Savage Summer (12 page)

Tag laughed humorously. “What young man wouldn’t be curious about a young lady as lovely as you. That is the most natural thing in the world.”

“You do not understand. Just a few moments ago, he had me admitting I was a princess. Surely there can be harm in that.”

Tag pulled her into his arms. “I see no harm done, my dear; after all, you
are
a princess.”

“You are not angry with me for telling Colonel Prescott?”

“Of course not, but I would caution you about saying too much. Just go out and enjoy yourself tonight. You are far too serious about life—be young and carefree.”

“I know nothing about Morgan Prescott, Uncle Tag. He is a stranger to me.”

“I can tell you he’s a fine man. His father died when he was young, but Morgan took on a man’s responsibilities. He’s also a very fine doctor. I understand he is very sought after by the ladies, but you will be safe with him. If I didn’t believe this, I wouldn’t allow you to go with him. Just have fun tonight.”

Skyler sighed deeply and pushed a tumbled curl out of her face. She felt her heart sink. How could she have fun when she was with Colonel Prescott? He had a disturbing way of reaching inside her and stirring up emotions and feelings she wasn’t even aware of. Her heart told her this man could be dangerous to her peace of mind.

Danielle felt someone grasp her shoulders and roughly shake her awake. She was tired, so she pushed the hand away, wanting to sleep just a while longer. Whoever it was became more insistent and jerked her forward, demanding that she awaken. Her eyes slowly opened and she was back in her nightmare world. She’d hoped it had been a bad dream—that she hadn’t really been abducted by the hideous, scar-faced Indian, but this was stark reality.

Fear seemed to cover her like a blanket of needles, prickling her skin, cutting off her breathing. She gulped in a breath of air, trying desperately to hide her fear.

The Indian untied the rawhide ropes about her wrists, and dragged her to her feet. Danielle avoided looking at his hideous face, because she knew there would be hatred burning in those dark eyes.

Jerking her head up, the man tied the rawhide rope about her neck. Leading her forward as if she were an animal, he yanked her down to a sitting position. Danielle made a frightened muffled sound as the Indian knelt down beside her. He held out his hand to her, and she saw he was offering her food, if one could call a few kernels of corn, food. As hungry as she was, she wasn’t about to eat from this savage’s hand like some animal. Shaking her head no, she clamped her mouth together tightly. Her eyes burned defiantly, as if challenging him to force his corn past her lips.

This seemed to anger the Indian, and he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head up. Forcing her mouth open, he crammed the corn inside.

Danielle coughed and sputtered as the dry kernels stuck in her throat. Spitting out the corn, she felt her anger reach its zenith. For the moment, anger overruled her good judgment. Turning her head away she spat the corn out upon the ground, and then cast the man an angry glance.

“I will not eat from your hand,” she cried. “You are nothing but a dirty Indian!”

His dark eyes narrowed to slits. Danielle watched helplessly as he raised his hand. The blow he delivered caught her across the temple, and thousands of stars exploded inside her head. Then she was in a world of swirling darkness. She felt herself slipping into a state of unconsciousness.

As the two Indians rode away from their night camp, Scar Face carried the unconscious Danielle in front of him. She was unaware that the two men again took pains to cover their tracks, nor did she know of the fear that beat in each of their hearts. They looked over their shoulders many
times, and backtracked often, fearing the legendary chief of the Bloods would overtake them. Both knew if Windhawk were to find them they would die a slow and agonizing death.

Windhawk stood motionless as his eyes surveyed the deep valley below. How was it possible for one to disappear without leaving a trace? His warriors were good trackers, and yet they hadn’t even found a blade of grass crushed or a stone out of place. Whoever had taken his niece knew what they were doing. They must have planned it well in advance.

He turned his eyes homeward, realizing he would have to return to the village to inform Joanna that he had found no sign of Danielle. His heart was heavy, knowing he would also have to send someone to Philadelphia to inform Tag that his daughter was missing, perhaps dead.

Hearing movement, Windhawk turned to see Wolfrunner behind him, staring down at the valley. “I have this feeling that whoever took your sister’s daughter did not come this way, my chief,” the young warrior observed.

“Why do you say this?”

“I have been thinking which way I would take if I wanted to throw someone off the trail and make it difficult to be tracked. I believe I would go to the north toward the Canadas. There are many mountains and rivers to cover one’s tracks in that direction.”

“As you know, I have sent your father and seven warriors toward the Canadas. They reported back that they found nothing.”

The young warrior looked at his chief. Like the rest of the tribe, he loved and admired this man. His heart was heavy for his chief’s grief. “I will go to the north and look for signs. No one can disappear without leaving some sign. If it is possible, I will bring your niece back to you.”

Windhawk looked at Wolfrunner. The young man was the eldest son of his good friend, Gray Fox. He remembered a time when Wolfrunner had been a baby, and Joanna had
saved his life by slaying a wild boar. Since that time, Wolfrunner had been a favorite of Joanna’s, and she loved him almost like a son. He was a brave and fearless warrior. Several winters past, Windhawk had given him the name “Wolfrunner” because of his daring and bravery.

“If that is your wish, I will not say no. Perhaps you can find something which has been overlooked.”

“If she is out there, my chief, I will find her and bring her back,” he vowed once more.

Windhawk smiled at the young warrior. “I will trust you to do that. I cannot think who would dare lay hand to someone who belongs to me. I have many enemies, but this one is bold if he will come into my village and take from me. If you find who has done this thing, bring them back to me if you can. Take someone with you if it is your wish.”

“I would rather go by myself, my chief, because I can travel faster alone,” Wolfrunner said, turning his dark eyes northward. His mind wandered to the slight girl who was not accustomed to the harsh ways of the wilderness. He didn’t like her very well, but for his chief’s and Joanna’s sake he would not give up until he found her, dead…or alive.

Danielle looked down at her soiled and torn skirt. Her hair was a mass of tangles. She knew her face was dirty and streaked from the tears she had shed. Her hands were tied behind her. A second rope was tied about her neck, then looped over the arm of the scar-faced Indian.

They were camped in a deep canyon, with high rock walls on three sides. It appeared to Danielle that the Indians no longer feared pursuit, because they had built a campfire. She had lost count of the days they had been traveling, but she knew they always moved in a northerly direction.

Danielle was almost weak with hunger, having eaten nothing since her abduction. She wished she’d eaten the corn the Indian had tried to force on her that morning. She could smell the delicious aroma of the rabbit that was cooking on a spit and felt her stomach growl. Would the Indians share
their bounty with her tonight, she wondered, or would they try to force her to eat the dry corn?

For the most part, the two men ignored her, and that suited Danielle just fine. She listened to their guttural talk wishing she could understand what they were saying. She knew they were discussing her by the way they kept nodding in her direction. Perhaps they were at that very moment deciding her fate…good or bad.

Danielle still had no notion as to what these Indians wanted with her. She studied them both now. The one with the scar down his face was much older than the other. He always seemed sullen and quiet. The younger of the two she judged to be about her own age. He seemed to look at her strangely as if he feared her, or perhaps he feared what would happen to him because of her. A new thought came to her—he was frightened of Windhawk!

The scar-faced man removed the rabbit from the spit. Carving off a small slice, he threw it in Danielle’s direction and it landed on the ground. She couldn’t reach for the meat since her hands were tied behind her, so she strained forward to pick the meat up with her mouth. She had almost reached the delicious-smelling meat when the Indian yanked on the rope that was tied about her neck and dragged her back.

Tears of pain and humiliation stung Danielle’s eyes. The harder she struggled, the more the man pulled on the rope, causing it to cut off her breathing. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, Scar Face kicked her in the stomach and sent her sprawling backward. She gasped for breath—the pain in her throat was like an open wound. Doubling up in agony, she felt a burning in her stomach. Just when everything started going black, he released the rope. Apparently the man grew weary of his cruel game—or perhaps he didn’t want her dead.

Danielle lay with her face in the dirt, feeling as low as a human could sink. The man had made her grovel, but he wouldn’t do it again, she vowed. Raising her head, she gave
him a cold glare. As hungry as she was, she wouldn’t touch the meat. Let him kill her if he wished; there were far worse things than death. The loss of one’s pride was much worse than dying. Danielle didn’t realize she was changing. She didn’t know that the part of her that came from her Indian mother cried out in protest against being humbled by this man.

Scar Face seemed to sense the change in Danielle. He motioned for her to pick up the meat, but she merely stared at him defiantly.

Standing up, he walked toward her slowly. Jerking on the rope, he pulled her to her feet. Again Danielle felt her breathing closed off, and she threw her head back, gasping for precious air.

“You will eat the meat. Eat or I will slice your heart from your body,” Scar Face ordered in a harsh tone.

Danielle couldn’t understand his words, but she knew what he said. She shook her head. “I will not eat. I would rather you kill me now.”

In spite of his hatred for this Blood Blackfoot maiden, Scar Face had to admire her spirit. Surely this daughter of Windhawk was also touched by the spirits. Her courage bothered him, as bravery will always make a coward feel uneasy. “Why do you speak to me in white man’s tongue, Sky Dancer?” he asked in halting English.

Danielle stared at him in disbelief. This man had abducted her, thinking she was Sky Dancer! Perhaps if she could make him realize he had made a mistake, he would release her. “I am called Danielle James—I come from Philadelphia. Sky Dancer is my cousin. I speak to you in English because I cannot speak the Blackfoot language.” She spoke slow and distinctly, hoping to make him understand.

His eyes half closed, and he smiled, causing the hideous scar to pull the corner of his mouth up, distorting his whole face. “Do you think me a fool? Do I not know who you are? Have I not seen you with your brother one summer back at the Piegan village? Do you not know me, Scar Face?”

“That wasn’t me you saw. I only recently came to the Blackfoot village to stay with my aunt and uncle. My father is not Windhawk; my father is Flaming Hair’s brother, Taggart James.”

Sinister laughter issued from his lips. “You speak not the truth. I know about the Flaming Hair’s brother. When he was but a boy, he was once a captive of my father, Running Elk. It was because of him that my father is dead. Windhawk came to my village to get him and slew my father. I took you to avenge my father’s death.”

Danielle was thoughtful for a moment. She had heard the story of how Windhawk had rescued her father from the Piegan Blackfoot chief. What this Indian didn’t know was that it was not Windhawk who had killed his father that day, but her own father, Taggart James. Scar Face unknowingly had the right person in Danielle, but he didn’t know it. She decided it would do no good to try and prove who she was, he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, raising her eyes to him and trying to mask her fear.

“It is not for you to know. When the time comes you will cry and beg me for mercy. I will hear you cry out many times before I am through with you. You are dirt beneath my feet, half white woman.”

His eyes dropped down to Danielle’s blouse that had been ripped open in their struggle. She cringed inside, knowing a new fear. Her breasts were clearly visible and there was no way she could cover herself since her hands were tied. She could do no more than suffer his leering glance in silence.

His hand went up to stroke the scar on his face, while his eyes traveled over her scantily clad body. “Yes, Sky Dancer, you will cry out many times before I have had my fill of you. You will not look like a Blood princess when I have finished with you. You will be dead like my father.”

Scar Face jerked forward on the rope and brought her tumbling against him. A shudder racked her body as his filthy
hands came up to the back of her neck and he forced her to look at him.

“I say you have never been with a man before. No man would have dared touch Windhawk’s daughter…but I would dare.”

Danielle turned her head away from his foul breath. Her heart was beating with fear. She had to think of a way to save herself.

She remembered her father once telling her that when Windhawk had been a young warrior, he had a vision of a white buffalo. At that time the Blackfoot were starving and her uncle had led his warriors to a place where the vision had told him to go. There they spotted a large herd of buffalo and among that number was the albino buffalo. Windhawk had walked among the animals until he came to the white beast. He slew the animal and ate its heart as the vision had told him to. Her father had told her that because of this, the Indians believed Windhawk to be the chosen of the Great Father. His enemies feared to harm him, lest they incur the wrath of the Napi. She decided it was best to pretend to be Sky Dancer and try to use the Indian’s superstition against him.

“Do you know why no man would touch me?” she asked, looking into the Indian’s eyes—showing no fear.

“I do not fear Windhawk as others do, Sky Dancer,” he said, smiling slightly. “If I wanted you, the thought of your father would not stop me.”

“That is a pity, because if you touch me you will die a long and agonizing death. Have you not heard of the white buffalo my father killed?”

For the first time she saw uneasiness creep into the Indian’s eyes. His friend appeared at his side and tugged at his arm. “What she says is true, Scar Face. Windhawk has the power of the white buffalo. Do not touch this Blood princess or you will die!”

Scar Face shifted his weight. He knew about Windhawk’s awesome power, and he decided it would not be worth testing
it. Shoving Danielle down to her knees, he gave her an angry growl.

“You will eat the meat. I do not want you dead yet. I am taking you to a French trading post where you will be sold. Let the man who buys you suffer from Windhawk’s wrath. I do not want to touch you.”

Danielle felt herself go weak all over. A sob rose up in her throat and she bit her lip. Apparently Scar Face had believed the story about her uncle and didn’t want to chance the consequences.