Chapter Seven

 

 

Up at the crack of dawn, the caravan moved forward. Trudging behind the dog-driven drag, Gabrielle shielded her eyes from the gritty dust being kicked up from the long poles dragging before her. The blistering sun beat down, cracking her lips, parching her throat. She swallowed with difficulty. Her steps slowed, putting distance between herself and the travois.

She’d always thought of herself as a trooper. Had never complained when her digs had brought her to remote places without water or electricity. Working long hours was part of her nature. But nothing had prepared her for the endless days of walking, of hauling countless bags of water, of sleeping under the sky, with nothing but a bunched-up blanket for her pillow and the hard ground for her bed.

Mothers with babies strapped to their backs, walked effortlessly and chatted with those around them. Children scampered about with the dogs, and Gabrielle wondered where they all got the energy.

She could feel Two Moons' gaze on her back. An imaginary rope tugged at her shoulders beckoning her to turn around, pulling her toward him. He was always in the background watching her. Did he think she was going to run away? To where? She dug her fingers into her palm. What did he want? He never stopped the women from pushing or ordering her around. Other than at night when he lay next to her, he barely spoke to her.

Yet at times when those around her treated her poorly, she thought she caught glimpses of anger in his eyes. Was his anger directed at her, or toward the others?

She tilted her head to one side and stole him a glance. He sat tall and proud in his saddle. The wind brushed long strands of his black hair away from his face. The notched and beaded eagle feather wrapped in his hair reminded Gabrielle of Roy's earring.

Dark eyes studied her keenly. Gabrielle’s cheeks flushed. Damn sun was too hot! She wiped her arm across her brow. Then, with hurried steps, she caught up with the rest of the column and focused her attention on the long line of men, women and children parading before her.

 

****

 

From his spot beneath the tree, Two Moons watched Blue Eyes drag the lodge poles from the travois, watched as she struggled to carry them, dropping them to the ground at her feet. No one offered their hand. No one would, until she proved herself worthy. He knew this. But it did not stop the tightening of his gut, as woman after woman walked by ignoring her. Buffalo Calf Woman yelled and gave her a shove. He thought for moment Blue Eyes might protest, but it seemed she did not have the strength. For the last three days, she had not had a moment's rest.

They called her witkowin, crazy woman, she who is afraid of pet wolf. The words burned in his heart. She had surprised him by running into his arms. The strong sense of wanting to comfort her, of happily sheltering her in his arms had caught him off guard. She had thought he had found her fear funny. Maybe it was better that way. The blade in his hand pressed heavily against his palm. The whites were his enemy and she chose to be white. It would be best if he remembered that.

“Hau Kola.” Shadow Elk stepped into the shade of the tree.

“Hau Kola,” Two Moons replied.

“That is a fine-looking arrow you are working on.”

Two Moons placed his knife down on the rock beside him and brought his arrow to his eye, looking it over for any curves or flaws. “Yes. It will fly straight and true to its mark.”

“That it will, my brother. You have done fine work.”

Extending his arm before him, Two Moons placed the arrow down against his arm to measure its length. Satisfied when it reached from his elbow to the tip of his little finger, he picked up the two pieces of sandstone that rested beside him. Pressing the stones together with the fingers of his free hand, he slowly twisted and pulled the shaft of his arrow through the center hole he had formed with the two grooved stones. Fine shavings of wood fell into his palm.

“I find it takes many suns to smooth down that rough bark till it is the way you like it. Is that not so?” Shadow Elk asked.

Two Moons blew the shavings away, turned his head and glanced at Shadow Elk. Although his friend's words were directed to him, Shadow Elk's attention was on the four women standing in a circle in the clearing a short distance before them. Two Moons watched as the women turned. Chattering among themselves, they glanced over at Blue Eyes, who was having difficulty balancing the lodge pole upright and placing it into position.

“Do not let the words of others trouble you, my brother,” Shadow Elk said softly. “With time, the one with the blue eyes will learn and will find her place among us.”

Two Moons glanced back at his friend. “For three nights now I have had to listen to my mother's talks that Blue Eyes knows nothing of the women's work. She is a Crow. Their work is the same. Is that not so?”

“Yes.” Shadow Elk frowned. “So I think maybe it is because of her white family she has chosen the white mans' ways.”

Two Moons shook his head. “I want to believe that is not so, but I fear you are right. I do not understand this. Look,” he nodded in her direction. “She does not eat. Already she grows thin.”

“I have heard that the pale women sit around making music and have their men feed them.” Shadow Elk grinned, then nudged Two Moons' side. “Perhaps she likes nothing more than to play games. Has she sung for you?”

Two Moons rapped his friend's shoulder with his arrow. Ducking, Shadow Elk feigned a look of grievance then winked. “I wager she sings a sweet tune, if you but know where to touch.”

“You, my good friend, best keep your thoughts to your own woman and not concern yourself with mine,” Two Moons answered in jest. He slid down off the rock. Blue Eye's cry caught his attention. He glanced over to see her staring down at her hand.

His mother ordered her to pick up the wood that lay scattered at her feet and to place it by the fire. Blue Eyes just stared in silence.

Two Moons dropped his unfinished arrow into the quiver at his side and casually began to stroll in the women's direction.

Shadow Elk followed. “I have angered you?”

Two Moons glanced to the man beside him. “Nothing you could ever say would anger me. You are my brother. If not for you I would still be rotting in some white man's cage. Your face was a welcome sight that day in the soldiers’ walled village.”

Two Moons stopped abruptly and placed his hand on his friend's arm.“I owe you my life.”

“I would gladly give up my life for yours.” Shadow Elk replied. “When the spirits tells us, you and I will go back to Long Hair Custer and his blue coats who hide at the fort. We will get our revenge.”Anger lit his friend's eyes. The cutting edge of hatred filled his voice.

Shadow Elk's face clouded with uncertainties. “The scars, have they healed?” he asked, concerned. “I can have Chahanpi rub some salve on them, unless you had thoughts of another's hands on your back?”

Two Moons glanced at Blue Eyes. “You, my friend, have thoughts for only one thing. I think you'd best marry Chahanpi with great haste.”

Her arms now laden with wood, Blue Eyes failed to notice the rock in front of her. His stride quick, Two Moons moved closer. He caught her before she hit the ground. The wood, spilled over his arms with a rolling thud. The women turned, watching as he gathered her up into his arms. He glared at them. Let them all talk. He turned on his heels and carried her away.

She gave him no resistance and wrapped her arms around his neck in fear of falling. He would never let her fall. Carrying her to his lodge, he nudged open the flap with his shoulder and walked inside. Kneeling, he sat her down on his bed of buffalo skins. A streak of dirt smudged the side of her nose and cheek. The urge to wet his finger and wipe that mark away, made his hand itch.

He reached over and picked a small twig from her knotted hair. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. Her silence and lifeless stare made his heart heavy. He would rather feel her claws upon his chest than see the defeat in her pale blue eyes.

He straightened and glanced to his backrest for his carry bag. Seeing the parfleche hanging there, he walked over, opened the leather flap, and reached inside. The clean white cloth in hand, he bent down, picked up the water bag by his feet and returned to her side. Kneeling once more, he unlaced the bag and dipped the cloth into the tepid water. She tensed as the cloth touched her cheek.

Through half-opened lids she watched him. His eyes riveted on hers, he gently wiped the grime from her neck and shoulder. Already, his body anticipated what his eyes did not see and he became aroused. Slowly, he pushed aside the cloth from her other shoulder exposing her skin. His heart began thumping like a played drum, increasing its rhythm with each inch he moved the cloth downward.

Hesitating, he stared into the space beyond her. He had traveled this dangerous path before. Would it be wise to do so again? He knew her body too well. Knew every curve. Knew how soft she would feel beneath his hands and how that softness would make him hard and ache to hold her close. His body begged him to take her. Every day watching her had been torturous. Every day the battle between his body and his mind exhausted him. His silent vow haunted him. She was his slave to do with as he pleased; yet he would not take her against her will.

When she worked alongside the other women his eyes were on her and her alone. He had noticed the way her hips swayed when she walked and the movement of her breasts under that thin cloth she wore. Every time she bent down and he saw her shapely legs, he longed to kiss the hollow spot in the back of her knees. Never had a woman had such an effect on him.

With great care he slowly slid the cloth over her collarbone, then down to linger at the swell of her breasts. His fingers quivered. A heat spread to his groin, an intense surge of desire that would grow until he ached with a hardness he knew would be impossible to stop. He had but to leave, just leave-

Her eyes flew open. She grabbed his wrist, stopping his movements. “Ouch.” Her cry, a bare whisper, was like an arrow piercing his heart. Hastily she withdrew her hand. He caught it. For an instant her eyes widened with alarm and his only desire for the moment, was for her not to fear him.

****

 

A moment's panic sliced through Gabrielle. Not from the man who held her hand tightly in his, but from the awakening of feelings she had long ago buried away. Feelings that had died at the altar when her fiancé, Robert, had left her standing there. She had vowed to never trust men, to never let herself fall victim to their desires, to shield herself from hurt and betrayal.

“Takomni wacinmayaye yo.”

Her pulse beat erratically at the sound of his voice. She wished she could understand what he was saying.

She trusted him. Somehow she knew deep down in her heart she would be safe with him. A feeling of deja vu, as if they had shared this moment once before, overwhelmed her.

He bent his head, brought her hand closer and examined her finger. He glanced to his hip, drew out his knife, then glanced up at her. Her heart pounded but not from fear. Drawn into the deep, endless darkness of his eyes, she was vaguely aware of the slight scraping sensation on her skin as the tip of his knife gently picked at the splinter.

He had the most sensual eyes, compelling, magnetic; and his face- “I'd love to sculpt that handsome face of yours.”

The words came out in a rush, slicing the tension in the air-shattering the silence. It didn't matter. What did he understand? Not much. “And those perfectly formed lips-God, you have great eyes.”

She studied his face, imagining the feel of his high cheekbones beneath her fingers. She knew just how she'd mold that proud square jaw line, how she'd create those thin lines of age around his eyes and-

The warmth of his lips against her finger, fanned her growing need. She drew in a sizzling breath as he opened his mouth, placed her finger inside and sucked.

“Please… “The heat of his mouth, like the flick of a match on its cover brought an instant fire to her limbs. “Don't,” she begged, slightly light-headed.

She couldn't think straight. Didn't want to. Knew she should.

“No, I… “She swallowed dryly. … Shouldn’t. The silent word echoed in her head.

He released her finger and leaned closer. She could almost feel his lips upon hers. A shiver of anticipated excitement rippled through her. She closed her eyes.

Outside the drums beat wildly-as did her heart.

A second passed-an eternity. She remained absolutely motionless and held her breath. Waiting. Hoping…

Nothing happened.

Gabrielle's eyes flew open. An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks when she realized he had changed his mind. She watched as Two Moons jerked his body away, stood up in a frenzied wave of motion, and with long purposeful strides, headed outside.

 

****

 

“Bring me a bottle of the White Man's whiskey,” Two Moons demanded to Chahanpi who stood by the fire stirring the steaming broth. Too surprised to do anything more than nod, she turned, not waiting for an explanation. He knew what she was thinking. Firewater was the white man's bad magic. His father had told him that as a boy. He himself had said the same many times when others had downed the fiery liquid during their celebrations.

He watched as she disappeared inside a lodge, then came out hiding the bottle in the folds of her skirt.

“She does not sleep well at night,” he explained when she reached his side. Neither did he. Two Moons frowned and glared at Chahanpi. Why should he care if Blue Eyes was exhausted, or try to help? She was the same as every pale face, he had met who said one thing and meant another. No, she had said. But her telling stare had spoken differently, confusing him.

Chahanpi cast her eyes downward, but not before he saw the amusement in her gaze. They all thought Blue Eyes' lack of sleep was his fault, he thought with cynicism. Little did they know.

She handed him the bottle.

Two Moons crossed his arms before him. “You see that she drinks it.”

“I will bring her some fresh clothes?” Chahanpi asked, searching his eyes for an answer.

“Bring her what you want. It matters not to me.”

He glanced to his lodge where he knew Blue Eyes sat wondering why he had left like the twisted winds. He had come too close to giving in to the hunger that still burned in his loins. But her words had said “stop,” and he had vowed never to force himself on an unwilling woman.

He glanced toward his sister’s lodge. Gentle Fawn, the reason he could not quench his thirst for Blue Eyes. His thoughts strayed to that horrible night when his sister, wracked by gut wrenching cries, had fallen asleep on his lap. That night he had seen the scars a man’s unwanted advances could leave. He could not forget what Hay O Wai, Yellow Hair, had done to his sister. Now a half-bred child lived among them. Now his sister lived in shame.

Abruptly Two Moons turned his gaze back to Chahanpi who stood silently observing him. A faint smile touched her lips. Was his attraction to Blue Eyes so apparent? Did the entire village think him a fool?

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he questioned harshly. “See that she gets cleaned up.”

A stab of guilt attacked as he watched Chahanpi scurry toward his lodge. He shouldn't have taken his anger out on her. It wasn't her he was angry with.

The scars still raw upon his back, how could he forget what the Long Knives had done to him and his family. He closed his eyes, recalling the father who no longer walked this earth. Many moons had passed and still the memory so fresh and vivid, filled his mind as thick and heavy as the clouds of dust had filled his eyes that day. In every battle he now fought, with every blast of the white man's stick of fire, he was instantly back to that day, hearing the lead whistling overhead as bullets tore through the poles of the lodges. The screams of the women as they frantically gathered their children in their arms still drummed in his ears.

He had stood in the midst of his burning village, watching his friends and those he loved dying around him. In the confusion that followed, he saw his father mounted on his big gray war pony, riding toward him, calling his name, telling him to run with the other children and hide. It had only been when the bullets pierced his father's back that he had had the courage to move. It had been only then, standing over his father's body, that he had realized his father was dead. It was then that he, a child of ten summers, had sworn a vengeance on all those that were not of his people.

Two Moons stopped pacing and opened his eyes. The sun sat low behind his lodge. Blue Eyes was not of his people. It would be best he remembered that. Still…

He could not let any harm come to her. Screams of frustration stuck in the back of his throat. If she were not his Spirit Woman, he should send her back to her people. He did not need her here to tempt him with her womanly curves. Yet, if she was the woman in his vision, she should be treated not as a slave, but with honor. How was he to know the truth?

He clenched his jaw in silent determination. He would not let the people of his village think Blue Eyes crazy as they did his sister. If he had to put aside his hatred for the white man's tongue and speak to Blue Eyes, he would do so; he would give in to the white man's ways this once, if for nothing more than to tell Blue Eyes what was expected of her. This he would have to do.

It was time she knew his secret.