Chapter Three

 

 

Surely she was dreaming. A comforting ebb of warmth enveloped her body. Gabrielle with half-closed lids, snuggled closer to the object of her comfort. In her dream, a man lay beside her. His face inches from hers, she could see the fine straight line of his nose and the deep-set ridge of his brow. Long straight hair, an almost iridescent blue black, cradled his neck. She could almost feel the strength of his arm lying protectively across her shoulders - could almost feel his warmth. His smooth muscular chest, bare and hairless, glistened like it had been rubbed down with oil. Around his neck he wore a bone and beaded choker-Roy’s choker.

Lying next to him, Gabrielle felt safe and protected in a blanket of comfort that only in her dreams could she find. Only in her dreams would she allow a man, any man into her world. A world where they would always be together, where no one would leave the other behind. That was the luxury of dreaming.

Something soft tickled her jaw. She brushed the imaginary object away. God, she didn't want to wake up, not yet. She wanted to hold on to him, to touch him and be touched. She rolled onto her back, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched. Jet black eyes stared back at her. Shock jolted through her. Instantly awake, she watched as her Indian, with the swiftness of a cat, leaped to his feet and disappeared.

She sat with a start. Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze dropped. Dear God, she was naked! Bewildered, she grabbed the fur blanket that lay in her lap, drew it up to her chin and frantically glanced around.

A cave. What was she doing in a cave? She hated caves. She clutched the blanket close to her breast. Her hands shook. She squeezed her eyes shut. Make this horrid nightmare go away. She had to be dreaming, she had to be.

The musty, dank smell of mildew, mixing with the acrid smell of smoke filled her lungs. The crackling hisses and pops of dry twigs burning in a fire, accosted her ears. Her eyes opened with a flash. Blinking with bafflement, she stared into the space before her. Giant pillars of stone seemed to reach out, crowding her.

“OK. There has to be some logical explanation.” She took a deep, calming breath. “It's just another dream. Only this time I'm not dying. That's it. I'll wake up now at any minute and be back at the site.” She shifted around to her left. “Everything is fi--”

He stood by a small fire. His dark eyes glared at her. Confusion mixed with fear: something was very wrong: she was no longer dreaming.

“Who -- Who are you?” She glanced around. “Where am I?”

His body taut, his hands clenched into fists, he stood in rigid silence like an animal ready to pounce.

“What do you want? And what have you done with m --” her voice cracked, “my clothes?” Trembling, she drew her knees to her chin and held the blanket up to her neck. Why wouldn't he answer her? Didn't he understand?

His shadow loomed on the wall behind him, larger than life. Her pulse raced. He glanced to the fire where unfamiliar clothing dried over forked poles.

He did understand. Studying her intently, his eyes narrowed. “Nituwe he?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “I-I don't understand.”

Wearing nothing but an Indian breechclout, barely covering his groin and a pair of fringed leggings, he looked like a throwback from another century.

“Why are you dressed like that?” It was a stupid thing, asking about his clothes, but it was all she could come up with at the moment. She had to say something to stall for time.

He glanced down, confused. Leggings hugged his lean, powerful legs. Legs, Gabrielle realized, that with one quick stride could bring her closer to her death.

Suddenly anger lit his eyes.

Terror compressed her belly like a vise.

Frantically, she inched away from him. He was crazy! Small rocks scraped against her bottom as she dragged the heavy blanket with her. Something pinched her waist as she moved. Her inner thighs rubbed against coarse fibers. Glancing down, she caught a glimpse of a rope tied around her waist, extending down between her legs. Horrified, she glanced up at him. Was he some kind of psychopath? What else had he done to her body while she lay sleeping?

Her back hit the cold, damp wall of the cave. Her breath caught. She was trapped. Trapped in a cave with a half-naked madman. Gabrielle choked back a frightened cry. If he meant to kill her why hadn't he? Had he only been waiting for her to wake up so he could-

He took a step closer.

“No! Wait!” Her hand shot up in front of her, a small useless barrier between them. He meant to rape her first.

Swallowing with difficulty, she found her voice. “Please,” she begged. “Please don't kill me.”

He seemed surprised by her words and a spark of hope boosted her confidence. “You look like a reasonable person.” Her gaze darted, searching for a way out. “Maybe… maybe we can just talk about this.”

A few yards away an archway of rocks formed an opening leading to a tunnel of darkness. Quickly she glanced back at him. “You don't really want to hurt me.”

His silence sent a chill to her spine.

Sharp, jagged rocks pressed into her back as she burrowed even deeper against the wall. A wave of cool air wafted across her bare shoulders. She shivered. Without clothes she wouldn't get far.

She needed a weapon. She needed time.

He took a step closer.

“Please wait! Think about what you're doing.”

He stopped, regarding her with somber curiosity.

Her attention fixed past him, she could see a rifle leaning against the wall. If only…

The corners of her jailer's mouth turned up in a knowing grin.

Gabrielle's heart fell.

He parted his legs in a solid stance and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Eyes of steel challenged her to make a move.

The scream died in her throat. No one would hear her and he knew it.

“Kuwa yo?” With a slight gesture of his hand, he indicated she move away from the wall.

“N… nooo. I think I'm fine here.” Did he think she was a fool?

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a stone, the size of a baseball. She dropped her hand to the ground and groped around. Her fingers touched the rock's rough surface. With deliberateness she dragged it toward her.

Forcing a smile, her hand trembling, she inched the rock up her side to rest in her lap beneath the folds of the blanket.

Again he gestured she move.

Her fingers closed tightly around her weapon. A tense silence hung heavy in the cave like a guillotine's blade waiting to fall.

Taking a step closer, he reached out to her.

Panic, an electrifying shudder surged through her. “Stay where you are,” she screamed. She jerked her hand up and held the rock above her head.

Dark brows rose in astonishment. He whipped out a knife. His mouth took on an angry twist.

The rock felt like lead in her palm. “Get away from me. I - I swear, I'll use this. Don't make me use this.”

Eyeing her with suspicion, he hesitated, then held out his hand to calm her. Watching her intensely, he knelt down. His eyes riveted, he placed the knife by his knees and slowly brought his hand away. With a slight nod, he gestured she do the same.

“OK. Don't move. I'm going to put this rock down, “she assured him. “See? I'm putting it down.”

The hint of a smile tipped his mouth as she brought the rock down a notch. He's crazier than I thought. Gabrielle flung with all her might. With a thud, her weapon hit his temple.

His eyes widened with shock. His brows arched. As he brought his fingers up to touch the trickle of oozing blood, Gabrielle jumped up. He started to rise.

With a strength she didn't think she had left, she wailed out and kicked him in the one place she knew would hurt. He doubled over in pain. She heard him groan as she ran past him.

Her surroundings blurred. The only vision before her was the rifle-her chance to escape. Her heart raced. Almost there. Only a few more steps. She reached out her hand. Just a little closer. She stretched, her shaking fingers touching the cool metal of the gun's barrel.

A guttural barbaric roar, close at her heels, startled her. She jerked her head around. The gun slipped from her grasp as hard fingers gripped hold of her ankles and pulled her off her feet.

Air rushed from her lungs. Her chest hit the ground with a thud. The gun was so close, inches away from her fingertips. She thrust out her arm, stretching as best as she could to reach the weapon.

He threw his body atop of her, crushing her breasts into the dirt and her chin to the ground. She cried out in pain. His hand slammed down over the weapon and her fingers. With a forceful shove, the gun slid from her grasp.

Abruptly flipped onto her back, she stared into his dark hard eyes. Gabrielle jerked her arms before her, shielding her breasts from his gaze. For a moment she thought she saw a look of concern in his eyes. She was wrong. His expression was one of pained tolerance. The veins in his neck bulged tautly.

Furious at her vulnerability, seized by a blinding fury, Gabrielle reached up and with all her might gave him a shove. The force of her blow did little to move him. “Get away from me, you lunatic!”

He sat back on his haunches, studying her. The weight of his buttocks atop her thighs pinned her legs to the ground.

Without thinking of the consequences, her reasoning out of control, she jerked her body forward and pounded on his chest like a wild woman.

He grabbed her wrists and held them tightly. She struggled against the unrelenting force of his hold. Her hair whipped her eyes and clung to her mouth. She couldn't see.– she didn't care. She screamed - frightened - furious.

His strength overwhelming, he shoved her backward. Together they hit the ground.

Her high-pitched scream bounced off the cavern’s walls. An angry snarl crossed his tight lips. Before she could break free, he gathered both her wrists in his one hand, thrust them above her head and pressed them firmly against the ground. He pushed himself up onto his forearm and raised his torso off her. His hips and pelvis pressed heavily against her. She could feel his hard erection against her thighs.

“Stop. You don't want to do this,” she pleaded.

Struggling against him, she twisted and turned her head from side to side. “Nothing's happened. They'll let you go free. Nothing's happened. Please stop.”

He studied her a moment, a puzzled look that made her wonder if he really didn’t understand her.

“You're never going to get away with this. I'm sure my friends… the police are out there right now looking for me. And… and…” Her voice sounded thin, high-hysterical as it broke through the silence of the cave.

His silence.

“I'll see that you rot in jail. I swear,” she promised between ragged breaths. Again she tried to break free of his deadly grip, twisting and turning her wrists, but she stopped, realizing the more she struggled, the more her body ground seductively against his.

An expression of amusement crossed his eyes, then quickly disappeared, replaced with an intense gaze of desire that made her want to vomit.

As a heavy darkness seeped into her taut chest, Gabrielle closed her eyes against the onslaught she knew to follow.

 

****

 

Two Moons stared down at the woman whose ice blue eyes only a moment ago had shown such courage. She was a strong one in mind. That pleased him. With her eyes now closed, his spirit fell. All the desire he felt, the pure physical fire burning in his soul, fell flat. To be weak in spirit was to be dead.

Guilt stabbed his brain. He did not mean to harm her. Was she, or was she not the woman of his vision? The one with the eyes of the wasicun, white man’s eyes. The wolf had been a sign. He had only to follow that wolf to find her. But what of the gold rope the woman of his vision wore? This woman beneath him wore no such rope. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps, after all, she was just a woman.

The warmth of her stomach pressing into him made him feel uncomfortable. He sat, hooked his knees around her hips.

Releasing one wrist, he caressed the side of her cheek. Her skin reminded him of golden honey and felt soft against his finger.

Dark lashes flew open once again. Her blue eyes pierced the distance between them. With the quickness of a rattler she twisted her head to his wrist and bit down hard. With a jerk, Two Moons reached over with his free hand and yanked her arms back over her head. He stared down at the imprint her teeth had left on his skin. He would expect no less from a Crow woman. Her spirit pleased him.

But, she should not have betrayed his good sign of faith earlier. The bump on his head pounded from the rock she had flung and his groin still throbbed. Wasn't that just like the whites, to say one thing and do another? Although they both shared the same color skin, her heart was white. She struggled against him. Her hips ground into his groin. His heart thundered. His body grew hot and tightened painfully. He dropped his gaze from her face, to her breasts. The loud breath she took as she tensed, thrust the dark tipped points out toward him. A knot of desire welled in his belly. He had not tasted a woman's sweetness in a long time. His blanket he had not shared with anyone.

“Let me go. Let me go.” Her legs lashed against him.

He stiffened. Twisting so desperately to get away, her hip pushed aside his loin cloth. Two Moons could feel his hard erection dangerously close to the junction of her inner thighs. All he had to do was cut the rope, jam his knees between her legs, thrust and she would be his. His possession. His slave. He could use her to satisfy the need that was growing like a wild fire out of control.

But, he would not. Not now, not unless she came to him. It was a promise he had made to himself long ago, when he had seen what a man's unwanted advances could do to a woman.

Blue eyes stared up at him, a glaring reminder. Her soul was that of the white man, his most hated foe. “Inila.” Be still! His jaw clenched. He tore himself off her body and stomped toward the fire to retrieve her clothing. Disgusted more with himself than with her, Two Moons flung the garments at her, turned and stormed out, needing to place some distance between them.

 

****

 

In her prison of stone and earth, Gabrielle had no knowledge of time or place. The hours seemed to drag, as she sat against the wall of the cave, struggling with her emotions. She wrestled with her mind and its relentless questions; struggled to keep her eyes from closing when sleep wanted to take hold. Each time her lids fell, panic surfaced, forcing her to stare bleary eyed at her surroundings.

After she’d dressed, her captor immediately returned as if he'd been waiting outside the entrance of the cave in case she decided to try to escape. Little chance of that. Her futile attempt to free herself from his overpowering strength had left her mentally and physically exhausted. Why had he changed his mind and not raped her? She had seen it in his eyes. He knew he had complete control over her, that she was powerless against his strength.

Gabrielle shivered more from the thought than the cold lingering in the air. Through heavy lids she noticed the fire had died down, leaving in its wake, simmering charred embers and a thin wisp of gray smoke that rose to the roof of the cave, then disappeared into the darkness.

She strained to see through the dark shaft and listened for the sound of her captor’s footsteps. Hope, and the silence surrounding her, gave her the strength to stand. From lack of sleep, her body felt heavy, her legs weak. She caught her toe on the hem of her long skirt and stumbled forward. Where were her own clothes, her shorts and her boots? And why in God's name was she wearing what looked to be a chastity belt around her waist? Earlier in the day, she tried pulling the crude looking rope off, but the knots were tied too tightly.

Her skin grew clammy. What kind of game was he playing? What did he want with her? Was she to be the sacrifice in some kind of sick ritual? Gabrielle's head pounded. He was crazy. She had to find a way out; now was her chance.

Cautiously, her attention focused on every silent footstep, every swish of her skirt, she moved toward a tunnel she prayed would lead quickly to the outside world and safety.

“Damn it.” Sharp rocks cut into the soles of her bare feet. Hobbling over to a pair of moccasins that lay neatly side-by-side near the fire, she bent down.

Before she had a chance to stand, he appeared from the shadows. She gasped, startled. All hopes of escaping for the moment disappeared.

Carrying the carcass of an elk over his shoulder, he glanced at her before he dropped the dead animal to the ground. Then, ignoring her, he knelt beside his kill. His arms raised toward the cavern's ceiling, he bowed his head and began to chant.

Fascinated, intrigued, Gabrielle stood motionless, afraid to move. She had gone to many a pow wow, but never had she seen anything so personal and private as the prayer service going on before her. Her brief feeling of exhilaration crashed, however, when she realized she could be the next victim.

His back toward her, quietly, yet as quickly as she could, she hurried toward a passageway she hoped lead to a shorter tunnel, then outside.

Before she could get far, he yanked her head back by the ends of her hair. Spun around, her back hit the wall. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly.

“Ow.” Thinking he was not paying attention to her had been a mistake.

“Let go.” Gabrielle squirmed, trying to break free of his hold. If he meant to kill her, she'd fight him tooth and nail. He pressed her shoulders into the wall. His chest heaved slightly. His nostrils flared like an angry bull.

“Let me go.” She tried to kick him.

He backed an arm’s length away.

Frustrated when her kicks came up short, she shook her head and screamed. His wide brow creased in an annoyed frown. Deep-set eyes peered fearlessly into hers, demanding she stop.

“You don't scare me,” she spat, trying to muster up the courage that seemed to be slipping with each squeeze of his hands.

When he abruptly released his hold, Gabrielle's only thought was to get away, yet the closeness of his body, like a solid wall of lean muscle, barred any further movements. Her knees began to shake.

“Hacib wínyan.”

She didn't understand a word he spat, but his anger came across loud and clear. Before she knew what was happening, he drew out his knife.

 

****

 

The terror on her face made him cringe, yet Two Moons could not bring himself to tell her he understood her fear. He brought his knife up. Her mouth dropped. Her brilliant blue eyes widened. Dismissing the guilt tightening his chest, he met her gaze. The discomfort he caused her would soon pass. Her small loss would be his good fortune.

He sheared off a small piece of her raven hair. She cringed against him. For a brief moment as he stared into her eyes, he wondered if his actions were foolish. A lock of hair from his Spirit Woman would be good medicine, a good charm to wear in the battles to come. But if she was not…

He made a fist, enclosing the cut strands in the center of his palm. With his free hand he fingered a strand of her long silky mane between his fingertips. For now he would keep this charm close.

“Ena un.” He brought his closed fist up a little below his shoulder, then with a quick short motion brought it downward a few inches. Surely, she would understand the word “stay,” in sign talk? “Éna un.”

Satisfied when she didn't move, Two Moons walked over to his kill and knelt down. He placed his knife on the ground within grasping range beside him, then slipped his finger inside the small medicine bag around his neck and pulled out a short piece of leather. Quickly he tied the strip around the cut strands of black hair, dropped the small bundle inside his bag, then slid his knife back into the rawhide sheath that hung at his side. His thoughts on the woman behind him, he flung the heavy carcass over his shoulder and stood.. Enough time had been spent here with her. His mother would be waiting on his return. Black Hawk would be waiting on his words. Two Moons kicked the dying embers with his foot until the fire no longer burned, then he turned on his heels to face her.

“Come we leave,” he said in Lakota, knowing his words were foreign to her.

Before she had a chance to answer, he yanked her forward.

“If you are well enough to think of escaping, you are well enough to leave,” he said again this time in Crow. “We go.”

She showed no knowledge of his command to go. Annoyed at her lack of response, he grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him.

This one was indeed a stubborn one, either brave, or crazy in the head. Two Moons tugged on her arm, urging her forward. He could hear her cry out in annoyance, could hear her mumbling under her breath. He understood every angry word she threw at him between clenched teeth.

Glancing behind, he gave her a disgusted look. She showed no knowledge of her own language, or that of his signing. Even the Crow understood signing. Wasicun winyan, white woman. White man's blood ran deep in her soul. Perhaps that is why she did not understand. She chose to speak in the tongue of his enemy.

By the time they reached the outer entrance of the cave, bitterness burned in Two Moons’ gut. The thought that she had forsaken her people's tongue for that of their white enemies’ chilled his heart.

Releasing his hold on her, he removed the elk's body from his shoulders and placed the carcass over his mount's back. With a swift yank, he pulled down the rope that hung from the horn pommel of his saddle. He clenched the rope, then pivoted around to face his captive.

She stared down at her hands. Her brows slanted, creased with question, she studied them as if she saw them for the first time. He grabbed her wrists and pressed them together. Anticipating her next move, he backed away. She thrust out her foot to kick his shins. He shot her a glance of triumph. If he was not careful, he would feel his own knife in his back. It would be wise not to trust her.

She struggled to get away from his hold. With quick fingers, he tied the rope around her wrists. She screamed and shook with impudent rage. He yanked the cord, slamming her close to his body and stared into her eyes. he had had enough of her tricks. She would follow his commands. That was “his” way.

Placing his hands around her small waist, he hoisted her upon Anpo Wie's back, then swiftly jumped up behind her.

 

****

 

She was in trouble. His sixth sense had never failed him before. He never questioned it. It was one of those unexplainable things that was just a part of him. His reporter's instinct, he always called it.

Roy drove up the steep mountain road, his thoughts heavily centered on Gabrielle. Something wasn't quite right. George's words nagged at the corner of his mind. “Ask her if I did well.” Just what did that mean? Was George covering up for her?

Roy’s gaze fixed on the narrowing road before him. Maybe he was on a wild goose chase. He’d been to the Crow Reservation, where he had checked with every museum curator and gift shop counter person he could find. No one had seen her. He drove over to the village of Lame Deer where he’d been told to check in at the Northern Cheyenne Community Center. Perhaps she was there.

She wasn’t.

Just what had she been up to? Why sculpt a piece in her own likeness, then hide it? And George, he definitely was hiding something. No. Something wasn't quite right. She couldn’t just disappear into thin air.

He checked his watch. 6:50p.m. He turned on the radio and fiddled with the button until he found the news. “Today's high…”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, tuning out the weather report. Where was she? Gabrielle Camden, with the face of an angel. She was a stubborn one indeed. But he’d break that shell of hers. He could tell she liked him. Well, maybe a little. She tried to deny it, but he saw the interest in those lovely blue eyes of hers. There was some kind of strange electric charge whenever they were together. He felt it, just as sure as that streak of lightning slashing through the sky.

The radio announcer's words drew his thoughts back to the present. “Hey, did you know that on this very same day, June first back in eighteen seventy-six there was a blizzard…”

Recalling the dream he’d had about snow in the summer, Roy suppressed the creepy shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine and focused his attention on the road and the deep voice over the radio.

“Thought with all those hail stones earlier we'd been in for a repeat. No snow in the forecast, however, temperatures…”

“Damn near feels like a blizzard in here.” Roy turned off the air and rolled down the window, allowing the warm evening's air to flow in. The sky, a slate gray, was heavy with the gathering clouds of a storm. A black hawk winged silently above the treetops. Gracefully the bird rode the air currents down until it disappeared into the thick forest of trees.

A blast of hot air wafted across the side of his face. As heavy and as thick as honey, it sent prickly goose bumps up the nape of his neck. Strange, this weather - hot and sunny one minute, stormy the next. As strange as the strong feeling tugging at his gut, that something bad was about to happen.