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now knew that she could not expect anything else from Hawk Woman. For some reason, the woman disliked her.
Sighing heavily and trying to put Hawk Woman from her mind, Candy gazed at the tempting food. Her stomach growled again as she spotted a piece of corn on the cob. It was one of her favorite foods. There was a small portion of cut-up meat, which she assumed was venison, and a ripe cantaloupe, which had been cut into slices.
The various aromas smelled delicious.
She couldn’t not eat.
She must at least try.
She grimaced as she tried to reach for the corn, then stopped and rested her hand on her lap. The irons rubbing against her raw wrists caused her too much pain to continue.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared into the fire.
Her tears sprang from many mixed emotions—her feeling of total helplessness, her aching hunger, and the loneliness she felt as she missed her father, and also sweet Malvina and her beloved Shadow.
For the first time in her life, she was totally alone with no one to help, or love her.
She then remembered the head in the jar and the horrible sight of her father whipping the old man’s bare back for no good reason. He had done it just because he could, since he was in charge of Fort Hope.
She would never forget Short Robe’s silence as he had been whipped, too proud to let her father realize the pain that he was inflicting.
No.
He had never cried out, not even one time.
It was at that moment when Candy accepted the sort of man her father was. She had known for a long time, but just hadn’t been able to face up to it. He was her father, the person she had adored as a child, before she knew what he was capable of. He had loved her and held her close to his heart until she was too old to hold.
Then he had taught her the wonders of riding horses and everything else that he would have taught a son.
She had not allowed herself to be insulted, or hurt, to know that in his heart he resented the fact that she was not a son and could never enter the military with him.
But no father could have been prouder of a daughter than he had been of her. He had always thought her fragile because of her petiteness, but although she was not all that strong, she had been strong enough to fend for herself when the need arose.
Several times she had been caught away from the fort in a rain storm. She knew that her father had been frightened for her on those occasions. He knew, much better than she, the dangers that lurked away from the safety of the fort.
Of course she knew all about Indians and what some were guilty of doing to whites.
But she hadn’t allowed that knowledge to make her a prisoner of her own home, for if she had, she would have felt only half alive.
“And now I am a true prisoner,” she whispered to herself, again looking at the food.
She had never been so hungry in her life, yet . . . yet . . . each movement of her wrists brought renewed pain and fresh blood as the irons scraped against her already raw flesh.
Again she thought of her father. She knew that if he were alive, he would be sending the military out everywhere to look for her.
She could even now envision him sitting in his study, staring into the fire, as he waited for her to return.
The thought of the study brought more than her father to her mind. She shivered as she again recalled the head in the jar, and where Two Eagles had found it.
In her father’s study!
Now she understood why he had never allowed her to enter it. He was hiding something ugly beyond belief. How could any man do such a thing to another human being?
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard footsteps outside drawing near the tepee. They were not the footsteps of a woman, so she knew not to expect Hawk Woman.
Her heart pounded at the thought of who had come for a morning visit. A moment later, Two Eagles nudged the entrance flap aside and came to stand over her.
As before, he wore only a breechclout, moccasins, and a headband holding his long, thick, black hair back from his magnificently sculpted face. The scar beneath his lip was certainly no hindrance to his handsomeness.
