Captive Bride (51 page)

 
The intrusion of the powerful chief and his braves had a sobering effect on the trappers. Without uttering a word in their defense they fled, leaving Rozalyn to peer gratefully at the gray-haired Arakashe and his warriors.

 
When she had risen from the ground she moved toward the chief, who could not help but admire this comely beauty in the sheer nightgown. Arakashe instantly knew why this white woman had captured Hawk's attention. Her unmatched beauty was as rare as that of the rose and her eyes danced with living fire. For a long quiet moment Arakashe merely stared at Rozalyn, recalling another maiden who had once brought joy to his own heart with her undaunted spirit and pleasing grace. There was no fear in this woman's eyes, only a flickering of inner strength that alerted Arakashe to the fact that Hawk's woman did not cower from catastrophe.

 
"Thank you for your assistance," Rozalyn murmured. "If it were not for you and your braves, I fear I would have met with disaster." She was grateful that it was the Crow who had come to her rescue for she felt she had nothing to fear from Hawk's people.

 
"You will come with us," Arakashe announced. He gestured for one of the braves to bring the riderless paint pony to Rozalyn.

 
At that, a wary frown knitted Rozalyn's brow. Although the chief had saved her from the lecherous trappers, she had serious reservations about traipsing off with these Crow braves. She wondered where Hawk was.

Had he really gone to the Crow village?

 
Rozalyn tilted her chin and refused to budge from the spot. "It is my wish to return to the stockade," she firmly announced.

 
Arakashe's dark eyes danced with amusement. "No harm will come to you, Mitskapa," he assured her.

 
"What do you want with me?" Rozalyn demanded to know.

 
"I have come to speak of the rivalry between your father and my grandson's people."

 
Rozalyn's frown became deeper. What the devil was going on here? If Hawk had sent the chief for her, why hadn't the aging warrior told her so. "Where is Hawk? Have you seen him?"

 
Arakashe nodded affirmatively. "He came to me and I have sent him into the land of Morningstar. When the time is right, I will lead you to him, as he wishes."

"How do I know it was Hawk who sent you?"

 
A low rattle of laughter broke the strained silence. "I am the council chief of the Crow. When Manake was a young boy, living among our people, he followed in my shadow. Even as a mighty warrior he comes to me when his heart is heavy. While he bears the weight of Mother Earth on his shoulders, I have come to take you under my protection." Ever so slowly, Arakashe offered an outstretched hand in a gesture of good will. Then he graced his skeptical companion with a reassuring smile, "Come with me, Mitskapa. You will be safe from harm. It is time you learned the legend of Whispering Falls in the Valley of the Elk."

 
Another superstitious legend, Rozalyn thought cynically. She wasn't certain she wanted to hear another wild tale.
 
The trappers had already filled her head with enough fantastic yarns to last her a lifetime. She didn't want to hear the old chief weave another farfetched story! She wanted to know why her father detested the Baudelairs!

 
When Rozalyn remained rooted to the ground, Arakashe became impatient. Hawk is right, he decided. This stubborn white woman is not easily swayed by gentle words. She will be obedient only when a man proves himself worthy of her trust. But the aging chief was weary for he had lost a night's sleep. Speaking the Crow dialect, he ordered three of his braves to forcefully plant Rozalyn on the back of the paint pony. And they did, but not without meeting with resistance.

 
"I have spoken, Mitskapa," Arakashe told her sharply, reining his steed to the south. "You will come of your own accord or you will be taken by force. The choice lies with you."

 
Rozalyn glared at the chiefs departing back, but when the warriors crowded around her, she reluctantly followed after Arakashe. They rode in silence, past the stockade and along the moonlit trail that led to the Crow camp beside the Yellowstone River.

 
Hawk has done it again, Rozalyn thought acrimoniously. First he had pawned her off on the Sioux and now the Crow. He kept traipsing off and leaving her in the custody of total strangers. Would he be receptive to such treatment if their positions were reversed? Rozalyn doubted it. She brooded over the annoying thought all the way to the village.

 
After being deposited in a wigwam around which guards were posted, she paced the small shelter, mulling over her unsettling thoughts. She was beginning to feel that she was insignificant in Hawk's life, although they had not yet gone their separate ways. He was a living, breathing part of this perilous land, and occasionally, he was struck by the impulse to return to it—alone. Loving her simply wasn't enough to sustain him. It never would be, even if they had a future together, Rozalyn thought sullenly. Otherwise, why would Hawk wander off into the wilderness without her? He wasn't going to, suddenly, change his ways and be content as her constant companion. Maybe it was best that they returned to their own lives, treasuring their memories instead of remaining together until Hawk felt too confined by her and fell out of love. When she was haunted by a maddening craving for adventure, she could turn to Harvey Duncan. Once upon a time that had been enough to satisfy her, but Rozalyn realized it would no longer suffice, not after she had blazed a trail through the Mountains of the Wind. Nonetheless, roaming the streets would be all she could turn to when restlessness overwhelmed her.

 
Perhaps her father's coming was a blessing in disguise. Wouldn't it be easier to leave Hawk while he still loved her than it would to remain by his side and watch his affection wither and die?

 
Pondering those tormenting thoughts, Rozalyn stretched out on the fur robes. As she tossed restlessly, unable to sleep, she decided that loving a man like Hawk was futile. She couldn't win, no matter what the future held.

Chapter 26

 
For three days Rozalyn milled about the Crow camp, feeling like a useless stick of furniture for she was ignored. For endless hours she tried to prepare herself to lose the man who had come to mean more to her than life. She had seen very little of Arakashe after he'd deposited her in his village, and although he came to speak with her occasionally, he never mentioned the legend or Hawk. Instead, his conversation was usually centered around the customs of the Crow. He also spoke of the increasing numbers of Longknives and of the Indian migration to the West.

 
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Rozalyn kicked at the grass, uprooting a clump. How long would she be kept here? she wondered. Until rendezvous? What did Hawk and his grandfather have in mind for her?

 
"You grow restless, Mitskapa," the old chief chortled as he walked up behind her.

 
Rozalyn glanced over her shoulder to see Arakashe holding the lead ropes of two mounts packed with supplies and with her belongings which had been retrieved from Fort Cass. Finally, they were departing from the village. Perhaps now Arakashe would lead her to Hawk and she could obtain some answers. And this time Hawk had better answer her questions. She did not appreciate being treated like a fool, and she had had her fill of secrecy.

 
"The trappers at the fort have shown concern about your absence," Arakashe commented as Rozalyn climbed onto the paint's back. "They long for the day you will join them at rendezvous."

 
"I would have bid them
adieu
, had I been granted the opportunity," she muttered, a' hint of sarcasm in her tone.

 
"You have not been happy of heart among the Crow," the chief surmised. He chuckled softly. "Hawk warned me that you would not be satisfied when you were not in control of your own destiny, but it is now time for you to see the boiling rivers and to offer tributes to the spirits of the springs."

 
When Arakashe leaned across the distance that separated them to offer her a .50 caliber rifle, Rozalyn's jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

 
"Our journey is long, the path dangerous. I would not lay a weapon in the hands of a woman if I were not certain she knew how to use it." The grinning chief pulled himself upright on his steed and shot Rozalyn a sidewise glance. "But my grandson told me you were trained by the master trapper himself. I have no worry that you will accidentally make me your target, Mitskapa."

 
"Do you know Bear-Claw?" Rozalyn asked, nudging her steed into a position abreast of Arakashe's mount.

 
"I have known him for many snows," the old chief admitted, his dark eyes drifting to the craggy peaks that stretched out before them. "There was a time when he lived as one of our people, content with the ways of the free-flying Sparrow Hawk. But many snows have come and gone since the master trapper has ventured into the Yellowstone. Is he well?" Arakashe's sincere gaze drifted back to Rozalyn who nodded affirmatively.

 
"He was when I last saw him two months ago," she informed the chief. "And you have appropriately named him the master trapper, although I doubt that he is as wise as the Crow council chief."

 
Rozalyn wasn't certain why she had blurted out the compliment. She had been standoffish with Arakashe, yet something about the aging warrior compelled respect. She had noticed that the Crow greatly admired their chieftain. Many of the braves sought his counsel regarding their differences, and the gray-haired chief had an aura similar to Hawk's.

 
Arakashe was as startled by the compliment as Rozalyn was at impulsively offering it. "Your words touch my heart, Mitskapa. It is my wish that we make peace." When Rozalyn gave him the first relaxed smile she had managed in three days, Arakashe knew she finally looked upon him as a friend.

 
On their two-day ride through ravines and narrow mountain passes, Rozalyn had been entranced by the spectacular surroundings. To the east rose the Wind River Mountains, their bleached and snowy summits reaching into the clouds. These jagged precipices stretched to the northwest until they melted into the rugged mountains of the Yellowstone. In the valleys between the two imposing mountain ranges lived the Absarkoe, or the Crow, a tribe of tall, powerfully built warriors, whose chief rode with Rozalyn. They had made the rugged journey from the foothills to meet Hawk, but Arakashe had had a dual purpose in mind when he'd chosen this particular path. He had come to the place where Morningstar dwelled to lend credence to the legend of Whispering Falls in the Valley of the Elk. From the headwaters of Green River, onto the western slopes that rivaled the grandeur of the Wind River Mountains, Arakashe had guided Rozalyn, letting her marvel at nature's beauty.

 
Now the old chiefs appreciative gaze drifted to the west side of the mountains. It was cloaked in deep purple for dusk was shading those massive rocks while sharp, bright light glittered on the lofty precipices above them. The chief glanced up at the opposite wall of mountains, which still basked in warm yellow light, and he sighed heavily, entranced by these sights he had seen dozens of times before. The colors made a fascinating contrast, shrouding the summits in a rainbow of breathtaking splendor. In the background were the blue mountains of the upper Yellowstone, extending as far as the eye could see.

 
Smiling at Rozalyn's awestruck expression, Arakashe gestured toward the northwest and began to spin his tale of tragedy. He knew the story would hold this skeptical young woman spellbound for she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the mountains.

 
"It was one evening in summer, the time of the long day when twilight kisses the summits ruled by Morning-star, the Great Spirit of the people of the Sparrow Hawk”. A quiet sigh escaped his lips when he peered back through time to unveil the memories that had long pained his heart. "There was once among us a young maiden the Absarkoe honored with the name of Bitshipe, Rose Blossom. She was neither too short nor too tall. Her waist was trim and her eyes danced with a lively curiosity, much like yours."

 
Rozalyn's sunburned face turned a darker shade of red when the chief offered her the compliment, but she kept silent for she was anxious to hear where his story would lead.

 
"The young men of our village respected Bitshipe. The older ones, who had been on the warpath and had earned the right to take a wife, were eager to take her as their woman. Many horses were offered by each suitor, but the beautiful maiden with hair as dark as midnight refused them all.

 
"Rose Blossom had seen a vision of two men in her dreams. She did not understand its true meaning, but she knew her destiny was tied to both of these men. For that reason she would not consent to any of the braves who approached her. And when these two men appeared in our village Bitshipe's heart was both happy and sad. She feared she was to belong to one man and become the enemy of the other."

 
A muddled frown knitted Rozalyn's brow while she listened to Arakashe relate the legend. Tears misted the old chief's eyes, arid Rozalyn could not help but wonder why the tale evoked such strong feelings in him.