Sioux Slave (9 page)

Rand cursed under his breath. How in the hell could he do that when he was kept chained up like some runaway black slave? Rand pulled at his bonds, hoping he could work them down over his hands, but he had big hands. Like a beast of burden, he thought bitterly, Rand Erikson, the dashing only son of one of the richest families in the county. Only the Carstairs had more wealth.

What if he couldn't escape and the army never found out the Indians had him? No doubt they had already given him up for dead. He might spend the rest of his life as a Sioux slave, used for heavy labor, chained up at night like a workhorse. At least he hadn't been gelded, but if he didn't stop looking at Kimi the way he'd been doing, her mother might take care of that. He couldn't help it. Part of it was her arrogance in the way she treated him and refused to succumb to his charm. The other? Surely an aristocrat who was engaged to an elegant belle like Lenore shouldn't be so drawn to an Indian savage. Would she be so different than with other women he'd had? One thing was certain, it wouldn't be like it would with the prim, ladylike Lenore. The weal across his back still stung. Or was it the humiliation of being whipped like a cart pony?

He'd had some troubled dreams the last couple of nights in which the half-breed girl was the one in chains, begging him not to use his quirt. He'd teach her humiliation if he ever got the chance. More than that, he wanted to teach her about white man's passion. As young as she was, he ought to be ashamed of himself, thinking like that, but it wasn't as if she was an innocent school girl.

 

 

The step again. He saw only a shadow, but he tensed into readiness, his heart pounding as he realized someone was sneaking into the tipi. He pulled at his cuffs again, cursing silently. If someone had come to kill him, he was helpless to do much about it.

“Soldier, are you awake?”

The old woman, Kimi's mother. Now just what was she doing sneaking into his lodge? Suppose she had come to kill him?

“Yes, I'm awake,” Rand said cautiously, his muscles tensed to fight as best he could should she have a knife. “What is it you want?”

“I want you out of this camp.”

He laughed without mirth. “Well, I reckon at least we agree on something. Believe me, there's nothing I'd rather do than leave this camp.”

“If I help you escape, will you go away and never come back?”

Immediately Rand sensed a trick. “You hate me,” he said. “That's apparent. Why should you want to help me?”

“Help you?” she scoffed, “Not for you; for my own selfish reasons. I have seen the way you look at my daughter, the way she is beginning to look at you.”

“You're mistaken,” Rand flexed his shoulders, trying to find a comfortable position, “She hates me. I think she would kill me without a second thought.”

The old woman made a skeptical grunt. “I must protect my daughter. I know how a white man might desire her, use her with no more thought than satisfying his needs.”

I'll bet you do,
Rand thought, but he said nothing, thinking only about Kimi's green eyes. Now he knew why the old woman spoke a little English. Maybe a long time ago, Wagnuka had been a pretty young maiden and a soldier or white trader had whispered honeyed promises in her ear, got her with child and abandoned her. Instead, he said, “You would risk defying the Shirt Wearers to free me, help me escape?”

The old woman hesitated. “It is a risk I take to get you away from my daughter. I love her. No sacrifice is too great. Kimimila is young, innocent in the ways of the white world. It is much better that she marry some good warrior and stay among the Sioux rather than be taken to some fort or town to be thrown away after you tire of her.”

Would he tire of her? He imagined the hot-blooded little half-breed in his bed at night, clawing his back and moaning for more like the little primitive savage she was. Of course he had forgotten about the elegant Lenore. And Kimi would hardly fit into upper class Kentucky society. No, of course any long term commitment was out of the question. “Wagnuka, what are your plans?”

“I have stolen the key to your chains,” she whispered, “and I have tied a horse over the rise near that wild plum bush thicket. By morning, you can be far away and no one will ever know how you escaped.”

His heart began to beat hard with hope. “It's a long way, I'll need a weapon, some food and water.”

“No, no weapon.” She shook her head. “I don't intend to take the chance on your killing any of my people, but here's a small bag of food and a water skin.”

“All right, that will have to do.” He turned, offering his wrists and she hesitated a long moment as if not sure she was doing the right thing. “Come on, come on!”

She unlocked his wrist and ankle chains, handed him the food and water. “Go now. You know where the horse waits.”

For just a moment, it occurred to him that he could use a hostage, then decided against it. For one thing, the old woman would be a lot of trouble and would slow him down. Besides, it didn't seem honorable to trick her that way after she had freed him. He was still a Southern gentleman to the core, he thought wryly.

He stood up, flexed his cramped muscles. “What about you?”

Wagnuka shrugged as she turned to slip from the tipi. “I will return to my bed. In the morning, there will be a big outcry over your disappearance, but no one will suspect me. After all, everyone knows I hate you for the death of my son-in-law.”

“Wagnuka, believe me, I didn't kill that warrior.”

In the moonlight, her face was grim. “Mato is dead because white soldiers have come into our country as invaders. You are guilty because you ride with those soldiers.”

He had never thought of it that way before. Rand was only trying to survive and that's what the Sioux were trying to do, too. He saw the Indians in a little different light at that moment.

“Maybe,” he said softly, “with my wound, the army will let me go back to my people who live far, far from here.”

“You have the same soft, drawling voice he had,” Wagnuka said, “I wonder if he came from your country?”

“Who?”

“Kimi's father.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I said nothing,” she answered, “and he is dead anyway.” The old woman made a hurrying gesture just before she turned and fled in the darkness. “Go while you still have plenty of night and before the storms come.”

As they stepped outside, a rush of cool air blew past them. In the distance, thunder rolled.

Cautiously, Rand looked around as Wagnuka disappeared into the darkness. The camp was asleep. Only an occasional dog barked in the stillness.

Over the rise and behind the wild plum thicket, she had said. Rand crept along between the tipis, fearful less he alert some dog or run into a stray sentinel.

He thought about Kimi and her mysterious father as he slipped through the shadows. Some bluecoat from the South before the war, he thought. He wondered how the old woman knew the man was dead? She must be a lot younger than she looked, but then this hard life was enough to age a woman. He would have guessed Wagnuka was almost as old as Lenore's grandmother, too old to be Kimi's mother. The pretty half-breed surely wasn't any older than fifteen or sixteen.

Kimi. In spite of everything, he wanted her body as he had never lusted after another woman. Too bad he couldn't take her with him. What would happen to her after he had sated his lust? He hadn't thought about that, no more than her errant father had probably thought about what would happen to the Indian girl he took.

Rand found he was holding his breath as he crept along. Any moment, he expected some brave to come out of a tipi or return from guarding the big pony herd and see him, raise the alarm. They would probably kill him without giving him a chance to surrender.

He shook his head, No, he'd rather be killed quickly than surrender and return to being a Sioux slave. He wished he had a weapon. Even a small knife would be better than nothing, but unless he tried to sneak into a tipi and steal one, there was no way. The risk wasn't worth it. Far better to get to that horse and ride away as fast as he could. With any luck, Rand could be almost to the fort before anyone in the Indian camp realized he was gone.

Up ahead, he saw the horse staked out right where she said it would be. Rand paused, breathing hard, feeling perspiration run down his skin. Yet his mouth was so dry, he had a hard time swallowing.

The wind blew cool and he smelled rain on the breeze. Off in the distance, lightning crackled all orange and green against a black sky. There was going to be a storm later tonight all right, and when it came, the thunder might disturb horses and dogs and get the whole camp roused. Someone might discover the captive was missing a lot sooner than they would otherwise. Rand cursed silently at the thought.

Now why would she tie the horse in such an obvious spot? Rand paused even as he was about to run across the prairie toward it. The horse was a gray, its coat shining in the pale light. It hadn't been a good choice, Rand thought with a frown: too visible. Or had she planned it that way?

The natural caution that had kept him alive in the Yankee prison and on the hostile Dakota plains took over and he thought for a long moment. Instead of running across the ground to the horse, he crept around behind the plum thicket, listening.

He heard a man step on a twig, break it. A man's voice said in Lakota, “Be careful about making noise. He should be here any moment.”

“Are we ready for him?”

The other grunted in the affirmative.

An ambush. Rand's heart almost stopped. That old woman had set a trap to kill him. She hadn't planned to help him escape at all, but to ambush him as he tried.

Rand cursed under his breath, trying to decide what to do. There was no way he could overpower or deal with those several armed warriors in the plum bushes. He was going to have to do something different. But what?

Rand turned and sneaked back through the camp. He needed a weapon. Was there anything in his lodge he could use? The chains. What could he do with the chains? No, the rattle of them would hinder their limited use as a weapon. He was unarmed. In the shadows of his tipi, he paused, trying to decide what to do next.

Suppose he did the unexpected and went the other direction, through the scattering of cottonwoods over by the little creek? If he had a horse, he might sneak away and let his ambushers wait vainly in the plum thicket all night or at least until the coming storm drove them to shelter.

Maybe he could take a hostage. No, he shook his head. There was no one out and about except the warriors waiting in ambush and the lone guards off in the distance over the next rise guarding the big pony herd. Rand paused in the shadows, looking around the camp.

There were a few of the very best horses right here in camp. Many of the warriors, fearful of having their best war pony stolen, kept it tied right outside their lodge. To steal a man's best pony right from under his nose was a triumph all the tribes enjoyed and delighted in retelling around the camp fire

Tonweya. Scout. He recognized the big buckskin stallion belonging to One Eye tied out before his lodge. Rand would be taking a double risk to creep into the center of the big camp, take One Eye's favorite horse and try to escape without alerting anyone. But if he could, he had a much better chance of getting away. While One Eye owned several good war ponies, Scout was clearly the best and fastest mount in the whole camp. Besides it would be a good joke on the brave.

He had to sneak past Kimi's tipi to reach that horse. Talking a deep breath, Rand crept through the shadows. By her lodge, he paused, listening. Old Wagnuka's snoring drifted on the night air.

He might after all have use for a hostage, and it would serve the old woman right if he took Kimi to pay her back for her deceit. He paused by the tipi and shook his head. No, it wasn't worth the risk. He had to admit that there had been something in his mind besides just needing a hostage. He would forget about revenge and the satisfaction of humbling that arrogant little savage. He needed to concentrate on just escaping alive and returning to civilization.

Abruptly, Kimi crept out of her lodge and looked toward Rand's as if trying to decide whether to go there. Rand stood close enough in the shadows to reach out and touch her. He studied her expression in the next flash of lightning, wondering suddenly if she had been in on her mother's plot. The thought made angry bile rise in his throat.

Rand made his decision in a heartbeat. He did need a hostage. And here she stood.

Rand watched the girl pause in the darkness. The distant lightning outlined the soft curves of her silhouette and he recalled the taste of her lips, the feel of her soothing fingertips on his fevered face. Frowning, he also remembered the leather harness, the chains, and the welt on his back. Sneaking up behind her, he reached out, clasped one hand over her mouth, while the other arm went around her small waist to jerk her up against his big frame.

She fought him, making muffled cries. Then her sharp teeth came down hard on his fingers. He dared not let go. All he could do was curse under his breath and hang on. How had he ever got mixed up with this vixen? If he ever got her away from this camp, he owed the little half-breed a real comeuppance.

Easily he overwhelmed her with sheer strength as she struggled. He had forgotten how small she really was until he held her against his almost naked frame. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide as a frightened doe, except these wide eyes were green.

In spite of the danger around him, he couldn't resist giving her a sardonic smile. The captive had become the captor and her eyes mirrored that realization.
Just you wait, little butterfly,
he thought. If he managed to escape with his prize, he had plans for this savage chit. She had teased him with her ripe body, taunted him with his powerless slavery. Now the tables were turned. He was looking forward to teaching her a little humility.

First he had to get out of this camp alive without her sounding the alarm. There was no way with him having to concentrate on hanging onto his wriggling, biting captive.

Rand had never raised a hand to a woman in his life, but he didn't have any alternative now. He didn't want to hurt her, but he had to render her temporarily helpless.

Sorry to have to do this, Kimi,
he thought, even as he clipped her lightly across the jaw. She crumpled, limp and unconscious. How fragile and light she was. He felt like the worst kind of blackguard for striking her, and even the remembrance of her whip didn't make him feel right about it. Rand threw her across his wide shoulder, hanging onto her trim ankles as he crept toward the horse tied before One Eye's tipi.

The big stallion looked up as Rand approached. He could only hope the horse didn't nicker or stamp its hooves, possibly waking those in the tipi.

At any moment, Rand expected to hear a cry of alarm as someone spotted him. The silence hung as heavy as the warm spring night. He seemed to hear his own breathing, the sound of his own moccasins as he moved toward the horse.

The girl felt as light as dandelion fluff to him, but he was keenly aware of the warmth of her body against his naked skin. Stealthily, he draped her across the back of the big horse, picked up a rawhide lariat hanging on a post as he untied the horse. He would need something to tie Kimi up once he got her away from here.

Checking to make sure he had the little bag of food and water the old woman had given him, he held the buckskin's muzzle so it could not whinny. Rand led the stallion out of the camp. His heart thudded as he crept away, expecting to feel the steel of an arrow tip plunge into his back or the pain of a lance driven deep between his shoulders. In the brush, a night bird called and a baby somewhere in the camp cried fretfully. Suppose Kimi awakened and screamed an alarm before he got out of camp? Rand glanced at her. She hung limp and unconscious across the broad back of the buckskin.

On the edge of camp, Rand swung up on the barebacked horse with Kimi in front of him. He had to resist an urge to put his heels to the stallion, urge it away at a clattering gallop that might awaken someone. He forced himself to ride out at a walk, knowing that at any second, the men who waited in ambush on the opposite side of the sprawling encampment might wonder and investigate why their prey had never shown up. His heart pounded so hard, he was certain it could be heard for a hundred yards around.

Finally he was far enough away and lifted the girl to cradle her against him as Scout broke into an easy lope across the prairie. Off in the distance, orange lightning cut across the black sky again. Rain could be both a hindrance and a blessing, he thought. It might wash away his tracks but it might also slow him down.

What to do now? With no stars to guide him on this stormy night, Rand wasn't sure where he was. Anyway he dared not head directly toward the fort; that was what the braves would expect and that's the way they would pursue. When the girl came to, maybe he could force her to guide him. Who was he kidding? She wasn't going to do anything but hinder him every chance she got. He was already beginning to regret taking her along–or was he? She was warm and helpless in his arms and he was already thinking about his revenge.

Rand decided to take a meandering course along the edge of an old series of rolling hills and ravines. It would take longer, but the shadows of the low-lying rises would not silhouette him against sky lit by flashes of lightning as riding across the flat, treeless prairie would.

The girl lay curled soft against his chest. Rand cursed softly. What was he to do with her? Maybe when he was within sight of the fort, he'd give her the horse and turn her loose to return to her people.

On the other hand . . . He felt her velvet skin against his, the feel of her small waist under his hand, her full breasts brushing against his fingers. That hand held the rope on Scout's bridle. The other he put on her thigh to steady the unconscious girl. Her doeskin shift had edged up. Her bare flesh seemed to burn against his fingers. Even the danger of pursuit could not block out the thought of how the half-breed girl would feel lying naked and defenseless under him.

For a moment, he was ashamed of his ungallant desire. Then he remembered how she had humiliated and worked him as a chained slave, and his mouth became a hard line. If he decided to enjoy her, she deserved it for everything she had done to him, didn't she? It wasn't as if she were a virgin. After all, Kimi was a widow even if she was very young. Besides she had taunted him with her body. He felt his manhood go hard and throb against her soft hips and was keenly aware of the soft curve of her breast against his hand.

Generations of gallantry warred inside him against primitive desires. Well, that wasn't a decision to deal with yet, Rand thought ruefully. It was a long way to safety and he might not make it before the warriors tracked him down. Their anger would be terrible at his audacity in stealing both the fine stallion and the girl. But then, they would kill him anyway for escaping. It was only a question of how badly they would torture him before he died.

He paused now and then as the hours passed to rest his horse, looking behind him, expecting to see galloping braves coming over the horizon at any moment. Here and there the brown coal called lignite jutted from timeless, wind-ravaged rises. The wind had picked up and thunder rumbled. In the distance, rain already poured in torrents; he smelled it fresh and sweet on the cool wind as it touched the dry prairie grass and soaked into the rich soil. Even the scent of wild roses came on the breeze.

The girl stirred in his arms and moaned softly. He held her against the warmth of his bare chest protectively, ashamed that he had hit her, but there had been no other way to silence her and carry her out of the camp. He still had one arm around her, her breasts resting against his forearm. His other hand stayed on her thigh and he stroked there, ever so gently.

Her skin felt satin smooth and he couldn't stop his mind from wondering how those thighs would feel lying between them, her long, slim legs locked around his lean hips as she urged him to plunge into her deep and deeper still.
Wishful thinking,
Rand thought, and he cursed softly. When she finally regained consciousness, she would be a spitting, clawing wildcat. This fiery half-breed hated him. Only in his mind would she reach for him, want him as his body wanted her.

She shivered a little in the cool wind, stirred and moaned again. He had never felt so protective, nor so angry at any female before. Small as she was, she had spunk. Given half a chance, she gave as good as she got–a far cry from the simpering, demure Southern belles Rand had known.

Common sense told him riding double was tiring his horse and slowing his escape. If he had any brains, he'd dump her right now. Maybe she'd finally find her way back to the encampment or the warriors might find her before a wolf or an enemy brave got her.

His mind agreed it was only common sense to drop her off on the grass in the darkness before she ever awakened and he had to deal with the little wildcat's teeth and nails.

And yet she felt too good nestled in his arms for him to even consider it. Up ahead lay a low eroded bluff. Rand rode toward it. The wind came up suddenly, blowing cold, and lightning cracked across the black sky, causing the stallion to snort and shake its head.

“Easy, boy,” he muttered as the first drops of rain splattered against Rand's dusty, sweating face. He could ride through the rain without any trouble, but lightning on the plains was a real danger. And if hail began to fall like musket balls, it could easily kill or stun any living thing it hit. In his months in the Dakotas, Rand had seen dead animals after a hailstorm. He might have to seek shelter after all. The rain began in earnest now, big, cold drops that drove like nails against his bare flesh.

The girl shivered again and he held her close, trying to shield her against the rain and icy wind with his own big body. “It's all right,” he murmured without thinking, “You're all right, little butterfly. No one's going to hurt you; not as long as I'm around.”

He was surprised to realize that he meant it. No, he told himself, he didn't feel protective, it was only possessive, like any male animal with a nubile female. He lusted after her. Maybe it was because of the way she had treated him, but for days, he had been plagued with fantasies of finally possessing her body. After he got her back to the fort and into his bunk a few times, his lust would be slaked and he wouldn't care what happened to her. Any man who wanted the vixen would be welcome to her then. It was all she deserved.

Rand looked down at her ebony hair, now wet with rain, the shape of her profile, and thought of the elegant Miss Lenore Carstairs. What had caused that? Certainly the only thing they had in common was the black hair. He wondered what the aristocratic Kentucky belle was doing at this moment while Rand was fleeing for his life across the Dakota plains with a voluptuous, unconscious girl in his arms? He had never hungered for chaste and virginal Lenore's body the way he wanted Kimi's.

 

Kimi came awake gradually, wondering where she was. Her face and shift seemed wet with rain and she thought she might be on a horse. What was she doing on a horse?

Her head hurt as she stirred and moaned, trying to remember where she was, what had happened.

Immediately, she felt an arm pull her close against a big, warm body. She stiffened, pretended to be unconscious while she tried to figure out her strange surroundings. She searched her memory. The last thing she remembered was coming out of her tipi in the darkness. She had awakened as her mother had gone outside. She had lain there wondering what Wagnuka was up to.

She had feared for Hinzi, thinking her mother hated the whites enough that she might be capable of something devious to get him out of the camp–or murder him in his sleep.

Hinzi. The last thing Kimi remembered was the sudden sight of his face and then she had been struggling to break free while he held her against his naked, hairy chest. After that, she remembered nothing more.

She said a little prayer to Wakan Tanka as the terrible truth dawned on her. Hinzi had escaped from the Lakota and taken her with him as a hostage. What should she do now? More important, what did he intend to do? At this moment, there was no point in putting up a fight. The soldier was too big for her to win it. She would have to pretend unconsciousness as long as possible, then wait for her chance to take the horse and escape. No bigger than she was, trickery was the only defense she could count on.

The rain pelted down on them and her shift was soaked so that she shivered in the chill night. The only part of her that was warm was her back, up against the heat of his big, almost completely naked body. One muscular arm was around her waist just under her breasts and she felt his aroused manhood against her hips. His hot hand on her bare thigh stroked her skin. She had no doubt what he was thinking or what he intended to do with her first chance he got.

In spite of her fears, his fingers stroking her bare thigh, moving ever higher, made her think of things she shouldn't, just as his hard maleness pushing against her back made her think how warm he would feel between her thighs on this wet, cool night.

The horse stumbled as they rode through the rain, and it occurred to Kimi that the mount was tired, too. If it didn't get some rest soon, it would drop dead in its tracks and they would be afoot out here on the desolate prairie.

The thought came that the big soldier could easily abandon her to make it easier on the horse and maybe thereby get all the way back to the fort safely. She couldn't believe that thought hadn't occurred to him, too.

She half-opened one eye. He cuddled her protectively from the weather up against his blond furred chest and she instinctively pressed closer, letting him protect her from the hard driving rain. The lightning cracked orange against a dark purple sky. Just ahead lay a low bluff.

Abruptly it began to hail, small missiles of ice at first, and then they grew as big as a man's fist, beating against both man and horse. She burrowed deeper into his arms, letting him take the bruising blows, knowing hailstones could kill or injure them. If he didn't do something fast, they were in a very vulnerable position.

He must have realized it, too. At that moment, he urged the tired horse into a gallop and headed toward the bluff. For a long minute they raced through the driving rain and hail clattering down around them, and then they were safely under an outcrop of rock.