Savage Tempest

“That word ‘stupid’ is new to me, as well,” High Hawk said, glancing away from her when he saw the shine of a stream to their left.

“I doubt that you would want to hear my explanation of that word, especially how it applies to you,” Joylynn said, her eyes following his. She, too, saw the glimmer of the water.

“I’m thirsty,” she blurted out, hoping that if he stopped and allowed her to dismount long enough to get a drink, she might find a way to distract him and flee into the dark, where she could hide.

High Hawk looked quickly at her, then over his shoulder at the horses that he and his warriors had stolen. They needed watering, as well.

He gazed at Joylynn again. “We will stop for a while,” he said. “Not so much for you as for the horses. They need to be watered.”

Joylynn realized that he did not want to appear to be catering to her wishes, but that didn’t matter to her. All she wanted was the right moment when she could slip away, perhaps while he was focused on leading the horses to the water.

Although she knew that her chances of getting away were slim, she could not rest until she at least tried.

He stopped and shouted to his men that he wanted to water the horses. Then he went on with Joylynn until they came to the stream. “Dismount, but stay close,” he ordered. “You will be foolish to think that you can get far, should you decide to run.”

Realizing that he’d seen right through her ploy, she had to accept that she wasn’t going anywhere tonight, except with him. She sighed and nodded.

“Come with me,” High Hawk said as he suddenly lifted her from her saddle.

His hands at her waist were strong but gentle. As he took her from her horse, the closeness of their bodies, the heat of his breath on her face, awoke a feeling Joylynn had never experienced before. It was a strange sort of thrill that shook her from her head to her toes.

And when their eyes met and held as he placed her on the ground, Joylynn caught her breath. There was something in his eyes that told her she was much more than his captive. She could tell that he was as intrigued by her as she was by him.

She looked quickly away, for she knew that it was foolish to think of him with anything but loathing. This was the man who had come to her in the night and uprooted her from the refuge she had made for herself.

He had changed everything for her, and she wasn’t sure now where it all would end, especially once he realized that he had abducted a pregnant woman.

She looked back at him just as he stepped away from her. He went to his horse and got something from his travel bag.

He came back to her and held it out.

“This is wasna,” he explained. “I always take wasna with me. It is very nourishing and easily carried. Take some. Eat. It will give you energy.”

“And what makes you think I need energy?” Joylynn demanded, placing her fists on her hips in a defiant pose. “Do I look weak?”

“No, but it is the middle of the night and a time when you would be asleep normally, not traveling,” High Hawk said, placing a piece of the wasna in her hand. “Take. Eat. Then come with me to the water for a drink.”

She stood her ground and stared curiously at what looked like a piece of cake in her hand. Then she questioned him with her eyes.

“Wasna is made by the Pawnee women,” he said, understanding her hesitance. “It is meat pounded with chokeberries and pressed like white people’s cheese so that it remains nourishing and wholesome for long periods of time.”

He broke off a piece and ate it, nodded at her, and was glad when she trusted him enough to eat what he had given her.

Joylynn’s eyes widened. “Why, it is very good,” she said in a surprised tone. “Thank you.”

High Hawk smiled. “Now come for water,” he said, taking her hand. “Then we will continue onward. Home is not far away now.”

She went with him to the stream, while the warriors led the horses to the water a short distance away. Some of the animals snorted and shied away from it, while others joyously dipped their noses into the cold liquid and eagerly drank.

“A precaution must be made when stopping to quench one’s thirst,” High Hawk said, releasing Joylynn’s hand. “As a child, I was taught to kneel on one knee with the right hand cupped to bring water to the mouth. Never lie flat on your stomach with your face to the water.”

He looked past her, at his horse and hers, which were enjoying their drinks, then smiled at her. “Normally, a rider dismounts, holds the reins of his steed in one hand and lets the horse drink first,” he said. “The horse then stands guard while the rider drinks.”

“But this is not a normal night,” Joylynn said, sighing. “You have a captive to keep an eye on.”

“Ho, a captive,” he said, then glanced over at his horse, and again into Joylynn’s greenish-brown eyes. “Old people say that a horse is a far better watcher and more alert than a dog such as white people use. If it is a gentle horse, the reins can be held in the left hand, and the right hand used to drink more rapidly. If, however, the horse is fractious, the reins should be held with the stronger arm and hand.”

“That is too much for me to remember just now,” Joylynn said, sighing again. “Can I just bend down and take a quick drink?”