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"Bíawacheeitchish," said the Indian woman, pointing to herself. Her dark hair flowed to her waist, straight and shiny.
Fred and Carrie looked at each other. She nudged him.
"Biawanna," he said. The name came out all wrong and his cheeks brightened to a petal pink. He felt ridiculous.
The Indian woman laughed and shook her head. She rose from her seat on the rock and walked over to Bessie, who instinctively lowered her head. The woman petted her muzzle and whispered something in Bessie's ear. Bessie whinnied as if she was laughing.
The woman was not prettier than Carrie by any means, but she was interesting to watch. Fred saw Carrie watching her as well; they both had a hard time looking away. Her dress was deerskin, simple and even plainer than Carrie's own farm dress. She wore it long, with no petticoat or bustle beneath it. Her eyes were large and dark. The eyes of a doe. But they burned with the intensity of a buck. She turned back to them.
"Bíawacheeitchish," she said again, her large, black-brown eyes watching Carrie and Fred with equal interest.
Fred smirked at Carrie. "Your turn," he said.
She rolled her shoulders back. "Biawater, um, chevich."
The Indian's shoulders sank.
Carrie sighed. Fred grabbed her hand and squeezed. He knew she was frustrated. They had been trying to say the Indian's name for the last twenty minutes.
He was grateful to her and Carrie for interceding on his behalf. He was also extremely mad. Carrie had risked her own life for his. She could never do that again. He wouldn't allow it.
"Don't you speak any English?" Carrie asked, throwing her hands up.
"Yes," the Indian woman replied. "I do."
Carrie looked at Fred. It was what he was beginning to think of as her "crazy" look. As in, You know you're crazy, right? Or sometimes it came across as, Are you a lunatic? There are people in Bedlam saner than you.
"Bia.. watcha... sheeshy," Carrie said, stumbling over the name once more. "If you have spoken English this whole time, why did you not tell us sooner?"
"You did not ask me sooner," she said. "You asked my name, nothing more."
Carrie laughed, her body shaking beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Fred wanted to get her alone so that he might wrap his arms around her. He could hardly stomach sitting next to her without touching her. But he knew she would not wish him to do so in front of the Indian.
"All right," Carrie said. "So how do you say your name in English?"
"Bíawacheeitchish."
Carrie groaned.
"A person's name does not change no matter what the language is," the Indian said.
Carrie looked as though she were about to start pulling her hair out.
"What if we called you Bia?" Fred asked. "For short."
The Indian's brow furrowed. Pitch black hair fell across one eye. She swatted it away like it was a bug.
"Short?" she asked. "I do not understand. I am not short. I am average amongst my people."
"No," Carrie laughed. "You know. A nickname." The woman continued to stare at them. "For example," Carrie continued, hoping to make her understand, "my brother's name is Thomas, but no one calls him that. Everyone calls him Tom."
"Tom?" she said. "That is a nice name. A handsome name."
Fred grinned at Carrie, who scrunched her face up. "I suppose," she said uncertainly.
The Indian nodded. "Bia is acceptable," she said. "You may call me as such."
"Great," Fred said. "I'm Fred, and this is Carrie."
Bia nodded to them both, then stuck out her hand.
"Someone's taught you our customs well," Fred said, impressed. He'd met many Indians before, but never one who spoke English so well or had offered to shake his hand. Her grip was firm, surprisingly masculine.
"My grandmother," Bia said, bowing her head. "She went to join our great-grandfathers in the sky three summers ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Carrie said. "She must have been an extraordinary woman."
Carrie was biting her bottom lip. Fred looked at her quizzically. She seemed to be trying to send him a message with her eyes, but he could not make sense of it.
"Are you hungry?" Fred finally asked, taking a guess. Carrie groaned beside him. He shrugged his shoulders at her.
"No, thank you," Bia said. "I must return to my people. They will be looking for me."
"I think they already are," Fred said, pointing to his arm.
Bia's lips thinned. "I am sorry they injured you. They know the white men took me. If they saw you, they would have shot."
"But he didn't do anything," Carrie said. "He helped you."
"I know, and I shall explain that to my family and the elders when next we meet."
Bia's manner was calm. Almost too calm. Fred was not accustomed to women holding back their feelings.
"Fred," Carrie said, looking at him demurely. It threw him off. If there was one thing Carrie was not, it was demure. Her eyes darted toward a path in the woods. She stared hard at him, looking back to the path, back at him, back to the path.
"You wish me to go away," he finally said, relief flooding him when at last he understood.
"Some water, perhaps. Or meat for tonight's supper."
"Why didn't you just say so?" Fred asked, rising from his seat.
He took his canteen and headed for the river. They would have to boil the water before they could drink it. He still did not understand how Carrie had not gotten sick drinking from that stream. She must have a stomach like an ox. But then, he had given up trying to figure her out. At least for now.
When he returned, Bia was in tears. She sat on a log next to Carrie, bent over at the waist. Carrie's arms were wrapped around her shoulders and she was comforting her.
"What happened?" he asked, utterly perplexed. He'd been gone but five minutes.
Carrie rushed to his side as Bia turned away from him. She clearly did not wish to be seen in such a delicate state.
"Fred," she whispered. "Do go and fetch us some supper, please."
"Whatever did you say to her?"
Carrie put her hands on her hips. "I got to the bottom of things. Someone had to. You were not taking any of my hints. You still aren't."
"What hints? What are you talking about?"
Carrie rolled her eyes. "Are you really so naïve?"
He felt his temper rising. "Tell me what we are talking about or I shall pour this water over your head."
"You wouldn't," she said.
He unscrewed the cap and lifted the canteen high over Carrie's head. A stream of water fell out, dousing Carrie's hair. She jumped back before it could soak her clothes.
"You... you... are... mad!" she cried, her hands curling into fists.
"Mad for you," he told her, stealing a kiss. She took a swing at him and missed. He caught Bia watching them and smiled at her. At least she had stopped crying.
"You are a lunatic," Carrie said. Her eyes howled with rage, but there was a smile upon her lips. "Here I am, helping this poor woman, and you chastise me for it."
"Helping her how? By bringing her to tears?"
Carrie lowered her voice. "I needed to ask her something private. It upset her, as I'd anticipated, but now we know."
Fred raised an eyebrow. "Know what?"
"Whether the outlaws molested her."
Fred's smile faded from his lips. He looked past Carrie's shoulder at Bia's dark, tear-stained face. Carrie was right, he was quite thick in the head at times.
"And?" he asked. "Did they?" He was afraid to hear the answer. He'd heard how they'd spoken of her. And they'd come across her while she'd been bathing.
Carrie shook her head, grinning. "No. She is unsullied."
Fred relaxed the breath he'd been holding. "That's wonderful news," he said and kissed Carrie's nose. "You did good."
She smiled back at him.
"Also," Carrie said, batting her lashes, "I have told Bia we shall help to return her to her tribe."
The smile froze on Fred's face. "You did what?"
Carrie's own smile faltered. "Well, she needs to get back. She has a family. Friends. People who will miss her."
"Carrie, those same people will shoot us on sight if we are seen with her." He shook his head. "No. It is not possible. I'm sorry."
Carrie's lips puckered. "But what will happen to Bia?"
"She can ride with us to Helena if she wishes. Or stay here. Certainly she knows these woods better than we do. She can make her own way home."
"But what if Abel and the others find her first?"
Fred's heart hammered in his chest. He'd been so focused on getting to Helena so that he might marry Carrie and check on his mother, that he had not once thought of that.
"It is all right," Bia said softly from her seat on the log. "I will be fine on my own. You need not worry."
Fred frowned. For a moment, he had forgotten that she could understand them.
"Bia," he said, walking toward her, "it's not that I don't want to help you."
"You have already done more than enough," she said. "You gave me back my freedom."
"Yes," Carrie said, sidling up next to him. "And Bia and I saved your life. Life trumps freedom. Therefore, you are indebted to us and must do as we say. And we say that you will help Bia return to her family."
She lifted her chin in such a cute way that Fred could not possibly stay angry with her.
"It's not necessary," Bia said, shaking her head.
Carrie shot her a look that told her to keep quiet. Fred was glad to see he was not the only one in trouble.
"And what will you give me if I say yes?" he asked Carrie, looking only at her.
She blushed and looked quickly to Bia before casting her eyes back his way. "I will only give that to you after the wedding," she muttered, her face glowing red. "We agreed."
Fred laughed. "I was thinking of a kiss."
"That's all?" Carrie asked.
"That's all."
She smiled broadly. "Then it shall be the best kiss of your life."
She nearly jumped into his arms, wrapping her hands around his neck. She pulled him close. Fred felt her tongue move swiftly into his mouth. He fought her for control, growling with satisfaction when he gained it. He dared not touch her body in front of Bia. It was only Carrie's mouth that he was after.
He tasted her bottom lip, her upper lip, both lips together. The flavors changed from honey to rose water to syrup. He could not tell which lip delivered which flavor, so he kissed them each again, attempting to find out.
Her lips buzzed against his as a steady burst of energy passed between them. He let his fingers trail quickly along the small of her back then pulled his hand away before he could do any more with it. His tongue was thick with lust. He moved it within her, feeling each corner and crevice of her mouth. His stomach fluttered along with his heart.
When he finally pulled away, Carrie's eyes looked dippy. One corner of her mouth lifted into a smile.
"You were right," he said. "That was the best kiss of my life." He turned to Bia, who was looking at them with her mouth slightly open. "We leave at daybreak."
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