Savage Hero (11 page)

“I hope that Night Horse will get well soon,” Mary Beth murmured.

Pure Heart placed a gentle hand on Mary Beth's face. “Brave Wolf sees something in you that is special,” she murmured. “So does his mother, even though I never thought I could see goodness in any white eyes. They are takers. They are selfish. Thanks only to the efforts of my husband and Brave Wolf, thus far the white eyes have not taken from our Whistling Water Clan of Crow.”

“I understand your feelings, even though it was people of your color who took my husband's life,” Mary Beth said, swallowing hard. “I know that there is good and bad in whites,
and
Indians. I'm glad to know that I am among a good people. I do so appreciate your kindness toward me.”

“I must go now,” Pure Heart said. “My son's time at the sweat lodge should be almost over. I want
to be in my tepee when he is brought back.”

“Thank you so much for the dress,” Mary Beth said. “And . . . for not seeing me as the enemy.”

“Anyone with such a beautiful smile and such softness in her voice could surely be no one's enemy,” Pure Heart said. She patted Mary Beth's cheek, turned, then stopped and looked back at Mary Beth. “I am called Pure Heart.”

“I am called Mary Beth,” Mary Beth said, delighted that she had made such a friend in Brave Wolf's mother!

Pure Heart nodded, smiled, then turned again and left the tepee.

Still marveling over what had just transpired, Mary Beth held the dress out before her. She sighed at its loveliness and at the generosity of its giver. She had two special allies . . . Brave Wolf and his mother!

Yes, she was happy about how things were and she was glad to have the beautiful dress. She threw off the ugly breeches and shirt and replaced them with the pretty white doeskin dress.

She ran her hands down the front, around the beautiful beaded designs, and sighed at the softness of the doeskin. Feeling how prettily it hung on her body, she smiled. She wondered how Brave Wolf would see her.

She didn't have any longer to wonder about it. Her pulse raced when Brave Wolf came into the tepee, stopped, and gazed admiringly at her.

Oh, Lord, the longer she was with this man, the more she cared for him.

Now that she trusted him and knew that he was not married, she could allow herself to feel things for him that she had never felt for any other man.

When he stepped up to her and gently drew her into his arms, she allowed it.

“
Mitawin
, woman, I cannot help having feelings for you,” he said huskily. “There is so much goodness in you . . . so much love.”

He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face so that their eyes met and held. “My heart tells me to kiss you,” he said thickly. “Will you allow it?”

The way he asked her, and the passion in his eyes, made her want him to kiss her so badly, yet she knew that it was wrong. Her husband had been dead for only a short while. And David. She should be concerned only about David, not her own selfish needs.

Afraid of where even one kiss might lead them, Mary Beth felt that she had no choice but to step away from him. She fought the pounding of her heart, the longing she felt for him, and sat down on the pelts.

She forced her eyes to gaze into the fire, not at him. She knew that if she gazed up at him again, all thoughts but those of being with him would be swept away.

She would go to him.

She would melt into his arms.

There would be such magic in his kiss.

She knew she must fight against this need,
against the wondrous feelings that being in his arms had stirred.

She knew, as well, that it was not right at this time to ask him to search for David. It would not be right to deny him one thing and then suddenly ask for another.

For several moments, there was only a strained silence between them.

Oh, surely he heard the throbbing of her heart.

Oh, surely he felt the passion that was flowing between them!

But surely he now also felt a deep rejection.

She scarcely breathed as she waited for him to speak . . . or to leave.

Understanding why a white woman might be afraid to show her true feelings for a red man, knowing that in her world it was forbidden, Brave Wolf gazed at Mary Beth for a moment longer, then left the lodge.

Mary Beth dropped her face into her hands and wept for a man she knew she shouldn't want; for a son captured by warriors she knew were nothing like Brave Wolf; and for herself. How she missed her husband, even though she had never loved him as a woman should love a husband.

At this moment, she ached for arms around her, to comfort her, and not just any man's. She ached for Brave Wolfs!

“What have I done?” she sobbed, for she feared her rejection might have turned Brave Wolf into her enemy.

She felt a chill race across her flesh. She looked
over her shoulder and saw a robe lying half unrolled on the floor. It looked inviting and warm.

Without much thought she reached for it. She turned it in her hands, recalling the bear that had frightened her earlier. This fur looked like it might have come from a bear.

She remembered how Brave Wolf had allowed the bear that crossed their paths to live. But surely bears
were
killed for their warm pelts. The winters were long and cold in Montana.

She ran her hand slowly over it, envisioning Brave Wolf wearing the robe. Smiling, she slipped into it, sighing at its warmth and softness.

She yawned sleepily, stretched her arms above her head, then curled up in the robe by the fire stones that circled the lodge fire. Within moments she had drifted off into the welcome void of sleep.

We were taught to believe
that the Great Spirit sees and hears
everything, and that he never forgets;
that hereafter he will give every
man a spirit-home.

—Chief Joseph

When Brave Wolf returned to his tepee, he found Mary Beth asleep by the fire. He smiled when he saw her asleep in his bear robe, so cozy and beautiful.

He stopped and gazed down at her.

He was touched anew by her loveliness.

And asleep there was such a quiet beauty about her . . . such a soft innocence.

Her hair lay around her head like a splash of sun's glow. Her long, thick lashes rested upon her
cheeks like veils. And her lips, parted only slightly, made him long to kiss her.

Slowly he knelt beside her, so close he could feel her soft breath upon his bare knees. It was hard not to reach out and run a finger across those lips, harder still not to bend low and press his lips to hers.

But he recalled with much regret how she had denied him a kiss only a short while ago. Yet he was not hurt or angry. He understood her denial, without her even explaining it to him.

It was because he was of a different culture . . . a different color.

He was of the people who had taken her husband's life and stolen her son from her. Would she always see her husband's death and her son's abduction when she gazed into Brave Wolf's eyes, even though he'd had no role in either?

Or would she one day allow herself to realize that
he
was of a different breed from those who'd fought upon that battlefield where all white eyes had died, among them her husband?

Was he fooling himself to believe that a small part of her cared for him, no matter the color of his skin? How could he not believe that, when she gazed at him with the look of a woman who felt desire for a man?

When she began stirring, Brave Wolf rose quickly to his feet and sat opposite the fire from her. He did not want to alarm her by staying so close, observing her. He must be patient and hope
that she would soon let down her guard and allow herself to feel . . . to love. . . .

Mary Beth yawned, licked her lips, then slowly opened her eyes.

Just as her eyes caught sight of the fire, and then the walls of the tepee, she was again reminded of where she was, and why.

David sprang quickly to her mind and just as quickly brought tears to her eyes.

She wiped away the tears as she slowly rose to a sitting position. And then she saw Brave Wolf sitting so quiet across the fire from her, his gaze upon her.

In a flash of memory she recalled their last moments together and how she had denied him a kiss. Even worse, she had denied
herself
the kiss.

She was filled with pangs of guilt. Surely he hated her now.

Yet as her eyes held his, she saw no hate, no resentment.

She saw something akin to adoration and knew without a doubt he had fallen in love with her, just as she had with him.

She hated this complication. He was Indian. She was white. She hated that word “forbidden.”

How could something so beautiful be wrong?

Yet she still felt a twinge of guilt over falling in love with him so quickly and never loving Lloyd at all in that special way.

And Lloyd was dead for such a short time!

“Did you get some rest?” Brave Wolf asked, choosing to break the awkward silence.

He could read people well . . . even women, and knew that she was battling many conflicting emotions.

He hoped she would soon win the battle and allow herself to love him. Life was short. When one found a true love, one must act, or risk losing it forever.

“Yes, I feel very much rested,” Mary Beth said, then laughed softly. “I do not even recall falling asleep. It . . . just happened.”

“These past days have taken a toll on you,” Brave Wolf said thickly. “It is only natural that you would seek the solace of sleep.”

She ducked her head so that he would not see a resurgence of tears. “Yes, what I have gone through has been terrible,” she murmured. “I do welcome those moments when sleep takes the memories away, if only for a short while.”

“I have sent many of my warriors out to search for your son,” Brave Wolf said, drawing her eyes quickly to him. “I explained to them that he is a young brave of five winters, and that his hair is how you described it to me . . . the color of wheat. I told them that his eyes are blue like the sky.”

A slight frown creased his brow. “I must tell you that my warriors' reaction to that description was what I expected,” he said. “When I told them of the golden hair and blue eyes, they thought of someone else whose hair and eyes were those colors.”

“Custer,” Mary Beth said, her eyes wavering.

“
Hecitu-yelo
, yes, Custer,” he said, lifting a log and sliding it into the flames.

“Did that truly make a difference?” Mary Beth asked warily.

“Not after I reminded them that this was a child, not a man with a likeness to Custer,” Brave Wolf said. He sighed. “My warriors are even now searching for your son.”

“You did not include yourself in the search,” Mary Beth said, searching his eyes. “Why?”

“I must stay close at hand for my brother in case he takes a turn for the worse,” Brave Wolf said, his voice drawn.

“Then it is not because of me . . . because you thought I might flee if you were not around to stop me?” Mary Beth asked guardedly.

“No, it was not because of that,” Brave Wolf said, his eyes now searching hers. “I was gone long enough during my council for you to leave . . . and you did not. You now understand the dangers of being alone, away from my protection. I am glad that you do.”

“Yes, I do understand, but, Brave Wolf, I wanted to be with those who searched for David,” she said, her voice breaking. “I wanted to be there when my son was rescued, if he
is
rescued. Surely he is terribly frightened without me. The sooner he sees me, the better it will be for him.”

“It is not safe for you to accompany my men on this search,” he explained softly. “You see, it might turn into a raiding party, as it was when you were
rescued from the renegades. It may be necessary to fight to get your son.”

“I hope they can get him without a fight,” Mary Beth said, shivering at the thought of her David being put in still more danger.

“If your son is found, my warriors will do everything within their power to see that he is not harmed,” Brave Wolf said. “Please do not worry. All is being done to save him.”

“Thank you so much,” Mary Beth said, stifling a sob behind a hand. “You have been so kind to me.”

“You do not deserve what fate has handed you,” he said. Then he looked toward the entrance flap when a soft voice spoke from outside it. The words spoken were in Crow, so Mary Beth had no idea what the woman was saying.

“At my request, food has been brought for us,” Brave Wolf said. He rose and went to the entranceway. He held the flap aside as a beautiful young Indian maiden entered. She carried a wooden tray of food. From what Mary Beth could tell, it was a combination of meat, fruit, and bread.

Dancing Butterfly smiled up at Brave Wolf, then walked past him and without a nod or a hello to Mary Beth, acted as though she wasn't even there. She set the tray opposite the fire from Mary Beth, then smiled once more at Brave Wolf and left.

Brave Wolf had seen how Dancing Butterfly had behaved toward Mary Beth and was embarrassed, for both Mary Beth and Dancing Butterfly. His clan's women were normally kind. But he must remember that none of them had seen a white
woman up close, especially one who sat in their chief's lodge.

He knew that a keen resentment toward Mary Beth was running rampant among his people. All knew that he would soon bring a woman into his lodge as a wife. He knew that none would want this wife to be white.

But if he, their chief, did choose a white woman, which he now hoped to do, his people would have no choice but to accept his decision. His word was final in all things.

“I apologize for Dancing Butterfly's rudeness,” he said. He took the tray and placed it beside Mary Beth, then sat down with the tray between them.

“Never has Dancing Butterfly seen a white woman in her chief's lodge,” he explained. “It is something she does not understand, or like. By not speaking to you or looking at you, she was pretending you are not here.”