White Dusk (17 page)

“My husband is generous,” she said softly.

“They are in need,” he agreed. “And we have much.” He stared at the two mewling pups. “Take them to Gray Woman’s tipi. Her dog just gave birth. She does not give her pups away to be eaten. She will allow your pups to nurse and keep them safe for you.” With that he walked away.

Small Bird turned to go find Gray Woman’s tipi. She nearly ran into her brother.

“It is easy to give when one has more than enough,” he said. Contempt lingered in his words.

Narrowing her eyes, Small Bird glared at Lone Warrior. “My husband’s heart is kind. He is generous.”

“Because he feels guilty,” her brother spat.

“No, Lone Warrior. Because he
cares.
” And that was the truth. Swift Foot cared about his people—even to the point that she knew he sometimes considered turning himself over to the enemy in a trade: his life for peace. He hadn’t said the words, but she’d heard them in his voice, and she recognized his intent. He sometimes believed it was the only way.

Lone Warrior opened his mouth to protest. Small Bird held up her hand. “Careful, brother. Do not insult my husband further.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she walked away.

He caught up with her. “Wait.” When she stopped, he glanced away. “I am sorry. He
is
your husband.”

“And our chief.” She held his gaze.

“And our chief. My chief. I should not speak so openly in anger.”

“Speaking of it is not the problem. Acting on it or allowing it to rule you is the difficulty. That will only give your unhappiness power over you.”

Lone Warrior grinned ruefully. “When did my sister become so wise?”

Small Bird smiled back. Then, noticing the gaunt look of her sibling, she glanced around to make sure none were listening. She said, “And when is my brother going to admit that he is in love?”

Lone Warrior’s smile faded, and he glanced down at his feet. “She is afraid,” he said.

Reaching out with one hand after shuffling her pups into her basket, Small Bird gave her brother’s arm a comforting squeeze. “Then you must prove there is nothing to fear.”

Brother and sister stared at each other for a long minute. Then Lone Warrior said, “You are right. But it will have to be dealt with later. We have much to do before reaching our new camp tonight.”

Glancing down at her new puppies, Small Bird grimaced. “That we do, my sweets,” she said to them. Then, with a nod to her brother, she hurried off to finish her preparations.

In a short amount of time, the tribe was retracing its steps. With the ground hard—there was no rain today—the path up the ravine was easily navigated. At the top, Small Bird glanced downward. One day she hoped to return to this place. Hidden away in this canyon, many dead had been laid to rest. Though it was a place of sadness, Small Bird also held precious memories of her time here. This was where she and her husband had first become one.

With mixed feelings, she fell into line, choosing to ride with her mother, aunts and cousins. Up ahead, she spotted the two children she’d helped, sharing the back of one horse. Their mother sat proudly on the other. When the children spotted Small Bird, they turned to wave.

Small Bird waved back. She belonged—not only at her husband’s side, but among these people. She vowed to find the path to peace for all of them.

A shadow trailed the tribe. Unseen, unheard, like a snake in the grass, Many Horns kept himself concealed. From the battleground he’d followed the signs left in the trampled earth. He’d found this ravine just that morning, having spotted the warriors guarding it.

He could have killed them and sneaked down to count their numbers and eye their camp, but he didn’t want to alert Swift Foot to his presence. Traveling on foot most of the way, he’d been able to arrive undetected. Swift Foot was not the only one who ran fast. Endurance was something Many Horns had worked hard to achieve. But he also had a horse sheltered a safe distance away.

By midday, he was particularly glad he hadn’t tried to take the guards. The enemy was on the move. This was good, for it meant he’d be able to spy from a distance. He patted his bundle of clothing and prepared to follow. Finally the last person left the ravine, and the boulders were replaced to hide the path down. Many Horns collected his horse and rode out after them.

For three days he stayed well behind. He had the advantage of being able to easily spot the large tribe on the move. No one had spotted him. He was clever. Cunning. Shrewd.

When the Hunkpapa tribe finally halted and began unloading travois, he grinned. They were many miles from the ravine and the battlefield, but he knew the way back to his people. Crawling up to a man-sized boulder to watch the tipis be erected, he planned and plotted.

The eastern horn was far from him. The herd of horses who might spook at his presence had been taken far to the north. The tipis closest to him belonged to the outcasts. Everything suited his needs well.

Darkness finally came. People came and went, but he waited. When he deemed it late enough, he donned a woman’s dress and covered his head. Since he was dressed as a
Winkte,
no one would bother him.

Lone Warrior embraced the night as he followed the snaking river; it gave him what he desperately desired. Cradled in his lap, Willow Song rested her head against his chest. Whenever she rode with him, she insisted on placing her scarred cheek so he could not see it.

Reaching down, he stroked his fingers through her hair. Over the past few days the tribe had headed south for flatter, grassier land. With winter coming, they needed to hunt and prepare for the cold months. Slowing his horse, Lone Warrior rejoiced in the feel of the woman snuggled against him.

“Where do you take me?” Willow Song asked, lifting her head.

“Somewhere special.” He grinned. Each night he came for her, and they spent much time together. Already he’d received many comments—and unwanted advice. Kills Many Crows had even tried to order him away from Willow Song. But Lone Warrior ignored them all. He loved this woman, and anyone who could not see the beauty he saw was blind.

When he arrived at a low overhang of rock with dry brush on either side, and several large boulders that formed a small, secluded enclosure, he stopped his horse and dismounted. He’d found the spot earlier, and thought it perfect to try to convince this woman to be his wife.

His mouth went dry. So far any mention of the future had sent her into a panic. Holding up his arms, Lone Warrior helped Willow Song down. Instead of setting her on the ground, he carried her across the rocky terrain and into the enclosure. He’d brought furs, food and water. This would be home away from home.

Setting Willow Song down, he allowed her length to slide over him slowly.

She glanced around. “You went to much trouble tonight, Lone Warrior.”

“You are worth it, Willow Song.” He bent his head and kissed her. Then he just held her tenderly. Finally he gathered his courage and tipped up her chin. He stared into her dark eyes. “I want to make you my wife, Willow Song,” he said.

As he’d expected, she stiffened. “I cannot.” She gasped, trying to pull away.

“You can. You love me. As I love you.” And he did—deeply, desperately.

Willow Song’s eyes filled with tears. She glanced away and stared at the furs, pouches of food and wood for a fire. “Please, Lone Warrior. Do not ask again. You deserve better.” She turned away, her shoulders hunched.

Lone Warrior stepped close, but he didn’t pull her back to him. His heart sank. I deserve the woman I love,” he said. “I want no other.”

“I cannot marry. Ever. You know this.”

“I know no such thing.” He turned her gently back to face him. “You deserve happiness, too, Willow Song. Marry me.”

Sobbing, Willow Song fell into his arms. But she said, “I cannot give you what you want.”

Frustration rumbled low in Lone Warrior’s throat. “What
do
I need, Willow Song? Tell me.”

“A child.” She sobbed, her hand resting on her abdomen. I will never have children.” Tears streamed down her face.

Lone Warrior had had no idea that her scars, her injuries, were so extensive. But he found it didn’t matter to him. Only she mattered. “Then we shall not have children.”

She glanced up, uncertain.

He cupped her face. “I want you, Willow Song. I want to make you my wife. Now. Tonight. This is a good time. Our warriors will be hunting and will not break camp for a week. Come with me. And when we return, we will be man and wife in the eyes of all.”

“I may be your wife, but they will still not accept me.”

“I accept you. I love you and want to take care of you.”

She glanced down. “You feel sorry for me.”

Lone Warrior laughed softly. “No. I feel sorry for me. I want someone to take care of me as well.” He rested his chin on her head and stared off into the night sky. “What do you say? Can we take care of each other?”

Willow Song sighed. “I am honored…but so afraid.”

“Of what the rest will say?” Lone Warrior led her to the furs he’d laid down. He felt her trembling. He knew her leg bothered her. Sitting, he pulled her down into his lap.

“No. That you will see the rest of me.” She hesitated. “There is no beauty here.” She hugged herself.

“There is beauty everywhere that counts, my love.” He shifted. Holding her gaze, he grabbed the hem of her dress. “Show me what you fear. Let us get it out of the way, so that you will see that I love the woman inside this body.”

Willow Song shifted and lifted her arms. She closed her eyes and bit her upper lip.

Slowly Lone Warrior lifted the hem of her dress. “Look at me, my love,” he said.

Holding her teary gaze, Lone Warrior slid the dress up her body and over her head. He waited, staring into her eyes for a long time before allowing himself to look at her body. She lowered her arms to her sides, but did not try to hide herself.

Scarred flesh puckered her neck and collarbone and one shoulder, and covered half of one breast. The other side, like her face, was nearly perfect. Her other breast
was
perfect: a small, round globe tipped by a rosy flower.

His fingers trailed down both her sides. Then he stared at her belly. Deep scars, wide and silvery-white, crisscrossed her entire abdomen, and more puckered flesh padded her hips. He saw where the horse had trampled her. Saw the slice where either a knife or sharp war ax had nearly killed her.

“I don’t know how you survived,” he whispered. “You were but a child.”

Considering all the damage that had been done to her, he knew he stared at a miracle.

“I should have died,” she said.

Lone Warrior stepped closer and ran his hands over her shoulders, across her back and down to cup her buttocks, drawing her close. “No. You were saved for me. You are my miracle. My love. For now. For always.” This time when he kissed her, he showed her the truth of his words. “I want you, Willow Song. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lone Warrior,” Willow Song whispered. “But I am still afraid.”

He smiled down at her. “Do not be afraid, Willow Song. Not with me. Not ever.”

When he took her lips once more in his, Willow Song relaxed and gave herself up. When his fingers stroked her flesh, she felt beautiful. And when he entered her and made their bodies one, for the first time in many years she felt whole.

Swift Foot sat in front of a fire outside his tipi. Small Bird served him, his uncle and his cousin. Kills Many Crows set his bowl of rabbit stew down untouched.

“I don’t see why we have to miss the Sun Dance. There will be many tribes gathered. Always we have gone.”

“Our enemy has never been so bold,” Swift Foot explained. For days Kills Many Crows had complained bitterly, and he was sick of it. “And it would be a dangerous trip.”

“Then perhaps only those of us who feel it is safe should go,” Kills Many Crows snapped.

Charging Bull waved his son to silence. “We will have our own Sun Dance ceremony for those who wish to participate. Swift Foot is right. The grassy plains are far, and the many weeks of travel will make us and our wounded vulnerable.”

Swift Foot nodded to his uncle. “There are still many warriors healing. Many grieving widows. Such travel is too much to ask of them. There will be no more discussion on this matter. The council agreed.”

Kills Many Crows glared at Swift Foot. “They always agree with you. You can do no wrong.”

“If my husband can do no wrong, then perhaps you should agree with him.” Small Bird set a bowl of boiled greens down before the men. She sent Kills Many Crows a pointed look. “Of course, those who seek to find fault can always do so.”

Kills Many Crows snarled, but quieted.

Swift Foot sighed, yet he was glad to see his cousin silenced. He met the unrepentant gaze of his wife. It was no secret among the men that whenever anyone was heard complaining about the running of the tribe or criticizing her husband, Small Bird stopped to give an earful. She challenged them to come up with better solutions. They never had. Action, she swore, spoke louder than words.

When she’d heard that some of the poorer men planned to take their families away, she’d organized the women into groups, making sure that those who had much wealth willingly shared with those families who didn’t. None of the women would leave tight-knit family units or friends, and she’d created many.

This had all pleased and astounded Swift Foot. His wife’s love for their people, her willingness to step in where needed and take control, had eased the anger and bitterness of many. He owed her much. She was as a mother bear protecting her cubs—or a mother dog determined to see her pups grow to be adults.

He smiled. She guarded those pups she’d gotten as fiercely as she protected him. She checked on their progress several times a day, even carrying them with her in a sling over her shoulders when they were tired, so they’d bond with her. She found reasons to talk to him frequently during the day, even entering the council lodge sometimes.

Kills Many Crows, embarrassed to have been lectured by a woman, got to his feet and left. Small Bird smiled with deep satisfaction, picked up the steaming bowl, then sat down apart from the men to eat.

“Your woman is sharp-tongued.” Charging Bull looked amused.

“Sharp in her mind as well.” Swift Foot laughed. “She sees what is truth and does not hesitate to speak it.”

Charging Bull smiled. “I felt guilty once for forcing this marriage on you, but now I see that I was wise in the decision. She is good for you. And our people.”

“Unlike another woman,” Swift Foot said. Silence fell.

He broke it after a moment. He’d allowed this to hang between them for too long.

It was time to see the truth spoken. “You were right, Uncle. Small Bird meets the needs of our people. The other met only
my
needs.” It didn’t hurt to say the words. They were true and he could accept that. He could even see now that perhaps he’d needed the time with Emily to become a better man, a better leader, but that they hadn’t been right for each other in the scheme of things. It was with Small Bird at his side that he excelled. They were a team.

Charging Bull adjusted himself on his seat. “And does this wife of yours meet your needs, my son?”

Knowing it wasn’t physical needs his uncle spoke of, Swift Foot nodded. “Yes. She meets needs I had not known existed.”

Charging Bull sighed. “Then all will be well. Time will reveal all. Your past and hers have joined to provide a new future.”

“I just hope we all survive to see it,” Swift Foot joked. His attention went to his wife. A quick glance at the purple, blue and golden sky revealed the setting sun. Soon it would be night.

His uncle got slowly to his feet. “I see what is in your eyes. You are not interested in dinner. Take your wife. Go ride. Share the sunset.” His gaze sharpened. “We have no guarantees of tomorrow. Only today. Now. So don’t waste the gift of time.” Then the old man walked off.

Swift Foot hurriedly finished his meal. He tried to remember his aunt and uncle together, but it was so long ago, he couldn’t. Had his uncle not spent enough time with his wife? Did he have regrets now that she was gone? Standing, Swift Foot decided his uncle was right. He would not waste the time he’d been given with Small Bird.

He went to her and held out his hand. “Come.”

Startled, she glanced up. “What is wrong?” She set her food down.

He smiled. “There is nothing wrong. Can a husband not ask his wife to walk with him? Can we not go find a quiet spot to watch the sun as it sets?”

She smiled. “I think I should like to walk with my husband,” she said, taking his hand in hers.

Swift Foot led her away from camp. They moved toward the sun, that ball of fire hanging low in the sky. When he found a secluded place, he pulled her down in front of him.

The horizon sparkled with golden flames. Red fingers streamed overhead, mingling with the dark blue sky. As the sun sank lower, the red grew more vivid, the blue turning nearly purple. For a brief moment the world seemed to stand still. The birds held their breath, the water froze, and across the heavens, all color intensified. At last the faint round image of the moon came slowly into being as the golden fire of the sun disappeared from the sky. The reds merged into the purples until all was the murky shade of dusk.

“That was beautiful.” Small Bird sighed.

“No, the beauty is here, before me. Swift Foot turned his wife around and made her straddle his lap.

As one, they came together in a kiss that started soft and slow and ended hard and hot. When he pulled back, Small Bird framed his face in her hands. “I love you, husband.”

Swift Foot’s throat seized. The first and only time he recalled
saying
those words had been to Emily during their last night together.

“Do not say anything,” his wife said. “When the words feel right, they will come.” She slid closer, pressing his hardness against the vee of her thighs.

Her heat branded him. Swift Foot lifted her dress, whipped his breechclout to the side, and in one swift move he pulled her down onto him. He slid easily inside her.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Show me what you cannot tell me.”

Swift Foot went out of his way to show her that he loved her. Even if he could not say the words.

Long after darkness had claimed the sky, Swift Foot stirred. “We must get back.”

Small Bird sighed. She had no energy, no desire to move. “I don’t think I’m ready to get up yet.” She snuggled deeper into her husband’s arms. She felt his lips against her temple. He was smiling.

“Then I must help you,” he said.

She giggled. “And how will you help me, husband?”

As he stood, she hoped it would be to love her again. And again. Twice he’d sent her flying toward the stars.

As he stretched, she frowned. “We cannot go back undressed,” she said.

“We cannot return until we have bathed, either,” he said.

Small Bird’s eyes widened. He reached down and grabbed her, and her arms wound tight around his neck. “It will be cold,” she said in a squeak, the warm, cozy cocoon of sleep gone.

“What better way to revitalize ourselves?” he asked. Carrying her down to the stream, he strode in, immersing them both to their chins.