Chapter Four

 

 

My God! What was wrong with her hands? They’re so dark. It was as if she’d spent an entire month in the Caribbean without any sunscreen. Gabrielle stared down at her bound wrists. What could have stained her hands such a deep clay color, surely not the soil from the cave?

The horse stumbled over a rock, jerking her forward. She grabbed the mane to keep from sliding, just as her captor's hands reached around her waist and pulled her closer. Hands, she noticed, that were the same color as hers, which didn't make any sense. Had he done this to her? Why? Did he wish her to be someone else? Is that why he had painted her skin the same color as his?

But? She stared. It didn't look like paint?

She brought her fingers to her face, touched her cheeks as if there would be some difference in its texture. Was it also so dark?

She glanced around. And the snow. Where had it come from? Heat and a storm, those she remembered, but certainly nothing that indicated this amount of snow. In June? What was going on? Where was she? Twisting her head from side to side, she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

The forest, thick, lush, dark, was so different from the dried, vast open prairies of Eastern Montana and the excavation site.

How long had she been unconscious? Surely someone besides this mad man had seen her. Did her captor have a car hidden somewhere? Could they be to the southwest of Little Big Horn, somewhere in Yellowstone Park? Or had he taken her down south to the Black Hills? Someone must have seen them.

Something wasn't right, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

A hawk cawed overhead. She raised her gaze to the sky.

A startling realization hit her.

There were no overhead wires above the treetops, no telephone poles. Gabrielle blinked and hastily glanced around. There were no roads or road signs. She hadn't heard a single car whiz by. And where were the scenic overlooks with their hordes of tourists? A wave of dizziness, blurred her vision. She gripped the horse's mane tightly.

Suddenly exhausted, she let her head sag. She was so tired, it hurt to think. Any thoughts of escaping for the moment, evaporated under the darkness of her closed lids. From the moment she had awakened in that cave she’d felt as confused as Alice down in the rabbit hole, with no rhyme or reason to anything. In fact, this whole mess had started when she had climbed down into that grave.

Minutes passed. Hours. Neither one spoke.

Gabrielle tried to keep up her spirits by searching every new area for signs of her chance to escape, hoping, praying for any signs of civilization; telling herself that although they were well off the beaten path, soon they'd have to come across someone.

But as the day grew longer, any hopes she harbored slipped like the setting sun. She felt as isolated and as alone as the large yellow sunflower they passed; as frightened as the flock of birds scattering from the treetops as horse and riders rode by.

Dense blue spruces surrounded them at every turn. They made their way past a wall of granite where a gully of water, formed by the melting snow above, trickled down its face. Riding close by the mountain's side, the icy cold spray cut through the thin fabric of Gabrielle's sleeve. She shivered.

Strong arms reached out and drew her closer against his hard chest. She jerked away, his touch poisonous. “Don’t.”

The last thing she wanted was to be close to him. She'd rather freeze than feel the heat of his body against her back; no matter that the cold seeped through her thin blouse, chilling her.

When the horse stopped, Gabrielle fell forward. Strong arms again caught her. She twisted away, shifted her position and glanced back at him. “Don't touch me.”

His black eyes sharpened dangerously.

She stared back at him. “I'm not afraid of you. You know that? So you just keep your hands off me.” She silently prayed her voice wouldn't crack, that he couldn't read her fear, the fear that had grown with every passing hour - the fear she was trying so desperately to hide.

She raised her hands. “Untie these.”

He gave no indication he understood.

“I said, untie my hands.”

Not a muscle moved.

“Don't you understand anything?” she screamed. “I'm going to fall of this beast if you don't untie me.”

Gently he grabbed her shoulders and tried to indicate that she lean against him for support.

“Not on your life.”

A strong gust of wind blew over her. She shivered.

Keeping his gaze on her, he reached behind with one hand and began fumbling with something resting on his horse's hindquarters. With a flick of his wrist, he shook out a brightly colored blanket and dropped it over her shoulders. Then, without a word, he kneed his mount.

Lurched forward, she had no choice but to face front and lean back against him to keep from falling. She’d been on a horse twice in her life. That hardly made her an experienced rider. The ground looked so far away. She leaned back a little more, hating him. Hating the feel of his face so close to hers, of his steady breathing in her ear. She hated being cradled by his thighs and the way her body seemed to mold naturally against him. She rounded her shoulders to keep away, to stay erect. But the effort was so hard.

She hated not knowing his next move, or what her fate would be. She was an independent woman, always knew exactly where she was going, what she wanted out of life. This feeling of despair, of fear, of not knowing what lay around the corner, frightened her more than the man himself.

 

****

 

Two Moons tried to ignore the feel of her soft body against his. He tried to focus on the words he would tell Black Hawk on his arrival at the village. He tried to think about the smile his return would bring to his mother's face. But all he could think about was how she, the woman who sat before him, would look with a smile on her face. Even when she had screamed at him a moment ago, he had wondered.

When he thought about the warmth of his lodge and envisioned himself sitting by his fire, the only fire he could feel was the one burning in his loins every time his mount rocked her against him.

“Anpo Wie, steady.” He spoke the horse's name softly in Lakota, glanced down and patted the gray's side. Against his will, his gaze traveled to another's side, where slender ankles and shapely legs dangled close to his. Every muscle in his body clenched at her nearness.

Annoyed at the desire tightening his loins, he jerked his gaze up. The wind blew strands of her long hair in his face. He cursed under his breath. He wished he understood what the spirits had shown him. Wished he knew the path he was to follow, or how this woman, whom he now held against his chest, was to be a part of his journey.

Her head fell back against his shoulder. Her long lashes lay against her face. Her eyes were closed. An overwhelming sense of protection surged through him.

His face raised to the sky, his voice but a whisper, he prayed. “Tunkashila, why do I need to question you so? Taku wakan, this sacred mystery you have shown me, I do not understand.”

 

 

They came upon his village nestled in the valley as the last rays of sunshine fell upon the earth. Two Moons stopped on the distant hill. He reached around his captive to grab the long rope bound at her wrist. His chest pressed deeply into her back. She stiffened. She feared him greatly, he thought as he slid off his mount’s back. Her blue eyes stared down at him with confusion. She could not know he would never let her ride into his village by his side. She was his prisoner. That was how his people would see her. She would walk behind him, no matter how painfully the guilt sliced his belly. Two Moons reached up to her. She snapped her head away, refusing his help.

“Down,” he ordered in the Crow tongue.

No response.

Annoyed, he tugged on the rope.

Still, she refused to look at him.

This time she will understand. Tight fisted, he yanked the rope.

Her hands jerked toward him, as did her attention. She stared at him in silence, then swung her leg over and sat facing him. She glanced to the ground. Her eyes widened. Her face grew pensive.

Two Moons placed his hands around her waist. He waited for her to struggle. She didn’t.

Quickly he lifted her down. For a moment, he held her close, wrapped in his arms, a silent moment that quickened his heartbeat and blurred all vision beyond her face. She wrenched her body away, breaking his hold - breaking the moment.

Two Moons flung himself on Anpo Wie’s back. With a flick of the reins, he started down the hill. He glanced over his shoulder. His captive stumbled blindly behind him. Her dress from dragging in the snow had become wet and appeared heavy against her legs.

A chorus of dogs announced their arrival. A rush of women and children immediately surrounded his captive. Before he could say a word, they jerked and yanked at her clothing. They lashed out with angry words as well as their hands. “Toka!, Enemy! Letan kigla yo! Get out of here!”

His captive's arms shot up as she shielded her face from their onslaught.

“Henala, enough,” he shouted above the enraged crowd.

The beatings stopped as curious eyes looked up at him.

He slid off his mount. The women separated to let him pass. His sister’s son, Curly, stood before him, waiting for an acknowledgment he could not find in his heart to give. Without a word, Two Moons brushed past him, strolled over to his captive and stood beside her.

“The one with the blue eyes is my captive, yes,” he said in Lakota. What could he say to make them understand he wished her no harm? If she truly was his Spirit Woman, they would not harm her, yet he himself did not know for sure if she was.

“My brothers. I understand your anger. She is a Crow, enemy of our people. But, she was not among those who killed your husbands and sons. She is as you are, only a woman. Do not take your sorrows out on one who has not gone to battle.”

“Has Two Moons turned soft like a woman?” a voice challenged. Little Wolf, his rival, marched over to them. “Or perhaps you have gone crazy like your sister.”

Furious at the insult thrown at him, Two Moons stomped over to Little Wolf before he had a chance to get any closer. “Your words, my brother have the bite of a serpent's tongue. Be careful where you spit your poison.”

Two Moons towered in height over Little Wolf. He could take him down in an instant, and after that torturous ride with the Crow woman's soft body rising against his own, he was itching for a good fight. Let them see once and for all who the better of the two was.

Little Wolf backed away. “Our women have a right to grieve out their anger on our enemies,” he hissed between crooked teeth. “What right do you have to stop them?”

Two Moons thought a moment. He had no right. He knew the women's actions were more to frighten Blue Eyes, than to really hurt her, to bring her down to her new level of acceptance. But, he could not tell them that their blows had hurt him far more than they had hurt her. Perhaps he had gone soft.

“I ask you again,” Little Wolf challenged. “What right do you have?”

Two Moons turned and glanced over the heads of the crowd, to his captive. Her gaze caught his. He could read the fear in those eyes and something else. He saw a pleading need for his help.

“I do not have the right. Nor do I take it. But she has been sick. Her body is weak. I have brought her back as a gift to my mother who could use a younger one's hands to help her.”

By now others had joined the crowd and stood near watching. Two Moons continued, choosing his words with care. “If I had brought back a small bird as a token of my love, would you smash it to the ground and destroy it?”

A soft murmur sifted through the crowd as the women turned to one another in discussion. Buffalo Calf Woman took a step forward. “There is much work to be done and to have another among us to help lessen one's burden would be a good thing.”

Her round face scolding, she glanced over to his captive, then back to him. “We have heard your words and we understand.”

Her plump arm raised toward his captive, Two Moons could see scars in Buffalo Calf Woman's flesh, self-inflicted cuts made in grief when she had lost her only son at the hands of a Crow brave.

“But, she will come to understand her presence here is lower than that of a dog until she proves herself otherwise,” she said, her voice heavy with loathing,

Two Moons nodded. His captive was safe for the moment.

He glanced back to Little Wolf, who stood glaring at him with hatred in his eyes. Always there was strife between them. Ever since they had been boys, when he had grown taller than Little Wolf, when he had shot faster, rode better, the hate in Little Wolf grew no matter how he had tried to stop it. Now, it was too late. They acknowledged one another, but kept their distance.

Looking at him, Two Moons knew Little Wolf once again had lost the fight. Little Wolf knew it too. His mouth twisted with loathing, he turned and stalked away in defeat, yet Two Moons knew the battle was not over.

 

****

 

Gabrielle stood in silent fear… watching… waiting with held breath. A Sioux encampment with conical tepees of various sizes and colors dotted the clearing before her. Yet, despite her curiosity, she was too afraid to tear her gaze off her captor.

She wished she understood what he said. His deep guttural words seemed composed, oddly gentle, considering the anger of the crowd. Was he trying to woo the crowd to his opinion? Were they discussing her fate? A sickening wave of terror welled up from her belly. Were they all crazy? Would they beat her again as they had started to? Her face stung from the slaps the women had given her. Her arms from their pinches, felt black and blue.

It was only when the shorter man with the crooked teeth clenched his hand at his side, spun on his heels and stalked away, that the tension in the air broke and the mood of the crowd shifted. Relief washed through her. Her legs quivered as she watched the women shuffle away.

Gabrielle sighed. Thank God. Whatever her fate, for the moment she would live. Or… perhaps not, if the burning look of disdain in her captor's eyes meant anything. He marched over and grabbed her arm. His hand strong, firm, he nudged her forward past rows of brightly painted tepees and strung hides. A group of old men sat smoking long pipes and glanced up, barely giving her notice. Continuing in silence, he nudged her past little ones, whose wide dark eyes beheld her with curiosity as they played in the melting snow. When they passed a group of men with grins of lustful interest, Gabrielle wished she had been left with the women.

Tepees, horses, costumes-a movie? She drew her gaze away, scanning the village for something, or someone who looked familiar. Nothing did. Shoved through the flap of a tepee, she stumbled. She jerked her gaze around. “Hey, watch it.”

Her captor’s lips curled with disgust. He nodded, she move forward.

An old woman sat quilling a dress. Gabrielle stared into black eyes that looked familiar. This woman was her captor's mother. They shared the same strong chin and high cheekbones; had the same proud demeanor about them. Her long, dark braided hair was streaked with gray. Her weathered features lined with creases and age, were softer, less threatening.

Gabrielle felt a moment’s hope. “This is a game, right? Candid Camera?”

The woman scowled and put down her work. She adjusted what appeared to be elk teeth sewn on a shawl, then stood stiff and dignified.

She might as well be on an auctioneer's block, Gabrielle thought as she watched the woman scan her up and down. She returned the other woman’s gaze, regarding her critically.

Gathering her courage, she took a step forward. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time, what kind of crazy game are you all playing? I demand to know where I am.”

Mother and son spoke, ignoring her. Their words were guttural, sometimes angry, and argumentative. Gabrielle didn't need to understand a word, to know they were discussing her. Her stomach churned with a mixture of hunger and anxiety. Her hands shook. She clenched them to keep them still. Her gaze transfixed, she studied the old woman's face, trying to read her thoughts.

A stern, tight-lipped expression confronted her.

The woman reached out to feel her arm. Gabrielle stepped back. With a grunt and a shake of her head, her captor’s mother turned, leaving Gabrielle alone with her son.

He marched toward her. Gabrielle's pulse pounded. He grabbed her wrists. She jerked them back. His endless black eyes flashed with anger, holding her mesmerized. His hands tightened around hers. His dark brows wrinkled with contemplating thoughts, then he glanced down and untied her hands.

Rubbing her sore wrist with her fingers, she watched, relieved when he turned without a word and followed his mother.

Her knees weak, Gabrielle sank onto a pile of buffalo skins. This village, these people, nothing appeared to be as it should. This was not some erected town built on a reservation for a movie. This was too real.

Her eyelids felt glued to the tops of her brow. She glanced around, barely blinking.

Halfway up the inside walls of the tepee cream-colored cloths, embroidered in horizontal stripes, beaded in yellows, blues and reds, decorated the walls. Bold symbols, figures of wolves, birds and two moons, had also been painstakingly painted on the skins. Animal skin covers were arranged neatly on the trampled dirt floor. A shield painted with two crescent moons hung from a forked pole over in the corner. Everywhere she looked, everything she saw shouted what couldn’t be. This wasn’t the year two thousand, anymore.

On shaky legs she stood and stumbled over to a broken mirror hanging off a hammock-like mat. Hesitant, her fingers shaking, she brought the mirror to her face… afraid to look… afraid of what she'd fine, yet curious.

A soft gasp escaped her lips. Her body stiffened. Her face was as bronzed as her hands.

She jerked the mirror away. Why? What absurd reason could he have to do this to her? It didn't make sense. Nothing made any sense. Vigorously, with her sleeve, she tried to wipe the brown from her cheeks and forehead. Frustrated when the color remained, she rubbed and wet her face and hands until they hurt.

Blue eyes stared back at her when she slowly raised the mirror and took another peek at her reflection. The dazed expression staring back couldn't be… No. It just couldn't be!

A faint thread of hysteria began working its way across her brain, squeezing like a tightening screw. She rubbed her eyes. She looked the same, yet she didn't. Besides its color, the face staring back at her couldn’t be more than nineteen!

Again she brought her hands to her face, running them along her features, feeling her bone structure for shape and texture like she was sculpting a piece for the first time. The oval face with the slightly pointed chin and full lips, felt like hers. And the nose… Gabrielle looked at her profile. Her nose turned up at the end. It wasn't as broad or as straight as the nose, she saw out of the corner of her eye.

Her hands shook. That reflection-the remembered touch of sculpting those same contouring lines-it was the skull; the woman's skull she had found and had so carefully reconstructed in clay.

She put the mirror down, nearly dropping it. She wore a dead woman’s face!

Pacing back and forth, her fingers pressed against her temples, Gabrielle pinched her eyes closed. In the darkness fanning before her, vibrant colors of yellows and oranges flickered. A murmur of distant voices rang in her ears.

Startled, her eyes shot open. She'd experienced all those sensations before. Only this time, her feet were on solid ground. She wasn't dreaming or sliding down the center of the earth. Gabrielle ran to the tepee's opening, held her breath and peeked outside. As impossible as it seemed, there could be no other explanation for the countless number of people out there living their lives in a manner unfamiliar to her.

The authentic moccasins on her feet, the color of her skin, her captor and the untamed wildness about him… Why hadn't she seen it before? And the skull that resembled her. It all made sense, in a confused kind of way. There could be no other explanation. Einstein’s theory of relativity hinted that time travel was possible? But why her? Why now?

Staring into the space around her without focusing on anything, her mind spun. Could it be? Could she really have traveled back in time? No. That’s ridiculous.

Gabrielle paced till her feet hurt and her mind, like an imaginary top, slowly wound down to a drop dead stop. Her legs gave way. She sank to the ground, wide eyed, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Her head throbbed with the realization that her world as she knew it no longer existed.

 

****

 

Two Moons knew what they were all thinking as he walked over to his friends. The silly grins on their faces said everything. They wanted her.

“Hau kola, hello my friends,” He clasped a hand on his best friend's shoulder.

Shadow Elk acknowledged his greeting with a nod, but it was Walking Hunter who spoke. “The one you bring into our village has a face and body to tempt even the strongest of the Great Spirits. We will all look to your lodge.”

“Blue Eyes will share no man's blanket, but my own,” Two Moons began. He tried to keep his voice light, masking the annoyance that built with each word of lust spoken by his friends. “I have claimed her as my property and I will not share her, even with you my friends.” He laughed. “It would not do to have you fight amongst yourselves like a pack of angry dogs over a bone. That would be my doing. So I will sacrifice myself to save you.”

“Such a sacrifice. I think you are too good to your brothers,” Shadow Elk joked. “Such a sacrifice I think Kills Pretty Enemy would not be happy with.”

Shadow Elk was right, Two Moons thought. Kills Pretty Enemy would be angry he had brought Blue Eyes back with him. At one time he had thought to share his blanket with Kills Pretty, but his heart was not hot for her. She did not understand why he chose to walk alone. His mother did not understand. Still, she held tight the hope that the two of them would get together. It could never be.

“The day grows late. I will leave you to your own amusements as I will be too busy to accompany you.” Two Moons turned.

It was clear by the good-natured remarks and the slaps of approval on his back that they all understood his message.

Two Moons reentered his lodge. His mother stood inside. Her chin lifted toward his captive. "What do you call her?"

Two Moons studied his captive. She raised round clear blue eyes to find him watching her. "She is called Blue Eyes."

"She will cause you trouble." Rattling Blanket frowned. Without another word she left his lodge.

Two Moons squared his shoulders. Blue Eyes and he were to follow the same path, if only for the moment. Until the day came that their roads forked, she would be his to protect. If she truly was his Spirit Woman then he would not anger the Spirits. If she was not, hecetu, so be it.

He took off his vest and hung it neatly over his backrest. He slid the leggings down his thighs, over his calves and ankles, then folded the clothing and laid it beside him on his bed of fur. He knew what was expected if he was to call her his own.

His heart heavy, he glanced down at her, seeing the intense terror etched across her face. She started to rise to her knees. He threw himself over her. Together they fell back against the blanket. She struggled against him. Her hips ground into his as she thrashed about wildly. Her soft breasts heaved against his chest. He clasped his hands against her cheeks to stop the frenzied motion of her head. With gentle fingers he brushed the hair from her face.

The fear clouding her beautiful blue eyes pained him now as it had before when the women of his village had showed their anger at her presence. Had it not been so recent, the memory of loved ones killed by his enemy's hand, then perhaps they would have acted differently. One day she would come to see the kinder more generous side of his people.

He slipped his hand off her face, to the cloth at his hip, untied the knot, then with a flick of his wrist, yanked off his breechclout, and dropped it to the ground.

 

****

 

Gabrielle couldn't believe he had brought her here to his home to rape her, but his nakedness said exactly what he had in mind. His chest weighed heavily, crushing into her rib cage, making it difficult to breathe. His groin pressed against her thigh. She could feel the rapid rhythm of his heart against her breast. The cool air on her legs, the touch of his hot hand against her thigh, sent a jolting stab of panic to her chest. She struggled to sit, tried to force her skirt back down.

“Get your hands off me! You disgusting pig! Let me go!” Kicking and thrashing did little to prevent him from sliding his hand up her leg as he shoved her back down to the blanket.

“I won't let you do this. I won't!” The bravado in her voice diminished as the pressure of his thumb in the hollow of her collarbone increased. She understood only too well she was no match for him. He wanted her to know he was stronger, showing her that with just his thumb he was in control.

She stared at him, trying to read what was in those cruel dark eyes of his. Hoping if he saw her fear, he'd change his mind. Was this his pleasure to rape her now amongst his people? Did he wish to let them hear her screams? Gabrielle clamped her lips tight. She would give him no satisfaction.

He lifted her skirt. Cool air assaulted her bare torso. She clamped her thighs together, struggling against him. In the blink of an eye, he reached across her and grabbed a thin piece of rawhide. With the agility and swiftness of one trained in battle, he bound her wrists to a supporting lodge pole. Her heart pounded erratically. She watched in horror as he brought his knife up from the ground beside him. She jerked her knees up; tried to turn away from him, but he rolled her flat on her back, straddling her legs. As he thrust her thighs apart with his hands and cut the chastity rope, Gabrielle's last thread of hope unraveled. A cry escaped her lips. A cry, she had promised only she would hear. She stared up into his eyes, trying in one last effort to get him to change his mind. In their depths she saw not lust, nor hostility, only a sadness she didn't understand.

As quick as he had straddled her, he was off, kneeling beside her. As he yanked the rope from her waist, it scratched against her flesh, burning her. A swift shadow of anger swept across his carved face as he lowered her skirt. He grunted with annoyance, then turned his body away from her gaze.

When he lay down beside her, she nearly jumped out of her skin, relieved he had not raped her-confused. When he threw the blanket on top of them and rolled over, she shrank as far away from him as she could. Finally, when she no longer felt him moving beside her, Gabrielle breathed more easily and closed her eyes.