Wind Warrior (Historical Romance) (6 page)

But this was different. This would be rape by a
dirty savage. She didn’t want him to touch her in any way.

She felt his hands on her waist and he flipped her to her back, hovering over her. Lillian’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.” She shoved against him. “I beg you not to do this.”

The Indian jerked Lillian’s gown up to her waist, his hands seeking and finding her most intimate places. It hurt when he jammed his finger into her, and Lillian would have cried out in protest, but she knew it would do no good.

Squeezing her eyes together tightly, she swallowed a sob. She tried to think of home and of the life that had been ripped from her, but it was hard when the Indian jerked her head around and forced her to look at him.

When he drove into her body, she quivered with revulsion. He pumped into her hard and fast, not caring if he hurt her.

When he finally shuddered and fell forward, his weight pressing into her, Lillian thought she was going to be sick. She didn’t dare move, hoping he would leave her alone.

But he was not finished with her.

“No. Not again,” she moaned, as he took her again, and still again.

Later, when he left and the woman had returned, Lillian huddled in a ball, wishing she had died like Susan.

Her body ached and her spirit was crushed. She thought of Marianna and wondered if she had suffered the same fate.

Dark thoughts took over her reasoning. No, precious
Marianna had not been raped. That woman had taken her to tend her wounds.

She despised Marianna because she was everything Lillian wanted to be. Crying quietly because she knew she would be beaten if the woman heard her, she rolled her head back and forth, writhing in misery.

She was sore and hungry. Her mouth was dry because she had not had a drink of water since the day before.

Trembling with fear, Lillian heard the man return. Closing her eyes, she hoped he would go to his wife, or whoever the woman was to him.

But he didn’t.

He came to her, ripping what was left of her soiled gown, and plunged his hardness into her. Grunting and sweating, he pumped harder in a dance she thought would never end. Her humiliation was twofold because Lillian knew the other woman could hear everything that was happening to her.

Tears ran down her cheeks and she tried to think of something to take her mind away from what was happening to her body.

Again her anger against Marianna raged through her. At this moment Marianna was probably being shown every kindness, while she was being denigrated and misused.

In Lillian’s twisted way of thinking, everything that had happened to her was Marianna’s fault. The seeds of hatred had been planted in Lillian’s mind, and they now festered and grew.

“I despise you, Marianna,” she whispered. “I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done.”

Marianna awoke during the night to find herself wrapped in a warm buffalo robe. She was too weary to dwell on what might happen to her at sunrise. All she knew was that she had escaped the horrible savage who had captured her.

At least for now.

She felt the roughness of the buffalo hide and thought of the softness of Aunt Cora’s sheets, which always smelled faintly of lavender. She was still drowsy, and tried to focus on conscious thought.

Why had she been placed with these people?

What if the cruel and evil Indian who captured her came back for her?

Hearing the mournful howl of a wolf pierce the night air, Marianna closed her eyes, wondering what had happened to Lillian. She tried to picture the faces of her aunt Cora and uncle Matt.

In her mind Marianna hummed the song Aunt Cora had always sung to her as a small child. But it didn’t help much.

Aunt Cora had always bragged to anyone who would listen that her niece, Marianna, was a happy child, always laughing or smiling.

Well, she wasn’t happy now. And she doubted she ever would be again.

She prayed silently that Aunt Cora and Uncle Matt would find her and take her home, even though in her heart she knew that was not possible.

How would she endure living with these savages for the rest of her life, however short that turned out to be?

What would happen if she snuck out of the tipi and made her way across the river and into the woods?

That was foolish thinking—she could never make it to freedom in her condition. But later, when she wasn’t being watched so closely, she would look for a chance to escape.

If she didn’t believe she would one day escape and find her way back home, Marianna would lose all hope.

She remembered the crazy white woman who had been brought to Fort Benton, and shook her head.

“My name is Marianna,” she whispered over and over, determined to repeat her name every night before she went to sleep. “My name is Marianna Bryant. My home is Fort Benton.”

Several months later, Marianna stood in the frosted air, watching wild geese on their migratory flight, their numbers stretching endlessly across the bluest sky she had ever seen. There were clouds gathering in the north, and she thought it might rain before long.

She was beginning to pick up threads of the Blackfoot language, so she could at least communicate. She had found life hard in the Blackfoot village, but there was also companionship and loyalty—joy in the children who played in the shadows of the vast mountains.

The young girls worked beside their mothers, learning crafts that had been handed down through unknown ages. It was the women who really sustained the family units; they toiled from morning until night, their hands never idle. The warriors spent most of their time hunting and providing food, while young boys were given freedom to practice and learn how to use weapons.

Marianna wore a soft doeskin gown and moccasins, and found them to be quite comfortable—certainly more suited to the weather than her own gown, which had been in tatters when she’d arrived in the village.

Chief Broken Lance frightened Marianna when he turned his dark gaze on her. But he hardly noticed her at all, even though they shared the same tipi. Marianna noticed how loving he was to his wife, Tall Woman, so he must be a good man. She’d never thought of Indians showing affection, but in many ways Broken Lance and Tall Woman reminded her of Aunt Cora and Uncle Matt.

The biggest surprise to Marianna came the day she understood enough of the Blackfoot language to discover she was considered their daughter. The old woman who had treated Marianna’s broken arm told her that white army troopers had killed Tall Woman’s own daughter, and that she had been captured as a replacement for that dead child. Marianna wondered how anyone could take children away from their own families and expect them to learn a new way of life.

Marianna also didn’t understand how Tall Woman could accept her so easily when she was white, like the men responsible for her daughter’s death.

Tall Woman placed her hand on Marianna’s shoulder. “You have toiled enough for one day. Go to the other maidens and speak to them. Try to make friends with them.”

“Lillian—”

“Daughter, your friend’s name is now Spotted Flower. Charging Bull insists she be called by that name, and he has that right.”

“But it is not her real name.”

Tall Woman’s eyes grew sad. “You must let the past go. I have seen how the others turn away from you because you do not make an effort to know them.
I want you to be accepted for who you are. But those young maidens do not know you as I do. Let them see the person you are and they will acknowledge you.”

Ducking her head, Marianna was overcome by strong feelings for the kind woman who called her daughter. It would be hard to explain to Tall Woman that she was standoffish with the other girls because she did not know how to act around them—their customs were new to her, and she was always afraid she would make a mistake. In avoiding the others, Marianna understood she had made enemies.

“I will try for your sake.”

Tall Woman smiled as she sliced meat into long strips, preparing to let it dry on a wooden rack. “Succeed for your own sake.”

Broken Lance chose that moment to approach them. He immediately turned his dark gaze on Marianna, but his words were for his wife.

“Woman, see that the white girl does not cause trouble today. She angers many of our people because you allow her to keep her white name, and she brings shame on us because she will not accept our ways.”

“She will soon earn a name worthy of the daughter of the chief,” Tall Woman said slowly, choosing each word. “You will see.”

Broken Lance looked doubtful. For himself he would let the girl go, but in the time she had been with them, his wife had quit grieving for their dead daughter. The white girl did labor hard at her tasks without being asked to, and she never complained.

“She is undisciplined,” Broken Lance said pointedly.
“No one likes her except Dull Knife, who has asked that he be considered for her husband when she is of age.” His brow knitted when he looked at Marianna. “I cannot think why such a powerful warrior would want this white girl for his wife. He should take a lesson from Charging Bull’s troubles with the redheaded one. Dull Knife would be wise to look elsewhere.”

Fear struck Marianna, but she dared not say anything.

Tall Woman knew she was terrified of Dull Knife. Pausing in her work, she looked at her husband. “Marianna is too young to be considered for anyone’s wife. And I do not like Dull Knife.” She looked at her husband, expecting him to object to her dislike of the warrior—when he said nothing she went a bit further. “I know how Dull Knife treats women.”

“Dull Knife is a great warrior, and he has many fine horses,” Broken Lance said. “When the time comes, I will be the one who will consider whether he is a worthy husband for your daughter.”

Marianna bit her lip. Even now she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, her heart pounding, sweat pouring off her body as she relived that moment when Dull Knife came back from killing Susan, his bloody knife testament to what he’d done.

Tall Woman gently touched her husband’s arm. “If we are to follow the elders’ decision to make the younger brother adviser to the council, we must not appear to favor the elder, who undermines Wind Warrior at every turn. Besides, my husband, Marianna is afraid of him.”

“Since when does a maiden have any choice in
who will walk the path of life with her?” he grumbled.

Tall Woman laughed. “If I had not been given a choice in the matter, I would not now be your wife, I would have been forced to marry Thin Beaver.”

He touched Tall Woman’s cheek lovingly. “See that she does not disrupt the whole village.” His critical gaze swept Marianna’s face. “And see that she is given a proper Blackfoot name. If you do not, I will.”

Broken Lance stalked away, not liking to be reminded that he had almost lost Tall Woman to another warrior. Then he stopped in his tracks and smiled. She had always been too much woman for Thin Beaver. It took a strong man, like him, to control her.

Tall Woman turned to Marianna. “Do not worry about what was said here. Go out and enjoy this beautiful day.”

Spotted Flower saw none of the beauty that surrounded her as she paced along the riverbank toward several other women and young maidens who had gathered to talk. If anyone had looked into her eyes, the anger that ate away at her would have been obvious. As a second wife, she had to obey the commands of the first wife, Yellow Bird. She resented being Charging Bull’s lesser wife, because the jealous Yellow Bird made her life miserable.

She spotted Marianna casually walking toward her, and resentment almost choked her. The hatred that had hatched on their first night in the village had now grown into rage. As far as she could tell, Marianna was comfortable in the chief’s tipi, without
having to endure a man’s probing hands on her body, while she found only cruelty and abuse.

At night she would pray that Charging Bull would choose to lie with his first wife, but he always came to her mat, forcing her to endure his lust. In the daytime Yellow Bird punished her for stealing her husband’s attention.

When Marianna approached the group of women, Spotted Flower pulled the younger ones into a huddle and whispered, “Ignore her. She believes she is superior because she was chosen as daughter of the chief. Do they not allow her to keep her white name just to please her? Is it not wrong for her to be so indulged?”

Marianna smiled down at a small child who tugged at her gown, then offered her the clump of wildflowers she clasped in her tiny hand. The child had become attached to her, and usually tagged along after her whenever she could.

“For me, Little Bird?” Marianna exclaimed, taking the offered gift. “They are beautiful, but not as pretty as you.”

The child laughed delightedly, and Marianna’s heart swelled with love for the small girl, so far her only friend.

White Wing, granddaughter to one of the council elders, watched the exchange and glared at Marianna. “I believe you speak the truth, Spotted Flower. That white girl never offered us friendship.” White Wing nodded speculatively. “It is up to one of us to teach her a lesson on how to be a woman of our tribe.” White Wing looked at each maiden. “Who will take her to task?”

“It should be you, since you are the daughter of an elder,” Spotted Flower told White Wing, and the others nodded in agreement.

With satisfaction growing in her heart, White Wing spoke. “Watch and learn,” she told the other young women.

With Little Bird’s hand clasped in hers, Marianna hesitantly approached the maidens. She expected to be rebuffed as she usually was. For reasons Marianna didn’t understand, Lillian took pleasure in making her life miserable.

Marianna saw the confrontational expressions on all the maidens’ faces and decided today was not a good time to try to engage them in conversation. Gripping Little Bird’s hand tighter, she hurried past them with quick measured steps. Sometimes the girls followed her, taunting and pulling her hair—she hoped they wouldn’t today. Since she had Little Bird with her, maybe they would keep their distance.

The four-year-old Little Bird was always fascinated by the color of Marianna’s hair, and she liked to cuddle in Marianna’s lap and stroke the blond braids.

“I like to walk with you,” Marianna told her. “You are the one who helped me learn to speak Blackfoot.” Marianna tucked the wildflowers the child had given her into the sleeve of her gown. “There is nothing I like better than to spend time with you.”

“Away from those mean ones,” the child said, pointing at the group of maidens watching them with hostile expressions.

“Little Bird, did you know you are my first friend here in the village?”

The girl smiled up at Marianna, her soft brown eyes dancing with joy. “You are my first friend too.”

White Wing stepped in front of Marianna, blocking her path. “Where are you going with one of our children? And why do you ignore the rest of us for the company of a mere child?” she asked, malice dripping from every word.

Marianna moved Little Bird to the other side so she would be away from White Wing. White Wing was a pretty Indian maiden with high cheekbones and large, dark eyes, but the frown that twisted her lips downward was not attractive.

Watching her carefully, Marianna sensed danger. “I am merely taking a walk with Little Bird.”

White Wing tapped Marianna on the shoulder. “She would rather go for a walk with me.”

“No. I would not,” the child said, her hand tightening on Marianna’s. “You cannot sing like she does. She always sings to me.”

“Sing! What does she sing?” White Wing wanted to know.

“It’s pretty, and I like to hear it,” the child said with a pout on her small lips.

Marianna’s gaze shifted to Lillian. “Why don’t you explain to your friend about my singing, Lillian? And while you’re at it, tell them I told Little Bird she could walk with me and I don’t intend to break my word to her.”

Lillian’s eyes narrowed, and she answered in the Blackfoot language. “You dare speak to me in English and call me by a name that no longer belongs to me? You know very well I am Spotted Flower,” Lillian replied in a sugary tone. “While you cling to
the old ways, I have found a better life here,” she said mockingly.

For the first two months in the Blackfoot village, Marianna and Lillian had not been allowed to see each other—probably it was the Blackfoot way of bringing them into the tribe. Now, Marianna knew Lillian was denying her old life for the benefit of the other maidens, and not saying what she really felt. Lillian couldn’t be happy living with the brute who had kidnapped her.

Lillian had always been unpleasant, but now she was even worse. Why was she trying to stir up trouble?

“You have a very short memory,” Marianna said to her in English. “Have you forgotten Susan?” Marianna looked into Lillian’s blue eyes and saw the shadow of pain reflected there. Turning away, she guided Little Bird toward the river path with anger driving her footsteps.

Glancing back at the other girls, Little Bird asked, “Why is she so mean?”

“Sometimes when people are unhappy, they strike out at others.”

“Why?”

“I do not know, Little Bird.”

Becoming aware that they were being followed, Marianna whipped her head around in time to see White Wing just behind her. Before Marianna could even react or defend herself, the Indian maiden gave her a powerful shove that sent her flying. Not wanting Little Bird to go down with her, Marianna released her grip on the child’s hand before she fell. It angered her when she heard the other girls laughing.

White Wing towered above Marianna, scowling. “You offend me by breathing the same air I breathe.”

Marianna scrambled to her knees, examining Little Bird, who was in tears. When pain ripped through her side she tried to ignore it for the child’s sake. “Do not cry, Little Bird. I am unhurt,” Marianna assured her.

Marianna’s anger soared when she turned her attention to White Wing. “Do not ever do that again. If you do, you will regret it.”

“I am not afraid of a puny white girl. What do you think you can do to me?” White Wing taunted as if she was trying to goad Marianna into a fight. “Can you not see that none of us like you?”

“I care little what you or your friends think of me. But if you had hurt Little Bird, I would teach you to fear me.”

For a moment shame flashed in White Wing’s eyes before she shook her hair so her long dark tresses swept her shoulders. “My contempt for you is such that I forgot about the child. I would not harm her.”

A shadow fell between them, and both girls looked up in astonishment. “What did you say to White Wing that would warrant such anger?” a husky male voice asked Marianna.

She faced Wind Warrior, her onetime savior, and the most mysterious and honored warrior of the tribe. “I…do…not know why she is angry. You will have to ask her.”

White Wing backed up a step as Wind Warrior turned to her. “If you had hurt the child, White Wing, you would have been brought before the elders,”
Wind Warrior remarked. “Why would you chance hurting Two Moons’s little daughter?”