Page 13 of Savage Hero

The warrior silently nodded and went to Two Tails.

Mary Beth soon heard hoofbeats and knew that the one who had been given the order was now on his way home with a warrior who had died at the hand of the renegades.

Then she swallowed hard when she saw the warrior who seemed to be in charge coming toward her.

The flames of the campfire gave off enough light for her to look deeply into his midnight-black eyes and she felt a moment of relief when she saw something in his eyes that said he did not plan to kill her.

She saw kindness.

Or . . . was it a ploy to gain her trust?

No.

She would never trust a red man. Was it not Indians who had killed poor Lloyd and stolen David?

She had no choice, though, but to wait and see what this redskin’s intentions were for her. She was at his mercy, as David had been at the mercy of the renegade who had taken him.

She truly doubted now that she would ever see her son again. Perhaps she would never even see a new sunrise.

There was one thing that she could not help noticing about this man. Not only did she see gentleness in this warrior’s eyes, but also how handsome he was. There was a clean, noble quality about him that she had not seen in the renegades.

She would have to watch herself. She could not allow herself to be fooled by his handsomeness . . . by his attitude.

She must remember to be on guard at all times. She had to find a way to survive . . . to escape. Above all, she needed to be able to search for her son.

Brave Wolf saw the fear in the woman’s eyes and how she cowered from him as he took another step closer to her. “Do not be afraid,” he said, speaking English surprisingly well. “I am a wicasaiyutanyapi, a man of honor. I am from a friendly clan of Indians. I am Chief Brave Wolf of the Whistling Waters Clan of Absarokee, Crow.”

Mary Beth was stunned that this young warrior was a chief. His face was so handsomely set, so perfectly formed, and he was tall and very muscled, not at all how she envisioned an Indian chief to be. She had always imagined chiefs to be old, gray, their faces lined with wrinkles.

She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he was so young and vital, his dark eyes so mesmerizing.

What danger was she in now? Would he assist or rape her?

Brave Wolf went behind her and cut the ropes that held her captive, then stepped quickly in front of her as she crumpled to the ground, her legs seeming to have lost their ability to hold her up.

He bent to his knees before her and gazed into her eyes. “What is your name?” he asked, seeing now just how beautiful she was.

Her hair was the color of autumn leaves, and hung down past her waist. And her oval face had such soft, pretty features. And she was so tiny! He could not see how any man could want to harm her.

He was so glad that he had come this way tonight and found her. A night with the renegades would have probably been her last.

And her eyes! The fire’s glow revealed to him a color like that of the tiny flowers he saw growing in clusters along the mountain slopes—violets.

Mary Beth used every bit of strength that she could muster to stand again. She pushed herself up from the ground, then leaned against the tree for support as the Indian rose and stood before her.

“You want my name?” she said, her voice filled with disgust. “Here is all that I will give to you.”

She spat angrily at his feet, then shot him a defiant stare.

Brave Wolf was not at all surprised by her attitude toward him. He knew that she was right not to trust him, for she surely knew the horror stories that had spread about what some redskins did to white women . . . what was probably even planned for her tonight had he not come along and rescued her.

So he was not insulted by her behavior.

In fact, he saw it as valiant. This lone woman might pose more of a challenge than the renegades he had surprised tonight. They were all dead. This woman was very much alive.

He thought of Two Tails’s death, and an ache crept into his heart. He and Two Tails had been friends since they were young braves learning the ways of warriors. It did not seem possible that he was gone from him so quickly, and so needlessly.

He wondered how he might have approached the confrontation without placing his best friend in danger. Shaking his head, he left off such fruitless speculation. He had to decide what he was going to do with the white woman.