The Darkest Heart (40 page)

There could be no greater betrayal. There
was
no greater betrayal than this. Another woman, another child. His mistress. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. All this time, while she was alone … thinking of him … missing him … waiting for him to come visit her.…

He was with Datiye. With his Apache mistress.

“Candice?” he said uncertainly. Her back was to him, held stiff, and the lack of fireworks truly frightened him.

She turned to face him, her face rigid with control, but he knew she was on the verge of tears, that her control was precarious. Her mouth was turned downward. “I will never forgive you,” she said evenly. “And I demand you take me home now.”

“Candice, I had to take her with me. Soon she’ll be too big to hunt for herself. For the baby’s sake,” he pleaded.

She looked at him with cold contempt. “Don’t hand me those lies. Datiye told me a long time ago that she was your mistress, and I should have believed her, not you. I truly detest you, Jack.” She couldn’t believe this was her—so calm, so controlled. She knew if she let go, she’d sob with all the intensity of a woman with a broken heart. Because that’s what he had done. Broken her heart.

“She’s not my mistress,” he said angrily. “Candice, believe me! Apache men don’t sleep with pregnant women, not from the moment they know the woman has conceived. It’s not done.”

She stared. “Is that so? You sleep with me. You seem to think you’re Apache—after all, you’re fighting with them. But tell me, if she’s not your mistress, then what happened? An immaculate conception?”

“It was that one time,” he said harshly.

She felt weak, dizzy, numb, faint. She turned away.

He watched helplessly, his eyes grim.

Candice closed her eyes, fighting to shove the pain down, deep down inside her, in some secret place. Huge sobs wanted to rise up and choke her. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Will you take me home?”

“No,” he said, and he turned away too.

Candice ignored the stares and obvious speculation as they rode through the Apache village. She was sitting in front of Savage, trying to look indifferent—trying to
be
indifferent. She was numb. But not numb enough not to be stricken with painful grief.

She grimly watched the activity around them, and it was no different from Shozkay’s camp. Women were cooking, mending buckskins, or preparing foodstuffs. Children ran, shouting and playing. Men were cleaning their guns, replacing arrows, sharpening knives and the stone points of spears. She saw the back of one tall man and instantly recognized Cochise. Although it was a cool spring day, he was wearing only thigh-high moccasins, completely plain, and a loincloth that reached almost to his knees. His hair had been shorn. It reached only to the nape of his neck. He turned and immediately saw them.

Jack stopped the black when the tall chief approached.

“Now I understand,” Cochise said, smiling at Candice and then Jack, “why you are gone so many days.”

“I decided her place was at my side,” Jack said easily.

Candice stared boldly at Cochise. He was handsome, and compelling. She realized she was sorry he was on the warpath. And she wondered if he would help her.

“A good choice,” Cochise said. “A woman should be with her man.”

She knew then that he wouldn’t.

‘Welcome, Sun Daughter. I am glad this man has seen his foolish ways. Now perhaps he will stop mooning after a woman and prepare to fight.” Cochise smiled at her and walked away.

Jack nudged the black forward. They had ridden in absolute silence all day. Jack had made several attempts at necessary conversation, such as: “Would you like to stop for a rest?” But Candice had not spoken a word. He was beneath her attention, she had decided, and she intended to ignore him forever, if she could. More important, she was afraid that
if she opened her mouth to speak, great sobs and moans would come out instead of words.

They moved to the outskirts of the rancheria, and Candice recognized Datiye in front of a
gohwah
, doing something with what looked to be the stems of yucca plants. Candice stared at her with pain and jealousy and the beginnings of anger.

Dative was larger than she was, but not much. Everything suddenly dawned on her. The two women were both equally pregnant, so that it was even possible Candice had conceived first. Candice was no fool. She knew the odds of Datiye conceiving from just one night with Jack were minuscule. Of course Jack would tell her he had slept with Datiye before they had discovered each other. She blinked away tears. The more she thought about it—the more she remembered Datiye’s words in Shozkay’s camp and her jealousy—the more she was positive Datiye was and had been his mistress. The pain was unbearable.

Jack slid off, reaching up to help her dismount. Candice ignored him, trying to slide off by herself, but he cursed audibly and pulled her into his arms before setting her down as if she were a china doll. She lifted her nose into the air and spoke distinctly. “Don’t touch me.”

“Candice, he warned.

Datiye rose. There was no mistaking the expression on her face, one of complete dismay and surprise. She came forward. “I worried, you were gone so long,” she said to Jack in Apache.

Jack looked at the two women, who were doing their best to ignore each other. Candice was looking past and through Datiye. Datiye was looking at him. Their neighbors were watching with great interest. It was not an unusual thing for wives to be jealous of each other, and even hate each other and fight—viciously—until their husband grew sick of it and beat one or both of the culprits.

“Datiye, arrange another bed in the
gohwah
. Today Candice will rest, but tomorrow she can help you with your chores.”

Candice turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said calmly. “But I have no intention of helping your whore with anything.”

Datiye seemed stricken, then furious. Jack reached out and grabbed her wrist to prevent her from attacking Candice with her nails. He looked at Datiye, who was waiting for him to defend her. He felt it was the honorable thing to do, but he didn’t want Candice to know that she was considered his second wife. “Datiye is not a whore, Candice. Datiye, there will be no fights between you and Candice. That is my law. There will be peace between you.” He knew that she, at least, would obey him.

Datiye’s look was incredulous.

“I will be very displeased if you do not follow my wishes,” he added.

He hesitated. Candice was bound to find out the rest, and it would be better if he told her himself. She had been looking at him, and now she quickly looked into the woods to avoid his regard. “Candice, when a man provides for a woman and lets her sleep in his
gohwah
, that woman is considered his wife.”

She turned to stare at him disbelievingly.

“Datiye, leave us.”

With an indrawn breath and a hateful look at Candice, she left. Jack was grim. This was never going to work.

“You fornicating bastard sonuvabitch prick,” she hissed. “That whore is also your wife? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I don’t love her,” he gritted. “But it’s my baby, and taking care of her is my responsibility.”

“I want to be alone,” Candice said. How could he do this to her?
How?
Didn’t he know he was breaking her heart irreparably? She couldn’t take any more.

“Candice.” He took her shoulders. “I intend to find Datiye another husband after the baby is born. I swear. Just bear with me. Bear with this. Just for a little while.”

She couldn’t answer. There was no answer to make. She shrugged him off and strode into the
gohwah
. Datiye was there arranging a bed of hides. “Get out,” Candice said.

“Don’t order me around,” Datiye returned, her eyes flashing.

“Get out before I kill you!” Candice shouted, all her frustration and fury spewing.

Jack opened the canvas door. “Come on, Datiye, leave
Candice alone for a while.” He pulled her out. His brow was wet with perspiration.

“I don’t want to sleep with her in there,” Datiye told him rigidly.

He couldn’t take it. “Fine,” he said. “Sleep in the woods for all I care!”

Datiye sat down in a huff, grabbing the basket of yucca stems, rootstocks, and tule shoots. She began sorting them angrily.

“Here,” Nahilzay said from behind him, laughing. “You need this.”

Jack started, then saw the proffered gourd. He took a few heavy drafts of the
tiswin
, wishing it were the stronger
tulapai. “
Christ!” he said, wiping his mouth.

“Forget the white god. You better say some prayers to the
gans.”
Nahilzay grinned. “Maybe the shaman knows a dance to help you.”

“I don’t think prayers will help me through this one,” Jack said. He looked at Nahilzay. “Hey, my friend. How would you like a wife?” Nahilzay was in his thirties and unwed.

Nahilzay’s grin grew wider. “Sun Daughter would warm my bed of hides nicely.”

Jack shot him a look. “No. Datiye. She is obedient and eager to please.” He stole a look at her, but he had lowered his voice and she hadn’t heard. “Very good to look upon. Good in the bed of hides too.” He smiled encouragingly.

Nahilzay just laughed and walked away.

Candice knew she still loved him.

Just as she knew he was not worthy of her love.

She had stopped crying, finally, and lay on the third bed, her face pressed against the rar of one of the hides. She didn’t know how her heart could be so stupid. Worse, even her mind was trying to betray her, thinking, What if he was telling the truth?

She couldn’t sort it out. Bringing her there against her will, where the evidence of his infidelity—or at least his virility—with another woman was before her very eyes? It was too much for any woman to take. He had deserted her, turned against her people. He was the enemy, and the father of her child—his bastard. She didn’t know what to do.

Get rid of Datiye, she thought viciously.

He had said that after Datiye’s baby was born he would marry her off to another man. Had he meant it? Still, that didn’t resolve the problem of now, or all the other problems. She would not share even his name with Datiye. She didn’t give a damn if that was the Apache way. She would be better off at home than to be so humiliated by Datiye’s pregnant presence.

Or would she?

The thought of going home pregnant, with his child, still frightened her to no end. But now the prospect seemed infinitely preferable to biding her time until she could get to St. Louis. In fact, St. Louis had been the farthest thing from her mind since Jack had returned. God, what should she do?

What could she do?

She knew her mind could go round and round all night over her dilemma, but it wouldn’t change anything. She was stuck in this godawful Apache camp, behind enemy lines, pregnant, with a rival, and that was that. If only she could turn her love into hate—or indifference.

She started when the canvas flap swung open and someone stepped inside the
gohwah
. At first she thought it was a stranger, and she stared at the gaunt, bony woman with the ragged cropped hair. The squaw was obviously ill, and did
not even look at her, but lay down on her back, staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

Candice stared. The woman’s face was scarred with thin pink lines from temple to jaw on either side, as if she had been clawed. There were the same kinds of scars on her forearms. Then she realized the woman had green eyes, and she cried out in shock, for it was Luz.

“Luz, what’s wrong?” Candice cried, dropping to her knees at her side. “Luz? Good God, what happened? What’s happened to you?”

Luz finally looked at her, briefly, but did not speak. Then she closed her eyes.

Candice got up and stepped outside. Datiye was at the cooking fire, and an aromatic smell of some kind of stew rose up and made her stomach grumble. Jack was sitting on the other side of the fire with a gourd by his leg, whittling a piece of wood. He looked up.

“Jack, what happened to Luz?” she said, aghast that the once-beautiful woman had turned into a haggard skeleton.

He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “Leave her be, Candice. She’s mourning.”

“Mourning? She’s dying! Jack, she needs a doctor.”

“A doctor can’t help her,” Jack said, meeting her eyes. And she saw the pain in his.

Candice’s heart turned over. She wasn’t even aware of crossing the distance that separated them and kneeling by his side. “We can’t let her die because Shozkay died.”

He looked up briefly, then returned his concentration to his stick. Candice bit her lip. When she thought of Shozkay dying she felt not just saddened for the fact that he had been a fine, handsome man. Her heart went out to Jack, for the grief he must feel but wouldn’t share with her. Then she realized that Datiye had probably comforted him, and she fought her feelings of compassion. In a cooler tone she said, “Jack, she needs to eat. I think she needs to see a doctor too.”

“Nothing will help her,” Jack said quietly. “She’s dying. She wants to die.”

“You can’t just let her starve herself to death!”

He looked at her levelly. “After much thought, I can and will. It’s better this way. She’ll join Shozkay, and their spirits will wander these mountains together—until he is avenged
and can find peace in the afterworld.” He reached for the gourd and drank.

She stared. “What kind of nonsense is that? Spirits wandering … the Apaches believe in heaven?”

He was calm, but he didn’t smile. “I suppose you could say so. Hell is not being able to journey to the afterworld, but to wander the earth forever, hopelessly. Heaven is attaining the peace of the afterlife.” He shrugged.

Candice believed in heaven and hell herself, and was amazed at his interpretation. She was even more amazed at how dissimilar the Apache concept was to the Christian one—how could he even think there was a similarity? Everyone knew that to be in hell was to be burning forever, not wandering around the earth as some lost soul. “So you’re letting her die so she can join her husband?”