White Shadows

by Susan Edwards

  “I’m…” He frowned when he saw her lift the dress off the bush and hold it over her head. “You cannot put that on. It is wet.” He yanked his shirt over his head, walked over to her and pulled the shirt over her head, sliding his hand beneath her heavy curtain of hair and pulling it free.

  Needing no encouragement or orders, she slipped her hands into the arms, then tugged the hem down over her bare skin.

  “P-pilamayaye.”

  Night Shadow opened his hand and watched her damp strands of hair fall in a tangle from his fingers. When she shivered violently, he scooped her into his arms. “We will talk after you are warm.”

  Winona didn’t struggle. She lay limp in his arms. “Taku ehe kin ecel ecanu sni,” she whispered brokenly in Lakota.

  He glanced down at her closed eyes. “No, I did not keep my promise. I hurt you. That was not my intention.” He entered the warm shelter and set Winona down. She backed away from him, her eyes wide in the firelight.

  “You understand Lakota?”

  Realizing he’d given himself away, Night Shadow shifted away from her. He tossed a few more twigs onto the fire and shrugged. “Some,” he hedged, eyeing her warily.

  “Sunka.” She moved closer. “What does it mean?”

  He tossed one of the furs to her. “We will talk in the morning.”

  Winona didn’t catch the fur. It fell and landed in front of her. She stepped over it.

  “Maka. Itunkala. Zuzeca.” She moved around the fire, following him.

  Night Shadow sidestepped her, crossing back to the other side of the fire. At his back the cold rolled over him. He sighed and sat.

  “Dog. Skunk. Rat. Snake.”

  At her indrawn hiss of air, he added, “Do not forget gnaska.” Her eyes widened.

  “What?”

  Night Shadow almost welcomed her fury. Anything was better than tears, so he made the same frog sound as she’d made at him when she’d called him a frog before.

  “Kukuse.”

  Night Shadow stretched out. “Yeah, pig too.”

  Chapter Ten

  Clay understood Lakota! And yet he’d played dumb with her. Not once had he spoken to her in her own language, choosing to use the white man’s tongue instead. Furious, she picked up the fur and stalked to the back wall. She sent him an angry glare, but he seemed unaware of her.

  How dared he just lie down and ignore her? She longed to lash out at him, fling more names at him, but this time she wisely held her tongue. Drained physically and emotionally, cold to the bone and confused, she was not ready for another confrontation.

  Sliding down the stone wall, she sat with the fur over her legs. So much had happened. She felt as though she were being swept away by a spring flood caused by a sudden storm. She tried to wipe out the events that had changed her life forever.

  She’d mated with a man who was not her husband; nor would he ever be. Winona had witnessed matings between many animals and gathered from other women that it was as natural as breathing or eating. Some seemed to enjoy it; others felt it was their duty.

  But during those intense moments when she’d taken Clay into her she’d felt not just pleasure and a demanding need. She’d felt alive, full of power.

  Frowning, she tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. She’d become a part of the world, not just part of the cycle of life but of the very essence of life. Coming together with Clay had set her free unlike anything she could have imagined. Not even sitting on her beloved Gray Rock had ever made her feel that way.

  She’d become the wind, flowing in and around Clay. The heat of their bodies joining, hotter than the rays of the sun, had sparked off a storm that crashed over, around and through them.

  Leaning her head back, Winona bit her lower lip. She’d been part of Clay, and he her, and it had been wondrous. Beautiful. And hurtful. He’d taken the joy from it.

  Staring into the fire, she shook with more than cold. In her mind she knew Clay had deliberately hurt her. He’d been a wounded animal trying to bite anyone who tried to come near him.

  Winona dropped her head to her knees. In her heart and mind she knew this meant that she’d sliced through some barrier he’d erected around his heart, but it didn’t help the pain of his words go away. Sniffing, she tried to think of something else, but she felt so miserable inside. Her mind and heart felt bruised.

  Watching Clay sleep, she thought it was obvious that what had happened between them meant nothing. He hadn’t lied. He’d used her. Her eyes blurred. That hurt far worse man the brief stab of pain that came with losing her maidenhead.

  “Don’t you dare start crying again.” Clay’s voice sounded irritated.

  Winona glared at him. He hadn’t bothered to open his eyes. Exhaustion settled over her shoulders. “To cry would mean I hurt, and for you to hurt me I would have to care about what you do or say to me.”

  She laced her fingers together and held her knees tightly to her chest. “I do not care,” she said defiantly.

  A long silence followed her false declaration. Clay sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His shadow moved over her with each brusque movement. “You care,” he said softly. A thread of sadness crept into his voice.

  “Hiya! Makeya!”

  No. Ridiculous.

  “I do not care about you. You are taskakpa.”

  Clay’s blank expression pleased her. She opened her mouth to tell him he was like the tiny insect who buried its head into the skin of animals or humans and stole their blood.

  She didn’t. Instead she closed her eyes and drew the fur tighter around her shoulders. She’d given herself freely and, in return, had taken what he’d given her as a gift into her heart.

  “I am sorry I hurt you,” he said.

  She shrugged. “It was no worse than skinning my knee as a child.”

  Clay sighed but Winona ignored him. She didn’t want to talk. And she didn’t dare look at him or else she’d start crying again.

  “I am sorry for that too, but I was apologizing for what I said.”

  Winona’s gaze flew open when she felt his warm fingers slide down her cheek. One tear escaped. He caught it with his finger and rubbed the tiny bit of moisture between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I did not use you.”

  “I know.” The tears flowed freely. She heard Clay sigh.

  “Come here.” He scooped her into his arms and sat in the same spot where she’d been sitting.

  Winona pushed against him but he tightened his hold. “Be still and I will try to explain.”

  “Jenny?” She held her breath.

  “Jenny.” He hesitated. “It is a sad story and the telling of it does not change who I am.” He gently turned her head to face him. “Or what I must do.”

  Winona allowed him to arrange one fur beneath her and cover her legs with the other. She sat in the cradle of his legs. His leggings added to the warmth surrounding her.

  Resting her head against his chest, she waited.

  Night Shadow wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he was tired and worn from carrying his burden alone for so many years. Though many knew of his past, few knew just how deeply affected he was. He wasn’t even sure he could speak of his past, but he needed to try to explain. Only then would Winona understand what drove him. Perhaps if she understood, she wouldn’t hurt as much.

  Nothing had changed within him. He couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud his vision, but he knew he was on the edge of allowing this woman to come between him and his past. He had to tell his story and get it over with. Put her from his mind and heart. Finding his sister and killing his enemy were the only things that mattered to Night Shadow, but Clay yearned to take his place in this world. He wanted to share his pain with someone who saw more than most.

  So Night Shadow gave in to Clay and a woman who’d found a way into his heart. First he told her of his Cheyenne mother and his sister Catherine Youngbird, his two younger brothers and his baby sister, Jenny, painting a picture of a family
who lived among the animals his father trapped for their fur.

  His mother had loved his father, and had left her tribe to travel with him. She’d borne him children and created a tipi filled with love and laughter. There’d been other trappers who’d also taken Indian women as wives, including his father’s partner, who had one child, a boy one year older than Clay.

  Clay had grown up with Henry Black Bear. Henry’s mother had died when he’d been young, so the boy had often lived with his family when the men left for days at a time to set their traps or take their hauls to the trading posts.

  Grateful that Winona didn’t speak or ask questions, Clay took a moment to gather his thoughts. When she gently stroked the back of his hand, he tightened his hold on her.

  “I was fourteen when my father left to take our furs to the river. It was his partners’ turn to take the canoes downriver to the trading post.” Falling silent, Clay closed his eyes.

  “Two trappers brought him home. Dead.”

  He felt Winona draw in a deep breath. He forged onward. “They weren’t sure what had happened except that there had been a fight between my father and Henry Black Bear’s father after a game of cards.

  “I buried him and planned to take my mother, sisters and brothers home to her family. But Henry’s father showed up, drunk and in a rage.”

  Clay felt his throat tighten. “He went after my mother, said he had claim to her. She fought him and stabbed him to stop him from raping her. She didn’t kill him—only wounded him, which made it worse. He would have killed her if I hadn’t shot him in the leg.” He fell silent.

  “The man had been like a father to us. I didn’t want to kill him—even though it was clear he had murdered my father. I just wanted him to leave and never bother us again.”

  His voice hardened. “I told Henry to take him away before I killed him. He did.”

  Clay’s voice turned bitter. “Henry’s father died a week later. I was away from the tipi playing with Jenny. She’d been pestering me, so I chased her, and when she ran back to our mother I stayed away. I needed to be alone.”

  He’d gotten his wish. His absence had left his family vulnerable. He’d been the man, the protector, and he’d failed. Clay wrapped his hand around Winona’s hair and rubbed the soft strands between his fingers. His jaw trembled.

  Winona shifted beneath him. “You blame yourself.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I heard shots. But by the time I ran back, Henry had already shot my mother. Catherine had the shotgun. We all knew how to use it, as we were often left alone. She missed. Henry didn’t.” His voice broke.

  “I’m not sure what happened to my two younger brothers. They’d gone out to check the traps and bring them in.”

  Images of Henry Black Bear standing over him with a knife dripping with his own blood blotted out everything. “He told me he killed them.” His voice broke. “Taunted me with how easy it’d been.”

  Clay shuddered but held nothing back, left out no detail. “He gutted them as though they’d been animals.”

  Behind his closed eyes, Clay saw it all again. Felt it. He and Henry had fought. Clay, distracted by Jenny’s screaming and the blood of his mother and sister, had allowed emotions to surface that had nearly cost him his life. He’d struck out blindly, and Henry, with his taunts of his brothers’ gruesome deaths, had the winning weapon.

  He fell silent, sick after all this time.

  “Jenny?”

  “Sold.”

  Over and over Clay heard Jenny screaming for him as he lay helpless and dying. Rage quickened his breathing, but he called upon an inner strength to calm himself. He was no longer a weak boy named Clay who’d failed. He was Night Shadow, a warrior of merit. And he would avenge the destruction of his family. He’d known for years where to find Henry Black Bear, or Hoka Luta as he called himself, but he’d waited. Controlled his need for vengeance.

  He planned. Waited.

  Watched. He could have killed Henry anytime. Not once had Henry been aware of his existence, or how close Night Shadow had come to him. His enemy continued to live only because Night Shadow had failed to learn the whereabouts of his sister.

  Opening his eyes, he lifted his hand to smooth the hair from Winona’s face. Once again the fire had died down. Embers glowed hotly, like the ball of hate burning in his belly. In his arms Winona stirred. The silence between them was broken only by the softly crackling fire.

  “Clay, what if Hoka Luta does not know where Jenny is after all this time?”

  “Pray that he does,” Night Shadow answered coldly, resuming control. Clay was gone now, but for the first time since that fateful day he admitted to himself that the odds of Henry producing Jenny after all this time were slim to none.

  “If he cannot return her?” she persisted. She turned in his arms and looked at him.

  Night Shadow felt his gut tighten. The warrior knew what he would do. The man balked. He wanted a life without hate and pain and guilt. He yearned for the love and laughter he’d once known and taken for granted.

  But the warrior who’d emerged from the broken boy needed to watch Henry die a slow, painful death—but not right away. Taking Winona was only the first step of his plan. Night Shadow planned to destroy Henry’s new life and leave him a broken man. As he’d left him.

  In his arms he felt Winona tense as she awaited his answer.

  “I will sell you as he sold Jenny.”

  Winona slumped in his arms. “You would hurt my family? Me? What about Spotted Deer? She has no connection to any of this. And you said you would not harm us.”

  “My family was innocent yet he destroyed them. All of them. This is war. Sometimes the innocent get hurt.”

  Regret brought exhaustion sweeping over him. Night Shadow would not have felt anything. His course had been set. If he somehow found a way to go on with his life he’d never have the strength or courage to return to the shadows. Until he found Jenny he had to brave those shadows.

  Dropping his head to rest on Winona’s, Night Shadow gave in to the needs of Clay and allowed himself to ask what-ifs for one night.

  Hoka Luta could not be the cold-blooded murderer Clay accused him of being. Clay had to be wrong. Henry Black Bear and Hoka Luta were not one and the same.

  Hoka Luta was honorable. He was the son of a powerful medicine man. He was respected and feared. Warriors spoke around the fire of his many brave deeds, and fathers sought him out on behalf of their daughters.

  Winona chewed her lower lip. Doubt and denial whirled around her mind until she felt sick. It could not be. She couldn’t have been so wrong about him. No one had anything bad to say about Hoka Luta. No doubts had ever been whispered about the man she’d chosen to marry.

  Her father had been pleased with her choice; her brother spoke of the man’s wealth and his generosity. Hoka Luta had given many gifts to her people. Clay had to be wrong. And yet deep inside, she knew he wasn’t.

  Clay’s heartrending tale had been too real. Too painful. She hadn’t asked how he’d survived or how he’d found Henry. Later. Right now it didn’t make any difference to his past, or her future. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t allow him to sell her or Spotted Deer.

  Unsure of what to do or think, Winona tried to put everything from her mind. Behind her she felt Clay’s slow and even breathing. The threat of being sold should have made her frantic to escape, but Winona didn’t move.

  Instead she thought of her family. Even though Golden Eagle was much older, the two of them were close. As a girl she’d followed her only brother around, pestered him and made him play with her.

  Her favorite games had been having him chase her, or clinging to his back while he raced like the wind across the prairie. She smiled. The wind had rushed past her and made her eyes tear. Her laughter and excited shouts and giggles had always seemed to make her brother go faster or leap higher.

  Remembering the fun times she’d had with Golden Eagle, Winona fully understood Clay’s need to find
his sister. From the little he’d said she knew he’d been as caring and loving a brother to Jenny as Golden Eagle was. To this day brother and sister shared a close relationship, even though he was now married with four young children.

  But no matter how much Clay needed to find Jenny and avenge the deaths of his family, Winona couldn’t allow him to do it at her expense. She and Spotted Deer were innocent, and creating wrongs to right wrongs would not bring his family back. Nor would it allow him to ever fully live. So where did she go from here? What should she do?

  She had no answers. Just questions. What if Jenny was alive, still living as a slave? Winona couldn’t imagine not being safe and loved.

  She thought of Spotted Deer. The death of her friend’s parents could have left Spotted Deer alone, but her family had taken the girl to their tipi and their hearts. What if Jenny had had no one? What if she waited and prayed each day for her brother to find her? There was also the chance that she now had a loving family and didn’t remember Clay. Would the truth destroy her new life?

  Winona closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. Children taken captive from their enemies were usually adopted into their new families. If Jenny had been sold at a young age, she most likely had a new life. Trying to think back to when she’d been three winters old, Winona couldn’t remember much. Her earliest memory seemed to be her fascination with her brother and his willingness to let her climb onto his back and sit on his shoulders so she could feel grown-up. Did Jenny remember Clay?

  Tired, sore of heart, mind and body, Winona put Jenny from her mind. Her concern lay with Clay and finding a way to convince him not to go through with his plan. She had to. Her father would not give up. Clay would die, and she had to do everything she could to prevent it.

  Not an easy task. From a distance one of her father’s arrows could kill Clay without her having a chance to tell him Clay’s reasons for taking her and Spotted Deer. And then there was Hoka Luta. If he remembered Clay and understood the messages Clay left, then he would also be after Clay to finish what he’d started.