Brave Heart

“Friend,” he pleaded, “friend, do not hurt self.”

“You,” Serena shrieked, hysterical, “get away from me! I hate you! I hate you!”

Stunned by her screams, Wolf got up. He turned his back to her, stalking over to his pallet and his niece, where he sat down. What had he expected? She was wasicun and, therefore, hated all Indians. Angry, he glared at her as she struggled without reason. Sweat stood out on the woman’s face, her eyes large and filled with unadulterated hatred.

Why was he so stung by her denial of him? Wolf sat there, trying to digest his reaction. What was it about this red-haired one that tugged at his heart, making it feel more alive and more anguished than ever before? Her face was contorted with many emotions, and each one of them struck Wolf full force. Tasting bile in his mouth, he turned away, staring into the darkness of the tepee. Who did this woman think she was, anyway? Did red hair make her unreasonable? Couldn’t she see that he’d doctored her wounds, made her as comfortable as possible and given her shelter? What kind of rudeness pervaded women with red hair? Obviously, she was spoiled and deserved some stern measures. He’d tried to converse with her, to tell her that she was a friend, not an enemy—and certainly not a slave.

Disgusted, Wolf jerked his head up, glaring across the way at Cante Tinza. He laughed harshly at himself for giving her such a name. This kind of behavior wasn’t becoming to someone who carried such an honored name. Perhaps Little Swallow and Evening Star were wrong about her. In the heat of the attack, their imaginations might have made this red-haired one larger than life. Girding himself for another of her revilements of him, Wolf slowly unwound and got to his feet, holding her fearful look. Whether she liked it or not, he was going to tend and nurse her back to health. Walling off the disappointment in his heart, he strode purposefully toward her. As he drew closer, her shrieks got louder and louder. Crouching down, Wolf leaned forward. Just then, he saw her clawlike fingers come up, slashing out toward him as if she were a cornered cougar.

Chapter Three

Wolf grunted, feeling the razor slash of her fingernails sink deep into his left cheek. Throwing himself backward to avoid her second slash, he fell close to the small altar and fire in the center of the tepee.

Serena dragged herself up to a sitting position, breathing harshly through her mouth. The Indian raised his hand, his large palm pressed against his bloody cheek. His eyes grew thundercloud black as the silence around them became palpable. It was only a matter of minutes before he’d attack her just as Kingston had, she feared. Was there no end to her suffering?

Pain throbbed through his cheek, and Wolf felt his anger soar upward like a mighty golden eagle taking flight. The woman was shaking so badly that he wondered how long she could sustain her own weight. Her emerald eyes were glazed with darkness and fear.

A frantic scratching at the door caused Wolf to look toward the entrance. “Come!” he muttered.

Little Swallow quickly came inside, her square face filled with concern. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at Wolf. Then she looked over at the red-haired woman.

“Wolf,” she called softly, moving toward the wasicun, “do not move. She’s frightened. Can’t you see that?”

Hiding his bruised pride, Wolf leaped to his feet. He savagely rubbed his bloody palm down his left thigh. “I see that she is wilder than any animal.”

Serena’s gaze went between the man and the woman. Despite her fear, she instinctively realized that the younger woman who was now holding her hand out toward her meant protection. Her arms collapsed, and Serena fell back on the robe. Exhausted beyond her last reserve, she sank back, helplessly watching the woman approach her.

“Tiblo, do not be angry. I told you before, she has been hurt by men.“ Little Swallow slowly approached the pallet and then knelt down. Although she had suffered rape, she ignored her own discomfort and turned all her attention to the wasicun. Her hair was unbraided because she had been preparing for bed when she heard the screams coming from Wolf’s tepee. “Let me talk with her. Perhaps I can calm her.”

Rubbing his square jaw, Wolf stalked over to his pallet. “I do not care what you do.“ He opened the medicine parfleche to look for a powder to place upon the four deep scratches on his cheek.

Little Swallow gave her brother an understanding look. “She is like any mistreated animal, tiblo. You must be gentle around her and not cause her more fear. Of all people, you can sense fear around someone. She smells of it. I think I know how she feels. Patience…let me speak with her.”

Serena watched the Indian woman extend her hand as if in friendship. “H-help me,” she rasped. “I must escape. I—I can’t—won’t—allow him to touch me….”

“Sshh,” Little Swallow soothed. “Friends,” she began awkwardly, always finding English an unwieldy tongue. “You, me, friends. Yes?”

Friends. Was the woman telling the truth? “Please, help me. Don’t let him touch me.”

“No one hurt you. Name is Little Swallow. Yours?”

“Serena.”

“Suna?”

Her head ached so badly that she closed her eyes. “Serena. Little Swallow, where am I?”

Picking up the small wooden bowl, Little Swallow slipped it into a larger vessel filled with water. “We are Lakota. Remember river? You helped us?“ She moved slowly so as not to frighten the wasicun. “Thirsty?”

The promise of water made Serena open her eyes. She recalled Little Swallow’s face and the fact that she had been raped. Her heart went out to the Lakota woman. “Yes, I remember the river.“ She reached out for the bowl. “P-please…”

Smiling gently, Little Swallow slipped her arm beneath Serena’s shoulders. “Friends,” she repeated softly, placing the bowl against her trembling lower lip. “Friends.”

Wolf, now holding a cloth against his smarting cheek, watched Little Swallow treat Cante Tinza as if she were one of her own children. The exertion and combat had left the red-haired one fragile, her skin stretched taut against the bones of her face. He smarted with guilt, realizing he’d caused that reaction within her. Wapiya were healers, not destroyers. She tried to hold the bowl, but couldn’t, so his sister held it for her. Patiently, Little Swallow filled the bowl again and again until her thirst was sated.

“Thank you,” Serena whispered, grateful to be laid back down on the robe. The effort to keep her eyes open drained her.

“Sleep now. You with friends.“ Little Swallow pulled the robe across her shoulders, tucking her in. “A warrioress should long rest after hard battle. Wolf is right—you a brave heart.”

Wolf watched Little Swallow hold the woman’s hand until she fell into a deep sleep. Then his sister placed the bowl next to the water gourd and got up, walking to where he sat.

“How badly did she scratch you?“ she asked, removing the cloth from his cheek to examine the injuries.

“She hurt my pride more than anything,” Wolf grumped. “I was playing with Dawn Sky when she awoke.”

Cleaning the wounds, Little Swallow sighed. “And she was confused, no doubt.”

“Fear,” he muttered, “I saw nothing but fear in her eyes. It was as if I were some hated, ugly thing to her. I tried to speak in her language to tell her I was her friend, but she became heyoka, crazy.”

“Well,” Little Swallow replied, making Wolf tip his head to one side while she applied the powder to stop the bleeding, “I don’t think her reaction is to you personally.”

He slid his sister a wry glance. “That makes me feel better.”

Giggling softly, Little Swallow patted his shoulder. “Her fear is of men. All men.”

“Because of the torture she has endured?”

“Exactly.”

Wolf managed a lopsided smile of thanks when Little Swallow completed her task. He motioned toward the woman. “What am I going to do with her, then? How can I treat her wounds if she fears me?”

“Let Deer Woman help Serena. You can see she does not fear her own kind.”

Grimacing, Wolf rubbed his brow. Where was Deer Woman? She ought to be in by now and sleeping. Was she out with Swift Elk, the brave who wanted her hand in marriage? Wolf shifted his thoughts back to his patient. “Is that her name? Suna?”

“Yes. I wonder if it means anything?”

Wolf shook his head. “The traders said their names meant nothing. The names are hollow, like all wasicuns.”

“Most wasicuns,” Little Swallow corrected, “but not her.”

The fire was dying and Wolf got up, moving over to the small stack of wood just inside the tepee door. He placed a few sticks on it and came back to sit down with his sister. “I worry that Deer Woman may become jealous and mistreat Cante Tinza…I mean, Suna.”

“Then I will care for her.”

Placing his arm around Little Swallow, he shook his head. “You do too much for all others, tanksi.” And then Wolf looked at her closely, seeing the ravages of the attack she had suffered hidden in her brown eyes. Little Swallow was just as upset as the red-haired one, yet coping with it better. “And what of you?“ he asked, squeezing her shoulders. “Have you rested this day after the attack? Or did you allow your husband and all your children to make their usual requests upon you?”

She rested her head on Wolf’s shoulder for a moment. “My way of dealing with the attack is to remain busy, tiblo. That way, my head and feelings won’t overwhelm me.“ Little Swallow gestured wearily to Serena. “This one mirrors what I feel inside, only she wears it on the outside. A while ago, my husband came over to hold me, and I shrank from him. I was shocked at my actions, and so was he. I told him how I felt inside, that I feared the touch of any man since the miner had his way with me….”