Feather in the Wind by Madeline Baker Read Free Book Online

for himself if it was as soft as it looked. He yearned to touch her hair, feel it curl around his fingers. He had never seen anyone with hair like hers before.
    She took a step closer, her gaze seeking his. “I wish I knew who you really were,” she whispered. “I know it’s silly, but I feel like you’re the reason I’m here. I wish…”
    Her words emboldened him. Knowing it was dangerous, knowing he would be severely punished if she betrayed him, he reached through the bars.
    Susannah’s mouth went dry as his calloused hand cupped her cheek.
    “ Cocola ,” he said, a note of wonder in his voice. Soft, so soft. And warm.
    She didn’t pull away, but stood there, her gaze locked on his, as he drew his knuckles over her cheek, then lifted a lock of her hair. He made a soft sound in his throat as her hair curled around his finger.
    Susannah swallowed hard, bewildered by the rapid beating of her heart. Her legs felt suddenly weak; there seemed to be butterflies dancing in her stomach.
    He ran his thumb over the curl of hair wrapped around his finger, then, with obvious reluctance, took his hand from her hair.
    “Su-san-nah.”
    The fact that he remembered her name made her feel ridiculously happy.
    “Tate Sapa,” she replied.
    He nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.
    Susannah felt her heart turn over. His hair was unkempt, his face streaked with dirt, but none of that mattered. He was the most handsome of men! Just the merest smile, yet it changed his countenance completely, softening the hard lines, erasing the bitterness from the depths of his eyes. No doubt a full-blown smile would render her unconscious, she mused.
    She looked at his hands, large capable hands that were wrapped around the bars, and yearned to feel his fingertips against her cheek once again.
    Heart pounding, she reached up and took one of his hands in hers. He had big hands, the palms calloused, the fingers long.
    Tate Sapa frowned, surprised that she would touch him of her own free will. In the distance, he heard one of the sentinels calling out the post number and the hour, reminding him again that he would be severely punished if anyone knew he had laid his hands on her. It wouldn’t matter that she had come to him. He would be the one to suffer for it.
    Susannah glanced at their joined hands, at her fingers entwined with his, and gently pulled away. “It’s late. I’d better get back.”
    “ Ye sni yo ,” he murmured softly. Don’t go.
    She heard the gentle pleading in his voice and wished she knew what he was saying. “Good night.”
    Tate Sapa watched her walk away, the gentle swaying of her hips making him yearn for things that could never be.
    “Su-san-nah.” He whispered her name into the darkness, and knew he would find no rest in his bed that night.
    * * * * *
    They came for him early the next morning, ordering him out of his cramped cell. Thrusting a shovel and a rake into his hands, they marched him to the stables and put him to work mucking the stalls that housed the officers’ horses.
    The chains that hobbled his feet rattled annoyingly with every move he made. His ankles were raw from their constant chafing.
    He worked steadily, removing soiled straw and replacing it with fresh.
    The smell of manure, old and fresh, filled the air, mingling with the odor of his own sweat.
    Thoughts of home crowded his mind—the sun-swept prairies, the clean scents of earth and sage and sweet grass, the aroma of roasting buffalo hump.
    The scent of flowers that clung to the hair of the white woman…
    Since the moment he had first seen her in vision, she had never been far from his thoughts. And now she was here. Again, he wondered who she was, and what had brought her to this place.
    Was it possible she had been sent here to rescue him? If so, she was truly wakán . He had tried twice to escape, and failed both times.
    He grimaced at the memory of the punishment that had followed: days of being chained to the wall, forced to stand