Chapter Twenty-One

The screech of a night hawk, along with the constant howling of the wind, added an eerie quality to the night. Carolyn pulled the buffalo robe more tightly around her and stared off to her left, where she had heard a branch break…and tripped over a tree limb, falling face forward.

Darn! She should have been watching where she was going. Luckily, the robe cushioned her fall, and she was able to hold back her cry. But not the wetness on the ground. Rain-soaked earth met every exposed inch of her body.

And Lone Arrow, who had swung back around, crept toward her. He said, “I have never known anyone to have more accidents than you.”

Was there humor in his voice? Yes, there was, but this time Carolyn did not object.

Indeed, grabbing a handful of mud and twig-filled dirt, she waited until he was close enough to her. Then she let him have it.

In reaction, he chuckled. And picking up a twig or two himself, he came down onto his haunches beside her, where he proceeded to drizzle them into her hair.

“Oh! Not the hair,” she said, reaching up to comb her fingers through her tresses. But it was useless. One by one, Lone Arrow kept dropping twigs and bits of dirt upon her.

“All right, all right,” she said. “I give up.”

“Give up what?” he asked, grinning at her. Then pulling his features into a straight face, he asked, “Do you give yourself up to me?”

“Hardly.”

“Does ‘hardly’ mean yes or no?”

“It means a very hardy no.”

“Éeh, I see. Then perhaps I should continue to shower you with sticks, maybe even some dirt until you do decide to become one with me.”

These were heady words, and staring up at him, she asked, “Do you really want that?”

He did not answer. Instead, he grabbed hold of her under the elbow and, helping her to her feet, he said, “Come, we will get too wet sitting here on the ground. There is a better place where we can say what we must to one another.”

Carolyn made no objection as he helped her to her feet, although she did notice that he appeared to take pains to keep from touching her.

“Come,” he said, releasing his hold on her, and with that, he turned away.

He guided her only a little way into the forest and soon they came upon a small clearing, where several large timbered pieces of wood littered the ground. In the distance were the familiar shapes of their horses, hobbled and munching the wild, mountain grasses. Closer were several large logs.

Upon reaching a particularly bulky one, he said, “Dihchisshih, rest here on this tree trunk.”

And she sat. As she settled herself into a comfortable position, he perched himself upon the log as well, placing his legs over each side of it so that he was sitting facing her. Without further ceremony, he began, “There is much that we should say to one another. Let me begin by telling you a little about my people.”

She acknowledged him with a quick motion of her head.

And he paused. “The Absarokee are a tribe of clans. Did you know that?”

She shook her head.

“Ho! Now, biilápxe, the one who joined us this day,” he said, “as I have mentioned, is from my father’s clan. He is my father’s brother’s child.”

“I see,” she said. “Then he’s a cousin.”

“He is my father, or biilápxe,” he emphasized. “I think that the white man has a hard time understanding this kind of relationship. Some white people I have known have called these men by the name of clan uncles, and maybe we should call him this, so that you will be able to understand it better. Will that be easier for you?”

“I don’t know.” Carolyn frowned, trying to follow this line of thinking. But no matter how much easier he tried to make it for her, it was still difficult to grasp. She said, “We could try that. Perhaps calling your…ah…friend by the name of an uncle would be simpler for me.”

He nodded. “There is more that you should know about this, also. In the Absarokee tribe, a child always belongs to his mother’s clan. And to his mother’s clan a child must give nothing but respect to his fathers and mothers, or as you might think of them, clan uncles and aunts. It is believed that by doing this, by showing respect and fidelity in this way to his uncles and aunts, a person will be in better harmony with the rest of the tribe. And if a person is in harmony with his tribe, he will be better able to control his environment, and from that, all of life.”

Carolyn tilted her head to the side. “I see,” she said. “That’s interesting.”

He nodded. “But this is only how one treats a member of his mother’s clan. To his father’s clan, a child is expected to tease and to be teased by any member of it. And no matter what is said or done, a child is taught to endure it; to laugh, along with the others.”

“Goodness!” she said. “But what if the teasing is rough or crude? Like it was today?”

Lone Arrow raised his shoulders casually. “Our cultures—yours and mine—have some differences, I think, but try to understand. It is believed that it is a good thing to be able to brave anything. If a man can do this, he can live a life that is free. If he cannot or is unwilling to face anything, he will be haunted by shadows. And so it is in this way that a man, or a woman is expected to abide the jokes and the teasing of his father’s clan, no matter what is said, no matter what is done.”

“But—”

He held up his hand. “It is assumed that such teasing makes a person think, which makes him strong. It is also how a wayward child is taught the difference between what he should and should not do.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

“So you see,” he went on to say, “this joking relative is a very important part of Absarokee life.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I think I understand this. But let me be certain. Your father…ah, your uncle—or the one you call, biilápxe—is from your father’s clan?”

Lone Arrow flicked the index finger of his right hand down, twisting his hand at the same time, the sign for “yes.”

“My father, or biilápxe, was also making me think.”

“Making you think of me, is that it?”

“Perhaps.”

She bristled at the thought and said, “Not that we are truly married or anything, but was he trying to make you question why you would want to marry me?”

Lone Arrow shook his head. “Perhaps, but do not feel slighted. It is his way of ensuring that I consider consequences. He was making a point; trying to induce me to ponder, to think about whether I was marrying you only because you are white. And if this were true, he was trying to coax me into reflecting upon this a little more.”

“And were you only interested in marrying me because I am white?”

Lone Arrow did not hesitate so much as a second before he answered, “Baa-lee-táa, no.”

She let out her breath, unaware until she did so that she had been holding it. She asked, “What did your uncle mean when he said that you would have to explain yourself to your fathers and mothers? I’m assuming that means your aunts and uncles?”

Lone Arrow nodded.

“Will they be upset because you have married me?”

Lone Arrow faltered for a moment, as though he might be deliberating over something. Then, as though he had come to a decision, he said, “They might be angry at first, for they will not understand what I have done. But they will not keep anger in their hearts, not after they meet you.”

Carolyn bit her lip, glancing obliquely at him. She said, “I wouldn’t be so certain.”

“I am.”

She held her peace, but only for a moment before she observed, “This means, however, that you are expected to take a Crow wife?”

“Maybe several years ago, this might have been true,” said Lone Arrow, “but when I failed to find anyone I wished to marry, my aunts and uncles stopped asking me about it, stopped teasing me about it.”

“I see,” she said, then added, “But might they still expect you to marry someone from within the tribe?”

He nodded. “It is possible.”

“Hmmm…” she mumbled, resigned. “Then this is another reason why we should not—”

He held a finger to her lips, and dutifully, she let the rest of the sentence trail away.

But she did feel obliged to point out, “There would be disappointment.” It was no question.

“No, my aunts and uncles would come to understand, and they would be happy that I am happy.”

“Would they?” she asked, not really expecting an answer to the question. She crossed her arms over her chest, much as Lone Arrow was doing as he sat before her, and she went on to say, “There is one more thing.”

After a brief bob of his head, she continued, “What did your…ah, clan uncle mean when he said, ‘because of who you are, you will be expected to marry as determined’?”

Lone Arrow shrugged, but did not answer.

And she waited…in vain. At last, she asked, “Who are you?”

That made him smile. “You know who I am.”

She shook her head slowly, saying, “I do and I don’t.”

His face appeared unusually somber, and after a brief pause, he said, “I am the one who led you to the treasure cave once before; I am the same one who is doing so again. I am also the one who has been your husband.”

“I…I—”

“And I am also a man who misses the warmth of she who has been his wife. It has been my desire to hold this woman in my arms, at least one last time.”

These words, the intention behind them, sent a shudder racing over her. Did Lone Arrow have any idea what this sort of talk did to her?

However, the only response she made was to give him a look that she hoped appeared unconcerned. After a moment, she said, “Why did you tell your clan uncle that we were married?”

He hesitated. “Because,” he said, “at the time, it was true.”

“But it wasn’t,” she denied. “Hadn’t you told me that we could start again, perhaps have only a romance?”

He inclined his head.

“Well, if that were true, then why did you tell your clan uncle that I am your wife?”

“Because,” he answered, “until you give me your answer, that is exactly what you are.”

“Oh,” she said. She hadn’t thought of it in that way. “But I am not—”

“And I would like you to be that to me again.”

Whatever protest she had been about to utter, died on her lips.

What was happening to her? With those few simple words, her insides twisted, and she realized that her mouth was gaping open.

She took a deep breath and closed her mouth. Had Lone Arrow had a change of heart? Is this what he meant?

She hesitated to ask, half afraid of the answer. Yet she wanted to know, and inwardly she debated over what to do. Finally, however, she questioned, “Lone Arrow, do…do you mean that you have changed your ideas about marriage? That you want only one wife?”

When he did not reply at once, she swallowed the knot in her throat. And just as easily as it had come, her optimism began to fade. Still, she waited.

And, after a time, he uttered, “Let me say this. I do not know why the First Maker has brought us together, for our ideas on life are too different, one to the other to be compatible. Still, we are connected in a manner that I do not understand. At first, I thought this was all there was to it…to whatever it is between us. Know that I have come to realize that there is more to what I feel for you than even this.”

Did he love her? Was this what he was saying?

But he was continuing to speak, and he said, “Know that I am no more than a man. And although I cannot tell you exactly what is in our future, I can promise you that I desire you at this moment. There is even more to it than this, for I wish you great happiness. Know also that it is I who aspires to be the one to provide this for you.”

“Do you?”

He inclined his head, adding, “Are these not the things that should draw two people together? Are these not the principles upon which a strong union is forged? We are lucky in many ways, I think, for some people never have even this.”

Carolyn paused, not moving so much as an inch. These were fine concepts, fine words he spouted, yes, and she had no quarrel with them. But, at the same time, she realized that he had skirted around the question most dear to her heart. Ultimately, she started to say, “But—”

“Ho!” He cut her off. “Regardless of what we think of each other’s notions of marriage, is this not enough for us to build a life together?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came to her.

Looking up, she cast him a quick glance as he sat before her. It wasn’t fair. The moon was painting him in shadows of grey and silver, and he looked too desirable, seemed too magnanimous. What was more, her convictions were becoming too bendable. It was as though the very forces of nature were conspiring against her.

Inhaling, she caught the aroma of his musky fragrance, which only added to the cacophony of her thoughts. And beneath her, the log upon which she sat felt more solid than it had only a few moments ago, and she realized that her senses had become acutely attuned to the world around her.

Was it because of him? Was it because of the heightened affinity between them? Whatever it was, Carolyn’s resolve thawed a little.

But maybe it was for the best. In the last few minutes, there were two things that had become clearer to her. One was the raw strength of the love she felt for this man; the other was an intense awareness that he, too, had feelings for her.

Was that enough to overcome the barriers between them? Not quite, she told herself.

And yet in the last eight and one-half years, while she might not have been aware of her feelings for Lone Arrow, there had never been another man in her life. Why not?

Carolyn glanced skyward, noticing without really seeing that the storm which had threatened in the distance had moved on; that the multitude of stars and the moon, which shone straight above her, had effectively taken over the midnight sky. She inhaled deeply, more than aware of the humidity in the air which filled her lungs. Hoping against hope, she thought that the breath she took might give her a few moments in which to think.

But it was not to be.

Gazing up at him, she took note that he sat silently, watching her. And although his arms were folded over his chest, although he did not touch her, he might as well have been holding her in his arms. For she was more than aware of him…in a sexual way.

Clearing her throat, she began, “Lone Arrow, you compliment me, I think.”

He remained silent, not making so much as a single movement.

And she went on to say, “For many people, what we have would be reason enough for marriage.”

He nodded.

“But not for you and me, I think,” she said. “As you say, there are too many differences between us. And I don’t simply mean that you are Indian and I am not. There is a great divergence in the way we think. There is one thing that I could not forgive, and you know what that is.”

“But you might think differently,” he argued, “when you become aware of the amount of work that would be expected of you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Yet as though he hadn’t heard her, he said, “You are good friends with Pretty Moon. What if she were one of my wives? You would still like her, would you not?”

“I…no. Besides, there is more to it than this, and you know it.”

He did not say a word.

And she uttered, “Understand me well. As you desire to change me, so, too, would I desire to change you. And you must admit that this is not the way in which to enter into a marriage. Perhaps it is because I do love you that I feel we must not take that step. In truth, I have no desire to change you. Not really. I love you as you are. But because I do love you does not mean that I could live with you.”

He did not utter a word for several moments. Alas, all he did was reach out a hand to touch her, his fingers softly caressing her cheek.

When at last he did speak, he said, “You are so wise, so beautiful, in spirit as well as in body. Know that I would not seek to change you in any way.”

He would not? Truly? Despite herself, she melted.

But he was continuing to speak, and he said, “Know that I would do all I could to remain with you and only you all of my life. But I cannot promise you this.”

It was the last sentence that broke the spell. And all she could think of to say was, “I know.”

After a time, she started to add, “It is why I think that we should—”

Again he brought that finger to her lips, and he said, “Do not speak it. To say the words might make it so.”

Bending toward her, he brought his forehead next to hers, and he said, “To say the words would be as to take away all hope.”

She groaned. “Never,” she whispered, “never would I want to do that.”

“I know,” he said, and then softly, so very softly, he murmured, “If we must part, as you say we must, then I think that we should do so with a kiss.”

A kiss?

Dear Lord, no, she thought. Not a kiss. A kiss might strengthen his cause, might weaken hers.

But as though the forces of nature were, after all, conspiring to seduce her, the moon lit Lone Arrow’s countenance in silky, gossamer-like beams. He looked so good, so masculine, so virile, and she was so very much in love with him.

Her defenses crumbled. Why did she keep up this fight? After all, it seemed so pointless, especially when his face was close to hers—so very, very close. And the wind kept whispering at her, seeming to tell her that it would take nothing on her part, nothing at all, to bridge the distance between them.

But there were reasons—good reasons, she reminded herself—why she had to stand firm, and at the last minute, when he would have kissed her, she turned her head away from him. His lips met the hollow of her cheek.

It should have been nothing. It should have done nothing to her. She would have been a fool, however, if she believed that.

With his touch, cascades of longing swept through her, and she shut her eyes as overwhelming waves of passion overtook her. Still, she swallowed, trying to count off the reasons why she should hold herself back from this man. But like a frightened shadow in the night, her well-thought out justification fled beneath the brightened aura of Lone Arrow’s nearness.

His face swam closer to her, so close that when she breathed, she inhaled his intoxicating, musky scent.

And then he ran his lips over her cheek, her chin, her ear, his tongue nuzzling her there. In a heartbeat, raw hunger filled her soul, and her body turned to putty. Alas, like a sun-starved flower, she tilted up her face toward him in silent invitation.

Raising up slightly, he glanced down at her, and as he did so, she espied the yearning which burned there within the depths of his eyes. And with that recognition, her stomach dropped and exhilaration filled her being.

Slowly, his head descended toward her. Slowly, as though each moment dragged by, she awaited the touch of his lips upon hers.

Truly, she barely dared to breathe, so that when at last, his lips touched hers, she shivered with need. In the next instant, his breath mingled with hers, and with it, she became lost to the power of him.

It was a simple enough kiss, and yet not. The reality of it said that it should have been no more than lips touching, caressing, loving. And yet, it was so much more. More, because surges of pure joy swept over her being.

He shifted position so that he became a little separated from her, and though the movement was infinitesimal, she felt immediately bereft.

So it was that when he lifted his head to stare down at her, she collapsed against him. She let out a brief sob, realizing the futility of it all. One kiss was not enough. It was simply not enough.

Kiss me again, she pleaded silently as she gazed up at him.

And as surely as one day follows upon another, Lone Arrow reached out for her, bringing his head down to hers, repeating the caress.

She sighed against him, scooting forward and entwining her arms around his neck. It was as though she had been awaiting this moment all her life. And although something within her demanded that she protest, “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she kissed him back, giving him everything that was in her to give.

And he accepted it all. In truth, he accepted her.

At some point, she mumbled, “I love you,” against his lips.

She felt the quiver which ran through his body. Felt his hard muscles against her as he took her in his arms, and she heard him say, “I know.”

Nothing more; nothing less. And yet, those two words had the effect of telling her all she wanted to hear.

She surrendered…