The wolf raised his head. His cold, wet nose touched her ear. She shivered, clenched her eyes tightly, then - screamed. Her blood-curdling cries shattered the silence. The wolf backed away.
A thud, a bright flash of morning's sunlight startled her. She twisted her head, glanced over her shoulder. The front of the tepee open, a crowd of nameless faces peered in at her-laughing.
She heard her captor’s cool, authoritative voice above all the chatter. She watched as he pushed his way through the crowd, the only face she had come to know. Walking over, he knelt between her and the wolf and cut the ropes that held her prisoner. His dark eyes filled with sympathy, he said not a word as he held out his hand. Gabrielle scrambled to her feet, ignoring him and ran to the door of the tepee.
“Get out of my way.” In vain she tried to elbow her way through the opening. Like a solid wall, the crowd wouldn't budge, not one inch, not one person.
She didn't want to run to her captor like a frightened child, didn't want his protection, but she ran to him anyway, without knowing why he'd protect her. And when his strong arms wrapped around her and she laid her cheek against his chest, she felt safe-not just from the wolf, but from all of those who found humor in her fears.
“Kopegla sni yo.” Although the words he spoke were foreign, the degree of warmth and concern in his tone, settled in around her like a well-worn blanket. Her heart slowed to a steady thump. Surprised this man whom she hardly knew could have such an effect on her, she raised her eyes to his. The look of pleasure glistening in his dark pupils was the last thing she had expected to see. Or want.
Embarrassment turned to rage. She jerked her body from his and took a step back. “Damn you!” How could she be so stupid? How could she even at a time like this be attracted to him; this stranger, this person from another world whom she knew nothing about?
“I fail to see the humor in all of this.” Her voice rose an octave, mingling with the raucous sounds of laughter. She spun around on her heels and faced the crowd. “Stop it -- all of you!”
A small boy, no more than four of five, stepped through the opening. His face round, his cheeks chubby, he looked like the little Indian dolls she’d seen in the reservation shops back home. A head of glorious dark brown wavy hair, which didn't quite fit the picture, cascaded down his shoulders in wild disarray.
“Do you speak English?” Silently she prayed, that being half white, he might understand her.
In the depths of his hazel eyes she saw his lack of comprehension. She bit her lip until it throbbed. Anguish and desolation extinguished any spark of hope. His smile, a genuine honest smile, said without words what everyone else around her already knew. The wolf belonged to the boy. And when the child wrapped his arms around his pet and nudged the beast to follow him, she felt like a fool.
“Get out of here. Leave me alone,” she screamed. “I-I don't belong here.” Emotionally drained, her voice weakened. She sighed and drew her body away. Her shoulders sagged in hopelessness and defeat.
Her captor studied her silently before he glanced over his shoulder at the crowd. He issued what sounded like a command. Then, with a wave of his hand, he shooed his tribes people away, all but the small boy and his pet.
Their gaze met. Her heart jolted. He reached for her wrist and held her firmly. His guttural words were soft as he urged her closer to the wolf. “Kola.”
Was he crazy? “No. Please. I don't want to.” She pushed his hand, trying to break his hold. He brought her fingers still closer to the wolf's head.
She pulled back.
He stopped her.
“Kola.” Once more, he encouraged her to touch the animal's head. Friend or foe, she didn't care. She yanked her hand from his.
“I said no. Now why don't you just leave and take that beast with you?”
He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind and clamped his lips closed. Anger lit his eyes. Taking the boy and his pet with him, his strides quick and furious, he left her to stand alone.
Surrendering to her exhaustion, Gabrielle collapsed to her knees. What was she doing here? These people hated her and it wasn't really her, they hated, but the woman whose body she’d been switched into. A woman who she knew nothing about.
Lonely, overwhelmed, frightened by the unknown, by the mystery of quantum physics that had catapulted her back through time, she cradled her face in the palm of her hands. Had she lived this life before? Was the skull the key, her look-a-like? Was she here to change someone's destiny, or merely to die?
Her mind whirled, making her dizzy, as multitude after multitude of questions accosted her from all directions. Did anybody realize she was missing? Did anybody even care?
Roy! He'd be looking for her. His bloodhound instincts wouldn't give up, that much she knew.
Her head pounded and she pressed her thumb knuckles into her temples. She was grasping for straws. Her current situation was scientifically unrealistic, there was no explanation, but she was sitting here, wasn’t she?
A stab of guilt lay heavily on her chest. She’d pushed him from her thoughts so many times, like she did anyone who wanted to get close to her. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever get the chance to tell him about the attraction she had buried deep inside, or would she be stuck in this time warp forever? Please Roy, find me.
A warm hand on her knee jostled her from her thoughts. Hastily she withdrew her hands. An astonishingly beautiful young woman, with finely sculptured high cheeks, a delicate small chin and huge almond-shaped eyes stared back at her. She looked like she could be a model for Vogue Magazine.
With gentle fingers she brushed a strand of hair from Gabrielle's eye. The warm and compassionate smile that touched her lips, shattered the last of Gabrielle's self-control, and she broke down and cried. The woman gathered her in her arms like a doting mother, shouldering her pain.
When the tears subsided, Gabrielle drew away slightly, embarrassed. ”I… I didn't know the wolf was a-,” she hiccupped, “a pet. And-whatever his name…”
“Two Moons.”
Gabrielle brushed a tear from her cheek. “Well, he… he…” A tear fell on her lip and she wiped it away. “The scars on his back-all night I thought… I thought I was going to die.”
“Shh. Dry your eyes and have no fear. Those scars you saw are the marks made by the pale faces. It is not our way. No harm will come to you.”
“You --” Gabrielle stared, dumbfounded. “You speak English?”
“Yes. Many of my people have learned the way of the white man from the men who trap the beaver. My mother taught me, as I will teach my wakanyeja…” she paused, searching for the English word. “Children, my children.” She smiled. “My name is Chahanpi.”
With the back of her hand, Gabrielle wiped away her remaining tears. “Mine's Gabrielle.”
“Gab-ree-l.” Chahanpi struggled with the word. “Pretty. I am named after the juices that flow from the tree. ‘Cha,’ meaning tree; ‘hanpi’, sap. Why are you called by your name?”
Gabrielle sat back on her haunches and took a deep calm, reflective thought. Native Americans did not necessarily keep the name they were born with. Each name had a special meaning associated with a brave deed, or a personality, or a sign, something that said something about the person. What did her name mean? She shrugged. That was a good question. “My mother named me after the angel Gabriel.”
“Angels. Once I saw a picture book with a beautiful woman with wings.” Chahanpi said, in a soft, gentle tone.
Looking at her, Gabrielle was reminded of spring rain, light, warm and refreshing.
“Do they not come from the land above?” Chahanpi asked before she could answer.
“Yes. I guess if you believed in spirits, they'd be up there.”
Chahanpi's luminous black eyes widened with awe. “You are truly blessed with such a special name.”
Blessed wasn't the word that came to mind when she thought about her life. Losing her brother and her father wasn't being blessed and what
about Jeffery, her childhood friend and Robert, her fiancé? She had thought they would be around forever. Fool.
Wasn't it fitting though, she thought with a touch of cynicism, that given her luck with men, her mother had named her after some guy.
****
“It is true then.” Kills Pretty Enemy grabbed Two Moons' arm. “You have brought a woman with blue eyes to your lodge.”
Two Moons gently pried her fingers off him and placed her arm by her side. “It is of no surprise. I heard your laughter above all the others,” he answered in a low composed voice.
Kills Pretty's mouth took on an unpleasant pout. “You will give her away.”
“No.”
“You cannot mean to take her as your first wife. What about me?”
Two Moons studied Kills Pretty for a moment. She was indeed a beautiful, strong-looking woman, with a proud tilt to her square jaw and generously full curved lips. Her long braided hair was as dark as a starless night. She would make any warrior proud, would bear him many fine sons. Even her name was one of bravery. Having no brother of fighting age, she had gone into battle and had killed a young man, avenging her younger brother's death. Any man would be lucky to call her his own.
He picked up a long dark braid, and fingered its softness between his fingertips. “Do not concern yourself with what I chose to do.” His voice calm, his gaze steady, he continued. “It is not your place to question me.” He dropped her braid and turned.
“I have waited many moons for your presence at my lodge. Have listened through the night's air to hear your song.”
Two Moons stopped in mid-stride. He had never even considered having a flute made for her. To share a blanket for talk was one thing, but the flute's magic was so powerful it might lead to marriage. No. He was not ready for that.
“Do not wait for me at your door.” He turned. “Listen for another's song.”
“I will wait for your song,” she answered stubbornly.
“Then you will wait many moons.”
A soft rattling from behind made him turn. His mother walked toward him. Pausing for a moment, she wrapped her elks-tooth blanket more snugly around her shoulders. A picture of his father came to mind. He had given her the very first elk's tooth to sew on that robe. Now that he was dead, Two Moons made sure her blanket was covered with the teeth of the elks he had killed. She wore it constantly, even when the sun was high in the sky. He guessed it made her feel as if a part of Walking Proud was always with her.
She glanced up. Her gaze found his. The pride that never wavered in her eyes whenever she looked at him, shamed him. He did not deserve to be placed high in her heart. If it hadn't been for him, his father would still be alive.
“Where is that no-good girl?” She stepped up to his side. “I could have fetched the water faster myself. Some help you have brought me. I cannot even speak my mind to her. Do not the Crow speak in sign as we do?”
His gaze shifted from her, to Blue Eyes, who was trying to balance heavy water bags over her shoulders without spilling them. Weariness settled under her eyes. Her steps were slow and unsteady.
She had gotten no sleep last night. He knew because he had been awake most of the night himself. Every move she had made, he had felt. Every sigh, every breath had set his body on fire. Her closeness had been unbearable. It had taken every ounce of strength to fight the need to wrap his arms around her, to taste her lips, to feel her body once more beneath his, this time surrendering to his desires. The desire he had seen in her eyes as she had openly examined his body had set his blood aflame.
Blue Eye’s tripped on the edge of her skirt.
Two Moons’ heart lurched. His breath held. She caught herself, straightened, and only then did he breathe.
Aware of Kills Pretty's laughter and his mother's voice, aware of the snickers of the other women, he kept his attention on Blue Eyes. His mother's words rang in his ear. “Watch her.” He would watch her like a hawk, if for nothing else than to make sure no knife found its way into her back.
Chapter Seven
Up at the crack of dawn, the caravan moved forward. Trudging behind the dog-driven drag, Gabrielle shielded her eyes from the gritty dust being kicked up from the long poles dragging before her. The blistering sun beat down, cracking her lips, parching her throat. She swallowed with difficulty. Her steps slowed, putting distance between herself and the travois.
She’d always thought of herself as a trooper. Had never complained when her digs had brought her to remote places without water or electricity. Working long hours was part of her nature. But nothing had prepared her for the endless days of walking, of hauling countless bags of water, of sleeping under the sky, with nothing but a bunched-up blanket for her pillow and the hard ground for her bed.
Mothers with babies strapped to their backs, walked effortlessly and chatted with those around them. Children scampered about with the dogs, and Gabrielle wondered where they all got the energy.
She could feel Two Moons' gaze on her back. An imaginary rope tugged at her shoulders beckoning her to turn around, pulling her toward him. He was always in the background watching her. Did he think she was going to run away? To where? She dug her fingers into her palm. What did he want? He never stopped the women from pushing or ordering her around. Other than at night when he lay next to her, he barely spoke to her.
Yet at times when those around her treated her poorly, she thought she caught glimpses of anger in his eyes. Was his anger directed at her, or toward the others?
She tilted her head to one side and stole him a glance. He sat tall and proud in his saddle. The wind brushed long strands of his black hair away from his face. The notched and beaded eagle feather wrapped in his hair reminded Gabrielle of Roy's earring.
Dark eyes studied her keenly. Gabrielle’s cheeks flushed. Damn sun was too hot! She wiped her arm across her brow. Then, with hurried steps, she caught up with the rest of the column and focused her attention on the long line of men, women and children parading before her.
****
From his spot beneath the tree, Two Moons watched Blue Eyes drag the lodge poles from the travois, watched as she struggled to carry them, dropping them to the ground at her feet. No one offered their hand. No one would, until she proved herself worthy. He knew this. But it did not stop the tightening of his gut, as woman after woman walked by ignoring her. Buffalo Calf Woman yelled and gave her a shove. He thought for moment Blue Eyes might protest, but it seemed she did not have the strength. For the last three days, she had not had a moment's rest.
They called her witkowin, crazy woman, she who is afraid of pet wolf. The words burned in his heart. She had surprised him by running into his arms. The strong sense of wanting to comfort her, of happily sheltering her in his arms had caught him off guard. She had thought he had found her fear funny. Maybe it was better that way. The blade in his hand pressed heavily against his palm. The whites were his enemy and she chose to be white. It would be best if he remembered that.
“Hau Kola.” Shadow Elk stepped into the shade of the tree.
“Hau Kola,” Two Moons replied.
“That is a fine-looking arrow you are working on.”
Two Moons placed his knife down on the rock beside him and brought his arrow to his eye, looking it over for any curves or flaws. “Yes. It will fly straight and true to its mark.”
“That it will, my brother. You have done fine work.”
Extending his arm before him, Two Moons placed the arrow down against his arm to measure its length. Satisfied when it reached from his elbow to the tip of his little finger, he picked up the two pieces of sandstone that rested beside him. Pressing the stones together with the fingers of his free hand, he slowly twisted and pulled the shaft of his arrow through the center hole he had formed with the two grooved stones. Fine shavings of wood fell into his palm.
“I find it takes many suns to smooth down that rough bark till it is the way you like it. Is that not so?” Shadow Elk asked.
> Two Moons blew the shavings away, turned his head and glanced at Shadow Elk. Although his friend's words were directed to him, Shadow Elk's attention was on the four women standing in a circle in the clearing a short distance before them. Two Moons watched as the women turned. Chattering among themselves, they glanced over at Blue Eyes, who was having difficulty balancing the lodge pole upright and placing it into position.
“Do not let the words of others trouble you, my brother,” Shadow Elk said softly. “With time, the one with the blue eyes will learn and will find her place among us.”
Two Moons glanced back at his friend. “For three nights now I have had to listen to my mother's talks that Blue Eyes knows nothing of the women's work. She is a Crow. Their work is the same. Is that not so?”
“Yes.” Shadow Elk frowned. “So I think maybe it is because of her white family she has chosen the white mans' ways.”
Two Moons shook his head. “I want to believe that is not so, but I fear you are right. I do not understand this. Look,” he nodded in her direction. “She does not eat. Already she grows thin.”
“I have heard that the pale women sit around making music and have their men feed them.” Shadow Elk grinned, then nudged Two Moons' side. “Perhaps she likes nothing more than to play games. Has she sung for you?”
Two Moons rapped his friend's shoulder with his arrow. Ducking, Shadow Elk feigned a look of grievance then winked. “I wager she sings a sweet tune, if you but know where to touch.”
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