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Aspen stood just outside the entrance to the longhouse, rubbing her arms briskly as the cold winter morning chilled her straight to the bone. She couldn't bear to go back inside - not just yet at least. Bitterness welled up within her throat, stinging the back of Aspen’s eyes. Tears glimmered in her dark eyes although she refused to let them fall.
Without a word, Aspen turned away from the warmth of the longhouse, stepping out further into the frigid morning air. The world was blanketed in fresh snow, the rest of the tribe not yet stirring.
Alone in the dawn, Aspen fell to her knees, tears, at last, flowing freely.
"It should have been me...Oh, my sweet sister, what shall I do? I feel so helpless... There was nothing I could do to prevent your death, but I need to do something now - I must. Your husband should have known better. How could he forget you so soon? They may forget, but I swear to you, I will not."
"He is a fool," a voice directly behind Aspen startled her.
Aspen turned around only to come face-to-face with the tribe's shaman. He was a quiet man, keeping his own counsel. The older of the two brothers, although not the chief, he still held the tribe’s great respect. Aspen's eyes reflected how startled she was as she looked up into the shaman’s finely chiseled features, amazed that such a great man would seek her out, least of all speak with her.
"Your loyalty to your sister is commendable. I am certain you know what you must do. Long Knife will be chief and that woman my brother has taken as his wife is unfit to fill the role of his mother. Aquene will never and can never take the place of your sister. She may be Wyandotte now, but it is Iroquois blood that flows through her veins. She will always be our enemy. Had Raven sought my counsel in the matter, it is you that I would have suggested he marry once the chief’s grief over his wife had abated. I made a mistake in giving him time to grieve. This marriage was done in haste and no good can come of it. Be patient, Aspen. It is only a matter of time until my brother sees the error of his decision. We can only hope it will not be too late when that time comes."
Aspen lowered her eyes as the shaman gently brushed a stray wisp of inky-black hair from her eyes.
'You are a great beauty. The chief is a fool to not see... You know what you must do."
Aspen turned from her sister's grave, her eyes blazing with renewed resolve.
"I will do whatever it takes to honor my sister's memory. Our chief...I won't let him forget his first love."
The shaman's eyes darkened as he watched Aspen return to the longhouse. The first part of his plan was complete.
****
AQUENE AVOIDED HER husband's gaze as she joined the other women near the fire, preparing a breakfast of corn mush. For being Iroquois, she was relieved she had something in common with the Wyandotte women. It wasn't much, but there was something to build on. Aquene wasn't planning on staying longer than necessary but now it was imperative not to raise suspicion.
Small Bird bit her lower lip, her eyes haunted.
"Did your husband treat you badly?" Aquene whispered for Small Bird's ears only as she reached for the dish Small Bird was holding.
"No...that's the problem. If he had been a cruel husband, it would have been so much easier, especially as we are leaving soon."
Aquene frowned, glancing over at the younger woman.
"It is just your hormones speaking this nonsense," Aquene clucked her tongue. "We don't belong here. I am thankful that he was not cruel to you, but you cannot be swayed by this man. Our future is back with our tribe - with my sons."
"Of course," Small Bird couldn't hide the fact that she was flustered as her new husband followed Chief Raven toward the entrance, the tall warrior glancing back at his bride with a tender smile.
"Well he certainly is a charmer and not hard on the eyes, but your husband has not been dead twenty-four hours. Have the courtesy to remain loyal to his memory at least."
Focusing on her fussing infant in an attempt to hide her embarrassment at Aquene's chastisement, Small Bird hummed softly to soothe Strong Oak.
"It could always be worse," Small Bird murmured. "I have a baby in my arms, and that sweet girl brought you...I will be a good mother to her. She is very attached to the baby from what I've seen."
A fist squeezed Aquene's chest mercilessly. Within twenty-four hours she had lost her husband, both of her sons and the new daughter her husband had brought her. So much was taken from her in such a short time and Aquene still hadn't time to grieve her great loss.
Gentle Doe, unaware of the conversation, crouched beside Small Bird as she watched her baby brother snuggled in his new mother's arms. Brushing a gentle kiss on his downy head, Gentle Doe smiled up at the young woman, saying something neither could understand.
Frowning, Gentle Doe realized that they couldn't understand what she was trying to say. Pointing to her chest, Gentle Doe said slowly, enunciating each word.
"Gentle Doe. My name is Gentle Doe."
Small Bird cocked her head slightly trying to grasp the foreign language.
The shaman approached, dark furs hanging from his oiled torso.
He spoke in flawless Iroquois, translating for the women.
"The child is Gentle Doe. She is the daughter of a great chief. You have been chosen to be her mother, Small Bird. The baby in your arms is her brother. They are from the same mother. Your people killed her parents."
"Oh, Gentle Doe..." Small Bird murmured, her compassion genuine. "I didn't know."
Aquene hadn't known the circumstances of how the child had come to be in her village, but she knew her husband enough that he would not have killed an innocent woman just to bring her a daughter - at least she didn't think he would. Chief White Scar had never actually shared details of his raids with his wife and she hadn't asked.
For a moment the shaman watched the myriad of emotions dancing across Aquene’s features, content in the knowledge that neither woman had any inclination that he was their sworn enemy and they would be fools to trust him. He watched for a moment as Small Bird wrapped her free arm around her new daughter before looking away.
Out of the two women, it was Aquene who held the greatest threat to him. Should Chief Raven fall in love with the Iroquois woman, she could turn his heart. Aquene would have his ear like none other and as for Long Knife... No, the shaman was determined not to allow it to get to that point. He couldn't. The fate of the Wyandotte tribe depended on him.
Aquene was silent as she observed the man in their midst, the silence heavy between them. It really didn’t matter what she thought of him, after all, Aquene had no intention of staying longer than she had to. Had the shaman been able to read Aquene's thoughts, their relationship might have started out very differently. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.
Chief Raven stepped out into the blistering wind, the swirling snow a hint that the weather would soon change for the worst.
"A storm is coming," the warrior at his side called out over the howling wind, the weather already taking a turn for the worst.
"They will be fools to try to escape with a storm approaching," Chief Raven pointed out, gesturing toward the forest. "The women will never make it - not on their own."
"My wife will not try to escape," the handsome warrior grinned, his expression cocky which elicited low, rumbling laughter from his elder brother.
"Small Bird has made you a happy man, it seems. Win her love and you will be blessed before the winter winds come again."
"She already makes me very happy. What about you? Have you married well? I know it must be hard, Sweet Song not yet in the grave a week. I was rather surprised Long Knife was so accepting of you taking a stepmother for him this soon after his mother's death."
A muscle clenched in the chief's jaw a moment before he looked away.
"It was Long Knife who insisted her life be spared - and that I take either her or Small Bird as my wife."
The chief’s younger brother frowned, just now realizing how close he had come to marrying a different woman.
"And you chose Aquene..."
"Long Knife chose his mother. It is fate.”