Savage Betrayal Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  About this Series

  Dear Reader

  Other Books by Theresa Scott

  About the Author

  Savage Betrayal

  by

  Theresa Scott

  Published by Theresa Scott

  November 2014

  This book was previously published in 1987.

  Copyright © 1987 Theresa Scott (Previous copyright assigned)

  Cover Art by Rae Monet Designs, Inc.

  Publishing History:

  Previously published by

  Leisure/Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc., 1987

  Red Rose Publishing, Inc., 2008

  Published in the United States of America

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Dedication

  In Memory of Jana

  Chapter One

  “Enemy or not, you will marry the Ahousat!”

  Her father’s order rang in her ears even now, as Sarita picked blueberries on the peaceful hillside. With those few words, her life had shattered.

  She stripped another handful of the luscious blue-gray fruit off the delicate, lacy branch. She dropped the berries into her cedar basket then straightened. Rubbing the small of her back, she looked over at the other women scattered about the clearing. Several women, commoner and slave alike, quietly picked berries off the heavily laden bushes. There was Spring Fern, her slave, popping a berry into her mouth. Perhaps she could help calm Sarita’s unhappy brooding.

  Sarita looked around her. A gentle sea breeze, tangy with a salty smell, rustled the bushes growing on the slanting ground. Stark, fire-blackened skeletons of dead cedars dotted the clearing—remnants of a long forgotten forest fire. Higher up on the hillside the thick, green growth of cedar and fir reclaimed the land. All around the brush-covered clearing, the soft purple flowers of fireweed scattered bursts of color against the light green and yellow of the dried grass. It was a tranquil scene—in vivid contrast to Sarita’s thoughts.

  “Spring Fern,” she called, “Come over here and pick with me!” She watched as the slave gathered up her basket and slowly trudged the distance between them.

  Usually, picking sweet blueberries was one of Sarita’s favorite chores. Today, however, her hands trembled and her thoughts raced. She couldn’t concentrate on her picking and when she looked into her basket, she noted that many blueberries were crushed. Picking with care, however, was of little concern. Her mind was on Fighting Wolf.

  She wiped a purple-stained hand across her forehead. It was so hot on this early summer day. Below her she could see the quiet village laid out in the morning sun. Tiny dots, people, went about their daily activities. Occasionally, the muted sound of someone’s laughter drifted lazily up to the workers on the hill. She, however, would never laugh again, she told herself bitterly. There would be no laughter in a forced marriage to Fighting Wolf.

  Standing on the side of the hill in the small clearing, Sarita could look down at the village spread out along the beach embankment. In each wooden longhouse lived several families. This was the summer village. In the fall, the houses would be disassembled, the side planks taken down and packed away. Then, everything and everyone would move to the winter village. Everyone, that is, except me, she thought angrily. By then she would be living amongst the hated Ahousats.

  The reflection of the sun’s intense rays on the bright water far below temporarily blinded her. The shallow arms of a bay formed a gentle half-curve separated by a wide expanse of water. It was almost as if the arms stretched futilely towards each other to keep out the rolling grasp of the sea. They afforded some protection from the huge ocean, but in the rare, wild, summer storms were forced to surrender to the raging gray waters. Today however, the sea was silver, like a gently rolling sweep of shimmering mercury.

  Sarita turned back to her blueberry bush. She picked carefully now, the big, plump berries falling easily into her hand. Popping a berry into her mouth, she chewed it quickly, tasting nothing as she pondered the events of earlier that morning.

  “Have you given any more consideration to Fighting Wolf’s offer of marriage, my daughter?” her father had asked her.

  When Sarita answered him with stubborn silence, he continued patiently, “He’s a very good provider for his family. He’d make a good husband. In addition, his family is as wealthy and as well-known as ours.” He paused. “Wealthier, in fact. They have large clam beds, hunting territories, many slaves. They are a powerful and ambitious family.”

  “Oh?” Her tone conveyed her disinterest.

  “You would seek long and hard to find a better match for our two families.”

  Sarita lifted her chin defiantly and her eyes flashed. “That may well be, Nuwiksu, Father,” she sniffed haughtily, “but I find Fighting Wolf not to my liking. I don’t know him and I don’t see how I, a Hesquiat woman, can love and respect someone from the Ahousat tribe. They’ve been our enemies for many years.”

  Her father began to lose some of his usual calm manner. “You will obey me, daughter! Think seriously on this matter. You’ve tried my patience long enough. You’ve rejected every eligible young man in this village and the next!”

  His voice rose in anger. “No other father is so patient! Most young women have long been married by your age, betrothed from the time of their puberty ceremony! I’ve been exceedingly patient with you…but no more!”

  Sarita watched as, with great effort, her father brought himself under control. “Too much rests on this alliance. As you say, we’ve been enemies of the Ahousat for se
veral years. But I,” he announced, “have had enough of war and killing.”

  He paused, his angry gaze upon her, and Sarita had flinched inside.

  “You will marry Fighting Wolf in five days!”

  “Nuwiksu!” Sarita had cried then. “No! Please--!”

  “I’ve already agreed to the marriage. I’d hoped you’d see the wisdom of it and accept it. I see now that you won’t. No matter. “

  “Nuwiksu—” she implored, distraught.

  He waved away her pleas. “You’ll accept your husband-to-be gracefully. Enemy or not, you will marry the Ahousat!”

  With this grim pronouncement, her father had stalked off, leaving his daughter standing with head bowed and tears coursing down her cheeks.

  Sarita’s thoughts returned to the present. What would she do now? she wondered woefully.

  It was true that she had rejected every eligible suitor in the village and a few others besides. But she wanted a man to love and respect, one who would cherish her as in the romantic tales the storytellers chanted on long winter evenings. That wasn’t so wrong. She wanted to love and be loved in return. Now, being married off to an enemy, she had no chance for love. How could Nuwiksu do this? she lamented hopelessly.

  As Spring Fern approached, Sarita stood lost in thought.

  The slave noted her mistress’ lithe figure in the woven cedar bark dress. Shining dark brown hair, high-lighted with gold, hung loose to Sarita’s waist. High cheekbones and a straight nose made her face striking. The delicate arch of her eyebrows graced scintillating golden eyes that danced with an inner fire. Her cheeks were lightly tanned, touched by the rosy blush of good health.

  Sarita’s full lips parted to show even, white teeth as she smiled briefly at Spring Fern, noting her heavily laden basket. “Oh, Spring Fern,” she sighed. “What am I to do? What am I to do?”

  Spring Fern bent and carefully placed her burden on the ground. She straightened, looking at Sarita with compassionate eyes. Given to Sarita when both were but children, Spring Fern was sensitive to her mistress’ moods and needs. She knew Sarita was truly upset.

  “About what, mistress?” she asked carefully.

  Sarita quickly told her slave of the earlier conversation with her father. “How could Nuwiksu do this to me? He’s giving me to the enemy!”

  “Perhaps this Fighting Wolf isn’t so bad,” consoled the slave. “Your father loves you very much. Surely he wouldn’t give you to someone who’d harm you.” She managed to keep the doubt out of her voice. As she spoke, her nimble fingers speedily gathered the fruit.

  Sarita shook her head sadly. “We’ve been fighting the Ahousats for a long time. No, I know they’re our enemies.”

  Spring Fern had to agree. “Yes, for as long as I can remember, we’ve been at war with the Ahousats.”

  Sarita went on, as if she hadn’t heard, “They’ve always wanted our fishing streams, our clam beaches. Countless times they’ve raided us in the night like the thieves they are! They kill our men and steal our women and babies. Fighting Wolf is their war chief. He’s the one who leads them in their bloody fights. He’s the worst of them all! And he’s the man my father would have me marry!”

  Spring Fern heard the agony in her mistress’ voice. She answered quietly, “I don’t understand it myself.” She sighed. “It seems it’s always the way of men to make war…and the way of women to suffer from war. Your father is a good man,” she added reassuringly. “Perhaps he wants an end to all the fighting and killing. If your father gives you to Fighting Wolf, the Ahousats won’t raid us anymore.”

  Sarita didn’t answer. She just stared at her slave, a sudden question forming in her mind. She burst out, “But it was Fighting Wolf who approached my father about marriage.”

  Spring Fern shrugged. “Oh? What difference does that make?”

  “It means,” said Sarita excitedly, “that Nuwiksu didn’t approach Fighting Wolf and offer me in marriage. Fighting Wolf came to my father and asked for me. Don’t you see? Fighting Wolf asked for me! It was only then that my father agreed to the marriage.”

  The two women stared at each other for a moment, pondering the meaning of this revelation.

  “Now, why?” mused Sarita. “Why would Fighting Wolf offer for me? What possible advantage is there for him?”

  “Perhaps the Ahousats are losing the war with us,” suggested Spring Fern. “Maybe he wants to make peace. He knows that if he marries you, your father will no longer fight against him.”

  Sarita snorted. “The Ahousats aren’t losing. They’re winning against us! Why would the winners chose to marry into the losing side? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe Fighting Wolf is tired of war,” sighed Spring Fern. “I know I’m tired of talking about it.” She caught Sarita’s eye and grinned as she added, “Maybe he’s heard how beautiful you are and wants to marry you for that reason.”

  “Hmmph,” sniffed Sarita. “I suspect a man like Fighting Wolf, trained only for war, does not concern himself with things like beauty. He would have no softness in him. Besides, he probably has his pick of beautiful women.”

  When Spring Fern raised a brow inquiringly, Sarita explained, “Women taken as slaves in the many raids he’s led.”

  “Oh.”

  Sarita continued her musing, “No, there must be something, some reason, why he offered for me.” She paused in her picking. “Spring Fern, I don’t like it. I don’t trust him.”

  “Your father does,” shot back Spring Fern.

  “Does he? You say that because he’s agreed to give me to Fighting Wolf,” stated Sarita slowly. “Or is Nuwiksu forced into this alliance as much as I am?”

  Spring Fern could see no end to Sarita’s speculations. She decided to distract her mistress. “My cousin is visiting me. She comes from Yuquot.” Spring Fern watched as Sarita turned to her pensively, still preoccupied by thoughts of Fighting Wolf.

  “Yuquot?” Sarita asked dazedly. She gave a start, coming out of her reverie. “Any news from that town?” she asked, feigning interest.

  Spring Fern smiled. “My cousin says there have been many changes in Yuquot since the mumutly, the white men, came there, many moons ago. They came in their big ships…ships longer than your father’s longhouse and with big tall trees on them.” Spring Fern paused, catching the spark of interest in Sarita’s face.

  Satisfied that her mistress’ curiosity was aroused, she continued, “My cousin says the mumutly are crazy for sea otter furs. They’ll trade anything for the furs, even for old robes no one wants to wear any more. They’ll even take old sea otter blankets, good only for sleeping on! And it’s hard to believe, but for those ancient furs, our people can get hard metal fishhooks. We can get weapons like knives and daggers. We can trade for kettles, pots, and jewelry too. Very valuable things! The traders have beautiful blankets, too…some red ones and the prettiest blue ones, woven from soft cloth. Fit for a chief.” Spring Fern herself would never have such fine things, but perhaps Sarita would.

  Spring Fern continued, “My cousin even said,” and here she lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper, “that some of the mumutly traders have a new kind of weapon, things called ‘mus-kets.’ But she didn’t know how they worked.”

  Sarita was becoming interested in what her slave was saying. She knew little about Yuquot, only that the small village had sprung into prominence since the recent coming of the white men. Yuquot was to the north of Sarita’s village, some two days’ travel by canoe. “Is it true,” she ventured, “that there are now many more people living in Yuquot that ever before? Did your cousin mention that?”

  “Oh, yes,” nodded Spring Fern. “She says there are many more people now. Too many. She’d like to leave, but she can’t.”

  Sarita guessed the cousin was also a slave.

  “Everyone who wants to trade goes to that town now. People from up and down the coast travel for days so they can get the hard metals or weapons. My cousin said the chief, Maquinna, owns the mum
utly traders and will not let them sail their ships to any other village. He told them they’re safe at Yuquot; they won’t be eaten. Everywhere else lurk dangerous cannibals!”

  Amused, Sarita asked, “And they believe him?”

  “They must. They don’t trade anywhere else.” Spring Fern chuckled. “My cousin tells me that when the mumutly first came to Yuquot, Maquinna and all his people thought the mumutly were Salmon people.”

  “What?” exclaimed Sarita, intrigued. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Well, you know stories are told that deep under the sea there’s a great house where the Salmon People and the Herring People live. We must honor the Salmon and Herring People, and give them gifts, otherwise they’ll become angry and dangerous; they may even leave and we’ll go hungry.”

  “I know that,” interrupted Sarita impatiently.

  Spring Fern continued hastily, “When the mumutly first came to Yuquot, they stood on the decks of their big ships with the tall masts. Our people paddled out in canoes to get a closer look. There was a fat man, very red-faced with a big nose. “Oh, he is a coho salmon, ready to spawn,’ one man said. Another mumutly had a very hooked nose. ‘He must be a dog salmon, that one,’ said someone else. Still another had a hunchback. ‘See the humpback salmon,’ exclaimed somebody else in the crowd. So it went. Every mumutly on the ship looked like a fish of some kind. And after all, they were floating on the sea, where the Salmon People come from.” She paused. “Of course, it didn’t take long to find out they were just men.”

  Sarita was fascinated. “What else did your cousin say?” she asked.

  “Hmmm, well. When the mumutly first came to our shores, they gave out gifts to all the people. Everyone received a round, flat, hard thing with tiny holes poked in it. No one knew what to do with such strange things, but everyone was too polite to ask. Some people used them for good luck charms. Others thought they were pieces of polished wood. Most used them for souvenirs but a friend of my cousin’s used one to wipe her breasts when her baby wouldn’t drink all the milk. Nobody really knew what to do with the things. The mumutly called them ‘pilot bish-kit.’ One day, a Yuquot man watched in astonishment as a mumutly popped a bish-kit in his mouth and ate it!” Spring Fern paused dramatically. “And so, to this day, pilot bish-kits are eaten.” The women laughed together at the story.