"I do not know. But you must or you will die."

He released her and gathered up the food she had stolen. Then he handed it to her. "Are you going to eat it?"

"No. Hide it."

"Then, do it. And come with me."

Chapter Six.

The evening breeze brushed Running Wolf's face. How much colder was it on her bare skin? he wondered as he watched her dress with the loincloth and draped buckskin he'd handed her across her shoulders.

"Come," he commanded, and turned and walked before her because it was unseemly for her to walk beside him as an equal. As he went, he listened for her tread and could hear only the whisper of her feet upon the gra.s.s. It was better to have her behind him, for then he did not have to look at her perfect form or the angry bruises that covered her skin like the spots on his horse.

When he was away from her he knew what to do. Everything was clear. He would be generous and offer his captive to the one in the village who needed her help the most. Perhaps an old woman whose hands were knotted like the trunks of old cottonwood trees. Or to a young mother who had several children to look after. That would be charitable.

What he would not do was make her a common woman.

The thought of her lying beneath man after man made him sick. With Snow Raven, he felt possessive, and that was not the way of his people.

But when he was with this enemy captive he began to notice the fine curve of her shoulder and how her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were high, firm and round. He noticed the way she walked and the subtle sway of her hips that was not meant to be seductive, but still was more enticing than any female he had ever seen.

He led Raven to the tepee of Turtle Rattler and called a greeting. The shaman bid him enter and Running Wolf ducked inside, then motioned to Snow Raven to enter. As he took his place beside the shaman, he glanced at the small frail woman with hair streaked with gray. He had never noticed her before, though he knew she had been here on each of his visits. Now he watched her intently, a captive that he recalled Turtle Rattler had admitted to his lodge on her first winter.

It occurred to Running Wolf that she and Snow Raven might know each other or even be from the same tribe. He had been there at the taking of this woman. There were two, but they had not been taken in a raid, so Running Wolf did not recall the tribe.

After the formal greetings were exchanged, Running Wolf turned to the reason for his visit.

"I have brought my captive," said Running Wolf. My captive, he had said. Not the captive. Inwardly he groaned.

Turtle Rattler straightened in antic.i.p.ation. "Bring her in."

Snow Raven did not wait to be summoned, but stepped through the opening, gracefully sweeping into the warm interior and kneeling, closest to the door, as was proper for the one of lowest rank. He was glad that she took this position without him having to tell her.

She sat in the firelight, hands on knees and shoulders back; it was impossible not to be affected by her. Her long hair covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the buckskin hid her shoulders and arms, but the smooth skin of her belly and enticing indentation there all provoked his interest. His arousal stirred, and he growled at his body's unwelcome response to her beauty.

She kept her head down and waited to be spoken to. Running Wolf looked at her fingers, long and elegant, splayed upon her strong, bruised thighs, and felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest. He stilled. l.u.s.t for a woman was common enough, but this aching at his heart was new, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

She was Crow, so he should feel nothing for her. Running Wolf realized the tepee was suddenly very quiet. He tore his attention from Snow Raven to find both Turtle Rattler and his captive, Frog, staring at him.

His face grew hot.

Was he supposed to speak? One did not introduce a captive. Still, somehow he felt that Turtle Rattler expected this. He had some strange ways. He said he sometimes confused the future and the present because he could often see both at one time.

"This is Snow Raven of the Low River tribe of Crow people and my captive."

Turtle Rattler nodded and waited. Running Wolf felt increasingly uncomfortable. But this time he held his tongue.

"So this is the one everyone is talking about," said the shaman. "Some say you flew off your horse like a spirit. But the one who says this the loudest is the warrior who ended up on his back in the dirt. He has said that you are a witch."

Snow Raven's head came up at this accusation. She parted her lips and seemed to wish to speak but there had been no question and so it would be impolite to reply. She correctly remained silent but her fingers were no longer relaxed, curled into fists upon her bare thighs. She swayed a little but quickly righted herself.

Was she weary from lack of sleep or from this new threat?

Neither of them had slept since the raid, though he was sure many of his men had spent the day in their buffalo robes, while he would not find his until late into the night.

He wondered where Snow Raven would sleep.

"I see a young woman. Not a man. Is that correct?" the shaman asked.

"I am a woman," she replied.

Running Wolf could see the pulse at her neck now beating hard and fast. Surely she knew that if she was denounced as a witch, they would kill her.

"But you also fight like a warrior?"

"I have learned to ride and fight from my father."

"Why does he teach a woman such things?" asked the shaman.

"My mother died after my tenth winter. After that, I preferred the forest to the village. I would not gather berries or cook meals. My grandmother did not know what to do with me. I started following my brother but they would not give me a horse. So I ran after them. I am a good runner."

Running Wolf made note of this, wondering if she might actually escape without a horse.

Snow Raven continued speaking, not noticing her captor's growing unease. "Later I caught my own horse and trained her. That was when my father gave me a bow and taught me how to shoot, track and hunt."

"An unusual education for a woman. What does your husband think?"

Running Wolf leaned forward, waiting for her reply. Turtle Rattler was asking all the things that he wished to ask but could not. To question was to show an interest that he must not have.

But his apparent disinterest was a lie because nothing captivated him more than Snow Raven.

"I have no husband."

So who was the man who protected her? Bright Arrow, the son of the chief. Was this her intended? Had he stood with her wrapped in a buffalo robe before her father's lodge, exchanging secret touches and love words? Now his hands were in fists.

The shaman nodded. "And you prefer men, their company, I mean?"

"Yes."

"You are not attracted to women. In other words, you enjoy a man's touch?"

She blushed and dropped her chin in a way that Running Wolf found irresistible. He wanted to move to the other side of the circle and gather her up in his arms. Of course, he stayed where he was. But now he noticed how Turtle Rattler's captive sat, close to the shaman's left and slightly behind him. It was the place of an honored wife. He quirked a brow. Perhaps this lowly Crow did not only keep the shaman's lodge?

Turtle Rattler spoke again. "You are a maiden. Are you not?"

She blinked at him in astonishment and nodded.

"And your horse. It is the gray one you rode in upon."

She nodded again.

"And you have made a dress of rabbit hides, and when someone tried to take your rabbits, you knocked her to the ground. That is why they call you Kicking Rabbit. Is that right?"

"I have not made such a dress."

Turtle Rattler frowned.

"But I have set several traps."

"Ah, well, then you will knock someone down. One blow. Not two." He made it sound like a warning.

She stared at him with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.

"What do you say to the charge that you are a witch?"

"I am not."

"That you are possessed by evil spirits?"

"I am not possessed."

Turtle Rattler turned to Running Wolf. "She is telling the truth as she knows it. She is a woman, not a witch. Maybe that is dangerous enough." Turtle Rattler looked back at her. "She is unusual, surely. And I see that her path will not be an easy one. She could have lived like other women but she did not. At first she did this because it was best for her. Yesterday it was best for her grandmother. Tomorrow it will be best for many. But she will face hard choices. Like the one she has already made, choosing her love of another over her own safety. She will do this once more. But ultimately, she will choose the love of her own over the love of her people."

"Never," she said, and then placed both hands over her mouth and lowered her head in shame at her breech of good manners, but too late, for the denial was already spoken.

"Did I say she is spirited? She is." Turtle Rattler motioned for his pipe and Frog hurried to bring him the long pouch hanging from a peg from a lodge pole that held both pipe and tobacco in separate compartments. He spoke to Snow Raven now. "Also, the one you worry over? He is alive and will recover in time."

Her shoulders sagged in relief as Running Wolf's tightened. He knew now who Turtle Rattler meant. The warrior. Not her husband. But he fought for her. Was that the love she would give up to aid her people? He hoped so. He did not want that one to have her.

The shaman said he would be well in time. In good time or in time to come for her?

Turtle Rattler spoke now to Running Wolf. "Take her back to your mother. Tonight I will speak to the people and tell them that she is no witch."

Running Wolf rose and thanked his host and then left the tepee. He had to turn to see if Snow Raven followed for her steps were so soundless. He wanted to ask her about Bright Arrow. But he forced himself to stay silent.

If that warrior came for her, he would kill him. That would make her give up her love. Was that what the old shaman meant?

Night had now come to the sky and the stars blazed bright. The moon that had illuminated their way yesterday now peeked up between two tepees, big and orange, but not quite full tonight.

In the center of the village, the tribe a.s.sembled for the feast. The women who had tended the dog all day, roasting it over coals, still labored to turn the carca.s.s. He headed toward the gathering, knowing they would know where to find his mother.

Instead, he was intercepted by Red Hawk. Running Wolf prepared for another battle because this warrior would not be happy until his captive was dead. Running Wolf knew that if Red Hawk touched her, he planned to put him on his back, just as his captive had done.

"What did Turtle Rattler decide?" asked Red Hawk.

"He said she is no witch."

"Still an enemy. We should kill her now. We already have a bed of coals. We could roast her until her skin falls from her body like a horse shedding its winter coat."

"That is not how a woman is put to death."

"She fights like a warrior-let her die like one."

All male captives were tested by torture. It was expected, the ultimate trial of their endurance, bravery and spirit. Women were mostly neglected. They sometimes starved in lean times or were strangled if they were troublesome. But a woman had never been tortured, and that was not going to change tonight.

"I must find my mother," said Running Wolf.

"I can take her to Ebbing Water. I know where she can be found."

"Not necessary." Running Wolf captured Snow Raven's arm and drew her away.

When they were out of earshot she whispered to him, "Thank you."

He led her along until he was sure they were away from Red Hawk. Her thick hair brushed against the back of his hand like a caress. The sensation was arousing. He leaned toward her and inhaled, taking in the tantalizing scent of her clean skin.

"Running Wolf?"

He jumped at the sound of his name. He recognized the female voice and felt his heart sink. He released Snow Raven and turned to see a young girl, not quite a woman, hurrying toward him. She had glossy hair decorated with many strands of bra.s.s beads. Her eyes sloped down at the corners, making her look perpetually worried.

She wore her most elaborately decorated dress. The entire top portion was covered with tiny white seed beads, sewn in even rows. Over the dress she wore a series of necklaces, each slightly longer than the last so they cascaded down the slope of her chest. This woman liked shiny, pretty things. Whoever married her would be forever trading for baubles to keep her content.

He recalled with a jolt that her father, Iron Bear, had encouraged him to become one of her suitors and stupidly he had agreed. Now that he was face-to-face with Spotted Fawn he regretted his words. He wanted the chief's favor. He just did not want his daughter.

Spotted Fawn toyed with one long braid as she mooned up at him with shining dark eyes. He could not think of a single thing to say.

Finally she spoke. "I am glad you are safe. Father tells me that you led our warriors with bravery and that we now have many new horses."

"Yes, the horses will be shown tonight."

"And I heard that you have taken a captive." Spotted Fawn eyed Snow Raven with curiosity. Her voice dropped and she grasped his arm, cuddling against him. "Is she dangerous?"

"She is a woman. All women are dangerous."

Spotted Fawn laughed at this. "Buffalo Calf is telling everyone that she is a witch."

Buffalo Calf was Red Hawk's wife and also the younger sister of the chief. Her words had weight. It was likely that her husband had asked her to tell the women, and he knew that if you said a thing, even a lie, enough times, people began to believe it. He thought he must set his mother out to repeat Turtle Rattler's words.

"Turtle Rattler will speak to us all tonight, but he said that she is just a woman. She is not to be touched."

He heard Snow Raven gasp. Only he and she knew that Turtle Rattler had not said that last part. And Running Wolf had not said that those were the shaman's words. He had only made it seem so.

"Turtle Rattler must have a reason for this. I will tell the others what you have said."