Running Wolf. Jenna Kernan

their place and into the Sioux territory.

      The woman before him made no sound. She did not weep or beg. Instead, she sat still as a raptor, watching his men dismount and stretch their tight muscles. If he did not know better he would swear she was counting their number and measuring their strength.

      Running Wolf looked back and wondered if their enemy would follow. His party had taken only one captive. Then he thought of the look in the eyes of the warrior when this woman was taken. He would follow. Running Wolf knew this in his bones.

      He called to Weasel, asking how many horses they had taken.

      “All” came the answer.

      Running Wolf smiled. Weasel was a very good thief. He must be to sneak past village dogs and the boys watching the horses and to do that in full light. Running Wolf’s first raid as war chief and they had not lost a single man. He complimented Weasel’s skill and then dismounted.

      His captive threaded her hands in his horse’s mane and he had the flash of precognition. He grabbed her with both hands as she kicked his horse’s sides. His horse bolted forward as he swung his captive up and around until she landed before him.

      Their eyes met.

      He felt the electric tingle of awareness. She was beautiful, no question, with wild hair that streamed about her lovely face in long waves. She had tied a medicine wheel in one narrow braid at her temple. The opposite braid was wrapped in the pelt of a mink, tied with strands of tanned leather and bits of shell. The adornments framed her face.

      Her nose was straight and broad, brows high and arching like the wings of a raven. She had dark eyes glittering with emotion, showing her passion even as she stood perfectly still. He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Just looking at those generous pink lips made his stomach jump and his muscles twitch.

      He caught a motion to his left and turned to see Red Hawk approach, his expression stormy. Running Wolf was about to speak but Red Hawk lifted a hand to strike the captive. Running Wolf had time only to grip Red Hawk’s wrist. The men locked eyes. Running Wolf saw his mistake immediately. He had rescued Red Hawk from this woman and now he had easily stopped his blow. Both acts highlighted that he was the stronger man. A war chief did not intentionally embarrass his warriors. Running Wolf released Red Hawk and the older man fumed.

      “What are you doing?” Red Hawk asked, his voice hot with anger.

      “I thought you were going to strike my horse,” said Running Wolf, and cringed at the stupidity of that. He was not always quick-witted and preferred time to consider his responses. Meanwhile, his captive tugged in an effort to gain release from his grip. He gave a little yank and pulled her back beside him while keeping his focus on Red Hawk.

      “Your horse is gone,” Red Hawk said. “This one kicked it. Now I will kick her.”

      “I would prefer you did not. If she is injured, it will be harder to bring her to camp.” That response was a little better. But his reaction was worse because just the threat of kicking this captive made Running Wolf’s flesh prickle. What was happening here?

      Weasel, still mounted, went after Running Wolf’s spotted mustang, Eclipse, and captured him easily. Running Wolf recognized that he and Red Hawk had become the focus of the eight other warriors, including Weasel, who returned now holding the reins of Eclipse.

      Yellow Blanket intervened. “Water your horses first, then the Crows’ horses.”

      The men moved to do as they were told.

      “You should kill that one,” said Red Hawk, and then stormed after the others.

      Running Wolf felt deflated. It was the order he should have given instead of staring like an owl. His raid had been a great success. The Crow did not even have horses to pursue them. Everyone lived and collected coups, and still he felt lacking as a leader. He knew the reason, the one change since he had ridden out this morning. He looked at the woman.

      They made eye contact and she immediately looked away, lifting her chin as if she were above him. It made him smile. She had not lost her pride. That much was certain.

      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