Savage Betrayal (36 page)

He shrugged. “A slave is a slave, wherever he is,” came the casual response. He elaborated, “Some people treated me better than I’ve been treated here. Some treated me worse.” He paused.

“I wanted to see you tonight,” he began, “to let you know I had not forgotten you. I haven’t been friendly since I’ve been back, but I wanted you to know it’s not you or anything you’ve done.”

She sighed. “I had wondered. I thought you were angry with me. Or that you’d found someone else.” She dropped her gaze to the pebbles near her feet.

Rottenwood reached out and gently lifted Spring Fern’s chin until their eyes met. “Never that,” he answered softly. “No one compares with you, Spring Fern.”

He turned away. “No,” he continued, and his voice was harsher now, “I’ve been caught up in thoughts of freedom.”

“Freedom?” she echoed, surprise in her voice.

He turned back to face her. “Yes. Freedom. I thought that if I helped Sarita return to her village, she’d grant me my freedom.” After a lengthy pause, he said simply, “I was wrong.”

“Oh, no! What are you saying?”

“Just that helping Sarita escape did not gain me my freedom.”

“Did she promise she’d free you?” asked Spring Fern.

“Yes. I made a bargain with her. I’d help her escape and in return she’d set me free—once we were safely back in this village. I should have known better than to trust her.”

“That’s odd,” murmured Spring Fern. “It’s not like Sarita to give her word and then go back on it.” Spring Fern frowned. “True, she can be headstrong at times, but never deceitful.”

“Well, it’s over with now,” Rottenwood answered calmly. “For a while I had these marvelous dreams of freedom—”

Spring Fern touched his arm. “I feel so bad for you, my friend,” she said softly. “If only your plan had worked, you’d be a free man.”

“Yes,” he sighed. Then, more forcefully, “But that’s all in the past.”

He reached out and drew her to him.

Spring Fern went willingly, and relaxed in his strong embrace. He kissed her, gently at first, then with more passion, his lips forceful against hers. They pulled apart slowly.

“What would have happened to us, if you were free?” she whispered, curious. “Don’t forget I’d still be a slave.”

“You’d be my mistress,” he chuckled. He felt her tense in his arms. “Maybe it’s just as well I didn’t get my freedom, eh? Since we’re both still slaves, we can get married.”

“Oh, do you mean it?” she cried.

“I’ve always wanted to marry you, Spring Fern,” he answered gravely.

“Oh yes,” she answered happily. Then, more shyly, “—and I’ve wanted to marry you, Rottenwood.” She thought for a moment. “You know we’ll need Thunder Maker’s permission to marry. Perhaps Sarita will ask him for us. He wouldn’t deny her.”

“Huh,” responded Rottenwood contemptuously. “Sarita will do nothing.”

Spring Fern chewed on her luscious lower lip. “I know you think her deceitful, but I think she’ll help us. She and I have been friends all our lives.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” he snarled. “To her, you’re merely a slave. And don’t be surprised if she agrees to get permission, and then you never hear of it again!” He sat there angry, wounded. “And I’ll tell you something else, Spring Fern. I’ll tell you this: someday I will be free! I will be free or die trying!”

Spring Fern hugged him to her. “Yes,” she answered solemnly. “I understand this. I, too, wish to be free. I’ll do all I can to help you obtain your freedom.”

He returned her hug, his strong arms holding her tightly. “Together we can do it,” he said fiercely. “Together we can overcome this blight of slavery that poisons our lives!”

“Yes,” she agreed fervently, covering his face with little kisses. “Yes!”

The sky was overcast. Sarita sat on the damp beach, a warm cedar cloak tossed over her shoulders. She watched idly as the children combed the beach. They were intent on finding edible morsels for the next meal. A triumphant shout caught her attention as a small girl held up a reddish-brown, kicking crab. Keeping a tight hold on the crab’s back legs, the girl avoided the grasping front pinchers that could wound so painfully. She watched, amused, as the little girl happily chased her friends, her angry trophy waving its claws menacingly at the shrieking children as they scattered.

Sarita chuckled to herself. She could remember playful days when she, too, had caught crabs on the beach. One day, she thought pensively, her child would do the same.

Sarita glanced down at her stomach. She could see a slight rounding when she was undressing for bed, but during the day, when she wore her kutsack, no one could guess her secret—except Abalone Woman.

Sarita had gone to Abalone Woman earlier that morning. After a series of pointed questions, Abalone Woman had confirmed Sarita’s suspicion: she was indeed pregnant. Sarita had pleaded with her stepmother to keep the condition a secret, and that kindly woman had agreed.

The young noblewoman sighed heavily. She couldn’t go much longer without telling her family. Her father, particularly, needed to be told. Shuddering, she wondered what he’d say about an illegitimate grandchild. Especially one whose father turned out to be Thunder Maker’s archenemy, Fighting Wolf!

* * * *

Precious Copper bent over the wet, floating mass of shredded cedar bark. She poked it with a long stick and swirled the shreds around in the salt water. Wading out a little farther, she held up one edge of her kutsack so it would not get wet. Sweat ran down her face and she bent her head to wipe her brow on her upper arm.

She glanced at the three other women on the beach where they busily sorted the cedar shreds. Precious Copper groaned. Preparing cedar bark was hard work. Back home she had always directed slaves to do the messy task. Now here she was doing it herself. Slowly and deliberately, she pushed the floating mass towards shore.

The slave woman, Cedar Bundle, walked over to where Precious Copper stood knee-deep in the water. The older slave woman smiled as she lifted an armful of the dripping wet mass.

Precious Copper returned Cedar Bundle’s friendly gesture with a dimpled smile of her own. She had been glad of the older woman’s friendship in the past few days. Precious Copper’s status was doubtful; though still considered a hostage, she often worked in the company of slave women.

She watched Cedar Bundle carry the dripping bark to waiting cedar mats that were spread across the beach. Placing the blob of sodden bark on the mats, she began to sift through the pulpy mass. The weak sun helped dry the bark somewhat and made the sorting task so much easier.

Cedar Bundle had been especially kind, lending a hand whenever her own tasks were completed. But Precious Copper was reluctant to take the proffered help. She knew Cedar Bundle liked to spend her rare free time with her sons.

The two little boys played nearby on the beach, building mounds of gravelly sand and piling up rocks. The smaller child’s hair was a dark blond, the older child’s a gleaming jet black. Both boys were naked, their brown bodies healthy and well-formed. Precious Copper knew Cedar Bundle took great pride in her sons. And rightly so. The boys were good-natured and cheerful; many times Precious Copper had watched their doting mother laughing and playing with them.

A movement near the tree line suddenly caught Precious Copper’s attention. Along the path opening onto the beach strode the tall figure of Feast Giver. Precious Copper bent over the shredded cedar bark, pretending to be deeply engrossed in separating the softer, inner bark from the tougher, outer bark. She kept her eyes studiously on her work as she heard the gravel scrunch underfoot. Only when his brown feet stopped in front of her did she risk a glance at him.
Ah, Feast Giver
, she thought,
no man should look as beautiful as you.

Her thoughts must have registered on her face, for Feast Giver grinned at her confidently, his teeth strong and white. Precious Copper smiled hesitantly back at him. He squatted beside her, saying nothing.

Under his appraising eyes, her fingers grew clumsy. She pulled ineffectually at some of the cedar shreds, then looked at him. Cocking her head to one side, she asked in her musical voice, “Do Hesquiat warriors sort cedar bark now?” Her dimpled smile unwittingly took the sting out of her words. “I thought this was woman’s work.”

Amused by her challenge to his masculinity, he laughed and answered, “Yes, Hesquiat warriors love to sort cedar bark. It’s an important part of their training.” His ebony eyes twinkled at her. “Second only to mus-ket practice every morning.”

Reminded of his plans for her people, Precious Copper turned away, suddenly intent on twisting the piece of cedar in her hands. “It’s sad your people and mine can’t live together peacefully,” she said softly.

He grimaced, all humor gone from his face. “As I said before, tell that to your bloodthirsty brother!” He stood up. “Drop your work and come with me,” he commanded.

Precious Copper was reluctant to leave the safety of the other women. She glanced at them. All three, including Cedar Bundle, continued their work, refusing to meet her eyes.
No help there
, she concluded.

Stepping lightly and gracefully over the large round stones scattered amongst the gravel, she padded along the beach after him. He headed back to the overland trail. She wondered uneasily where they were going.

As they walked along the trail, Precious Copper breathed the sweet forest scents. The dappled trail was beautiful in shades of light and dark green as they walked through a tunnel of alder trees. She followed silently, watching the muscles of his back and the smooth stride of his long, lightly tanned and muscled legs.

She wondered idly how it would be to love and be loved by such a handsome man. Then she caught herself. Reality was that she was here under precarious circumstances. Better no to have girlish dreams such as those. Better to find a way out of her predicament.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Feast Giver gestured to a smaller path leading off from the main one. He held some low hanging bushes aside to let her pass. Now she was walking in front, he following. The path was easy to distinguish, though only narrow enough for one person. Perhaps a deer trail, she thought idly.

Feast Giver’s eyes narrowed as he watched the swaying walk of the diminutive woman ahead of him. Even now, as he watched her he could feel his body’s responses to the sight of her, the warm, fresh smell of her.

He had watched her closely since bringing her back to his village. He knew he should be avoiding her; she was the hated Fighting Wolf’s sister, but he could not stop himself. It was as if another man inhabited his body when she was about. A man who was not afraid to laugh, to relax, perhaps to love?

Feast Giver shook his head, shrugging off such thoughts. He wanted Precious Copper. He could not deny his desire any longer. Then why not take her? The fact that she was his enemy’s sister made such action all more fitting. But she was so dainty! And far more beautiful than any woman in his village, including Sarita, he mused. With Precious Copper’s doe-like-eyes, and thick plaits of black hair framing her delicate face, he had wanted her from the first time he had seen her—crouched in torn clothing, dead Kwakiutl warriors scattered around, her large dark eyes looking to him for protection.

No, the thought of seeing tears in those beautiful black eyes, tears that he had caused, perhaps by violent action, was loathsome. It wasn’t in him to destroy someone so beautiful and gentle, despite her being an enemy. She was well-named, the thought ironically. She was very precious, indeed.

The trail they were following had begun to twist its way up a hillside. They were almost at the destination he had in mind. All at once they crested the hill, and came out of the thick forest to an open field that slanted down towards the village far below.

He heard Precious Copper catch her breath at the beautiful vista spread out before them. From where they stood in the thigh-high grass and shrubbery, they could look out over the trees below them to the village, to the beach and then, farther out, to the bay in front of the village. Far off in the distance the sea stretched into gray nothingness.

High white clouds drifted lazily across the blue sky. Leaves on many of the trees scattered throughout the broad vista were starting to turn to the bright yellow and bronze of autumn. The piercing, indefinable, smoky smell of fall was in the cool air. It was truly a beautiful place, and one he was glad he had chosen.

As Feast Giver walked over to a rocky outcropping, he gestured to Precious Copper to follow. A small lizard, basking in the sun, blinked up at them before scurrying away into a rocky crevice. Birds called shrilly to each other in the surrounding woods, warning each other away from occupied territories. A rustling in the nearby grass marked the escape route of a garter snake, disturbed in its sun bathing by the two intruders.

Feast Giver sat down in a comfortable, cross-legged position on one of the flat rocks and stared out to sea. Precious Copper quietly sank to her knees on the long dry grass nearby. It felt good to rest after the long walk and her arduous labors.

Feast Giver turned to Precious Copper and smiled disarmingly. She smiled shyly back. “Perhaps you’re curious as to why I brought you here?” he asked, his confident, deep-timbered voice sending a shiver down her spine.

“Yes,” she murmured, meeting his eyes with a quick glance before looking out to sea again.

“I wanted to show you the beautiful view from here.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Many times, as a small boy I came here and surveyed the village and beach and water. I pretended I was chief over all I surveyed.” He paused, lost in memories. ”I’d pretend that warriors from another tribe were attacking my village. But through valiant fighting, led by myself of course, my friends and I would drive the enemy away.”

Sadly he added, “At that time I didn’t think about the possibility of death, or injury—neither for myself nor for my ‘men.’ I didn’t think about women being stolen, or the shame of losing.” He sighed heavily. “Now I’ve grown up.”