Sioux Slave (12 page)

One Eye rubbed his red eye patch.
“Wasicu,
you ride well—for a soldier.”

The white man smiled, cold disdain in his blue eyes. “I shoot well, too, as you would find out if I had a gun.”

“You will die quickly as befits a brave man when we get you back to camp.”

The stout Gopher, protested. “No, he should die slowly for taking the woman and your best horse.”

“I went with him willingly,” Kimi lied, and then wondered why she did so. Maybe because she thought it would be a bad omen for her first lover to be killed.

“So even though you are raised a Sioux, the white blood calls to you.” One Eye frowned.

Hinzi snorted with haughtiness. “The girl lies. I wanted her; I took her. Do not the Sioux sometimes carry off women and make them their own in a raid?”

The warrior nodded. “You would protect this girl at risk to yourself? I have never known a white man like you, Hinzi. When we finish with the Crows, I will almost be sorry to see you die.”

“You will see I die as bravely as I speak,” the soldier said coldly. “The girl had no part in my escape; she is blameless.”

Kimi started to protest, realized no one would listen to her.

One Eye directed that the wasicu be gagged to keep him from shouting a warning to the Crow, should he decide to. Kimi kept her mind busy as they mounted up and rode out, still scheming ways to save the yellow-haired man. She didn't want to wonder why or think about the fact that when he left, she would never see him again. Last night had been worth it. The memories of his kiss and his embrace would last her the rest of her lifetime even if she ended up married to some Lakota warrior and bearing brown children.

One of the warriors had ridden several miles ahead, scouting the terrain. Now he returned at a gallop to tell them the spring where the willows grew was not far and that the Crow were coming toward the spring from another angle.

“To water their horses, no doubt,” One Eye muttered, and rubbed at the scrap of red patch over his right eye. “We will be there waiting when they arrive.”

She had never been in a battle before, and she was nervous about it, knowing that the Sioux were outnumbered. If they lost, she would be raped by the victorious Crows.

They dismounted in the little grove of trees and a warrior tied the soldier to a stump, making sure his gag was in place so he could not cry out and warn the enemy. Then each man put a strip of buckskin around his mount's muzzle so it could not whinny and alert the coming riders.

At last the warriors took their places behind stumps and rocks. “Give me a bow,” she begged, “I'm a fair shot.”

One Eye shook his head. “Stay back in the brush with the horses. At the first sign that we might be overrun, you ride out as fast as you can and warn the camp.”

Kimi ran her tongue over her dry lips, listening to the approaching riders. “What about the soldier?”

“What about him?” One Eye shrugged. “If the Crow win, they will free him. If we win, we will bring him back to the camp so all may see his death.”

She started to protest, but another warrior motioned her to silence. The enemy was very close now.

Kimi retreated to where Hinzi was tied up near the horses. He gave her a long look and she glanced away, unsure what to do. The warriors crouched down behind brush and small trees, waiting. It occurred to her that in the ensuing fight and confusion, she might be able to get a knife and cut the soldier free. While the two sides fought, he could probably grab a horse and escape. She tried to explain to him with silent gestures what she intended to do.

He looked puzzled a long moment, then troubled as he seemed to understand. His blue eyes asked an unspoken question:
what about you?

Kimi shook her head. It really didn't matter what happened to her if she could save Hinzi and her people. She hadn't had time yet to think about her white blood, and anyway, what did it matter now? Maybe she had really known it all along and closed her mind to it. Her skin might be white, but inside, she was as much a Sioux as Wagnuka. And she would never think of the old woman as anything but her mother. The time before that was lost to her. Besides she could never fit into his civilization, and Hinzi had a white girl waiting for him when he went back to his people. There was no place for her in his world.

 

 

Rand watched the girl, understanding now that in the confusion, she intended to free him so he could escape. He pulled at his bonds, cautious of the warriors who crouched only a few feet away. If he could get the gag out of his mouth, what he should do was yell out and warn the approaching Crow. They might be a friendly bunch who would reward him by helping him return to the fort.

And yet ... He looked at Kimi, not sure how he felt about her. He had never experienced such ecstasy in a woman's arms, and he was both drawn to her and ashamed. She was not much more than a child, although she had a woman's body. He had taken this ignorant little savage's virginity, so he owed her something, but what? He was pledged to marry aristocratic Lenore Carstairs. Kimi would not fit into his life; in fact, his mother and sister would be appalled and horrified by this primitive girl raised by Indians.

He shifted his cramped muscles, listening to the sounds of horses moving closer. Somewhere a quail called and a grasshopper jumped across the brush near him. His wrists were rubbed raw and his tongue felt parched with the gag. If she managed to free him, should he force Kimi to go with him? No, better he should leave her with the people she loved.

But suppose he did that and the Sioux lost this coming fight? Rand winced, knowing what Kimi's fate would be. In his mind, he saw her spread-eagled naked and staked down for the animal pleasure of the Crow braves

The thought sickened him, even though he hadn't forgotten her hatred, the way she had treated him like a slave. He studied her shiny black hair and the shape of her small face and thought about Lenore, wondering what she was doing at this very moment. It was the middle of the afternoon back home. Perhaps Lenore was visiting Randolph Hall, sitting out on the veranda, maybe with his sister, Vanessa, having a cool drink and talking of the latest fashions and society gossip. Or maybe she would be sitting doing needlework at Carstairs Oaks while her grandmother played the piano in the music room.

He wondered what they would say or think if they all knew that on this spring afternoon, Rand was hovering between life and death? He hadn't heard anything all the time he was in that Yankee prison, so maybe they thought him dead. Or had someone finally told them he had gone to fight Indians and was missing in action?

The tension of waiting caused his muscles to ache as he listened to the sound of the riders coming ever closer. Noise exploded around him as the crouching Sioux loosed a barrage of arrows and gunfire at the approaching enemy. Crow horses reared and whinnied, dumping riders. Acrid smoke drifted as guns fired. Somewhere a man screamed. In the choking clouds of gun smoke, it was difficult to know what was happening, who was hit. The sickly sweet scent of fresh blood came to him as he took a deep breath. Who was winning, who was losing? Kimi's face told him she couldn't be sure, either.

Then the Crow seemed to recover from their initial surprise and returned the attack, riding down Lakota warriors, fighting hand to hand. Now was the time if ever he was to escape, Rand thought.

Kimi picked up a small knife, cut the ropes that bound him. “Here's your chance to get away!”

He jerked the gag from his mouth. “Now's our chance,” he answered. He took the knife from her, caught her hand, dragging her to the tied horses. He didn't know what he would do with her when he got her back to the fort, but he couldn't leave her behind. Maybe it was because she was white, maybe it was nothing more than guilt for having taken her virginity.

She fought and scratched, broke away from him. “My people need me!” She turned and ran back toward the fighting, grabbing up a forgotten bow.

Rand hesitated, cursing. The stubborn little chit! Well, he had tried to help her and she wouldn't let him. He'd better look out for himself. As he paused, he saw a big Crow warrior attack One Eye. Over and over they rolled as they fought and struggled, each holding the other's knife hand. It was clear now that the superior numbers of the Crow were gradually overwhelming One Eye's braves. As Rand hesitated in momentary indecision, Kimi charged that Crow, hitting him across the back with the bow.

The Indian managed to knock her down as he fought with One Eye. His expression revealed what he planned for her later. Kimi's head snapped back and blood ran from her mouth as she collapsed.

Rand forgot everything except that the Crow brave had struck a woman, and maybe hurt her badly. In a red rage, he dropped the horse's reins and ran into the fray. The Crow had One Eye down, taking advantage of his blind side. Rand grabbed up the knife Kimi had dropped. He brought the blade down with all his strength, the steel reflecting the light as he buried it to the hilt in the Crow leader's back. Scarlet blood pumped out and ran down the brown skin.

Rand had never killed a man before in hand-to-hand combat. Instinctively, he threw his head back and shouted a victory song that startled the invading Crow. With their leader dead, they began to retreat, chased by the Lakota warriors.

In the confusion, this was the time to escape if he was going to; to stay meant certain death. He was three kinds of a fool to stay. Yet Rand had thoughts only for Kimi as he ran to her, knelt by her side. “Kimi, Butterfly; are you all right?”

In answer her eyes flickered open and she sat up slowly. “I–I think so. Hinzi, you must leave! You must–”

Then One Eye towered over them. Rand looked up at him. “She's all right, that's all that matters.”

Slowly One Eye held out the scalp of the dead Crow. “Take this, Hinzi. You have earned the honor.” Grudging respect shown on his face. “You are as brave as any of my warriors.”

The others finished picking up the spoils and weapons. “What about the wasicu?” someone grumbled.

One Eye shrugged. “Hinzi saved my life and maybe yours, too. If he had not killed the Crow leader, the others might not have fled in terror. We will take him back to camp and call a meeting of the Shirt Wearers. I do not feel it is good medicine to kill a man who has acted so bravely. I give Yellow Hair my best horse, Scout, to show my gratitude.”

Most of the others nodded.

“Pilamaya,”
Rand thanked him. “I am honored to accept this fine gift.” He, who owned a pasture full of the finest thoroughbreds in the bluegrass country, had never been as touched as he was now by this Sioux gift of gratitude. He would not think about anything else, but that his life seemed to have been spared for today. There would be other chances to escape, maybe, Rand thought.

Kimi reached up to touch his face. “If the elders permit it, would you live among us as a Sioux and be my man?”

He wasn't going to stay forever, but until he left, he could have this passionate little vixen whenever he felt the urge. That was all it was; lust, not love that he felt for this pretty young savage. Rand didn't answer as he swung her up in his arms, thinking again of another black-haired girl hundreds of miles away and the life that waited for him there as the master of Carstairs Oaks.

Kimi reached to kiss him and the taste of her mouth brought back the passion of last night. He didn't know whether he would tire of her eventually. He didn't want to think past today. Rand knew only one thing; that if he stayed with the Sioux, tonight he could have this soft female in his blankets. Her body would be his to enjoy.

That alone made his decision for him. He had fought for her and won her in a primitive fashion that would shock his aristocratic family and friends. She was little more than a child, and a girl waited for him in Kentucky. He was three kinds of a fool and a lecher besides.

That didn't matter. She was his; that was all he could think of. Carrying Kimi, he turned his back on his life as a bluecoat soldier and swung up on the buckskin stallion, holding her possessively against his big chest. For the time being, at least, he was going to return to the Sioux. Possessing the girl in his arms was all that mattered at this moment!

Lenore Carstairs cantered her bay mare down the lane toward the manicured lawns of Randolph Hall. It was an unusually warm afternoon for late spring, she thought peevishly, wishing she had worn the lighter pale peach riding habit instead of the dark green one. Maybe now that this silly war had just ended, Kentucky could get its attention back on more important things like fox hunting and cotillions. Instead of a glorious adventure, the war had been a bore and a real inconvenience.

As she drew closer, she saw people sitting out on the side veranda of the old manor house, Randolph Hall, elegant with its red brick and white pillars. On the third story was a magnificent ballroom with French doors leading out onto a balcony. She'd love to attend a ball, but the Eriksons probably wouldn't give one until something was heard from Rand. Of course, with everyone having to free their slaves, maybe there wasn't much to celebrate. Someday, if things went the way she planned, Lenore would be mistress of three magnificent plantations.

She wondered idly where Rand was at this very moment or if he were even alive? Vanessa's beau, Shelby Merson, had been investigating because he said he knew people in high places. Shelby said so far he had been unable to trace Rand. It was possible he had been a prisoner of war or he might even be missing in action. Lenore hoped nothing had happened to her fiancee; black was not her best color.

She cantered up to the entrance and a little black boy with crooked teeth came out to take her horse. “Afternoon, Miz Carstairs. The folks is all around on the side veranda.”

“I'm not blind, you idiot!” Lenore dismounted her sidesaddle with a swirl of skirts, and didn't bother to give him a second glance as she went around the shrubbery. It was so hard to get good help these days, so many had fled north. Lenore's feet hurt and she took mincing steps.

Vanessa and Shelby, and Mr. and Mrs. Erikson sat fanning themselves and sipping drinks on the flagstone veranda as Lenore rounded the corner of the house. Shelby Merson and Jon Erikson came to their feet with gallant bows, Rand's father wobbling a little.

Drunk as usual,
Lenore thought, but managed to replace her frown with a smile. “Afternoon, y'all.” She adjusted her perky hat on her ebony curls. “Hot, isn't it?”

“As hot as where I hope Abe Lincoln is at this moment,” Mrs. Erikson snapped, fanning herself vigorously.

“Now, Rose . . .” Jon Erikson seemed to decide it wasn't worth the argument and returned to his bourbon.

“It's just as well my grandmother isn't here to hear you say that, although I couldn't agree with you more.” Lenore cooed, taking a seat in the creaking swing. “Her Nigras have always been uppity and she thought Lincoln was a wonderful man.”

Rose Randolph Erikson fanned herself with nervous gestures and wheezed. She, too, had been a reigning belle, like Lenore's mother, but now Rose was getting plump and wore her corsets too tight in a vain attempt to hide that fact. “Elizabeth Carstairs is from a fine old family, elsewise, she's a bit liberal for my taste. To think anyone could defend that black-loving Republican, even if he was born in Kentucky!”

“Mercy me. She's also the richest woman in the county,” Vanessa said a bit vapidly. Vanessa was a younger, more blonde version of her mother–and every bit as stupid, Lenore thought. She considered how kind and generous it was of herself to be Vanessa's best friend.

“Just white trash, that's all he was,” Mrs. Erikson said irritably, “not quality folk at all. Have some lemonade, Lenore.”

“For pity's sake, I reckon it doesn't matter now that he's dead and the war's over. At least our little area didn't have fighting right close by.” Lenore accepted the glass as the plump matron poured it.

“My cousin's big place, farther south, was hit hard,” Rose Erikson complained, “but then, he freed his slaves and went off to Arizona just before the war started, so it doesn't matter.”

Lenore sipped her lemonade, thinking her riding boots were killing her. She should stop having them made two sizes too small since it didn't help make her feet look tiny anyway. “Is that Quint Randolph, the one who supplied horses for the Pony Express?”

Her hostess nodded and started a dull conversation about her illustrious family and the war. Lenore only half listened, since the conversation wasn't about herself; the most interesting topic of all. Lenore had long ago tired of the war once it began to cause shortages of cloth and luxuries. Since her rather independent grandmother had already freed her slaves, Lenore hadn't thought about how others were managing now that they had to pay the Nigras.

She studied Jon Erikson. He was the saddest looking man she had ever seen. She wondered idly if there was anything to that gossip about his youth? Rand looked just like his once handsome father must have looked at that age; before liquor and time took its toll.

Rose Erikson fanned herself vigorously and wheezed. “For a true Southerner, the war will never be over! I hear the Yankees have been burying their dead soldiers right on the lawn of General Lee's estate out of sheer meanness.”

Even from here, Lenore could smell the strong, cloying scent of the perfumed hair oil Shelby wore. She wished he wouldn't do that, but then, it wasn't her place to tell him. Shelby played with the diamond stickpin in his gaudy cravat. “I presume they're trying to keep him from ever living there again?”

“Reckon so,” Mrs. Erikson snapped. “Who'd ever want to live at Arlington again with hundreds of dead Yankees buried in the rose gardens?”

Jon Erikson gulped his whiskey. “With everything that's happened and with our son still unaccounted for, only you could worry about something so trivial, my dear.” He didn't smile.

Lenore tried not to look at her best friend's fiancee. “For pity's sake, do we have to be so gloomy? Has there been any news?”

“I think,” the older man hiccoughed, “we could do without any news for a while. Who would have believed so many things could have happened in one month? First Lee surrenders, then the President assassinated, and finally, the
Sultana
exploding on the Mississippi with fifteen hundred killed.”

When Lenore looked up, Shelby was studying her. “Sweet Jesus! It'll be a long time before there's another ship disaster to match that one.”

“Mercy me, I doubt there were any quality people on board,” Vanessa said with a stifled yawn, “just soldiers going home.”

“Yes, just soldiers,” Jon Erikson said, “only ‘quality' to their wives and mothers. And daughter, you're beginning to sound just like yours.” He set his glass down unsteadily.

“Jon, don't be rude,” his wife ordered. “You've had too much to drink.”

“On the contrary,” he said, “I haven't had nearly enough.”

Lenore saw Rose Erikson and her daughter exchange annoyed frowns and decided to change the subject. Most of the money in that family had been brought into the marriage by Rose Randolph, and this property was the old Randolph homestead. Rose controlled it and she never let Jon forget it.

Lenore took a sip of lemonade, ran her tongue around the edge of the glass to get the sugar when she thought no one was looking. “By news, I meant about Rand, of course.”

Rose Erikson brushed a graying strand of light hair away from her plump face with nervous fingers. “Nothing since that rumor that he might be among the Galvanized Yankees and off fighting Indians.”

Shelby reached out to pat her pudgy arm solicitously. “Mother Erikson, I think now that the war's ended, if we don't hear something soon, we should be prepared for the worst.”

Lenore thought again about how dreadful she would look in black. “I hope not,” she said with conviction.

Rose Erikson glared at her husband. “You'd think with
my
money and the Randolph name, the army would rush to do something–”

“My dear,” her husband cut her off coldly, “believe it or not, the War Department has had weightier things on its mind than reassigning one soldier. Rand was always quite spoiled and arrogant. It might make a man of him to leave him up in the Dakotas a while.”

“Don't talk nonsense.” Rose wheezed. “He's a Randolph, on his mother's side, so he shouldn't expect to be treated like everyone else. The Randolphs have always been quality folk; not like some whose families are only second generation with questions as to where their money came from.”

“Excuse me,” Jon retorted, “I never have quite understood why it's socially correct to own slaves but not acceptable to fill that demand.”

Rose took a deep breath and let it out like a steam engine. “I do declare! Quality folk don't need it explained; it's just different; that's all.”

The tension was heavy in the silence, but Jon Erikson only looked a little sadder, reached for the decanter, and poured himself another drink. Even Lenore had heard that rumor about Jon's father having built his fortune on the profits of ‘blackbirding,' illegally importing black slaves once Congress had passed a law against bringing in any more from Africa. But then, the Norwegians did have great skill with seagoing clippers. She'd heard the Eriksons had once been partners with the Van Schuylers, the wealthy shipping family in Boston.

Vanessa frowned. “Mercy me, Father, you've really had enough, don't you think?”

“Actually, I try not to think at all,” the older man leaned back in his chair. He was beginning to get red veins across his nose and his once-handsome face looked puffy.

Mrs. Erikson appeared a bit embarrassed. She shrugged helplessly at Shelby. “Do overlook my husband's lack of manners.” Her nervous fingers made helpless motions.

“No one need apologize for me; I'm sick of it.” Jon Erikson took another drink.

“Someone has to,” his wife wheezed. “Those who have neither breeding nor much money–”

“Marry it, that's what you're about to say, isn't it?” Jon Erikson looked more than a little drunk.

His wife rolled her eyes and looked around for sympathy.

Lenore sighed loudly to bring the attention back to herself. “Poor Rand! I think about him all the time. I wonder where he is on this very afternoon?”

Shelby gave her a sympathetic look. “Miss Lenore, I want you to know Vanessa and I will be here whenever you need us. I just hope the news is finally good.”

Vanessa favored him with a vapid smile. “Spoken like a true gentleman. Oh, Shelby, dear, do you suppose you could wear your uniform and all your medals when we marry?”

Shelby ran his finger around his collar as if it were choking him. “I don't know. There's such sad memories attached to the service, with your brother missing and all.”

Lenore glanced at Shelby but he looked away. “Oh, for pity's sake, Vanessa, Rand'll come home eventually, and we'll have the grandest double wedding this county ever saw. All the girls we know will be just green with envy.”

Jon Erikson sipped his drink. “I didn't know the object of a wedding was to make everyone else green with envy.”

“Oh, Jon,” Mrs. Erikson gave him a withering look. “What other reason is there to put on a big wedding but to show off wealth and family connections?” She turned to Shelby with a smile. “Shelby, dear boy, your family won't be attending?”

“No,” he shook his head, “although the Mersons are quite influential in Memphis, my parents are dead and both my brothers were killed in the war; one on each side.”

“Memphis?” Jon Erikson said. “I thought you were from Baltimore?”

Shelby played with the big diamond stickpin, and looked away. “Did I say Memphis? Of course I have connections in both towns because of our vast holdings.”

Rose Erikson's pale eyes gleamed with greed. “So tragic that you're the only one left, but that makes you the heir, and how nice that you had enough to purchase the lovely estate between ours and Carstairs Oaks.”

Jon Erikson laughed and took a long drink of bourbon. “Is this a marriage or a merger?”

“Father!” Vanessa snapped, “I wish you wouldn't drink so much.”

When he spoke, his words came so low that perhaps, Lenore thought, she was the only one to hear him. “That's all that gets me through each day.”

“Who's that coming?” Shelby craned his head and looked down the lane.

“That's Pierce Hamilton's buggy, isn't it?” Mrs. Erikson fanned herself, wheezing heavily. “He doesn't come to call often; wonder what he wants?”

Lenore watched the buggy moving at a fast clip toward the house. She didn't really like her grandmother's longtime beau and lawyer. Lenore sometimes had a feeling that he saw right through her.

No one said anything as the buggy pulled up in front of the house and the black boy came out to take the reins from the old man with the gray mustache and goatee. His distressed expression told Lenore immediately that this was not a social call.

He spoke kindly to the servant, then came around the house, crossed the flagstones. “Afternoon y'all.”

“Afternoon, Judge.” Mr. Erikson waved him to a wicker chair, “Care for a bourbon?”

The judge shook his head. “A little early in the day for me.” He hesitated. “I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news.”

Shelby leaned forward. “The price of cotton has fallen?”

“Lincoln's not dead after all?” Mrs. Erikson wheezed.

“My grandmother's lost all her money?” Lenore asked.

“Be quiet,” Jon Erikson snapped, “and let the man say what he's come to say.”

“Thank you, Jon.” The judge looked at him gratefully. “I'm glad to find you here, Lenore, I was headed to your place next.”