Sweet Savage Surrender (5 page)

John Hanlen was amazed at how gently her hand touched his as she aided him in drinking from her
water flask
.   To drink from the pouch he had to raise his head, put his mouth to the opening while she pressed the pouch between her palms to bring the water to the top.  Once or twice his fingers encountered hers and he found the mutual touching to be pleasant.  Savage?   That word most certainly did n
ot belong to this young woman.

"The taste.....?"  It was not unpleasant.  He drank tentatively at first
,
then
gulped it down, letting
the water quench his parched lips and soothe his d
ry throat.  He gulped it down.

"There is a sprig of mint to give the water a mild flavor and co
oling taste.  Do you like it?"

"Yes..."  He liked this woman as well
. His eyes took in all of her--
the full firm breasts, long legs, small waist, well-rounded hips.   Even the shapeless leather gown she wore could not hide her curves.  For a moment he could imagine her  dressed in a bright blue ball gown, twirling in a waltz on his arm.  She would dazzle them in
Missouri
.  Dark hair framed a slightly rounded face that  couldn't have been more perfect if it had been painted by an artist on canvas.  Her nose was straight, perfectly sculptured, her chin was firm, 
her eyes large and blue surrounded by thick dark lashes, her lips full and sensuous.
"You are lovely..." he blurted, feeling like a fool the moment the word
s were out.

"What?"  She drew back at his words in startled surprise.
             
             

He thought he had offended her.  "I....I'm sorry....."  He closed his eyes, feeling as if every drop of blood had been drained from his body.  "Un...ungentlema
nly of me to...to be so bold."

She had not been offended
. Indeed, she
was secretly pleased by the compliment, though she didn't tell him that.  Instead she continued tending him,  moistening her fingers with water and soothing his brow. "Are you in great pain?
"  she asked, wanting to know.

"My..my hands feel as if they were cut off at the wrist and there are places here and there on my body that sting."  He looked at the leather strips tied to his wri
sts and arms.  "You did this?"

"Healing herbs."  As if to give credibility to her ministrations she said quickly, "my grandfather is medicine man for
our tribe.  I am his helper."

"Then I am in good hands......."  With a deep sigh he closed his eyes
,
wishing sud
denly to do nothing but sleep.

Skyraven's voice was stern.  "I can not stay with you all the time, white
man, I must leave
now
.  But I will be back.  You must wait for me here and not leave the cave.  Do you understand?"  

H
anlen
nodded weakly. 

"Tonight there is a ceremony  I must attend, but when it is possible I will slip away and return t
o you.  Wait here until then."

"I will wait.....!"  In truth there wasn't much else he could do.  Damned if he wasn't as weak as a newly born calf.  It was aggravating and humiliating to be so dependent on a woman and yet he was.  At least for the moment.
If he had to rely upon any woman, however, he
could
not think of one
who was
as pleasing as Skyraven. He watched her as she moved about, bending and stooping as she did all within her power to make the cave pleasant for him. Then the weight of his eyelids forced his eyes to close and he could see her no more.

Skyraven knew the white man was asleep when she heard the gentle rumble of his breath. Though she knew she should leave she nevertheless watched him protectively as he slumbered, glad now that she had not let the Utes have their way. She liked this man and not just because he had called her lovely. Her grandfather had often told her that she seemed to have insight into men’s hearts. If that were true, then she sensed that the golden-haired stranger was a good man, even if he was a blue-coated soldier. Her eyes were gentle as they touched on him again  and again.

When at last Skyraven peered outside the cave she was startled as she saw by the sun’s position that more time had elapsed than she might have supposed. She had to hurry lest her grandfather became anxious. Taking just one last look over her shoulder at the white man, she hurried to her horse. Mounting the mare, she rode at a gallop back to the camp and found her grandfather alone in his tepee, a long stemmed clay pipe sticking from his mouth. Silver circles of smoke drifted overhead.

"Skyraven?"  he asked a question with his eyes, wondering why she had been so long.  In that moment she wanted to confide in him, tell him about the soldier and her brave rescue of the whiteman from the Utes, yet something silenc
ed her.  Now was not the time.

"I have filled a new pouch with sage, one with red root and one with horse mint," she said, putting her arms around his neck
as if that was the explanation for the length of time she had been gone
.

"Ah,
the spirits will be pleased,"
Buffalo
’s Brother
answered with a comforting smile.  Taking her hand
,
he pulled her down beside him, giving her a puff on his
peace pipe
just as he had since she was a child.  It  was a delicious secret that bound her  to him spiritually and made her feel as if she were part of his visions.   His love gave her a deep sense of peace.  She was happy here.   For the m
oment at least,
she pushed all thought of the yellow-haired white
man from her mind.  Soon she must go to her own tepee to  prepare herself for the
evening’s
ceremonies.

Chapter Five
             
             

Already the drums were beginning to sound as Skyraven
left
her grandfather's tepee to prepare for the ceremony.  Before she entered her own smaller tepee, right next to her grandfather's, she watch
ed  while a few dancers,
dressed in their ceremonial attire hastened toward the center of the village where the ceremony would take place.  After they were out of sight
,
she glan
ced up toward the sky.  It was just now turning dusk and a few stars were beginning to appear; the full moon looked silvery white against the graying sky.
For just a moment her eyes traveled toward the far away ridge where the cave was located.  She wondered how the white man was feeling by now, if he was resting or if he was thinking of her ju
st as she was thinking of him.

Disturbing thoughts! Thoughts that made her feel all tingly inside, just as she had felt when she'd touched
the white soldier.  Determined
to put him from her mind, she stepped  inside her own tepee
,
thinking how she could love no other dwelling in the world as much as she l
oved her this one—her home
.  She had constructed not only her tepee with her own hands, but her grandfather's  as well.  She had tanned the buffalo hides, sewn them together with
sinew
and even cut the poles to the proper length
. 

Looking around inside
she realized how very fortunate she was that
Buffalo
's Brother was her grandfather.  It was not just any woman who was allowed such a splendid display of buffalo hide and hair ornamentation.  Such "medicine" was meant to call the buffalo herds to this vicinity and to her tribe.  She was a special woman.  He
r grandfather was w
icasa
w
aken
and she was his helper in training.  She was expected to show outstanding character and to be an example to the other women and girls.  Being artistic in decorating her lodge and the "medicine lodge" as  her grandfather's lodge was called,  was part of her duty.  She had done the art work in b
oth.  Only the outside of his  medicine lodge
had been drawn and painted by her grandfather.  His tepee and the tepee of the big chief and the lesser chiefs were the only tepee's allowed to display bear, buffalo, wolves and such other sacred paintings on the outside.  This was in order to distinguish them
as outstanding tribal leaders
from t
he other members of the tribe.

Along the walls of her tepee were
beaded pouches of all kinds and
beautifully decorated rawhide boxes called
par fleches
. The boxes contained
many personal items such  as clothes, feathers, porcupine quill combs,
moccasins
and other things necessary for personal grooming. They were also meant to make the
tepee colorful and attractive.

Skyraven knew all th
e whiteman looked at the Indian's dwellings with scorn
, foolishly preferring to be coo
ped up inside all day long to enjoying the sky, air, earth and vegetation Man Above had given them.  She supposed the white soldier would think much the same.  But why would the "wasichus
", the
white people,  want to live in those square or oblong structures made of wood or stone with only a fireplace for warmth?  Skyraven could not understand.  A tepee was a much better home.  They could withstand terrible winds without falling over  and driving rains without
becoming
flooded and wet inside.  Not only that
,
but they could be moved from
place to place.  The white man’s
permanent
structures were big and bulky and not anywhere nearly as warm as a tepee.  How smart the Indians were to be able to take their homes with them while following the buffalo herds.  This was true freedom,  a wonderful way to live in harmony with nature. 
Why couldn't the whitemen just go back where they came from and leave them alone
?
She wondered.

Even the golden-haired white soldier
?
,
a
n inner voice asked. 
Yes, even him!
  Skyraven thought with irritation.  It bothered her that every now and then his visage would somehow sneak inside her head.  She shook her head as if to clear it, glancing around her at everything she treasured.  That seemed to bring her peace and  a glow of pride.  Everything here had been cut from rawhide and embroidered with porcupine
-
quill embroidery or painted by her own han
d.  She stepped around the
fire pit
lined with stones where
a fire smoldered and walked to the pair of beautifully decorated and fringed
per fleches
against the back wall.  Here was where she kept her clothing while they were in camp. When they traveled from place to place her garments were folded over and carried by the pack ho
rse, a
per flech
  on each side.

Carefully she unfolded the large rawhide bag and took out her most beautifully  beaded ceremonial costume of soft w
hite doe
skin and laid it aside while she searched through the
other rawhide cases and bags.   She needed three yellow feathers for her hair, her jewelry and her new
moccasins
.  Seeing  a pair of her grandfather's high topped 
moccasins
that she had just recently finished beading
,
she placed them by the front flap of the tepee with the thought in mind of taking them to the small cave.  Even now it seemed the white soldier invaded her thoughts.  He needed shoes, thus her grandfather's "surprise"  would just
have to wait a while longer.

Her grandfather had not seen the
moccasins
yet so he would not miss them.  "Forgive me,  Grandfather......"   Right now the white eyes needed foot coverings more than her grandfather did.  She had left his boots behind on the fallen Ute's body thus she felt it her duty to replace them.  Along with the
moccasins
she laid out two buffalo robes, planning to take them with her too  when she returned to the cave la
ter on. 

Pouring some water from a buffalo-skin bag hanging upon the wall into a small wooden bowl, Skyraven lathered some yucca plant, undressed and sponged  her naked body. She tried to tell herself that it was not because of the soldier that she was taking special care in her grooming, but  she knew it was.   He'd said that she was lovely and she wanted him to continue thinking so.  Also she had heard that the whitemen sometimes
referred
to the Indians as "stinking savages" and she wanted him to be able to notice tha
t her people were not dirty. 

"We were so close together," she whispered remembering the touch of his hands as she gave him a drink of water.  She found herself hoping that she would have reason to be that close again.  "To help him return to his full strength," she quickly amended, refusing to admit how strong
ly  she was attracted to him.

Throwing a buffalo robe over herself, she sat down on her willow branch bed and leaned back again
st the tall buckskin backrest.
Does the soldier have  a woman?
she asked herself, frowning the moment that thought touched her mind.  It didn't matter.  Why should it?  Once he was healed he would return to his soldiers and she would never see him again.  That was the way it must be.  Why then did that thought cause such a feeling of loss?

Because I am tired and I am vulnerable to the whiteman's
strange
magic
, she thought. Placing two  buckskin pillows decorated with porcupine quills and tassels behind her back
,
  she closed her eyes.  She must get back her strength, both physical and mental
,
so that she could combat those potent feelings.  She would lie here quietly for just a moment to  think and rest for awhile.  It had been a strenuous day
and the evenings activities were just getting underway.

Skyraven willed herself to think
about the night's ceremony but
her thoughts  were unruly, touching upon that moment she had first seen the golden-haired soldier  instead.  Even then she had been drawn to him, had known somehow that he was special.  But in what way?  Why did the great spirit lead her to save him?  How was his life going to intertwine with hers?  Her grandfather had often told her that nothing that happened in life was an accident but well planned out by Man Above.  Did that include her meeting with t
he white soldier?

All her life Skyraven had held a resentment for her white blood, remembering that her father had deserted her mother and his child.  She had thought of the men with light skin as greedy and cruel and yet there had only been kindness in the golden-haired man's blue eyes.  "And a gentleness in the touch of his fingers," she murmured, conjuring up that moment again.  If only......

She was so comfortable that she let her thoughts wander with imaginings.  Dreamily she thought of how it might have been were the soldier part Indian as she was.  For a brief instant she pictured him in buckskin, wearing  feathers in his golden hair, riding a strong horse, looking at her as boldly as Lone Wolf often did.  She would not give
him
up to Whispering Win
d!

"Never!  I would fight that she-wolf for him."  She listened to the constant drum beat and the soft far away chanting.  Suddenly  she shuddered, for the chants made her recall the fearful events of the day and the Ute's haunting singing.  Her eyes flew open.  If she had been captured she no doubt would have been forced to marry one of the disgusting Utes.  And the whiteman....  It was too
fearful to even think about.

  Skyraven  turned her eyes upward.  She would not wait until the thanks giving ceremony to give thanks to Man Above but would thank him now.  He had given not only her but the whiteman protection from the Utes.  How awful it would have been for the yellow haired man had she not happened to be out collecting medicine  and been led by Man Above to that very place.  Or had Man Above planned every detail of what had happened?  Had the medicine pouch been torn by acci
dent on the journey or...? 
             

The drum beats, the chanting and the rattling of gourds became more and more intense, coming closer.  There was no more time left for pondering such a matter
s
.  The ceremony would soon begin.  Skyraven struggled to her feet, quickly donned her ceremonial dress, smoothed her long black tresses with a porcupine comb, placed the three feathers into the beaded headband on her head  and darted out from beneath the tepee  flap, closing it securely.  Quickly she went
in search of her grandfather.

She found
Buffalo
's Brother standing in front of the huge buffalo robe that was stretched between two poles.  He was  now wearing  his ceremonial robe and buffalo horn headdress and seemed to blend in with that awesome sacred symbol as he  immersed himself in chanting.  Skyraven looked upon  the huge medicine wheel painted in the center  of the buffalo robe with pride, noting  the four symbols of the elements painted on each corner.   Fire, a bright orange triangle.  Earth, a red line.  Air, a white arrow.  Water, blue rippling lines.  The powers of the earth and Man Above's blessings.  A bleached buffalo skull hung in the middle of the painted robe. The buffalo, the provider o
f all the necessities of life.

Buffalo
's Brother was shaking rattles,  scattering sage and chanting thanks to Man Above for the buffalo when she came up beside him.  Skyraven walked quietly, hardly daring to breathe for fear of distracting him. Watching him
,
she felt the power of his wisdom and once again was tempted to tell him about the white soldier, but a voice inside her head told her that now was not the time and thus she made the decision to wait.

When her grandfather had finished
,
he turned to  face her and stepped over to stand with her in the circle.  His wrinkled, leathery face relaxed into a smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners at the very sight of her telling her without words that  she was his pride and joy
.
Skyraven felt a warmth of affection as she returned his smile.  Of all the people on the earth her grandfather was the most importan
t to her. 

Chief Left Hand captured the tribe's attention as he moved forward to say words that would inspire the warriors of the tribe.  As he spoke
,
his eyes touched on each face, resting for longer than usual on Skyraven's visage.  For just a moment she feared that somehow he knew about the white
man but just as suddenly his eyes drew
away.  After
the chief
finished
addressing the crowd, her grandfather returned again to the center of the circle saying "we thank Man Above for our brother the buffalo.  He supplies us with meat to eat, with skins for robes, with horns and bones for our equipment, weapons  and eating utensils and with everything we need for our very existence
........."