White Shadows (3 page)

“Wasicun!”
she spat out, disgusted to have been captured so easily by a white man.

“Get off me,” she ordered, this time in English. Between her own father’s foresight in learning English from the trappers they traded with, and her brother and his French-English wife, she was fairly fluent in several tongues.

Incensed that she’d allowed herself to be taken by a white man dressed as a warrior, she twisted and bucked to gain her freedom. But her captor was larger, heavier and stronger. “You will die!” she said, reverting back to Lakota.

Furious dark eyes glittered down at her.
“Ovanohoo’estse!”

Winona froze. She recognized the soft, melodic language, though she did not understand it. This man was
Sahiyela
—Cheyenne. He might carry white blood in his veins, but he was Indian where it counted—in his heart and soul. And cold, dark hatred burned in his gaze. Fear slid through her, and she shivered when he broke eye contact to pull a length of rope from around his waist

Afraid as never before, Winona renewed her struggles. Her senses sharpened. The crisp morning air seared her heaving lungs, the silence of the forest rang loud in her ears, and the acrid scent of fear mixed with another scent, one she didn’t recognize, but knew belonged to this man. The churning in her stomach crawled and clawed at the back of her throat.

Despite her struggles, the Cheyenne warrior made quick work of binding her hands in front of her. With her heart racing and pounding against her ribs, Winona glared into the eyes of the enemy. Drawing in a ragged breath, she tried to look away but couldn’t.

There was something in those hard, emotionless eyes. Something that lived deep within his soul, something that frightened her more than anything he could say or do. It wasn’t just hatred or cruelty. It was more. Much, much more. This man had no light in his soul. In his eyes she saw only darkness. Bitterness. Despair.

The Cheyenne warrior stood and yanked her to her feet. In his hand he held tight to the short length of rope he’d left dangling when he’d bound her wrists.

“Noheto!”

Winona stumbled at the obvious command. What was going on? The Cheyenne were allies of the Sioux, not enemies. “Wait,” she cried, digging in her heels. She had to hold on to the hope that Spotted Deer had managed to escape with the horse.

Help would arrive and this harsh man would pay for his actions—with his life. She just had to stall. Normally she dreaded her father’s lectures on her foolish, impetuous ways, but right then she’d have given much to be soundly chastised by her father.

Impatiently the warrior whipped around, revealing his profile. A stream of light fell onto his unpainted face, highlighting a long crescent scar that curved from his temple, past his ear and along part of his jaw. Shocked, she stared. She recognized this man. He’d been a visitor to her village several weeks ago. He and several other Cheyenne warriors had stopped to trade with the Sioux.

In dawning horror, she recalled serving meals to him and three others. The Cheyenne warrior lifted a brow. He knew she recognized him, but he didn’t say anything—just turned his back on her and yanked hard on the rope binding her wrists.

The fact that he turned his back on her showed he considered her no threat. Frantically Winona glanced around for a weapon but saw nothing of use—especially as her hands were bound. Stumbling into the cool shadows, she blinked. Then she blinked again at the sight of her horse grazing unconcerned several feet from her.

“No,” she whispered, falling to her knees. If her horse was still here…

Her legs shook as she searched for, and found, Spotted Deer. She was bound to the trunk of a tree a short distance from the horse. Gagged, her face pale, Spotted Deer blinked tears from her eyes. Behind her, sitting on his heels, sharpening a twig with his knife, a second warrior looked bored.

Tears burned behind Winona’s eyes. “This is my fault,” she whispered hoarsely in Lakota. Glancing around wildly, Winona knew she had to do something to save them. She lunged forward and kicked her captor behind his right knee, then moved swiftly when he stumbled forward. With a hard yank she pulled free and ran for her horse.

Curses and amused laughter followed her flight for freedom. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know her pursuer was close. She felt him—felt his heat and his fury. She heard the low rumble of his voice. There was nothing soft or soothing about that voice. Or the words spoken. When he caught her, she knew she’d pay.

The scrape of his fingers on her shoulder made her cry out. She leaned to the right, eluding capture, and eyed her horse with desperation. She had no hope of outrunning the warrior. He’d overpower her in seconds. Frustrated that she wouldn’t have time to mount the animal and ride for help, she figured she’d do what she could.

When she came within a foot of her mare, she threw her arms high and snapped the loose rope binding her hands toward the now-startled horse. The mare danced away, then stopped, unsure of her mistress’s behavior.

“Go!” Winona screamed, waving her arms.

When a hard hand clamped down on her shoulder, she screamed and twisted, moving closer to the wild-eyed animal. For the second time that morning she felt an arm snake around her waist. Winona refused to go quietly. She continued to scream at the top of her lungs and wave her hands. Each time the end of the rope brushed the mare, the animal backed away with a fearful snort.

With one last desperate attempt to send her horse fleeing, Winona kicked out with her feet. One foot struck the mare’s hindquarters. The horse, already skittish from Winona’s screams and struggles, reared up, front hooves pawing the air.

“Tigli! Tigli!”
she commanded the horse. Another kick sent leaves and bits of loose dirt flying toward the animal’s face.

Behind her, the Cheyenne warrior tried to grab her hands. Out of the corner of her eye Winona saw the second warrior racing toward the horse.

“No!” Desperate, she leaned her head down and bit the warrior on his upper arm. He yelped. The slack in his grip was all she needed to twist free. Lunging at the horse, knowing she couldn’t mount fast enough, she slapped the animal.

“Go! Go!”

The mare whirled around and shot forward, racing through the trees, hooves thundering long after the animal faded from sight.

A loud curse in her ear made Winona smile. This time when the Cheyenne warrior snagged her she didn’t struggle. She’d done what she could. Turning, she faced her enemy with her chin jutting forward, her eyes twin slits of fury.

“I am Winona, daughter of Chief Hawk Eyes, sister of Golden Eagle. Prepare to die.”

Seeing Eyes felt the first icy finger of dread slide down her spine. Darkness crept like a rolling bank of fog across her vision.
Not again,
she thought.
Not again.
It had been years since she’d experienced the frightening and paralyzing effect of a vision.

She fought the sensations, opened her eyes wide and tried to focus on the activities going on around her, but reality faded. The darkness enveloped her; her heart raced and her chest tightened as though a giant invisible fist were squeezing the air from her lungs.

So cold.

Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

The sun. Where had it gone? She needed warmth; her head screamed for the darkness to lift. She no longer existed. Or felt. Or was. Her spirit floated through the darkness, became one with the darkness.

Down below she saw a child standing high on a cliff with arms outstretched. Sky-blue hair flowed around her body and tiny dots of light danced and became her shadow. As the girl-child danced, the light mingled with the darkness and swirled until everything appeared blue, black and white.

Seeing Eyes smiled as she floated around the child. The child shimmered and glowed before slowly losing shape. Once more the scene spun until Seeing Eyes felt slightly sick and dizzy. To her horror, the tiny white dots turned blood-red. She held her hands up to ward away the vision. But she couldn’t. She was a part of it. In her head she heard screams.

Blood.

Death.

It choked her. There was so much of it. Too much. And the child? Where was the child? Frantically Seeing Eyes reached out, not with her physical body but with her spiritual self. She had to find the child.

Without warning, the sensation of death changed. The red remained, a dark glow, but now it glittered in the sun, the sparks of color nearly blinding her. The frightening roar in her ears became giggles. Soft, sweet laughter. The child had returned.

She relaxed and reached out to the child. The child reached out a hand, then abruptly turned and ran. Laughter turned to screams.

“Stop,” Seeing Eyes called out.

With a suddenness typical of her visions, it was gone. So was the child, but not the echoing screams. Seeing Eyes opened her eyes and rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to warm herself. No matter how fast she rubbed, she felt chilled to the bone. Her heart hammered as her gaze slid over her people. Why had the visions returned? Who was in danger?

Scanning the camp, she found nothing wrong or out of place. Just the opposite. Excitement over her daughter’s marriage to Hoka Luta lent a festive gaiety to the camp. Women were either cooking or working on gifts to present to the soon-to-be-joined couple. Young children ran every which way, many holding food from one of numerous cook pots.

Seeing Eyes stood. A pouch of dried cherries fell unheeded to the ground. Her family. She had to be sure they were safe. She spotted her son, Golden Eagle, kneeling beside his tipi. In his hands he held a knife. Squatting in front of him, his two young sons, Striking Thunder and White Wolf, chattered as they watched their father fashion a small bow.

In front of the tipi, White Wind nursed White Dove, their youngest child. Star Dreamer, White Wolf’s twin sister, stepped out of the tipi. Instead of running to play with other girls her age, the youngster stared at her grandmother.

Seeing Eyes felt her heart tug. At the age of seven, her granddaughter already showed signs of having inherited from her a gift that often seemed more of a curse. Two hands on her shoulders startled her. Seeing Eyes spun around and stared up into the beloved features of her husband.

“What is wrong?”

“It is nothing,” she began.

“You are not truthful, wife.”

“This is a day of celebration, not—”

Hawk Eyes cradled her face in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze. “The visions have returned.”

Everything in her cried out for her to deny his words, but he knew her well. “Yes, husband.”

As she’d done, he scanned his tribe. Coming up the rolling hill from the stream, a trio of unmarried women the same age as their daughter laughed and giggled as they eyed the visiting warriors.

Realization hit them both in the same moment.

“Our daughters,” she whispered. Winona should have been back from bathing a long time ago. It had been barely light when she and Spotted Deer had left the tipi. The sun had now risen fully.

She turned to stare out at the hills a short distance away. The flowing stream near their camp led to the base of those hills. The rolling prairie broke away to climb steeply, far above the prairie floor. Her gaze found and rested on the tip of massive gray flat-topped rock. It was a favored spot for warriors to seek vision quests, for praying and for giving thanks. It was also Winona’s favorite place to go when she needed or wanted to be alone.

“She would not leave camp without asking permission,” Hawk Eyes said. But the frown between his eyes belied his words. They both knew Winona had on many occasions done just that.

Icy fear clutched her heart. “Something has happened.”

Hawk Eyes put his arms around his wife. “She is most likely down at the river.”

“No, she is not.” Seeing Eyes didn’t need anyone to check. Movement out on the prairie held her gaze. A horse rode toward them.

Hawk Eyes nodded. “There is nothing to fear. She has returned.”

Seeing Eyes shivered and shook her head. “No. Only the horse.” She wasn’t sure how she knew; she just did. Hugging herself, Seeing Eyes stared up into hills so dense with pines that they looked black. The Paha Sapa. The Black Hills. Her daughters were there. Somewhere. She clutched at her dress and twisted the softened hide with nervous fingers.

Hawk Eyes gave a shout. Seeing Eyes was grateful that he didn’t wait for the horse to confirm what she knew in her heart.

“I will find her. She probably fell asleep and something startled her horse into fleeing.”

Meeting her husband’s worried gaze, Seeing Eyes prayed it was so. But they both knew the appearance of her visions meant that something was wrong. She watched her husband handpick a handful of warriors, including Hoka Luta.

Watching the warriors ride out across the prairie, Seeing Eyes had never felt so helpless. Or alone.

A small hand slipped inside hers. Glancing down, Seeing Eyes stared into the dark, worried eyes of her granddaughter. No words were needed between them. Their eyes said it all. Together, with fear in their hearts, they watched the group of warriors ride away.

Night Shadow curled his upper lip, disgusted about losing control of his captive. How could he have let her get loose? She’d spooked her horse and the animal wouldn’t stop until it reached home, alerting her father.

Of all the possible scenarios that he’d taken into consideration, this hadn’t been one of them. Furious, he glared down at Winona. The moment he’d heard of the impending marriage, he’d spent the winter planning for this moment. And then he’d gone and tossed his perfect plan over his shoulder, ending up in a situation he’d lost control over.

Still, Night Shadow couldn’t help but admire Winona’s quick and clearheaded thinking. She’d shown courage in defying him.

She sent him a satisfied smirk, which only heated his fury. “You will die,” she repeated in English.

Night Shadow reined in his emotions and forced the muscles on his face to go slack with indifference. He stroked the scar on his face…a daily reminder of all that he’d lost. The scars he carried, both inside and out, had come from his will to live. So did his deep-seated hatred and need for revenge. Soon he’d avenge the past and set his future free. If he died trying? It couldn’t be worse than living in a shell with no heart, no soul.

“I have faced death before,’ he said in fluent English.

Winona lifted a brow. “You speak the white man’s tongue.” Her lips twisted with scorn. “You have two faces but I see only the
wasicun
. Like the spirit of
mica,
the coyote, you are a coward. You take innocent women; there is no honor in your heart.”

Her anger kept him from feeling guilty. Jenny was all that mattered. “I
have
no heart.” Night Shadow shoved Winona toward the tree where the other woman, Spotted Deer, watched with wide eyes. He knew little about her, and hadn’t even thought to include her in his plans. At least in this the stakes were raised in his favor.

“Pray to your spirits that my demands are met, or it will be your life and that of your sister that are forsaken.”

Winona swung her head around. “My sis—” She snapped her jaw tight. If this warrior learned that Spotted Deer was not her sister, not the daughter of Hawk Eyes, he might kill her here and now. She sent her friend a look of warning before tipping her chin at her captor.

“Our father is a great chief, and Golden Eagle, our brother, will show no mercy to those who dare harm us. They will come for us, as will Hoka Luta.”

Night Shadow grabbed a handful of long, silky-black hair and wrapped the strands around his fist, yanking hard. “Say nothing more or I will cut out your tongue.”

Night Shadow shoved Winona away in disgust. His fight wasn’t with either woman, but just the sound of his enemy’s name spoken aloud was enough to send his blood roaring through his body. As he had for so many years, he banked his emotions and brought back under control the hatred that had once saved him from the icy clutches of death.

He’d lived for revenge. Soon he’d face his old enemy and have the satisfaction of watching him die a slow, painful death.

With eyes glittering with what could have been tears of sorrow or fury, Winona stopped when they reached the others. She visibly squared her shoulders. “Let us go. Give us back our lives and I will give you this chance to leave and never come back.”

Incredulous that this woman didn’t seem to fear him or realize the danger she was in, Night Shadow resisted the urge to battle with her verbally. “You are either very brave or very foolish,” he said softly, meaning it. She had no idea how far he’d go to find Jenny. Only then could he kill his enemy and taste sweet victory.

With a none-too-gentle hand, he shoved Winona toward Crazy Fox, who caught and held her firmly by the upper arm. Night Shadow retraced his steps and retrieved her knife. Turning, he saw both women standing shoulder-to-shoulder. He nodded to Crazy Fox. “
Noheto!
Let’s go.”

Night Shadow returned to the group, slung Winona over his shoulder and took off at a hard jog, careful not to break branches or kick stones loose from the dirt. He didn’t have time to cover all his tracks, but he wouldn’t make it easier than necessary for the enemy to track him.

No more than a minute later, he found himself cursing beneath his breath. He’d thought he’d learned all he could about the chieftain’s daughter. She’d seemed meek, obedient and quiet during his visit to her tribe. Instead she was a she-wolf. Most women would be too frightened to fight and struggle. Not this woman.

Her feet kicked wildly and her balled fists pounded his back. He winced when she raked her nails across his back and pinched his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he ducked beneath a low branch. Night Shadow nearly lost both his balance and the woman when she reared upward.
“Eaaa!”
Without slowing, he ran between two trees, then jumped over a log, deliberately coming down hard.

Winona shrieked, but instead of settling down she renewed her struggles. “Wait,” she said, panting. “Just…wait.” She jabbed her elbows into his back, then pounded him with her bound fists. “I…will kill…you…myself.”

Night Shadow ignored her and made another leap over a log. He flew through the air and came down squarely on both feet, but before he could spring back into a run his captive was yanked from his grasp.

He whirled around as something slammed into his belly and sent him sprawling. He landed flat on his back. Stunned, breathless, Night Shadow gasped for air. Rolling to the side, then leaning on one elbow, he gasped at the sharp, stabbing pain in his ribs. Great. Bruised or broken ribs. He sucked in a breath of air slowly as he tried to focus on what was happening around him.

Palming his knife, he jumped to his feet in a low, tight crouch as he sought the enemy who’d snatched his prize. He furrowed his brows. He didn’t see anyone, not even the woman. “Damn,” he said, air hissing through his teeth at the pain burning with each breath. He started to stand, but when something brushed against his head he ducked.

Glancing up, he blinked with surprise when he saw his captive hanging from the limb of a dead tree. She swung her foot at him again, and again she missed. Reaching up with one hand, Night Shadow tried to grab her ankle.

She evaded him. “You snake. You low, vile snake. You will die.” She continued to curse him.

Fury built when Night Shadow realized that Winona had somehow managed to grab the limb with her bound hands when he’d jumped. The blow to his back had been her swift kick. Why didn’t this ploy of hers surprise him? Right then he knew nothing was going to go as planned. He should have stuck to his original plan.

Beneath his hand he felt the vibrations of an approaching runner. “Stop,” he called out to Crazy Fox, reverting to English without a second thought. But his warning was too late. His friend, hearing the commotion, rounded the stand of trees that Night Shadow had cut through at a full run. As soon as Crazy Fox saw Winona dangling from the branch he tried to stop, but he, too, lost his balance when Winona’s swinging foot made contact with his jaw.

With a loud grunt, Crazy Fox fell down. A softer groan came from Spotted Deer, who bounced off the Cheyenne’s shoulder and rolled to a stop a few feet away. She yanked the gag from her mouth and screamed.

Her screams mixed with Winona’s and sent crows flying from the treetops.

“Shit!”
Another expletive that his trapper father had used on a daily basis slipped from the past, into the present and right out his mouth. The white man’s curse fit the moment better than any Cheyenne word, so he cursed again as he reached up and snagged one swinging ankle.

She screeched. He grabbed hold of her second foot, then yanked hard. The sound of a sharp crack drew from him yet another round of curses. Instinctively he reached out and caught the falling woman and rolled so that the thick branch hit him squarely across the shoulders instead of falling onto the back of her head.

Winona yelped. He clamped his jaw tight against the pain. So much for an easy capture. Where were the tears? The paralyzing fear? The instant obedience?

Night Shadow stared down into Winona’s wide gaze. Furious with her stunt, he opened his mouth to threaten dire harm should she try anything else. Nothing came out of his mouth. Her eyes mesmerized him, held him captive. Everything had happened so fast that he’d forgotten how beautiful Winona was.

Her smooth skin was exquisite, warm in tone as freshly gathered honey. Delicate bones, a short, gently sloping nose and a smooth forehead gave her a fragile perfection.

But of all her features it was her eyes that held him spellbound. Wide, thickly lashed and enticingly angled, Winona’s eyes were also the eyes of a wild mountain cat. Not brown, not yellow, but a tawny combination.

He grunted. To go with those eyes, she had the claws of a cat, and the cunning of the majestic animal. For just one breath in time, they stared at each other. Silence surrounded them. She looked as stunned as he. But not for long.

“Winona!” Spotted Deer’s frantic cry broke the spell.

Winona sprang to life with a growl and tried to rake her nails down his face. He grabbed her wrists. Her furious curses were added to his. With Crazy Fox’s yelps as he struggled to subdue Spotted Deer, it sounded as though war had broken out in the peaceful forest.

Feeling the tensing of the woman’s thigh beneath his, Night Shadow shifted his legs and pinned her so she couldn’t do any more damage to his body. He winced.
Damn
. His chest still hurt and his shoulders ached from being struck by the falling branch.

“Let us go,” Winona panted, glaring up at him.

“It will do you no good to fight,” he warned as he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. A ray of sunlight washed over them. She lifted her head and tried to bite his arm.

“You she-cat. Settle!” How could he ever have thought this woman to be meek and easy to control? He’d assumed that, like most maidens, she knew her place, and would be passive and even boring, as were most of the women whom he encountered. But no. Each of her delicate features expressed emotion, none more than those golden eyes that spat fury.

With effort he kept control of his emotions. He had no grudge against her—just the man she planned to marry. He had no desire to hurt her or use excessive force—unless he had no other choice.

Behind him, Night Shadow heard his friend’s low, furious voice as he ordered the other woman to be still. His mind cleared immediately. Rolling, he stood, pulled the woman up and held his knife to her throat as a warning to be still.

Noticing the broken leaves and branches, freshly scored lines in the dirt and crushed plant life, he swore again. Then he tipped his head back. The raw wood and ragged bit of pale bark where the branch had broken off were signs no warrior—or young brave—would miss—not that he’d be able to cover up all of the other signs of struggle.

“For a great warrior who earned the name of Night Shadow, my brother makes much noise.” Dream Walker sounded amused as he and Sharp Nose rode into view. Each led a horse.

Relieved to see the horses, Night Shadow ignored the glint of laughter lurking deep in Dream Walker’s eyes. With his patience just about gone, Night Shadow tightened his grip on Winona’s upper arm and stalked over to Crazy Fox and his wide-eyed captive. Grabbing the girl, he held his knife to her throat.

“Another word and I will kill her.” He spoke slowly, in English, to be sure Winona understood him, but he didn’t dare glance at Dream Walker or the others, who knew him well. After what had happened to his family they knew Night Shadow would never kill any woman or child. But his captives didn’t know that. “Understand?”

Subdued, Winona nodded. Stalking off, Night Shadow removed a square of leather from his pouch and used the woman’s knife to pin his demands to a thick tree trunk. Only one person would understand.

Slowly Night Shadow took out an intricately carved leather sheath from the same pouch and stared at it. A wave of regret pushed through the anger and hate that were as natural to him as breathing.

“Pa,” he whispered, tracing the curves, noting the worn darkness of the leather. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the faint scent of tobacco that clung to the hard leather after all these years.

Everything around him faded when he pulled the blade from its sheath. Unlike the woman’s utility knife, the blade on this knife shone brightly but for one dark stain near the hilt. A ray of light sparked off the smooth surface, nearly blinding him. Holding it up, he gripped the handle, noting the weight, the curved fit to his hand.

After a moment he shoved it back into the sheath, then hung it from the protruding handle of the woman’s knife. Slowly he stepped back. It was done. Everything was ready. He’d either succeed in finding Jenny and killing the enemy or die trying. Night Shadow stared at the message with his jaw clenched so hard it sent waves of pain clear up to his temples.

There was only one man who knew where Jenny was. Ultimately, he’d pay with his life.

Returning to the others, he mounted his horse with Winona before him. “Choose, woman,” he said to her. “Give me no trouble and you ride sitting before me. Struggle, and I will bind your hands to your feet beneath the horse, and you will ride like a sack of flour.”

Winona turned her back to him. Wrapping a hand around her, he sent his horse surging forward.

The horses and riders left the cool darkness of the forest for the gentle warmth of a secluded meadow. Surrounded by trees on three sides and rough mounds of rock on the other, the area provided a quiet haven for white-tailed deer, song-birds and other creatures. Above her head, Winona eyed the soaring path of a solitary golden eagle.

Her captor led the way, following the line of trees. The horses snorted and snatched mouthfuls of soft grass but kept moving. Woven throughout the carpet of grass tiny bursts of spring color gave the scene the appearance and feel of peace and calmness.

Calm!

Any other time, this small bit of land would have held Winona enthralled, lured her into spinning around and around until she collapsed onto her back amid the sweetly scented blooms. But now anger and fear dulled her natural appreciation for her surroundings. Worse, guilt made the beauty surrounding her painful.