“Because you stay in the grasses instead of venturing into the mountains.”
He nodded. “That is true, because this is Sioux land.” His smile was gone. “You left your mountains and ventured into our territory. We cannot allow that, Snow Raven. Your chief knew this and still he put your people in harm’s way.”
“My...chief is wise and brave.” Had she almost said her father? She must stop and think before she spoke. It was a skill all warriors cultivated. Yet she went blathering about with the first thing that popped into her head.
“Brave, yes. Just as you are. And you must continue to be brave when the women in my village welcome you.”
She looked at her bound hands. “Will you cut my bonds so I can defend myself?”
“No.”
Why had she thought he would?
“Because if you harm any of them, they will kill you.”
“So I am to let them beat me?”
“What choice do you have?”
She was about to say that he could prevent it. But she could not bring herself to ask his help.
“When?”
“Tomorrow by sunrise. I will put you on your horse but I will have to tie you to the saddle. Do not fall asleep.”
“I will not.”
He smiled again. “Very good, Snow Raven. Eat this.” He passed her a long piece of jerked meat. “Then go to the spring and drink all you can. We ride all night.”
He leaned down and untied the binding that held her feet together. She considered kicking him and running, but a glance told her that the other warriors watched the proceedings. They could not see their war chief now as he disappeared from their view into the tall grasses. But she had no chance of escape. The men had all the horses and running about like a prairie chicken was a waste of energy.
She did as he bid her, eating and then drinking. She even walked past the men on her return. Her horse nickered a greeting. She mounted unassisted and waited as Running Wolf tied her bound hands to the pommel of her saddle. She would not be able to drop to the ground and vanish in the darkness. At least the saddle was comfortable.
Her brother had made the wooden shell specifically to fit this horse and Snow Raven’s smaller frame. It had a high pommel and high cantle so she could hook her leg over the back of the saddle and hold the front while hanging on the side of her mount. This position was ideal for creeping up on deer. Her brother had taught her and said he used the same position to make it harder for the Sioux to shoot him from his horse. She and her grandmother had made the buckskin covering. She was especially proud of the series of brass tacks decorating the front pommel. Raven realized with some sorrow that this saddle, the buffalo-skin saddle blanket and the horse were no longer hers. She, herself, was no longer hers. From this day forward until the day she died or was rescued, she belonged to the enemy.
Running Wolf finished tying her, giving her enough lead that she could move her hands midway to her face. It was a boon that she did not deserve. She recalled her brother speaking of the capture of Sioux women. They ran behind the horses or were tied like meat behind the saddle. They were given no food and water. Until this moment she had seen nothing wrong with such treatment of enemies.
The party set out through the long grass. Raven already missed the forest they had left behind. She paid close attention to the path of the sun. She did not know how the warriors knew the way to their tribe, for the grass looked much the same in every direction. All about them was high buffalo grass and scrub brush and more grass. Rolling hills that stretched out to the setting sun.
They passed a large mound covered with prairie dogs that chirped and clucked and vanished at their passing. They flushed grouse but none of the men shot at the retreating birds. She saw pronghorn in the distance moving away from them. She glanced forward to see Running Wolf glancing back at her.
“Do you wish you had your bow?” he asked.
“Yes.” Oh, yes. But she would not use it on the pronghorn.
He lifted a brow as if trying to gauge her intent from her reply.
The Sioux continued until the receding light made riding too dangerous. It was easy for a horse to step in a hole and break a leg. The men dismounted, ate and drank. They walked and stretched and relieved themselves. Running Wolf allowed her down to relieve herself, as well. She was glad for the darkness but still embarrassed. He said nothing to her as she remounted and he tied her back to the saddle. But his hands lingered longer than necessary over hers and his thumb brushed the back of her hand in a secret caress. His touch did strange things to her skin and the speed of her heart. How could so small a gesture make her feel so much?
Her reaction shamed her. This was the enemy of her people. The man who had unseated her brother and destroyed their fishing camp. She straightened in the saddle and looked down her nose at him.
The corner of his mouth quirked and he walked away.
The men gathered in a circle to talk and wait for the moon to rise enough to make travel possible. She listened to them repeat tales of their exploits. The men seemed to have forgotten about her and she again considered trying to turn the entire line of eight horses. She knew Song would respond to the pressure of her legs, moving in any direction she chose. But what would the stallion do? Would he turn and walk beside her mare? She weighed her chances.
She had the darkness in her favor, but the line of horses would make travel very difficult. She did not know the way to go in the dark and there was no cover on this open prairie. She recalled Running Wolf’s promise—that if she ran, she would die. But the darkness was tempting, so tempting.
Soon Hanwi, mother moon, rose in a perfect orange ball of light. Running Wolf rose from the circle of men and the others followed suit. He came to her with that slow, confident step, sweeping through the tall grass. He stopped before her and rested a hand on her right foot, which was still sheathed in her beaded moccasin and stirrup. His grip was strong and possessive.
“Perhaps brave and wise,” he whispered.
Running Wolf looked back frequently throughout the night. He did not know if he expected his raven to fall or fly away. But she did neither. He once caught her looking back over her shoulder at the way they had come. But most often she sat straight and relaxed in the saddle as if she was more comfortable astride than with her feet on the ground.
Seeing her straddling that horse filled his mind with a series of sensual images that made riding exceedingly uncomfortable. Even the chilly night air did not lessen his insistent erection.
Running Wolf did not have a wife, though he needed to see to that soon. He had several women who had made their interest known. He did not favor any especially.
As the light of morning streaked across the sky, they reached the river above camp and made the ford.
By the time they arrived at camp and the women began to call, he was irritable beyond his recollection. Boys, roused from their sleeping skins, hurried out, some without their breechclouts because they were in such a rush to see the warriors returning triumphant.
Soon the stolen horses were being paraded about the center of the village, and those warriors who had families were greeted by their relieved wives and excited children. He saw Red Hawk give his wife the string of beads and shells that had caused Snow Raven to return to protect her grandmother and resulted in her capture. As the horses circled, Snow Raven stood tall and proud despite the insults hurled at her.
Running Wolf’s mother, Ebbing Water, made her way to her son to congratulate him on leading his first raid. She was a solid woman and still very useful. He did not know why she chose not to marry again after his father’s death ten winters past, for she was attractive for an older woman and more