Stone Heart's Woman

by Velda Brotherton

  Leaving the group of children, she darted across the muddy road and sat down outside the station, back against the planks. It was a long wait, but at last he came out.

  After glancing about to make sure they weren’t being watched, she hissed his name. Sweeping a quick look over her, he started off the porch, holding his bowler on against a stiff wind. Disregarding the danger, she ran after him, tugging at his coat tails.

  “It’s me, Aiden. Did you see him? Is he all right? When are they going to do it?”

  “My God, woman. They’re looking everywhere for you. Don’t you look a sight.” He appraised the road, then grabbed her arm and dragged her into the barn where extra animals were kept for the stage run. Sweet rose water from his toilet nearly overpowered the smell of hay and horses and leather.

  Before he could say anything, she pulled on his arm. “I have to get him out of there. Please, can you help me? Don’t let them kill him.”

  “Easy, settle down.” He pried her soiled fingers off his coat sleeve. “What have you been doing, wallowing in a hog trough?” With bright eyes, he studied her for a moment, then began to laugh. “Well, well. Aren’t you the smart one? You look just like one of those urchins out there. No one even gives you a second look, do they?”

  She shook her head. “Can you help him?”

  “I just did. He won’t like it one bit, actually ordered me not to, but knowing what I know, I can’t just stand by. Wessells is, if you’ll pardon my language, a bung hole. Besides, it’s going to make one whale of a story back east. People’ll eat it up. And if Libbie Custer was fit to be tied before, wait’ll she reads the story I just sent. She’ll do anything to put a stop to this. The publicity that would follow this execution would keep raking up those nasty rumors about her womanizing husband for years to come. She’d never recover from the stench of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and don’t really care, as long as it gets him out.”

  “Oh, I can’t guarantee that, but I can guarantee it’ll stir up as big a fuss as there’s been since the Confederates were given amnesty. All eyes are on this place, and I intend to keep the fires burning. If I could get him to tell me more about his mother and father, I could do more, but he refuses to talk about it. What I’m writing may be enough for the army to put the lid down fast and hard. There’re reporters here from Chicago and New York now. Nothing they do will be secret, and I filed the story first.”

  Anger burned in her throat. “You don’t really care if he’s shot or not. All you care about is your story.”

  He patted her arm. “No, that’s not true. It’s just that I’m not a miracle worker and I won’t make promises I can’t keep. I could use more information about Custer and your young man’s mother, but he’s so danged stubborn.”

  “I want to see him.”

  Head swiveling in all directions, he said, “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “Make it possible. I can get him to talk to you. Tell you what you want to know.”

  He laughed harshly. “I don’t think so. He’s adamant. Says he’d rather die than claim ‘that bastard’ as his father. And those were his very words.”

  Choking back tears, she turned away, stared through the open doors at a rattling freight wagon, wheels deep in mud.

  “Okay, if you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself,” she cried, broke from him and ran out into the street. To her surprise, she saw she stood directly in the path of a column of soldiers. At their head rode several officers. One on a magnificent, high-stepping mount out ahead of the others, was a bearded man wearing a great caped coat with a fur collar. He must be very important, for his entrance caused a great stir. She darted toward the guardhouse, saw the boardwalk out front filled with soldiers watching the procession.

  They paid little attention to the muddy little Indian who slipped along the wall at their backs and through the door. Gently, she pushed it shut behind her and quickly surveyed the room. A ring of large iron keys lay on the desk nearest a barred door. Without a plan, she grabbed them up and inserted one into the keyhole, then another, until she found the one that worked. Moving now with no conscious plan, just the frantic urge to free Stone Heart, she hurried past the cells, taking only an instant to check each one out.

  Then she saw him, back to her, peering through the small window as the soldiers rode past. She wouldn’t have known him save for his wavy blond hair, for he wore grubby pants and a loose linsey-woolsey shirt. On his feet, though, were the familiar knee-high moccasins still stained with his own blood.

  Almost dancing with urgency, she fumbled a key into the lock. He whirled, crouched, as if ready to fight, then saw her. At first he didn’t recognize the grubby creature she’d become, but then she spoke his name, her sweet voice slamming into him with such force he stumbled.

  “What are you doing here? They will catch you. Leave, leave now before they find you. A’den, please do not do this crazy thing.”

  The lock clicked loudly. “Too late,” she said, reached inside and grabbed his hand. “Is there a back door?”

  “Through there, but it’s locked.”

  Smiling tremulously, she held up the keys and shook them. “Come on.”

  Unable to quite believe what was happening, he led her through the maze of cells to the oaken door that opened onto the alleyway between the guardhouse and the corrals. Through it meals were delivered and slop jars were carried out and emptied.

  The way was deserted and he sprinted for the corrals, still hanging onto her hand, expecting at any moment to hear a cry of discovery. Maybe someone would simply take aim and fire, saving the army a trial. But no one saw them. Everyone had turned out to watch the arrival of General Crook. The reporter had told him Crook was on his way, and he’d been right. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the other things the man said. Just maybe the cocky little pigeon knew what he was talking about after all.

  At the corral fence, he lifted A’den over and leaped after her. About twenty horses milled into a tight bunch, eying the intruders with ears twitching. He slipped past them and into the stable.

  “Look for saddles, blankets, anything we can use, but be quick.” Grabbing up a couple of bridles, he eased back outside, picked two long-legged roan geldings. The cavalry liked tall, strong mounts, and she would have to make-do with her shorter stature. With no wasted motion he bridled both and led them into the stable where she waited with blankets. Snubbing both animals he quickly saddled them. She had found saddlebags that looked a little the worse for wear, probably discarded by their owners.

  “Roll up any extra blankets you can find, tie ’em behind the saddles. Hurry, we cannot have much time before they discover I’m gone.”

  She did as he asked, and no more than finished the job when he grabbed her from behind and boosted her high into the saddle.

  “I don’t...I can’t ride,” she said.

  “Hang on with your knees. Hug him tight. Lean forward to make a smaller target. Stay low and just hang on.” He mounted, grabbed the reins of her horse, kicked his in the ribs and they galloped through the wide doors.

  The tail end of the cavalry column moved out of sight between rows of buildings as he made for the road that led away from Fort Robinson and into the hills. Wind kissed his face with a promise of freedom, and his heart hammered against his ribs. Yet he dare not hope they would get away clean. Any moment he expected the shock of a lead bullet in his back. He only regretted that she too might be shot down, but he could do nothing about it. It was much too late to turn back or to leave her behind. They were in this together, until the very end.

  The first hour or two he pushed the horses hard. Headed north, they climbed up out of the White River Valley. At the hot springs they would turn northwest and make for the Bighorns. They had to avoid the Red Cloud Agency, which would be crowded with soldiers that had accompanied the Cheyenne earlier this morning. On they rode without rest. The sun hung at the peak of its winter apex, a brisk nor
thwest wind blew, and they could not stop moving into it. Amazingly, no one had chased after them, so that meant they hadn’t been spotted leaving. Soon though, a search party would fan out to track them and bring them back. Probably dead or alive, since he’d been under a death sentence. They had to put many miles between them and the fort before nightfall, then find a good place to hide, rest the horses and sleep. He knew better than to ride the animals to death. As for themselves, they would need food and water and he wished for a weapon, but they had none of those things. And so he kept riding, leading her mount and not speaking to her of the things that worried him. There would be time for that later.

  She didn’t complain. Not even when her backsides grew so sore she wanted to cry out with each step. The insides of her thighs throbbed, and her buttocks grew numb. How could anyone ride these miserable creatures all day every day? Her mouth grew dry and her empty belly growled. Still, he didn’t stop; and she didn’t ask.

  The sun dropped behind the distant mountains to the west and darkness crept around them until she could no longer see the ground beneath the hooves of her horse. The air cloaked her in miserable cold, and still they rode. She wanted to beg him to stop, to let her down, but she couldn’t. All she could do was wait to die, right there in the saddle. She probably wouldn’t even fall off. He’d just ride on and on and when he did finally stop, he’d find her stiff body, clinging to the back of the horse.

  And then, blessedly, he led them into a thick grove of trees and the horse stopped moving under her.

  She let out a moan and tried to lift her right leg from the stirrup. It wouldn’t move.

  “Wait, A’den. I’ll help you,” he said, the first words he’d uttered since they’d ridden from Robinson that morning.

  He came to her in the darkness, enclosed her waist in both hands and lifted her off. She fell into his arms, unable to stand, and he carried her to a place where he lay her gently on a bed of pine needles. She could smell water and felt a damp warmth in the air.

  “Lay here until I take care of the horses. I will be back.”

  “I need water,” she said, tongue and lips so dry they could scarcely form the words.

  It was so dark she couldn’t see him, but heard him rustling about. In a moment he lifted her head and gave her a handful of water. It was warm and tasted strange, but she gulped it down and he brought her more. She lay back and knew nothing else until he lay down beside her and took her in his arms.

  Now she could die in peace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aiden awoke as she had fallen asleep, cradled in Stone Heart’s arms. For a moment she felt only serenity, and thought perhaps they were dead. She could see nothing but an enclosed darkness. No trees, no sky, no moon and stars, no sunlight. But one didn’t feel pain after death and her body was one huge aching mass. Snuggling closer to him, she groaned with the slight movement. He spread a hand over her mud clogged hair.

  “Hello,” he said and kissed her forehead. “Do you hurt?”

  “Oh, yes. Ummm. You’re warm.”

  “It’s the spring, the steam off the hot water.”

  She saw he had stretched a blanket over them that captured the escaping heat and held it around them like downy fur.

  “I thought I’d never be warm again. Is it morning?”

  His arms tightened around her. “Early. I am so sorry, what has happened to you. All I wanted was to help my people and look what it did to you.”

  “We’re together now, that’s all that matters.” She shifted and dried globs of mud chafed her body. “Ugh. Do you suppose I could take a bath?”

  “A bath? Do you think you need one?”

  He chuckled and she joined him. He’d actually made a joke. Granted, a small one, but a joke nevertheless. A wonderful contentment spread through her at being there with him. Rather foolish, considering that they had no food or supplies, were in the middle of nowhere and were being pursued by no telling how many soldiers. And when they left she’d have to ride that dratted horse again. She wasn’t sure she could.

  “Did we really get away?” She was almost afraid to ask the question. “Won’t they come after us? Marcus said the army will try to hush it all up because Libbie Custer is making such a stink. Maybe they won’t carry out the execution.”

  He held her so close she could hardly breathe and said nothing for a long while, then whispered, “We dare not count on that.”

  He was right, of course, but it was a wonderful dream.

  Shifting, he began to remove her buckskin clothing, first the jacket, then the shirt. She wore nothing under it but a camisole and he slipped that off as well, his big fingers fumbling with the ribbons that tied it together over her breasts. Though much of the dried mud had been worn away, she remained rather grubby. He licked one nipple clean, took it in his mouth. The moist warmth of his kiss sent ripples of pleasure through her tired, sore body.

  He raised his head, nuzzled her throat. “Let’s get in the water.”

  “Kiss me again.”

  Lifting her, he took the breast in his mouth and slipped from under the makeshift shelter into the hot water of the spring without standing.

  Its delicious warmth enclosed her as they went under, his mouth clinging in a long, hungry kiss. When at last they came up for air he alternated between eagerly touching her naked body and removing his own clothing, the awful shirt and pants supplied by the army to its prisoners. Standing waist-deep in steaming water he gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time. In the pink of early dawn, his eyes gleamed, and though she searched their depths she saw no regret. He had left with her and not followed his people. Would he one day blame her for that?

  Wrinkling his nose distastefully, he plunged the prison clothing into the water. “I wish I could burn them, but I have nothing else to wear. Do you know where my clothes are?”

  She hadn’t thought of them at all during the past few days. Not since she’d come home to find the stolen army uniform gone and his buckskins in a pile on the floor.

  “I put them away.” Threading fingers through his hair, she pulled his mouth down to taste his lips, his tongue, the velvety softness within. Her hands roamed his naked body, slick from the water, and she pressed hers close. Breast to breast, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. Warm and slick and aroused.

  He spread both hands under her buttocks and lifted her against his hardness, released a great sigh of pleasure when she took him into her most secret self.

  Inside her and cradled in the warm embrace of the spring, he felt more alive, more hopeful, than he had at any other moment in his life. If all he could do was keep her forever, he would never ask for more. Daft as that might sound under the circumstances, he still couldn’t think beyond it. For in his heart he knew this time with her would probably be all they ever had. All that was left of a life he’d spent pursuing all the wrong things, seeking vengeance on a man who didn’t know or even care that he existed. Ruining his own chances at surviving in a world gone crazy, a world not of his making but one in which he must live or die. Nothing else mattered but her love and it was too late for him to keep that.

  He held her so closely, remained so still that she grew worried.

  “What is it? Are you all right?” She wanted him to make love to her, but he simply held her, hands trailing slowly up and down her bare back. He filled her, enclosed her, yet she sensed he had gone away.

  When he didn’t answer, she leaned back to look into his face. She was surprised to find his eyes closed, tears running down his cheeks. Her ferocious warrior was crying.

  “What’s wrong? Please, talk to me.”

  Without opening his eyes, he replied. “I am tired of fighting, tired of watching what is happening. One day someone will come and take all this away from the white men. I vowed, in that cell, if I escaped we would go away somewhere together. Live like you deserve to live. And forget all this. Forget it all. And being here with you now, I know I can do that.”

  “But your people
.” She cupped his face, studied the finely sculpted features closely.

  His gray eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You are my people.”

  Sobs caught in her throat and she kissed him tenderly. “I missed you so much. I love you so much.”

  “Oh, me too. Me too.” The last was muffled against her throat.

  Above, streaks of pink and lavender clouds slashed across the blue sky. Too soon the sun would be up and the soldiers would find them, ride them down. It was as if time could not wait to tear them apart.

  If only she could hold back the passage of the next minute, make the world stop right then, cradle them forever just as they were. Arms locked around his neck, she arched her back, felt him grow large inside her, reach for the heart of her essence. Touch it and awaken a spirit within she’d only dreamed of possessing. It saw beyond the day, far past the night and on into infinity, where beauty took away ones breath.

  Eagerly, she met his rhythmic throbbing with a demand of her own, soared to an explosion of passion. The water around them roiled in a frenzy. Morning turned to night, stars tumbled and bathed the sky in fire, and she knew nothing but his hands, his mouth, his flesh embracing her soul.

  From the root of his desire his heartbeat grew like a storm swallowing the morning, drove him into a land where spirits dwelt. Where drums beat the rhythms of the ancient ones. In his blood, the unholy thunder would always remain, for in this one thing he would forever be a savage. He couldn’t let her go, held her tightly, feeling himself rise and fall, rise and fall, within the cavern of her sweetness. Tasting, touching, clinging as if to leave her safe, warm haven would mean death.

  Even in rest the water rocked them gently, and still they held to one another. If he turned loose she would not be there. In his arms would be that stinking straw bed, and him sitting cross-legged on the floor in that narrow cell back at Fort Robinson. And he’d never see her again. But the very worst part, this would have been only a dream.