Forbidden Caress Read online

  Tipaakke slowed down, allowing her to catch up. "Remember what I said, girl," he whispered in English.

  She nodded, swallowing thickly. Why is he warning me like this? Is this some cruel game? Is he protecting me now, only to torture me later?

  As they entered the village, all seemed to grow quiet. Even the small brown dogs ceased their yapping. Katelyn looked up to see dozens of pairs of coal black eyes staring at her.

  There were more small huts, like the ones she'd seen in the clearing, than she could count. The women all seemed to be going about their afternoon chores, some cooking on open fires, others feeding small children. They were all dressed in deer hides scraped free of hair and rubbed soft. The women wore short skirts much like the men's with nothing covering their brown breasts. She tried to look away, ashamed by such a display, but no matter where she turned she saw bare flesh. Katelyn was even further shocked to see that most of the children were completely naked save for moccasins.

  After a pause of silence, the Indians all began to chatter at once, drawing nearer to the newly arrived party of men. Katelyn tried to stay near Tipaakke, but was pushed aside by a young girl with braided hair, several years younger than herself.

  "So, Tipaakke, what's this?" Her voice was honey smooth.

  Katelyn eyed the girl cautiously. What were they saying about her?

  "Leave her be, Tolaala. Where is Father and Mekollaan?" He wrapped one long, tanned arm around his captive, a strange feeling of protectiveness coming over him.

  "In the family wigwam. What's happened? Why have you brought this white woman to our village?" she asked.

  "Don't ask so many questions. Matshipoii, control your wife. She has a loose tongue."

  Laughing, the tall brave wrapped his arms around the girl with the honey voice. "You know I would if I could, Tipaakke."

  "Buumska . . . come." Tipaakke dropped back into English. "What's your name, girl? I suppose I must call you something."

  "Katelyn." She spoke softly, all too aware of the heathen's touch.

  "Follow me, Katelyn." His hand dropped from her shoulder as he reached down to snatch her skirt from the hands of a small boy. "Where are your manners?" he scolded, switching from English to Algonquian.

  The child hung his head in shame.

  "It's all right." Tipaakke tousled the small head, ashamed that he had taken out his anger for the white men on the boy. "She's already frightened. Let us not make things worse."

  The little boy beamed brightly in understanding.

  Tipaakke took off across the grass, and Katelyn followed close behind, whispering a prayer as she went. If this was the end, she supposed, she was as ready to meet her maker as she'd ever be.

  He led her into one of the larger huts and pushed her to her knees inside the doorway.

  "Good afternoon, Father," he said in his own tongue to the old, grey-haired man. He spoke with great reverence, yet he was at ease with the chief of the tribe. He nodded to his older brother.

  Katelyn stared at the two Indians who were sitting on a hide, scooping bits of meat and vegetables from sea shells and putting them in their mouths. The younger man wiped his hand on his loincloth and reached out to grasp her captor's hand. He was taller than Tipaakke and resembled him greatly, although he was not as handsome. He was dressed much the same as the other braves, but his head was plucked bald save for a small tuft of hair growing on top with black feathers fastened to it.

  The old man smiled and continued to eat. Tipaakke squatted beside them and waited until his father had finished his meal. The chief ate noisily with great zeal, smacking his lips. His hair was snow white and hung much lower than his sons', but he was almost as muscular as they were. Finally he laid the eating shell aside and spoke to Tipaakke, ignoring her presence. The other man stared at her devilishly.

  "So, my son, what is this you have brought to our village? Haven't I told you before not to bring home stray kits?" He spoke in Algonquian, as always, then grinned bearing even white teeth.

  "We were out hunting and decided to pass by the old village. I wanted to pay my respects to the souls of our loved ones. But there was a white man there with a dark-skinned man and this girl. He . . . " Tipaakke clenched his fists, struggling to subdue his anger. " . . . this white man had broken into the big house, stolen Opossum's axe, and dumped the food baskets. It was the axe I gave him his fourth summer."

  Kükuus, the chief, turned his head away so that his sons wouldn't see his tears. He didn't understand the white man's desire to steal and pillage. Wasn't it enough that his people had died of their small pox? Must they steal from a child in his final resting place? He turned back to his youngest son. "So what happened? Why the woman?"

  "The white dog ran to his wagon and left her behind. He kicked the servant from the wagon. The boy fell against a rock and was killed. I would have killed the white man if I could have, but I meant no harm to the girl."

  "Why do you bring her here? What are you going to do with her? English women are stupid. She could never be trained to be of any use. Most of them are mentally deficient. Interbreeding, I suppose."

  "I don't know. I'm not even sure why I brought her here." You know, a voice whispered inside him. She is beautiful, this fox-haired girl. She is yours. It is meant to be.

  "Well, Tipaakke, we'll talk of this later. You must return to the old village and repair the damage. Opossum must have a new axe to carry with him into the dream world." The Chief reached out to caress his cheek. "Take care, my son. I have already lost enough children."

  Tipaakke lifted his hand to the old man's, and then dropped it. "I'll leave the white girl in my wigwam. She has given me her word she won't try to escape."

  Mekollaan chuckled deep in his throat, startling Katelyn.

  Tipaakke flashed a warning signal. She's mine, he threatened with his frown. He and his brother would never see eye to eye, but they kept their peace in the presence of their father.

  "Take more men with you. The white man may return for his woman." He glanced for the first time at Katelyn. "Mekollaan will go, too. She is very pretty for a white woman. She has intelligent eyes, Tipaakke. We are not Iroquois. We are not stealers of women and children. This is not like you . . . there must be a reason. Only time will tell. I have faith that you'll do the right thing when Manito reveals to you His plans."

  The brave nodded and reached down to pull Katelyn off the ground.

  "Leave her to me, little brother. I'll care for her." Mekollaan smiled ominously, speaking their native tongue.

  "That is why you are going with me." Tipaakke pushed Katelyn out of the wigwam and into another nearby. He closed the flap behind him and knelt beside a platform, digging through a bark basket. She spun around, terrified to be alone with her captor.

  "Take off your clothes," he ordered in precise English.

  "What?" she managed. This is it. He's going to rape and kill me.

  "I said, take off your clothes."

  "No!" Katelyn screamed.

  "Shut up, girl. Don't make a fool of yourself. I have no intention of touching you. We don't rape women. It's bad medicine."

  She stared in disbelief.

  "Give me your clothes, Katelyn. You stink. Come now. I haven't got time for your foolishness. I told you I wouldn't hurt you as long as you did what I said, didn't I?"

  She nodded, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

  "My sister, Tolaala . . . Cedar, will bring you clothes and something to eat. Now do as I say."

  Slowly, Katelyn turned around. Must I be shamed like this?

  Tipaakke shook his head in disgust and ducked out of his wigwam. He would never understand why the white man was so ashamed of his body. It had been given by the Heavenly Father, Manito, hadn't it? "Throw your clothes out," he called from outside. "Stay here until I return. I'm trusting you, Katelyn. Don't disappoint me. I'll kill you if you do."

  She stood trembling as she listened to the footsteps dying in the distance. Reaching behind her ba
ck, Katelyn pulled off what was left of the blue brocade gown. She knew it was best if she did what the Indian told her. So far, he'd kept his promise, he hadn't hurt her. She'd have to trust him. She had no other choice. She threw her clothes out through the flap and retreated to the other side of the wigwam, her back to the door. Against one wall was a low platform, obviously for sleeping. On it lay a rectangular piece of tanned deer hide. She snatched the hairless skin and wrapped around her naked body hastily as she heard the flap move.

  Katelyn stiffened in horror as a large dark hand covered her mouth.

  "Shhhhhhh . . . " the voice threatened.

  She turned to find the black-feathered Indian's leering face above her.

  He whispered in a guttural tone as he turned her body around slowly, his hand still covering her mouth. "Uiinguan Uatuhappe, Aluum," he murmured, forcing her against the wigwam's rough wall. He pinned her with his knee and rubbed his free hand across the deer hide covering her breasts.

  Katelyn strained, squeezing her eyes shut. She was no match for the beast's strength.

  Chapter Two

  Her body went entirely limp as the redman tugged at the deerskin and dropped it onto the dirt floor. She tried to block out all feelings, all thoughts, as the dark hands fondled her roughly. Is this any way to die, she asked herself as her assailant forced his lips against hers.

  No! If she was going to be raped and killed, it wasn't going to be without a fight!

  "No!" she screamed. She bit down on the redskin's lip until she tasted blood. Startled, he pulled back, and she pummeled him with her fists. "Let me go, you filthy savage!"

  Mekollaan chuckled, his voice frighteningly low. He spoke English. "You're a lively bit of meat. I've heard you white women are lusty. Come, let the Hawk smooth your feathers." He caught her wrists with his powerful hands and pressed seeking lips to her neck.

  Frantically, Katelyn kicked, trying to knock him over. Instead, her knee caught in the Indian's groin. Her eyes flew open in surprise as he gasped and rolled to the floor. Have I killed him?

  Mekollaan groaned gutturally and lay in a ball at her feet.

  "Katelyn!" Tipaakke jerked the skin door aside and rushed in. "Who are you . . . " His eyes fell to his brother's crumpled body and then settled on her lithe figure gleaming in the dim light of the wigwam. A smile crossed his full lips. He wasn't sure which sight was more pleasing—Mekollaan in great pain, or the fox-haired beauty standing naked before him.

  "I thought you told me you didn't rape! That animal attacked me," she sputtered. As the initial shock wore off, she realized she was still naked and turned her back to the men.

  Tipaakke tossed another skin from the platform, hitting her with it. He didn't trust himself to get any closer to her. The sight of her smooth back, rounded buttocks and long legs brought an ache to his loins. He watched silently as she retrieved the soft hide and wrapped it around her body.

  "Thank you," she whispered, turning slowly to face her captor. Would she be tortured before they killed her? She knew that one was dying. No one could be in that much pain and not die.

  "So Mekollaan, she's not the timid rabbit you thought . . . eh?" Tipaakke stuck out a hand to assist his brother. "You should know better than to force your attentions on someone. Especially a white woman. What's wrong with you? You become more like the white man every day." He spoke Algonquian so Katelyn wouldn't understand his words.

  "So that's the way it is. She's yours."

  "No, brother. I didn't say that. You know that's not why I brought her here."

  "Maybe not. But now that she's here, she is a tasty morsel, isn't she?"

  Tipaakke remained silent, warning Mekollaan with a single glance.

  "Besides, I meant the girl no harm. I was only having a bit of fun." He knew when to back off. The girl wasn't worth riling his brother's anger over. "The shriveled old apple," he muttered, stumbling out of the wigwam.

  Tipaakke turned to Katelyn, dropping into English. "My brother wouldn't have hurt you. He just has a poor sense of humor." He yearned to reach out and comfort her, to still her trembling lips with his.

  She nodded, her soft eyes meeting his shadowy black ones. She had never seen such a magnificent man! The Indian's facial features were a chiseled work of fine art with high cheek bones and a square chin. His black hair was shiny and sleek, his skin smooth and as free of hair as her own. Her eyes trailed the sinewy neck to broad shoulders, to the wide expanse of his chest.

  Tipaakke sensed her scrutiny and stood calmly. Like a frightened animal, she was surveying her new surroundings. It was always best to allow one of Manito's creatures to adjust in its own way. Finally, unable to resist her doe eyes, he took one long stride forward. Katelyn cringed as he reached with one hand, very slowly, and brushed a stray lock of tangled hair off her flushed cheek.

  She held her breath. Not him too? No, she sensed somehow that he was different. He had given his word. As long as she did as he said, no harm would come to her by his hands.

  "I am Tipaakke Oopus. Night Fox in your language." His thumb caressed her trembling lips. "Your eyes are the color of the autumn grass, your hair the color of the red fox." He paused, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. "Have you been sent to me by my god? Are you a gift?"

  Katelyn wanted to break the invisible thread that held them so close. She wanted to shout, to run. She was no sacrificial lamb! She belonged to no man! Yet she was unable to move, unable to break the spell he had cast over her.

  "So, you won't speak?" he asked tenderly. "That's all right. If I were in your position, I wouldn't speak either." He laid one hand gently on her bare shoulder. His touch was searing. "I must go now. I will return to my old village to repair the damage as soon as my brother has recovered." He laughed, his voice true and clear.

  Katelyn became more frightened with each passing moment. Afraid of him, afraid of herself. This man was the enemy. Yet, near him, she felt strange, warm and cold at the same time. It was only a matter of time until she made a mistake or angered him. Then he would kill her. But she couldn't hate him . . .

  "You'll be safe here," she heard him say. "If there's anything you need, tell my sister Tolaala. You must not leave my wigwam unless she is with you. My people are not vicious, but they have had enough of the white man and his ways."

  Katelyn remained silent, staring boldly into his obsidian eyes. He was so calm and gentle for a man.

  "You must promise me again that you will not try to escape. It is senseless. You could never find your way through the forest. There are Iroquois nearby. You wouldn't want to meet them. They are beasts."

  She stuck her bottom lip out stubbornly. What was the difference between one Indian and the next? He was trying to scare her into submission.

  He began to apply pressure to her shoulder with his hand. "Give me your word," he commanded.

  "Yes," she whispered, but her eyes glinted defiantly.

  "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, you have my word. I'll not leave," she spit.

  Tipaakke released her shoulder slowly, letting his hand glide down a slender arm and then he was gone.

  Katelyn slumped to the ground in exhausted relief. He was gone. Finally she would have some time to think without those eyes following her, reading her every thought. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She would never find her way back to a settlement. But she had to get away from him. Henry! He's coming for me, he'll find me. She lay her head on the dirt floor, not minding how hard it was against her cheek. She knew she would be more comfortable on the fur padded sleeping platform, but she wouldn't have slept in his bed if it was the last bed in the entire Godforsaken Colonies.

  Tipaakke and six other braves including Mekollaan ran long and hard. The Delaware had a few ponies, but they were of little use in the dense thickets of the forest. They could make better time on foot. Trained from childhood, a Lenni Lenape brave could run all day and into the night, stopping only for water.

  They ran at an unrelenting pac
e, coming to the old village just as the sun began to set in the western sky. Mekollaan cautioned his men to be silent and posted a guard at the edge of the forest. It had been decided by the chief that the old village would be burned to prevent any further desecration. The bodies wouldn't be buried —there wasn't time. Their souls would rise with the smoke. There was little chance of a forest fire; still, the Indians would wait until the blaze had died down.

  Tipaakke entered the Big House, a prayer crossing his lips. He righted the turned over baskets and scooped the grain off the ground, returning it to its proper container. He considered making a trip to the stream but decided against it, knowing he must hurry. The white coward could come hunting for his woman. Besides, where his beloved friends were going, there would always be running streams.

  Tipaakke stared at the bodies of the people he loved. They were all so close in the small village that each time a man or woman died, it was as if he'd lost a brother or a sister. He knew he shouldn't grieve for his loss, but these deaths were particularly hard for him because they had died from the same disease his wife and son had died from. Only a summer ago he had lost his family to small pox and he still grieved for them in his heart. After their deaths he had grown very close to little Opossum and now he was dead too. Sometimes it was very difficult to understand Manito's ways.

  The brave kneeled, pushing Jonathan's body aside, and began to gather dry leaves and bits of bark from the floor. The servant's soul would be released to the heavens, too. He reached into the pouch around his middle and pulled out the fire stick. With a twirling motion he spun the stick against a piece of wood, faster and faster, until a spark leaped from the stick and began to lick at the dry leaves. Mekollaan made his fires with flint and steel he'd bought from the settlers, but Tipaakke still preferred his grandfather's method. Adding bits of bark, he stuck his head out the door, calling to his brother softly.

  "Have the men bring sticks to light and we'll get these fires going. We'd better not stay long. This site is bad luck."

  Mekollaan nodded, ignoring the fact that his younger brother was giving orders again. Have no fear, he told himself. Soon I will be leader, and Tipaakke will mend his ways.