Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) (19 page)

Mangas looked with sad pride upon the
warrior he had once taught. Tykota was now
chief of the Perdenelas tribe, a man who must be
obeyed. "I will do as you say."

"I will need your horse. Can you make it back
to the house within the hour?"

Mangas nodded and handed over his reins.
"Remember all I taught you. Do not rush
foolishly into danger."

When Mangas turned to head back toward
the ranch house, Tykota glanced down at the
tracks of the Apaches. He knew they would
be expecting him. The thought of Sinica
touching Makinna chilled his blood and
stirred his rage.

How would he live if they harmed her?

After riding all day and most of the night,
Makinna barely had the strength to stay on her
horse. The Apaches stopped only for brief
periods to rest the horses, then ride on again. She
remembered Tykota telling her that an Apache
could ride seventy-five miles a day, and she
believed it.

The sun was coming up on the second day
when they finally halted to make camp. They
chose a high mesa that offered a panoramic view
of the countryside.

Makinna had not been given food or water,
and she was so thirsty that her tongue stuck to
the roof of her mouth, and her lips were cracked
and bleeding. There was a gash on her forehead
where the Indian had struck her, and it throbbed
painfully.

Suddenly, she heard horses approaching, and ten more Indians rode into camp. One of the
newcomers dismounted and walked toward her,
his dark gaze sweeping over her menacingly.

Makinna shrank away from him, but he
grabbed the rope that bound her hands and
yanked her up from the ground. He was different
than the other Indians. He had more of a
presence. She knew he was the leader.

"You are Tykota's woman?" he asked in
stilted English.

She said nothing.

He rammed a knee into her stomach, making
her double over in pain. "You will answer me."

"No," she whispered, her eyes on the knife in
his hand. "I am not Tykota's woman."

"You lie, white woman. You are my brother's
woman."

Brother. She shook her head. This man was
nothing like Tykota. He did, however, resemble
the other Apaches. But she was almost too weary
to think or care. Why didn't he just plunge the
knife into her and get it over with?

He dragged her to where two other Indians
had been hacking away branches from a slender
mesquite tree, leaving only the trunk. She cried
out in pain when the Apache slammed her
against the rough bark and looped a rope around
her several times to secure her to the stake.

The sun beat down on her, and Makinna
licked her dry lips. "Water, please," she begged. But her plea went unanswered, and her head fell
forward, her chin resting against her chest.

The Indian grabbed a handful of hair and
jerked her head up. "You will die, white
woman," he said, peering steadily into her eyes.
"And Tykota will cry out in agony when he sees
what I do to his woman."

She stared back at him. "I am not his woman."

He smiled with malice. "You were with my
brother-you are his woman."

"He will not come after me," she said
defiantly. "You can kill me, and he will not
care."

He ran a hand down her cheek. "You are good
to look at, for a white woman." He ran his hand
over her breasts, and when she shuddered, he
laughed. "My brother, I think, will grieve much
for you, as I have grieved for my shame and that
of my mother."

"Do what you will," Makinna challenged
weakly.

He motioned one of his men forward and took
his canteen. "But you will not die yet. Tykota
must see you breathe your-last."-

Makinna wished she had the willpower to
refuse the water, but she drank thirstily, and
when he released his grip on her hair, her head
fell forward again. She prayed Tykota would not
come. The Apaches were armed and waiting for
him. Surely he must know that.

Tykota had already ridden one horse to death,
but Mangas's riderless horse was still fresh. He
had no trouble following the Apaches' trail, even
by moonlight, but that was because Sinica
wanted him to find them. His one advantage was
that with the fresh horse, he could make better
time than they did. Sinica would expect him to
be at least a day behind them, while he was now
within an hour of them.

A short time later, Tykota reined in his mount
and gazed at the distant mesa that stood like a dark
shadow against the sky. That was where Sinica
would be waiting, with Makinna as his hostage.
Sinica hadn't killed her yet, or he would have left
her body behind for Tykota to find. Mangas was
probably right. Part of Sinica's revenge would be
to make him watch Makinna die.

A muscle in Tykota's jaw tightened. He pitied
Sinica if he harmed Makinna in any way.

Makinna was barely conscious when the sun
rose. She sagged against the stake, and she
couldn't feel her arms, which were tied tightly
behind her. She tried to clear her mind, but
everything was fuzzy. She was dimly aware of
men feeding horses, laughing among themselves,
and standing guard.

Sometimes one of them would come to her
and lift her head to see if she was still breathing.

She was dying, she knew, but it didn't seem to matter. She closed her eyes, feeling as if she
were baking in an oven. It was so hot.

Then suddenly water was being splashed in
her face, and some kind of dried meat was being
held to her mouth. "Eat, white woman."

If she only had the strength, she would have
spit in the Indian's face. She almost wished she
would die, just to spite him. But cruel hands
forced her to eat and drink. She was not going to
die today.

Tykota chose his time of day carefully. It was
almost twilight, and deep shadows crept across
the landscape, making it hard to see. That would
be to his advantage.

He crept along a ravine that led toward the
mesa where Sinica had set up camp. He paused,
his gaze running the length of the table rock,
locating the guards. He paid particular attention
to a sharp slope which was guarded by only one
sentry.

Tykota dropped to his stomach and crawled up
the slope careful inch by inch, cautious not to
cause a single pebble to slide and alert the enemy
of his presence.

The sun was almost down and the sky was
blood-red as he crept to the top. The Apache guard was no more than a dozen paces from him.
He waited patiently as the guard paced back and
forth. But the moment the sentry became
distracted by taking a drink from his waterskin,
Tykota leaped forward. Gripping the man's neck
in a choke hold he placed his knife at the
Apache's throat, and hissed in his ear, "If you
value your life, do exactly what I tell you."

"You will slay me anyway," the man
answered, trying to claw Tykota's arm away
from his throat.

"Not if you do as I say."

Knowing he was helpless against Tykota's
superior strength, the Apache finally stopped
struggling and nodded.

With his knife still at the warrior's throat,
Tykota forced him forward. "Where is the
woman? Take me to her. And make no sound."

"She is tied to a stake fifty feet or so from
here."

Tykota's knife pressed against the man's
throat as they moved ahead. "Is she alive?"

The Aphache licked his dry lips. "She was
when I went on guard."

Finally Tykota could see Makinna. She was
tied to the stake. Her head had fallen forward,
but she appeared to be alive. Anger shot through
him like a burning arrow. He wanted to cut
Sinica's heart out and feed it to the wolves while
it was still beating. He wanted to run to
Makinna, slash through her bonds, and hold her in his arms. She must be so frightened. But that
was just what Sinica wanted him to do. He
would only have one opportunity to get Makinna
out of this alive. And even that was a gamble.

Makinna became aware of frantic activity around
her. With effort, she raised her head and blinked
the sweat out of her eyes so she could see. "No,"
she moaned, seeing Tykota walking into the
enemy camp his only defense the knife he held at
the throat of an Apache.

She blinked again. Perhaps she was only
dreaming, or the twilight was deceiving her eyes.

But no. Several Apaches had clutched their
rifles and were aiming them at Tykota. Still he
moved forward, seemingly unafraid. He even
shoved his prisoner aside, with enough force that
the man hit the ground and rolled to the edge of
the mesa.

Makinna watched Tykota fearlessly approach
the leader of the Apaches. She did not
understand the language they spoke, but she
recognized the threat in Tykota's tone.

Oh, why had he come? He would surely die.
What could one man do against so many?

Sinica was shorter by a head than Tykota. He
was stockily built, while Tykota was muscled
and lean. Still, Sinica was strong, and his hate
for Tykota gave him strength. "I have been
expecting you, brother."

Tykota's eyes were hard, and a savage
expression curved his lips. "I know you have.
This day was predestined. This is the day you
will die, Sinica."

"Not by your hand," Sinica sneered, laughing
and looking at his many warriors. "This is the
day you walk in the Spirit World with our
father."

"I do not think so." Tykota's voice sounded
calm, but there was something dangerous about
him. "You arranged your own death, Sinica,
when you took this woman."

"You have the look and sound of our father. It
was because of you that my mother was shamed
before the Old Ones. Because of you that my
father never saw me as his son. He saw only you.
Even my true brother, Coloradous, preferred you
to me." Hatred spilled forth from Sinica's lips. "I
will take your woman and make you watch.
After you are dead, perhaps I will keep her as my
woman. Will your spirit rest easy, knowing she
belongs to me?"

"That is not the way it will be," Tykota said
calmly. "You, my brother, will never leave here
alive."

"What can one man do among twenty?" Sinica
scoffed. "Even you are not that good a warrior,
Tykota."

Tykota smiled, but there was a threat in his
smile. "A man who tortures a helpless woman is
not a true warrior. And a man who is afraid to accept a challenge of combat from another
Indian is not a man."

Sinica snorted. "I see no Indian. I see someone
dressed as a white man claiming to be an Indian.
If I give the word, my warriors will tear you to
pieces!"

"This fight is between us, Sinica. It always has
been."

"I will not fight you. Why should I, when I
can simply order your death? Those who follow
me will do whatever I ask of them. Of you, I ask
only one thing before you die: the location of the
Perdenelas gold."

"Never. That secret will die with me."

"Are you willing to watch the woman die first,
then-after I have given her to the others to
enjoy?"

Tykota's lip curled in disgust and rage. "Even
then I would not tell you. But this is not about
the woman, and it is not about the treasure. It is
about you and me, Sinica."

"Why should I fight you when I can order
your death?" he repeated.

"Do you tell your warriors, or will I, that you
are too afraid of the chief of the Perdenelas to
meet me in combat? I have no warriors with me.
I came to you alone. You are a coward who
surrounds himself with many warriors so you
will not have to fight. But when they learn your
true nature, the Apache will spit on you and call you dishonorable around the Chiricahua
campfires."

Makinna wanted to call out to Tykota, to urge
him to save himself, but she didn't have the
strength. He would not have heeded her anyway.
She saw the rage in his eyes, and she could tell
by the tone of his voice that he was goading the
other Indian to fight.

She wondered if there had ever been such a
man. She knew of no one who would be brave
enough to face his enemies in such large number.
Truly he had the heart of a lion. She watched the
man he called Sinica throw his rifle down and
tear his knife from its leather sheath. They were
going to fight, and she could not bear to watch.
Even if Tykota won, would not the other
Apaches kill him?

Like charging bulls, the two warriors came
together in a clash of fury.

They both hit the ground from the impact,
then both struggled for dominance. The other
Indians had gathered in a circle around them,
loudly encouraging Sinica.

The two men rolled on the ground until
Tykota leaped to his feet, his knife drawn,
prepared to kill.

Sinica came to his feet and lunged at Tykota,
who artfully sidestepped the thrust, causing
Sinica to stumble and fall into a thorn bush. He flinched in pain and hacked angrily at the
bush with his knife.

"I have to admire you," Tykota taunted.
"Perhaps the Chiricahua Apache will sing around
their campfire about your bravery in fighting
thorns."