by India Heath
Smoky Hill, Colorado, 1865.
Caroline screamed as the stagecoach tilted precariously sideways onto two wheels as it flew across the bumpy terrain. A cloud of yellow dust billowed in through the open window, churned up by the galloping hooves of the fleeing horses. The high-pitched war cries of the pursuing Indians grew louder by the second as they closed the distance between them and their prey. An arrow whistled passed the window making Caroline shriek again in horror. Instinct had her gathering her bag and parasol close to her chest before huddling down on the stagecoach floor and closing her eyes.
I'm not gonna die! I'm not gonna die! The silent mantra ran through her brain over and over as she was jostled and bumped around the rocking carriage. Suddenly there was an agonised cry of pain from overhead and the driver's body fell past the window with an arrow protruding obscenely from his chest. Oh God, I'm gonna die!
Caroline barely had time to register that the stage was now a man-less, runaway vehicle. Her panicked mind just wanted it to keep right on running. The sound of an Indian whooping came from almost inside the stage and her head jerked up to see a savage leap from his horse and climb aboard. Seconds later the stage began to slow and Caroline knew she was caught.
She gritted her teeth to prevent tears of fear filling her green eyes. She had to stay focused. Wild hysterics would serve no purpose now. Her grip tightened on her parasol and bag as she held them in front of her like a sword and shield. The stage drew to a rocky halt and the door was wrenched open. The Indian looked inside and seemed disappointed to discover that Caroline was the only occupant. He shouted something in his own language before lurching forward to grab her arm and literally dragging her across the floor. Caroline tried to poke him with her parasol but there was little room to swing her arm between the bench seats and she soon found herself pulled outside the stage and thrown into the dirt. He stood over her, his painted face contorted with loathing. The rest of the small attack party remained on horseback at a short distance.
Caroline decided there and then that if she was going to die, she would die fighting. Releasing her bag, she wrapped both hands around the parasol and drove the metal tip into the savage's foot. The open moccasin shoe did nothing to protect him and he yowled as a stab of pain exploded just before his toes. The unexpected attack had him hopping on one leg, much to the humour of the watching tribesmen. Caroline took advantage of her momentary triumph to leap to her feet and swing the parasol at his head. It landed with a satisfying thwack over the Indian's ear. This time the watching group openly laughed.
The brave growled in fury and lunged for Caroline, his hand wrapping round her throat as she was pushed with the momentum back up against the wheel of the stagecoach. His dark brown eyes blazed with satisfaction as his grip tightened.
"Stop!" The command came in English from somewhere beyond the Indian's left shoulder. When his choking hold failed to ease it was swiftly followed by a fierce order spat out in native Cheyenne. The savage bared his teeth in disgust but finally released his grip. Caroline slumped slightly, her hand rising to rub her bruised neck as she gasped for precious air. The Indian made one last threatening gesture before spinning round and stalking away.
Caroline looked up, her gaze scanning the band of warriors, searching for her saviour. A bronzed giant of a man climbed down from his horse and walked towards her. Tanned, unpainted skin stretched across lean, taut muscle. His hair was the colour of straw and tied back with a leather cord. As he neared her, an intense blue gaze held her transfixed. She raised her parasol nervously. The sun-kissed god may have called off his savage but that didn't mean his intentions were any more honourable.
"You try and strike me with that, little cat, and I will bare bottom and beat you." He held out a hand. "Give it to me."
Caroline swallowed thickly, torn between obeying him and relinquishing her last vestige of defence. "You want to kill me," she murmured, her green eyes wide with terror.
His smile was mocking and revealed straight, white teeth. "If I wanted you dead, Kishori, I would not have stopped Four Bears from throttling you. Now give me weapon."
"It's not a weapon. It's a sunshade."
"Four Bears have different opinion. So I ask nicely one more time. Give it to me or I will take it forcibly and then spank you for your trouble."
Reluctantly, Caroline passed over the parasol. The blond warrior took it, only to snap it across his steel thigh like a twig. "Hey," Caroline objected crossly. "That belonged to me. How dare you ruin it!"
The warrior looked down his aquiline nose at her. "Everything here belong to me. This land, these people, the animals that roam the plains. They are all mine." A hand came up to capture her chin and tilt it upwards. "And now, Kishori, I own you too."
"My name is Caroline, not Kish... whatever! And you will never own me."
He smiled again but this time with genuine amusement. "You are brave woman. Foolish but brave. I think I enjoy taming you." He held out his hand again. "I am Golden Eagle, Chief of the Sutaio Tribe. Come. We go."
Caroline shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere with a bunch of murdering savages. I'd rather die."
His smile faded. "White man have Cheyenne blood on their hands too. Now come." He made an attempt to grab Caroline's wrist but she dodged sideways and tried to run. She wasn't sure where she could run to, but flight was preferable to docile surrender. Golden Eagle made a cursing sound as he leapt after her, his muscled arm encircling her waist and hauling her back. In seconds, Caroline found herself lifted and tossed over one broad shoulder.
"No!" Caroline screamed, her fists beating at his bare back. "Put me down. Let me go at once." The Chief ignored her tantrum as he carried her, writhing, over to his horse and slung her unceremoniously across its back. Caroline felt the breath knocked from her lungs as her tummy hit sweating horse flesh. The pungent smell of animal and dust filled her nostrils. She tried to rear up but the warrior had already mounted and a heavy arm held her in place.
"Behave," he ordered curtly, "or I will punish you."
Caroline peddled her feet in fury. "Let me up, you filthy beast. I hate you!" The slap that landed on her upturned bottom came as a complete shock. Even through the layers of petticoat and gingham, it stung. She gasped in outrage. "How dare you hit me, you barbaric heathen. Let me GO!"
Her bonnet came loose and fell into the dirt as she struggled. The pins of her neat chignon no longer defied gravity as they too detached, allowing her long dark hair to tumble in waves around her flushed cheeks. Another hearty swat landed on her behind and Caroline screamed her displeasure.
Golden Eagle set his horse in motion, determined to get the spitting cat back to his teepee and deal with her properly. Never before had he met such a troublesome female. Cheyenne women were taught to respect their menfolk. Four Bears galloped up beside him. "You want me to cut her tongue out?" he asked with a sneer.
Golden Eagle cast him a look of cold disdain. "You lay one finger on her, my brother, and I will kill you."
Four Bears' eyes narrowed. "I captured her. She should be mine."
"Left to you, she would now be with the great spirit, Maheo. She belongs to me."
Caroline could hear the two Indians talking but their language was a complete mystery to her. She assumed that she was the main topic of conversation though and let out an ear piercing shriek of grievance.
Both men grimaced. "You are welcome to her," Four Bears decided. "I think she will make your life misery."
"She will settle down once I have reddened her backside a few times."
"Good luck," Four Bears said before steering his horse far away from the squawking white woman.
Golden Eagle raised his hand and brought it down sharply on the rounded target in front of him once again. "Hold your tongue, girl," he ordered in English.
Caroline felt the sting in her bottom and cursed her captor explicitly. The blood was rushing to her head and nausea from the bumpy ride was making her feel dizzy. Her corset was restricting at the best of times but bent over the back of a horse it dug into her ribs and made breathing more difficult than ever. "Let me up," she demanded again. "I feel sick."
"Ask nicely," Golden Eagle returned.
Caroline wanted to swear in frustration. The fear of having been abducted by a Cheyenne war party was now secondary to her fury at such cavalier treatment. She eyed his bared shin as it clamped the horse's belly and help steer the stallion across the rocky terrain. Before she could think better of it, her neat white teeth clamped over the bronzed flesh and bit hard.
Golden Eagle hissed as sharp pain exploded in his lower leg. The little vixen had bitten him! With a roar of anger he pulled his horse to a sharp halt, grabbed the back of Caroline's collar and hauled her up. "You will pay for that," he promised before all but dropping her to the ground. Caroline went down like a sack of grain, landing on her bottom in a cloud of dust. She watched warily as the blond warrior leapt down and loomed over her menacingly.
"Get up," he ordered through gritted teeth. "I will whip your bottom raw for daring to bite me."
Caroline swallowed down the nausea and attempted to stand. She would not cower nor grovel for mercy. Her legs trembled as she awkwardly pushed herself upwards. It was only as she finally found her feet that fear, heat and lack of air took their toll. She staggered backwards, the Chief's enraged face becoming a distant blur before blackness finally claimed her.
Golden Eagle's anger evaporated as the beautiful white girl crumpled to the ground in a dead faint. He dropped to his knees and gathered her shoulders up to rest her head in his lap. Her face was flushed and her breathing shallow. With an impatient sigh he swiftly turned her over and ripped open the back of her gingham dress. Beneath it, a contraption of whale bone and tight lacing had whittled her waist down to a child's proportion. He shook his head in despair at such a ridiculous piece of clothing ever being worn by anybody.
Taking the knife from the belt of his breechcloth, he carefully sliced each lace until she was free and then pulled the corset away from her creamy pale body and tossed it into the dirt. His loins tightened at the sight of so much unblemished white skin. She was perfect. Gently he turned her back to face him and was relieved to see her breathing much more freely now. Never again would she wear such western foolery. Gathering her up into his arms, he remounted and this time cradled her against his chest as he headed towards home.
Caroline half-opened her eyes and smiled. Mmm, this was nice. She was comfy. The surface beneath her cheek was smooth and inviting. The arms around her were strong and supportive. No more horrible dreams of Red Indian's and abduction. She was safe.
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