his lips, as if it was meant to be. “Next time
you try to escape I will not be so tolerant.”
“Tolerant! How far must I walk? I have no
shoes; my feet will be cut to ribbons.”
Frowning, Wind Rider had forgotten that
Hannah’s shoes had been ruined, not that they
were all that good to begin with. He reined his
horse to a halt, rummaged in his parfleche, and found the moccasins one of his friends
had given to him. He tossed them to Hannah. “Put them on.”
Grateful for the small consideration, Hannah
pulled on the moccasins, tying the thongs
securely to hold them on her small feet. She barely had time to straighten up when Wind Rider yanked on the rope and jerked her for
ward. “Do not dawdle; I wish to reach camp
before nightfall.”
Stumbling along beside Wind Rider, Hannah
wasn’t aware that he deliberately kept the pace slow and easy to accommodate her slow progress. Nor did she know that the village was no great distance away. Had he really intended to
punish her, he would have forced her to run
to keep up with him. But he didn’t want her
hurt excessively. He merely wished to teach her a lesson, for once they reached the village she would be severely punished if she repeatedly tried to escape. White slaves were usually treated worse than dogs. Only children, and
white women who were taken as wives by war
riors were integrated into the tribe.
Hannah’s legs trembled beneath her as she
tried to keep up with the pace set by Wind Rid
er. Placing one foot before the other, she con
centrated on staying on her feet, fearing that Wind Rider would drag her along the ground if she fell. Her concentration was such that she
had no idea they were near the village until
the barking of dogs announced their arrival. She came to an abrupt standstill, until the tug of the rope reminded her that she was at the
mercy of a vicious savage. Demeaning as it
was, she staggered into the Indian camp at the end of a rope.