Brave Heart. Lindsay McKenna
the rage suppressed deep within her heart.
Men. She closed her eyes, wincing. Men scared her now. Kingston didn’t have to worry about her wanting a husband. She wanted no man! Serena slowly opened her eyes, staring at the unsullied water. If God would answer her prayers and help her survive this latest twist in her life, she swore she would never marry. Better to eke out an existence alone than to bow to a man and become his slave again. Men meant nothing but pain and agony, capable only of hurting, maiming and raping a woman.
The braying of a mule jerked Serena out of the hatred in which she was wallowing. She flattened out among the bulrushes, remaining well hidden. Within minutes, six burly miners with mules loaded down with gold-mining tools moved past her on the bank above. They were looking for gold, no doubt, trying to strike and claim another mother lode. Heart beating wildly in her throat, Serena pressed her face to the cooling, abrasive texture of the reeds. Don’t let them see me…. God, please don’t let them discover me….
Just the nearness of the hulking, bearded men made her tremble with fear. They passed her, unaware of her presence. Barely breathing, Serena closed her eyes and dug her fingers into the mud. Blackjack had dumped her somewhere west of the town of Kingston. How far she was from the outpost that served as a gold-mining camp for miners such as these, she had no idea. For two months, he’d had her cuffed and chained to a bed. That one room of his large, two-story cabin had been her cage, her only existence.
If these men discovered her, they would capture and rape her—just as Blackjack had done. They had greedy faces and hard eyes. From the maid, Lucinda, a black slave from the south who would sometimes keep her company when Blackjack was out of town, Serena had heard that the miners often ruthlessly slaughtered the Sioux Indians who lived on these gold-strewn Black Hills of the Dakota Territory. In her heart, she felt sorry for the Sioux.
Serena had learned that Blackjack hated anyone who wasn’t male and white. Often, he’d whipped Lucinda for the slightest infraction of the strict rules he’d laid down. And too many times Serena had heard of Blackjack’s notorious gang of miners, who rode into Sioux villages killing men, women and children just to get a new gold claim. Children…Her stomach rolled and she swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit. Children, no matter what their color or religion, were helpless. In her eyes they were precious, and deserved protection. But Blackjack called the Sioux little more than animals that deserved to be trapped and slaughtered, just like foxes or wolves. They didn’t have hide like animals, but their scalps were worth upward of ten dollars apiece at his trading post, he’d boast.
The last of the miners disappeared around the curve of the river. Serena dragged in a shaky breath, lifting her head. Looking down at herself, she realized her dress was not only in dire need of a washing, but damp and muddied. So were the thick, twisted strands of her red hair that hung against her aching breasts.
After waiting another five minutes, Serena was convinced the miners were gone. She tested her legs, finding them rubbery but willing to sustain her weight. Getting up, she planted her bare feet apart to steady herself. A cutting smile crossed her lips. Blackjack had forced her to wear shoes, but every time, she would get rid of them. All her life she’d gone barefoot, the thick calluses on the bottoms of her feet tougher than any shoe leather. Digging her toes into the mud reminded her that there was life despite the feelings of numbness within her.
I’m free. Blackjack thinks I’ll die. But I won’t. Somehow, I’ll survive. Just like I did before. Serena picked up the folds of her skirt and lifted her head. In front of her was a small knoll with several large oaks upon the crown. If the miners were heading north, she’d go south, following the river. In Ireland, she’d eaten roots, grubs and anything else in order to survive. Standing at the river’s edge, she could see mussels in the shallows, and a fish peeking out between rocks. There was food to survive upon.
Just as Serena turned to begin her trek south, she heard a woman’s piercing scream slice open the dawn. Jerking around, she nearly fell, dizzy from the sudden movement. Another scream, this time from a different woman, split the air. Children began to shriek in alarm. She heard a baby crying. Then, a gun went off, shattering the calm for miles around.
The cries of the women triggered something primal within Serena. Gripping her skirts, she moved clumsily up the riverbank. The bulrushes slowed her momentum, but after she reached the halfway point, the land smoothed out into velvet-green grass. Panting from the sudden exertion, Serena staggered to a halt at the top of the bank, leaning heavily against one of the rough-barked oak trees.
Her eyes widened. First terror struck her, and then revulsion. Below, the six gold miners had discovered a group of unarmed Indian women, with their babies lying in cradleboards nearby. Roots that had been gathered from the river’s bank lay scattered around the area as the miners attacked the women. Mules brayed and danced nervously. Gasping for breath, Serena gave a low cry of anguish. The miners had chased down the women and were in the process of raping them. One child, barely four years old, lay dead. Serena saw another woman holding her baby to her breast as a black-bearded miner ran after her, hunting her as if she were little more than a game animal. The children!
Hatred spurred Serena into action. For two months she’d been tortured by a white man. She’d endured rape and incredible pain from the constant beatings. And now these filthily clad miners were going to rape these innocent, unarmed women. Without thinking, Serena grabbed a long oak limb. Her hands were small but her fingers were long, and she wrapped them around the huge club.
“No!” she shrieked, flying down the bank, her hair streaming like a red banner behind her. “You won’t hurt them! You won’t!” Lifting the club above her head, Serena allowed the momentum of the slope to carry her into the fray, surprising the miners, who had dropped their guns to rape the Indian women.
Evening Star, mother of a two-month-old baby boy, gripped the cradleboard to her breast. Her eyes widened enormously as she saw a white woman with red hair flying down the hill, screeching at the top of her lungs. The miner who had been chasing her jerked to a halt, equally surprised. He had no time to yell a warning to his busy comrades. Evening Star saw the wildness in the white woman’s green eyes as she brought the oak branch down hard on the miner’s head. The black-bearded one fell with a grunt, unconscious.
Before Evening Star could say anything, she saw the white woman whirl around, leaping toward another miner who had taken down her older sister, Redwing. Sobbing, she gripped her baby, realizing that Redwing was dead. Satisfaction soared through her as the red-haired woman brought down the club on the murderer’s neck. A crack split the air. The second miner toppled like a felled ox, his back broken. Just reward for killing her sister!
Placing her baby beneath the protection of a clump of willows, Evening Star ran back to help defend the women of her village. She, too, picked up a dead tree limb. Then, noticing the red-haired woman was in danger, Evening Star cried out a warning.
Serena saw a brown-bearded miner hesitate, his pants down. An Indian woman lay unconscious beneath him. Mules were braying and stampeding in all directions, mud being kicked up everywhere. The miner fumbled toward his holster, but it lay too far away from him to retrieve before Serena got to him. At the last second before she charged him, a crazed mule began kicking out viciously with his rear feet. The second kick caught the miner in the head just as he stretched across the muddy earth to reach the gun. In seconds, he was dead.
“Bitch!” a blond-bearded miner roared at Serena. “You’re gonna die!” And he jerked up his trousers.
Serena saw the miner lunge for the closest weapon—a limb of a tree that was twice as long and thick as the one she carried. A baby, no more than three months old, lay in a cradleboard on the ground between the miner and herself. The baby was in danger if she charged the miner.
The blonde scooped up the limb, his blue eyes gleaming with hatred as he whirled back upon the red-haired woman. “You’re dead, bitch!” he roared.
Unleashing further rage, Serena threw her weapon as hard as she could at the miner, and ran forward to pick up the child. Escape! We have to escape! The miner ducked her poorly aimed tree limb and scrambled after her. Her legs rubbery from fatigue, Serena tripped over the hem of her long skirt.