Free Savage Betrayal by Theresa Scott

see you,” cautioned Spring Fern. “You’re not supposed to put in an appearance until the feast tonight.”
    Sarita took her slave’s order with good humor. “I won’t. I’ll watch them from inside the doorway. They’ll never know I’m here.” The two women chuckled together, shivering in excitement at seeing the dreaded Ahousats.
    * * * *
    The villagers slowly drifted down the pebbly beach to watch the arrival of the Ahousats. As if in league with the visitors, gentle sea winds blew away the cloud cover, letting the sun shine hot and brilliant onto the waiting populace.
    The Ahousats’ large war canoes circled the cove and their deep chanting voices carried over the water. The crowd thrilled to the sound. After circling the bay several times, the first of the groom’s great war canoes ground into the gravel of the shallow waters just off the beach. Four men jumped out and, heaving in unison, pulled the canoe further up the beach.
    People in the assembled crowd commented on the gifts that were no doubt piled under the cedar mats in the large canoes.
    Fighting Wolf stepped out. He was draped in a full-length, shiny, black sea otter robe, his glistening blue-black hair twisted into a hundred long, thin braids all over his head. Tiny white feathers of eagle down were scattered over his hair. Across his forehead were painted wide wavy black lines; a solid red covered the lower half of his features. His face was dusted with powdered black mica; silver and gold sparks glinted off his visage where the sun slanted across. His arms were painted red, and large copper rings encircled his ankles. He looked magnificent.
    The men accompanying him also wore painted red and black facial designs. Each nobleman’s hair was secured in a large topknot tied by a green spruce bough. Eagle down was strewn over the locks of the high ranking men. The commoners were dressed in bulky cedar kutsacks, their hair loose, their faces painted a solid red.
    The visitors debarked from the canoes and stood defiantly facing the Hesquiat crowd. The two groups stared at each other, neither willing to initiate a friendly gesture. Fighting Wolf, planted at the forefront of his men, gazed impassively back at the staring assemblage.
    The watching throng of men and women began to shift anxiously. “Why are there so many men?” murmured someone. “There must be over a hundred…and no women.”
    “Probably afraid to bring their women,” speculated another. “We haven’t really stopped fighting them. If this alliance doesn’t work—“
    “Probably don’t trust us,” came a third opinion. “Afraid we’ll take their women away from them!” Several chuckles greeted this sally.
    At a gesture from Fighting Wolf, the visitors began shaking the rattles that miraculously appeared in their hands. Singing to the beat, the Ahousats began the shuffling dance steps that took them slowly up the beach. Swaying and chanting, they made their way towards the longhouses, stopping in front of the largest.
    A lean, wiry Ahousat man of indeterminate age stepped forward from the crowd of men, a stout, carved stick grasped in his hand. His wrinkled face screwed up, he confidently addressed the waiting crowd.
    “Good people of the Hesquiat tribe,” began the Ahousat Speaker. “You are very fortunate to have our noble prince, Fighting Wolf, ask for the hand of Sarita, daughter of your chief Thunder Maker.
    "Fighting Wolf is a great Ahousat war chief. Few warriors have killed as many enemies as has our prince. He is feared far and wide for his prowess in battle, for his cunning raids on our enemies, and for his strength in fighting off raiders foolish enough to attack our village!”
    The listening Hesquiats stirred uneasily. “Why’s he dwelling on war talk?” muttered Feast Giver, standing next to his father. “Doesn’t he know this is a marriage he’s come to attend? This marriage is supposed to bring an end to war. His words are too