Running Wolf. Jenna Kernan

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      Yellow Blanket remained with Running Wolf, but he let Weasel take his horse. Yellow Blanket wore his eagle feathers today, marking him as a warrior with many coups. Iron Bear, their chief, often turned to him for advice. It had been on Yellow Blanket’s suggestion that Iron Bear had made Running Wolf the new war chief.

      Yellow Blanket glanced at the captive and then to the place where Running Wolf gripped her bound wrists.

      “You hold that one as if you did not wish to let her go,” said the older warrior.

      Running Wolf felt the truth in the warrior’s words but he replied, “She is just a captive.”

      “Is it wise to tell the men to take no captives and take one yourself?”

      “Did you see the circumstances?”

      “I did. You could have left her behind. Then she would not be here like an oozing wound in front of Red Hawk. Each time he looks at her, he sees his shame in flesh. She unseated him. Unmanned him.” Yellow Blanket looked at the woman. “Who are you?”

      She lifted her chin still higher. “I am one of the Center Camp Apsáalooke of the Low River tribe.”

      “A Crow. Just like any other,” he said, and she nodded. “Yet the son of the chief risked his life to save you.”

      Pain broke across her expression but she mastered it swiftly. Running Wolf narrowed his eyes as suspicions clouded his thoughts. Who was she to this man, the one Running Wolf had fought and bested to claim her?

      Yellow Blanket glanced to Running Wolf. “Did you not recognized their war chief?”

      Running Wolf gave a shake of his head. He had only seen their new war chief at a distance. But Yellow Blanket had scouted their village prior to this raid.

      Yellow Blanket posed the woman another question. “How did you learn to fight like a warrior?”

      This she did not answer. “I am an Apsáalooke woman, like any other.”

      “You do not dress like any other. You do not ride like any other. You do not speak like any other. I have taken many captives. They wail. They cut their hair. They rub ash upon their face and then they live or die in our tribe. They never meet a warrior’s eye and would not think to speak to one as an equal. Yet this you do. I do not know what you are, but you are not a woman like any other.”

      This took the stiffness from her spine. She glanced across the waving grasses, toward her camp, now in ruin. Was she thinking of the warrior sprawled facedown in the dirt?

      Yellow Blanket turned to Running Wolf. “She can ride as well as any man here. She carried a bow, so assume she knows how to use one. How will you keep her from stealing a horse and riding home?”

      “She will not know the way to go.”

      Yellow Blanket’s look said he thought differently, but he said nothing.

      “What would you do with her?” asked Running Wolf, already regretting his question. If one did not wish an answer it was better not to ask.

      “I would let her go. And I would bet my first coup feather that she makes it to her camp before we reach ours.”

      Running Wolf felt his fingers tighten on the woman’s wrists. A wellspring of defiance gurgled inside him. Yellow Blanket’s words were wise, but he knew he would not take his advice.

      “It is a war chief’s duty to earn the respect of his men. You have lost one warrior today. I do not know how you will fix what has passed between you and Red Hawk. But I do know that keeping this woman will make that harder. Red Hawk’s wife is the sister of our chief. He has influence.”

      “I will think of something.”

      “You know that her life will be worse at our camp. If you care for her, do not bring her there.”

      Running Wolf pulled the woman closer to his side.

      Yellow Blanket sighed, recognizing, Running Wolf suspected, that his words were wasted. “You have taken her. But our chief will decide her place. Will he choose to give her to the one who took her, a young single warrior? He is ill but still wise. He has spoken of you in high regard and believes you will be a great leader one day. All leaders must choose what is best for their people over what is best for them.” Yellow Blanket pointed at the woman beside him. “She is beautiful, but she is the enemy. Remember who you are and what she is.”

      “She is just one woman.”

      “White Buffalo Woman was just one woman, too,” said Yellow Blanket, referring to the supernatural prophet who gave them their most sacred rituals and had turned the first man who approached her into a pile of bones.

      “Perhaps I will give her to my mother.”

      “Throw a wildcat in with a dove and you will have a dead dove.”

      With that, he turned and joined the others at the spring.

      Running Wolf watched him go, feeling a cold uncertainty in his belly. He stared down at this woman, wanting to know her secrets, wanting to see her body. The need to possess her was strong, and that was proof that Yellow Blanket’s words were true.

      It was unmanly to want to possess anything.

      A warrior had a generous heart. He shared what he had with his family and his people. And up until this moment, Running Wolf had never wanted anything badly enough to do other than what was wise and what was expected.

      “Will you let me have a horse?” she asked.

      He scowled at her now.

      “You could just cut my bonds.”

      “No.”

      Her shoulders sank. Then she gathered up her courage from a well that he feared had no bottom.

      “I will be trouble.” It was a promise, an echo of Yellow Blanket’s words. But he would not be threatened by a captive.

      Weasel returned, leading two horses, his and Running Wolf’s warhorse, Eclipse. On his face was that sly grin he wore when he was up to no good. He led Running Wolf’s horse behind him and extended the reins between him and his captive.

      “Who is riding?” he asked, and his grin widened.

      Running Wolf did not rise to the bait but accepted the reins. “I thank you for watering Eclipse.”

      “Do you think she is as good at wrestling as she is at flying from a galloping horse? Because I am a very good wrestler.” Weasel lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

      Running Wolf felt the sharp squeezing grip of ownership across his middle. This was bad. He managed a half smile and again made a sloppy comeback.

      “You might end up on your back like Red Hawk.” Running Wolf cringed at his words. First, they had insulted a fellow warrior. Second, they had reminded Weasel of Red Hawk’s embarrassment.

      “I would not mind being on my back beneath СКАЧАТЬ