Gold Raven (43 page)

He sat watching as the soldiers were stripped of all their valuables, some moaning, others lay
ing dead. Capturing his attention, a lone rider flew escaping the fray, in the rules concerning the spoils of war, whatever remained was theirs to claim and divide…including the one fleeing for life.

Turning his horse he made a clicking noise to surge down the hill, keeping his mount balanced by hauling back on the harness as the stallion slid and braced them all the way, avoiding trees as they went. With all four hooves safely on the trail, the horse stretched out with the command of its rider in full pursuit of his quarry.

This soldier was different from the others, not dressed in standard garb, which made him wonder, what position he held. As far as he could see, the rider did not consider what he left behind; getting away was his obvious priority. The chief kept his eyes on the black hat, the flapping poncho and tan knee length breeches.

Hope's heart thudded in tempo with every pound of her horse’s gallop. She had to get away, this was it; no way could she allow herself to be captured by Indians. The ones she remembered from her brother's camp were frightening; she would fight to keep out of their hands.

Speeding dangerously around the bend of the road, the gunfire and screams had faded with the distance she gained, only the victorious cries of the Indians echoed in the valley. Suddenly, shaking her determination was the sound of additional hooves pounding behind her, gaining on her, rapidly closing the gap between them.

Panic gripped Hope; she turned slightly in her saddle to look behind and squealed, "Nooo! Please nooo!" as the painted warrior pumped his mount full speed to catch her. Tears filled her eyes as she felt her horse starting to tire, there was no way she would be able to outrun her pursuer; her mount was tired and lathered, she began to pray again.

"Please God, get me out of this. Get me out this please!" It was too much to bear.

Time was running out, the Indian was right behind her. She turned to see him almost breathing down her back, his horse’s nose was at the flanks of her own, she turned back urging it, "Oh come on…please! Move…move it…go!" Checking again, to her horror, she looked straight into the eyes of the Indian. "Nooo!" She screamed turning back, her skin feeling the irritation from the strap of her hat. Aggravated she reached up and yanked it loose; the wind snatched it from her head, the throng choking her as she lifted it over her face and off to blow away behind her. Terrified, she suddenly pulled back on the reigns of her horse in an attempt to abruptly spin it but the force of momentum threw her horse off balance.

It stumbled at the cliff, rearing and whinnying in fear. Hope screamed as she felt her horse lose its footing to tumble over the edge, with her dangling by her poncho. She looked up
wondering fearfully what held her to see the Indian holding tight as he brought his own horse to a stop. She turned on him swinging and screaming.

The Indian backed away from the cliff's edge and dropped her to the ground, watching as she landed cursing him; "I'll kill you! Let me go! Do you hear? You savage bastard! I'll die before I'll be prisoner to another man, especially to the likes of you!" Hope spat venomously, tossing her hair back from her face; her eyes shooting daggers at him.

The warrior chief swung his leg over and dismounted.

Hope scrambled to her feet not about to remain down on her back and defenseless, blowing at her hair and tossing her head back trying in vain to get it out of her face, unable to use her hands, which were still tied. Treating him as if her predicament was his fault, she glared her anger even more so. Hot and frustrated, she waited for him to say something, but he just stood staring at her. For a moment, she let her eyes pass over his body, then right back up to his face and his eyes.

She stood transfixed and amazed; there was something in him that reminded her of Esteban; just as her nephew carried the trait of his father's blue eyes with his dark coloring, so did this Indian have blue eyes.

Eyes that stood out from his dusky complexion; despite the war paint on his face; the looks of him were unsettling, stirring her in a way she’d never experienced before. She could not put her finger on why he seemed to fascinate her but she found herself staring. Something in the way he stood, tall, powerful and patient…staring at her and waiting, made her heart hammer.

She worked her wrists trying to loosen the rope still tied around them, looking down at it and then up at him, she held her wrist up for him to cut her loose. He was still staring into her eyes while her arms grew tired.

"Instead of staring…be nice and cut me loose." She gave an acid smile.

Still he stared, "Cut – me – loose! Rope – cut – the – rope!" There was no reaction. Taking a deep breath to gather her wits, she dropped her arms. Looking over his body she noticed a blade strapped to his narrow hips, she needed that.

She stepped boldly forward and reached for it. He stepped back quickly - incredulous, putting up a hand, wagging his finger at her, an obvious sign for no. Hope was not having it.

"Look…I was on my way somewhere when you came charging up to stop me. You've killed my horse and the least that you can do is cut me loose.”

“
Better yet, give me that dagger and I will do it myself." She reached for it again. This time he smacked her hand away.

"Untie – my hands! Do you hear! Do you understand English! Stop standing there staring at me like a bloody idiot! Do something or get the hell out'ah my way! I've had enough of this! Being passed around – life is not supposed to be this way!" Filled with frustration she let it go on him. "First I lose my mother! Then I'm taken from the people who raise me! Find my brother – lose my brother! Arrested by soldiers and I finally get away, and look - now here you stand!" She fumed, drawing in a deep breath she finished with. "Either cut me loose! Kill me! Or get the
hell
– out'ah my way! What shall it be?"

Red Crow stood completely astonished. His eyes fixed on the fetching young woman. For once, it was a struggle to maintain the mask that lay fixed on his features. While he stood in disbelief, he wondered why that was so?

Clearly, his God’s had not forsaken him after all so it seemed … although he admitted going through a struggle against his failing faith, her presence proved his doubts unfounded. While chasing her down, no clue was given to whom he chased until those eyes looked back at him; the combination of her attributes were unmistakable. The long golden tresses, olive skin and uncanny features, matching those of the woman he knew in his youth as her mother…Lena. He and his people eventually came to calling her
Amber Swann
. Her words relating her life's adventure verified it…to his astonishment, he was staring at his Gold Raven… finally…their time had come.

Red Crow remembered it as if yesterday, how her mother, Amber Swann had smiled at him and kissed his brow, promising she would remember always the beautiful name he'd given her, and would bear it proudly.

This young woman was Hope…her daughter; the girl child sired by Maynard Webster of Webster Fields. His heart sang because fulfillment had arrived at last. With all the images he had conjured of her through the years, as to how she would look when they met again, nothing in his imagination could have prepared him for the vision standing before him. Looking at her, he knew that certainly the almighty had blessed her, as he had done no other. Now, she was finally his, the circle was complete – the only problem was how to convince her of it.

"All right Indian, what is it going to be? Say something – do something! Don't just stand there staring as if I've grown horns!" The thought occurred to her that he probably did not understand English. "Um, look…I don't know if you understand me but I get a feeling you're like the Indians at my brother's camp; you just hate the soldiers. Well, so do I…that put us on the same side." She gave a slight smile; and noticed a certain relaxed amused look in his eyes. She immediately became suspicious. "Do you understand or not?!"

Throwing her arms up to offer her wrists, she pleaded softly. "Please cut these." She looked from his eyes to his dagger. Red Crow was enjoying himself; it was interesting to see her reactions to him. Hope was tired of the game. "Damn you ignorant savage! Cut me loose!" She thrust her wrists at him impatiently.

Deciding to play the dumb Indian, he looked from her wrists to his blade. "Yes, that's it…take that, cut this rope." As Red Crow was about to cut her loose, two of his following braves rode up; immediately he spoke to them in the Cherokee tongue so they would not blow his game.

"Our tongue…no English." He ordered gruffly.

"The soldiers have been bound and staked on the edge toward the river. The women are calm; they know we mean them no harm."

"Take them on to our village. Assure them all will be well." Red Crow looked back at Hope, and finished with, "Leave this one to me…I will handle her."

Hope stood silently watching and waiting to see what would happen next, not understanding the language. One thing was certain, the one who stood before her, appeared to be the leader. With his attention momentarily on the two braves, Hope allowed herself a moment to take him in.

He was not as tall as her brother, perhaps six foot at the most; but within his six foot frame was an agile, sleek, whip cord promise of strength, that was very appealing. With his body practically naked it flaunted physical power and beauty. His wiry stature rippled with cords of muscle, sculpting out in detail what parts of his body he most strenuously used. Sweat added sheen over his skin, accentuating his healthy bronze coloring. His legs were long; his thighs thick and muscled. When she glanced back up his solid body, he was staring at her again…dismissing his braves with final words. He was arrogant; it was there in his eyes plain to see. Hope blushed, ashamed to be looking him over with such obvious interest.

She held her wrist before him once again. "Remember, you were about to cut me loose. Unless you've changed your mind, I wish you would get on with it." She announced, bored with him holding her up. He pulled his dagger, making quick work of cutting the rope.

"Thank you! Will you be joining the others now - leaving with them? Because - I need your horse." She announced, backing towards the animal, whilst rubbing her wrists, with her eyes on the Indian. She stopped because he was moving with her. "I wish you would say something to me instead of just standing there. Grunt – make some sort of action or something! I can't keep standing here…I need your horse, or let me get one that was left by the soldiers."

Red Crow walked past her to stand before his horse, a clear sign that she was not about to get his; facing her, he stood crossing his arms over his chest. Hope huffed at the end of her patience. "I've tried to be patient with you, either you move or leave. Whatever it is you have planned, now is the time. Either way, something has to happen, and now."

Red Crow knew that his time to observe and play with her had come to its end. The grown up version of Golden Hope Webster was as he remembered her from her childhood. Before him, she stood daring, with too much nerve and not using a bit of sense to be cautious. What type of woman had she become that she was now challenging him to make a move? He had to control himself not to laugh. Surely, she was not so naïve as to believe she might gain the upper hand with him. It was a good thing that she was now in his life, it was obvious she needed protecting – as much from herself as from others. He shuddered to think what might have become of Amber Swann's daughter had he been any other warrior.

Hope's eyes narrowed suspiciously as the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement, he was starting to make her mad. She realized that she did not know this Indian and could be in danger here alone with him. However, there was no fear within her. He seemed more amused than dangerous. "Enough!" She announced and turned away from him, marching back towards the place of attack. "I sure hope your little party had the decency to leave behind at least one horse."

"Stop! Wait!"

His voice, deep and masculine made her do just that. She slowly turned looking back at him. "You spoke English! Perfect English!" She stated. Red Crow approached her, his movements made the sun reflect off something hanging around his neck laying on his chest. Hope blinked with her attention full on the jagged edged medallion. He could not miss the look of surprise that crossed her features.

"What is that?" She asked staring at it. "Where did you get that?" her mind full on the object. He stopped before her and reached up, his fingertips caressing it.

"I made it…" He admitted softly. "…when I was a boy." He informed her further.

Hope stared from it up to his face; nervous with anxiety, she reached down into her poncho and shirt, grabbing the leather strap hidden from view, pulling up and out the half-jagged edged medallion, she had worn as long as she could remember.

She looked at the one in her hand and then at his again. With adrenaline rushing through her body, she boldly reached for the half laying against his warm, hard chest. She had to move in to compare the two closely. Amazed to see, they fit…a perfect match. She dropped his and backed away from him. "Who are you? How do you know me? Why have I – this!" She held the jagged half up for emphasis. Red Crow was stunned that she still had it after all this time. "Answer me! How do you know me?"