Cherish the Dream

by Kathleen Harrington

  “What’s going on?” Theodora demanded. She put her hand on his arm as though to hold him still. “Is something wrong?”

  “Did you tell Strangling Horse that you were willing to marry him?” He realized, even as he asked the question, how crazy the idea was, but he still couldn’t keep the anger from his voice.

  She stared at him in shock. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve never even spoken to him! How could I unless Snow Owl translated for me?”

  Relieved, Blade Stalker leaned his head against the fur covered backrest. He turned to his grandfather. “Tell Strangling Horse that she is honored by his offer, but she cannot accept it. Despite her feelings, she must return to her own people. She has much work to do for them.”

  The rugged features of the gray-haired man revealed nothing. “He will be very disappointed, nixa.”

  Blade Stalker smiled wryly. “And so will you be, namsem, when you return the twenty-three horses.”

  Painted Robe nodded and rose to send a message to Strangling Horse, who waited in his own lodge. “You rest, nixa. I will send our refusal.”

  The grizzly bear was butchered and shared by the whole tribe. Its hide was staked out in the grassy meadow beside Snow Owl’s lodge to be tanned. Nothing was discarded. Thick steaks were roasted over the fires; the grease was melted down and poured into bags made of buffalo hide. It would keep sweet for months, to be eaten in chunks or used for seasoning and making pemmican. It was also used as a foundation cream to mix with paint. Theodora learned that it was not the best cook who was most sought after by the young Cheyenne brave but the woman who could paint her husband’s body in the most brilliant, intricate designs.

  The claws were strung on a necklace and presented to Blade Stalker in honor of his great heroism. For the people of the village the killing of a grizzly was a feat of wonder, as its hide was too tough and thick for their arrows to penetrate. Little Blue Nose was given a bracelet made of the teeth. Her bravery in saving Weasel Tail’s infant son was greatly honored. Nothing impressed the Cheyenne people more than a show of personal bravery. She was offered many presents, but kept her promise to Snow Owl and accepted nothing. With a wide smile to convey her appreciation, she politely refused each and every gift. Even this act increased the respect in which Blade Stalker’s tribe held her, for such generosity and nobleness of heart was compared to that of a chief’s. The coming and going of visitors to Snow Owl’s lodge was incessant. They spoke in hushed tones so as not to disturb Blade Stalker’s rest.

  Blade had been left weak from the infection. For two days Theodora fed him a tea made from the tops and stems of the chickadee plant to ease the pain and help him sleep. She tended his wounds, changing the bandages and reapplying the poultice. She checked to be sure the deerskin wrapped around his chest was tight and smooth over his ribs. After she was certain the fever would not return, she washed off the foul-smelling salve.

  To touch him was an agony and a delight. The feel of his powerful arms and thighs brought back every intimate moment between them, from the first lustful kiss in the stable at Fort Leavenworth to the magical night under the stars when they’d lain in each other’s arms. She watched over him as he slept and marveled at the strong, well-defined features of his face. Was she falling in love with his physical beauty? she wondered. Or was this merely the lust she’d been warned about in her aunt’s biblical readings? Everything about him aroused her, made her more aware of her own body, her own feelings. But nothing was as devastating as when he opened his eyes and gazed at her, quietly allowing her to nurse him. The look of naked hunger in his face made her weak .

  The second afternoon, as she sponged his face, he kissed her fingers and slid his tongue across the palm of her hand and down her wrist. The blatant sensuality of the touch held the power of a lightning bolt. She snatched her hand away, the sudden intake of her breath a hiss in the quiet tipi. “That’s not right,” she scolded in a whisper, anxious that his grandfather, who sat just outside the lodge, might come in and see them.

  “It’s the best I can do at the moment,” he apologized, his voice a hoarse croak. “But I’ll do better once I get my strength back. Then I’ll taste a whole lot more of you.”

  She knew she should make some crushing remark, but she could think of nothing except the way his lips and tongue and teeth had felt on her breasts. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a low whimper of desire, coupled with her ragged breathing. She tried to rise, but his hand shot out to her waist and held her beside him. She started to struggle, then gave up. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she warned.

  “Then stay here.”

  “Why?” She was insane to ask, but the words were out before she could recall them.

  “I want you to kiss me.” His midnight eyes blazed with undeniable desire, and he leaned forward ever so slightly. “Kiss me, little bluenose.”

  She placed her lips lightly on his in a gentle, healing buss. When she tried to withdraw, he cradled the back of her head in one strong hand and held her mouth against his own.

  “Not like that,” he coaxed in a voice raw with burgeoning passion. “Kiss me the way you know I want to be kissed.”

  Cupping his face in her hands, she pressed her mouth to his. She moved her tongue against his lips, and they opened immediately for her. He was ready, waiting to caress her as she entered. Slowly, she explored his warm mouth, learning each crevice and fold, while his own firm tongue stroked and encouraged her. Without words, he told her of his aching need. A low moan of desire rose in her throat, and she slid her mouth to his cheek. She breathed heavily against its dark stubble, her nose touching the gold hoop in his ear. “Your grandfather could come in at any moment,” she warned.

  He laughed softly and cradled her head against his neck. “We wouldn’t shock namsem. My people don’t turn love making into something shameful or evil. We see our little animal brothers and sisters do it and know it’s a natural part of life. But our kissing would surprise him, for adult Indians don’t kiss each other.”

  Theodora moved back to look into his eyes, uncertain if he was teasing her. Tentatively, she touched his upper lip with her fingertip, running it lightly across the whiskers. “What do they do?” she asked shyly.

  “I’ll show you,” he promised. He brought her lips down to his open mouth. His tongue darted inside hers and retreated, only to return once again. Rhythmically, he thrust in and out in a manner so suggestive, so erotic, she had no doubt what he planned to demonstrate. “I’ll show you,” he repeated against her lips in a voice hoarse with emotion, “but not until I’m certain we won’t be interrupted.”

  He must have heard Snow Owl,come in, for he released Theodora and turned to his cousin, who stood inside the lodge. She watched them with a knowing smile, the teasing light in her eyes warm with affection.

  “I will tell Beaver Claw to take back his forty horses,” she said to them both in French. “But he will be very disappointed. He is convinced that Little Blue Nose will accept his proposal.”

  “What?” Blade Stalker thundered. “Not a second marriage offer!”

  Theodora flushed and stood up. She smoothed her dress self-consciously. “Well, you’re not exactly correct about the number.”

  Snow Owl laughed. “Not two offers, nis’ is. Including Weasel Tail’s attempt, this is the fourth one. Yesterday, Counts Many Coups tied thirty-two horses in front of our lodge. And he was as certain of his acceptance as the others.”

  Painted Robe entered the tipi and looked at his grandson. Blade Stalker could tell that he was upset, though his expression remained stoical. “What is it, namsem?” Blade asked. He had a good idea what had been happening while he was unconscious and braced himself for the worst.

  Painted Robe sat down at his place opposite the open door way. “Little Blue Nose is a brave young woman,” he said at last. He folded his arms across his broad chest and the fringes on his deerskin shirt swayed. “She is wise in the ways of plants and healing.” He shook his gray head slightl
y, as though in disbelief. “But she does not have the virtue of our maidens.”

  Blade Stalker sat up straighter against his backrest. “Who says this lie about her?” he demanded in outrage.

  “Many of the braves in the village believe that she cares for them. She does not shyly lower her eyes the way our women do. She meets each warrior’s gaze with boldness and smiles openly at them. Each man with whom she has exchanged looks is certain that it is he who has won her heart. Now the young men argue and fight among themselves over which one of them she favors. The girls are upset as well, for many had already told her friends that one or another of the braves was her own choice.”

  Furious, Blade Stalker turned to Theodora. “Is that true?” he snarled.

  “Is what true? Blade, you’re speaking to each other in Cheyenne. What’s happened?”

  “What’s happened is,” he snarled in fury, “you’ve flirted with every brave in the village.”

  “I have not!” she shot back .

  “Oh yes, you have! You’ve looked right into their eyes and smiled. Young women are supposed to be shy. They’re expected to look down in modesty when a man gazes at them. Not exchange long, meaningful looks. Don’t you have any more sense than to lead on every male you meet?”

  “I didn’t lead anybody on,” she said, her voice trembling. Teardrops sparkled on her thick lashes. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

  He spoke through gritted teeth, his jealousy cloaked as sarcasm. “Yes, so friendly that half the men in the village think you want to marry them.”

  Unable to understand their words in English, Snow Owl and Painted Robe waited in polite silence. But the unshed tears that glistened in Little Blue Nose’s eyes told them she hadn’t meant to be so shamefully bold.

  “She does not understand our ways, nis’ is,” Snow Owl said tolerantly. “I do not think she meant to be so forward with the men.”

  “What should I do now?” Theodora cried.

  Blade Stalker sat up painfully and then eased to a standing position. He tried to keep calm, but the thought that most of the young bucks in the tribe were lusting after her nubile body filled him with jealous rage. “You don’t do anything except stay in this tipi, do you understand me?” he roared. “You don’t go anywhere unless I, Snow Owl, or my grandfather go with you. And if any man between eight and eighty comes near you, you stare at the ground. And you don’t smile! Is all of that perfectly clear?”

  She glared back at him. “Perfectly.”

  By the next morning Theodora was tired of feeling cross and irritable. She discovered that Blade had left the lodge before she’d even awakened. So at Snow Owl’s invitation she agreed to help pick blackberries in the nearby woods. As they crossed the open field, she saw him astride War Shield. But it was Blade Stalker, not Roberts. His body was painted, as was the stallion’s. Clean-shaven, he wore only a breechclout and moccasins. Around his neck hung the trophy of grizzly claws and a small leather medicine bundle. A war shield rested on one arm, a lance on the other. He rode bareback, without saddle or rifle. He’d even removed the bandages from his chest and shoulder.

  “Where’s he going?” she asked Snow Owl, who shook her head and didn’t answer. Theodora raced through the tall grass after him. “Blade, where are you going?” she shouted.

  Reluctantly, he slowed at her call and turned with obvious impatience.

  When she came up to him, she thought she’d made a mistake. He was a ferocious stranger. A black streak was painted down his whole body. Two white lines slashed each cheek. He’d even painted over the wounds made by the grizzly.

  “Are you crazy?” she cried. “You can’t ride a horse yet. Your ribs aren’t healed. And where are the bandages? You almost died of that infection. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going hunting. I’ll be back by tomorrow at the latest.” He looked down at her hand on his leg, a smile hovering on his mouth. .

  “You’re not leaving here without me,” she told him. She placed her hands on her hips and scolded like a fishwife. “What if you don’t come back?”

  “I’ll be back. And you’ll be safe. My family will take care of you while I’m gone.” He wheeled War Shield about and started to ride away.

  Her heart pounded in panic. She couldn’t believe he was actually deserting her. She raced after him. “Blade, come back here!”

  But he ignored her cries and urged the stallion into a gallop. Theodora reached down, picked up a buffalo chip, and hurled it at him. It whizzed past his head. “Come back here, you bastard!” she screamed.

  Without slowing his horse, Blade Stalker turned and looked back. Could he have heard correctly? he wondered. She stood stock still, her hands covering her mouth. Obviously appalled, she stared at him, her eyes round and wide in horror at her own profanity.

  He leaned forward and urged on War Shield. A slow grin spread across his face. What a woman!

  Chapter 20

  When Theodora woke up the next morning, Blade was sound asleep beside her on his fur-covered mattress.

  Attired in only a breechclout, he lay without moving, his body still painted, the string of bear claws around his neck. She rose on an elbow and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. How had he managed to come in during the night and slip into bed without disturbing her? she wondered in irritation. She’d lain awake for hours worrying about him, certain that he’d reinjured his ribs or torn out the stitches in his chest and shoulder. Terrified that she’d never see him again, she’d prayed until she fell at last into an exhausted sleep. Tossing and turning, she’d dreamed that she was in the middle of a buffalo stampede once again, the sounds of the hooves echoing through the night.

  The day before hadn’t been any better. When she’d asked Snow Owl where he’d gone, she’d replied serenely, “Hunting.”

  Painted Robe had seemed as unconcerned as Blade’s lovely cousin. Neither was upset that he’d ridden off in his weakened condition, still suffering from his wounds.

  Theodora looked around the lodge. Everyone else was sound asleep. Tall Boy lay beside his mother, his arms and legs flung wide. He, too, wore only a breechclout. She smiled at his innocent posture. He was a miniature Blade, and she wished she could have known the fierce captain when he was a child. At the back of the tipi, Painted Robe lay on his side and snored gently.

  The sound of ponies stamping and snorting came from outside, and Theodora realized it was that noise that had roused her. The possibility that yet another brave had sent a marriage proposal to the chief brought a sharp feeling of dread. She rose reluctantly. Without making a sound she tiptoed to the opening of the lodge and crept out.

  The worst had happened.

  There, in the grassy meadow beside the tipi, was a herd of horses, ground-tethered. By her rough estimation, there were over sixty. Not wild mustangs, but Indian ponies painted and decorated with feathers.

  She whirled at a slight movement behind her. Standing in front of Snow Owl’s lodge was Blade.

  “I didn’t smile at anyone while you were gone,” she blurted out. What she couldn’t bring herself to tell him was that no one, outside of his own family, had smiled at her either. On the contrary, she’d been treated by the other women of the tribe as a pariah. Instead of their earlier friendliness, the Indian girls had avoided meeting her eyes. And then yesterday afternoon the medicine man had come and spoken to Painted Robe. By his condemning looks at her while they talked, she’d been certain Short Eared Rabbit was reviling her to the chief. Blade’s grandfather had said little. He’d just glanced at her every once in a while and nodded as he listened. But what he did say seemed to placate the shaman, who eventually left in apparent satisfaction.

  Seeing the scowl of confusion on Blade’s forehead, she stepped toward him. She lifted one hand, her palm facing him, as though swearing an oath. “Honest, I didn’t so much as look one man in the eyes.”

  His slow smile gradually creased his bronzed face. “You must have given someone a l
ittle encouragement.” With his thumbs hooked in the rawhide band of his breechclout, he moved closer to her. “How many horses are there?”

  “At least sixty,” she gulped. “Painted Robe isn’t going to like sending that many back.”

  “Actually, there’s seventy head. But this time he won’t have to return them.”

  “Oh, he has to!” she squealed in horror. “If he keeps them, it means he’s accepting the brave’s offer.”

  Blade slid an arm around her waist. “The offer has already been accepted, little bluenose. My grandfather settled it early this morning while you slept. You’re going to be married today.”

  “No, I’m not!” But the confidence of his words left her no room for doubt. “To whom?”

  Blade Stalker brought her closer to him. Her emerald eyes were enormous. He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers, inhaling the scent of wildflowers that rose from her hair. “To me.”

  She pushed her elbows against his chest as she leveraged for room to look up at him. “Blade, be serious. We can’t get married.”

  He buried his hand in her brilliant curls. “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, people don’t get married just because they’re expected to. What kind of a marriage would that be, anyway? Life together has to be based on mutual respect, common interests, similar backgrounds. All of which doesn’t come close to applying in our case. But it does for me and Martin Van Vliet.” She lowered her eyes to hide her thoughts, for marriage with the publisher was no longer even an issue. Blade had swept away all her shallow, tepid feelings about her fiance, leaving her certain of only one thing—no matter what she felt about the handsome captain, she had never really loved Martin.

  Her answer stunned Blade, for he’d completely dismissed the differences in their backgrounds as unimportant. Her so called fiance counted even less. He slid both hands to her shoulders. In his annoyance he could barely refrain from shaking her. “You don’t want to marry Van Vliet.” he growled. “You want to marry me. You’re just too mule-headed to admit it.” He bent his head to kiss her again.