Savage Betrayal (19 page)

At least the softer weave of this kutsack would be more comfortable to wear, thought Sarita. The dress was longer, too, though still very plain. Sarita smiled and thanked Precious Copper, then went to her alcove to change.

* * * *

It was near dark, the evening meal over with. Sarita had not seen Fighting Wolf since he’d rescued her earlier that morning. She felt torn; half of her wanted to see him again, the other half wanted to avoid him completely. But it was not thoughts of him that made her pace the longhouse restlessly.

The other women sat around the small fire, talking quietly together as they wove cedar bark into cloth or played their favorite gambling games.

Sarita’s thoughts were on her coming meeting with Rottenwood. Tonight the moon was full and he’d told her to meet him when it was high in the sky. She hoped he had some news about their planned escape.

As the evening wore on, one by one the women bid good night and went off to their sleeping platforms. Sarita nervously bid Precious Copper a good evening, then headed for her alcove.

She sat waiting quietly until the only sounds in the house were the snores and coughs of the other sleepers. Then, wrapping a warm cedar robe about her shoulders, she tiptoed out into the night.

The bright moon shone high above the horizon, its path a silvery gleam on the dark waters of the bay. Sarita caught her breath at the eerie beauty. The cool night air was pleasant on her skin and she inhaled deeply. Looking furtively around, she saw no movement to alarm her. Gliding carefully through the shadows, she made her way slowly down the beach to the large rock outcropping.

* * * *

Fighting Wolf sat with his friends and watched a gambling game in progress. His thoughts were not, however, on the game before him.

Instead he was remembering how he had rescued Sarita from Birdwhistle’s clutches. She’d been so grateful—and beautiful. He castigated himself for the strong attraction he felt for the daughter of his enemy.

He should merely use her and cast her aside when he was done, he told himself. But whenever he saw her, such thoughts fled and all he could think of was how he desired her. Never had he seen such a beautiful woman, nor, he suspected, such a delightful one. He smiled to himself as he remembered her laughter at the clamming beach.

He couldn’t blame Birdwhistle for wanting her. What man wouldn’t want such a woman for his own?

Fighting Wolf chuckled to himself. Birdwhistle had tried to sneak back into the village without being seen. But his slow gait and the dark bruises around his neck had drawn jeering questions from his friends. He had whined his story, quick to point out Fighting Wolf’s jealousy in defense of the worthless female slave. Birdwhistle’s friends merely laughed louder, especially those whose wives he had seduced. Realizing he would get no sympathy from his gloating audience, Birdwhistle had finally limped off to his longhouse to nurse his wounds.

Fighting Wolf roused himself from his reverie. His friends were still engrossed in their game. As he paused to sip a drink of water, he felt a gentle touch at his elbow. His eyes met those of Rough Seas. She smiled and ran one finger down his arm. “Is what I hear about Birdwhistle true?” she asked in a low voice.

“What do you hear?”

“That you beat him for toying with your Hesquiat slave. Such talk is all over the village, but I want to hear the story from your own lips,” she said, continuing to stroke his arm and gaze at him with almond eyes.

Fighting Wolf stared back at her briefly, wondering why she would concern herself about the incident. “Yes,” he shrugged indifferently. “I beat the bastard. He deserved it.”

“Oooh, I’m sure he did,” she purred. “But tell me,” and here her hand crept up his neck to play with the lock of long blue-black hair that rested there, “tell me, what exactly did he do to you?”

Fighting Wolf focused intently on the guessing game in progress. “It’s not what he did to me. It’s what he tried to do to my new slave. He tried to rape her.”

“Oooh,” she pouted. “Such a little thing to beat him for. Slave women get raped all the time. It’s nothing new,” she pointed out casually.

Fighting Wolf did not like the direction the conversation was taking. He did not want to examine his own actions or feelings too closely where Sarita was concerned, and he certainly did not want the inquisitive Rough Seas prodding him. He shifted uncomfortably as he turned to face her. “Why are you so concerned? Is Birdwhistle your latest lover?”

Rough Seas slapped his arm lightly and giggled. “And if he were, would you be jealous?”

Fighting Wolf merely looked at her, his undisguised exasperation probably showing.

“Nooo, I’m just curious,” she answered his taunt hastily. “Nothing more.” She watched him closely. “Anything you’re involved with, I take an interest in, that’s all.” She smiled coyly at him to take the possessive edge off her words. She ran one long finger under his chin. “Surely you don’t care about this worthless slave.” She tensed imperceptibly. “Do you?”

He pushed her away from him. “You’re too clinging tonight. Don’t you have a lover to meet?”

She laughed a low, hoarse laugh. “Of course not,” she answered. “I told you, I’m not taking any more lovers.”

“Oh yes,” he sneered. “Saving yourself for me. I’d forgotten.”

She rose to leave. “I can see for myself that this slave means more to you than I thought.”

He raised a questioning brow. She patted his shoulder lightly. “Never mind, dear Fighting Wolf. You’ll get over her—especially after half the village has had her. It happens to all the prettiest slave girls, doesn’t it?” She laughed mockingly. “Oooh, and Fighting Wolf,” she cooed over one shoulder as she headed for the door, “should you need, uh, company tonight, I’ll be up late.” With that she was gone, leaving only a trailing fragrance of pine. Fighting Wolf grunted and kept his eyes on the game players, annoyed with the woman’s obvious manipulations.

Fighting Wolf’s thoughts returned to the present. Growing unaccountably impatient with his friends’ constant chatter and yells of encouragement to each other, Fighting Wolf decided to leave also. He stretched lazily and got up from where he had been sitting. Nodding goodnight to several of his friends, he made his way out of the longhouse and into the night.

* * * *

Sarita reached the rock and hid in the shadows of a crevice on the far side of the outcrop, away from the village. She shivered in the cool night air. Surely Rottenwood would be here soon. The moon was already high and she had been waiting quite a while. She was nervous out in the dark by herself. Too many spirits walked at night.

Suddenly she saw a shadow slinking along the tree line towards her. Had she not been watching, she would never have seen Rottenwood, so well did he blend in the dappled light and dark of the forest along the beach. As he darted out from the forest and ran to the rock outcropping, she breathed a sigh of relief—it was indeed Rottenwood. For a moment, she had feared it was someone, or something, else…

She noticed suddenly that the night sounds had stilled. Frogs had stopped croaking, and the crickets ceased chirping. All was quiet. Too quiet, she thought.

She greeted Rottenwood, anxious to learn his news and return to the longhouse. He acknowledged her greeting and leaned against the rock, a short distance away from her.

His deep voice was calm as he relayed his information. “Good news tonight,” he began. Sarita watched him, senses alert. “I found an old canoe. Checked it over for holes but it seems seaworthy. I managed to hide it under some salal bushes and grass. No one will spot it.”

“Wonderful,” Sarita whispered excitedly. “Now we can make our escape immediately!”

“Not so fast,” he warned. “I don’t want to leave until most of the warriors, and Fighting Wolf, are gone from the village. There are no long hunts or expeditions planned until Dog Salmon Moon. That means everyone will be hanging around the village until then.”

“Dog Salmon Moon?” gasped Sarita. “Why—why that’s over thirty days away! That’s too long to wait!”

“It can’t be helped,” said Rottenwood shortly. “After the whole village moves to the winter site, the warriors will go off to catch the winter’s supply of dog salmon.”

Sarita knew the dog salmon was the most important food for her people. Hunting the great whales was brave and daring, but it took place in early spring. The people needed meat through the long, rainy winter. It was the dog salmon, caught in the fall, that fed the people all winter and kept the children from crying with hunger.

“Our best chance for success,” Rottenwood was saying, “is when the men have gone fishing.” He looked at her solemnly as he continued, “You know we can’t risk getting caught.” Sarita shivered and nodded her head.

“When we escape, we must not be caught. Otherwise,” lectured Rottenwood grimly, “we’ll be dragged back here and slowly tortured to death—as an example to the other slaves.” Seeing her shiver again, he knew he’d emphasized his point. “There can be no mistakes. None.”

“Then we have no choice, Rottenwood,” she whispered desperately. “We will have to wait until Dog Salmon Moon when all the men will be occupied with fishing. But we dare not wait any longer!”

She vaguely saw him nod in the silvered moonlight. “What about food?” she mused aloud. “Waiting until then will certainly give me time to hide food for our voyage.” A new concern occurred to her. “Are you sure you remember the way back to Hesquiat village?” She faced him questioningly.

“Yes,” he grunted, “I was awake enough on the trip to Ahousat to memorize certain landmarks that we passed. I’m sure I can find our way back.” The confidence in his voice relieved her doubts. “It’ll be best to go at night, under cover of darkness. Later, if anyone notices our absence, it will be too late. We’ll be far away by then!”

Sarita nodded again, excited at the thought of escape.

Their plans made, she and Rottenwood agreed to meet once more before Dog Salmon Moon, to ensure everything went smoothly. He bid her a good night and slipped off silently into the forest again. She watched the shadows and was rewarded by only a quick glimpse of movement farther down the beach, near the village. He had made it back safely.

Clutching her cloak about her, Sarita decided to follow the same route back to the village. It was easier and safer in the forest than being exposed by the moonlight shining on the open beach. She dashed quickly from the rock to the dark line of the forest. Sighing with relief that no one had seen her, she skirted the dense bush swiftly and quietly.

She was close to the village and just about to sidle her way past a tall spruce, when a large hand reached out and grabbed her. Spinning around, she gasped in fright as she stared up into the furious face of Fighting Wolf.

“Where have you been sneaking off to, you little slime?” he snarled at her. “So this is why I haven’t seen you for several days. You’ve been skulking around to meet your lover!” His grip tightened viciously on both her arms.

Fighting Wolf was indeed furious, and with a red-hot anger. The slave he had been protecting all this time had been sneaking through the dark to meet a lover! What a fool he’d been, thinking she was so sweet and innocent! How his friends would laugh at him when they found out! He gritted his teeth and tried to control his fury.

Whimpering in pain and fear, Sarita looked up at him helplessly, tears shining in her beautiful golden eyes. She realized her perilous position. If she denied meeting a lover he would want to know why she was sneaking around. She couldn’t tell him it was to plan her escape! Such an admission would mean death, if not for her then surely for Rottenwood. If she continued to let him believe she was meeting a lover, he would think her fickle and probably withdraw his protection. Or use her himself. She trembled, paralyzed with fear as she stood staring dazedly at him.

Fighting Wolf felt the woman trembling, but his fury was not appeased. Why didn’t she say something? “I saw a man slinking away into the night, you worthless woman! Who was it?” he growled at her.

When she wouldn’t answer, he shook her roughly. “Tell me his name!”

She shook her head, staring at him all the while. “I c-can’t,” she whispered at last.

This admission brought forth an explosive laugh from the enraged man. “What do you mean you can’t tell me? Don’t you even know who you mate with?” His bitter laugh rang hollow in the night.

“Or perhaps you don’t care!” he growled viciously as he threw her to the ground. “Get out of my sight, whore! I don’t want someone else’s leavings. Go on. Get!” The last word a cold note of finality to it. Like one would talk to a dog.

Fighting Wolf did not want her near him. He was so angry; he couldn’t trust himself not to harm her.

Sarita hastily picked herself up off the cold ground, clutching her cape closely, and ran for the longhouse as though spirits were after her. She knew she had barely escaped with her life.

Running into the longhouse, she halted in the center of the living space, glancing wildly about and panting heavily. Unbelievably, everyone was still asleep. She’d been sure the whole village would have heard Fighting Wolf’s shouted fury.

Whatever was she going to do now? she thought fearfully. Fighting Wolf despised her. Creeping to her alcove, she lay down on the furs and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. But she tossed and turned long into the night, fear keeping her awake. She waited to hear Fighting Wolf’s heavy tread as he retired for the night, but when she fell into an exhausted slumber at dawn, he still had not returned.

Sarita awoke the next morning and groggily climbed out of bed. She stretched, the twinges of pain unwilling reminders of last night’s encounter with Fighting Wolf.

With her uncomfortable memories came a whole new set of problems. What was she going to do now? Fighting Wolf no long cared what happened to her. Perhaps Precious Copper would protect her, but Sarita held little hope of that. She hoped she could survive long enough in Ahousat village to make her escape. She wondered, too, if Rottenwood had been recognized and caught.