by Jenna Kernan
She recalled he made terrible coffee. “No, thank you.”
His expression turned stormy again. “Is it the coffee you hate, or just me?”
She made no answer.
His face colored. He rubbed his neck as he searched for something else to offer her. “I don’t have any tea or milk. Never have company. Don’t suppose you drink whiskey.”
She chuckled and he stared at her in seeming astonishment. Was it from hearing her laugh? She tried to remember the last time she’d laughed and could not. Melancholy settled in her bones at the reminder of something else she’d lost with Thomas’s leaving—her joy. Lucie had brought some of that back into her life. She did not plan to lose it again.
How much like him was his daughter. On her, the bright strawberry curls looked lovely. Somehow God had seen fit to give her his blue eyes, as well. The freckles, unfortunately, came from her, as did the dimples, though Sarah had not had cause to show her dimples in years.
Samuel’s dark hair and Lucie’s bright curls had made the truth obvious to all. Many saw Samuel’s marrying her under such circumstances as a noble act, though she was cast as soiled goods by most. When news reached the gossips that Thomas lived, overnight Samuel went from a man to be respected to one who had been hoodwinked. He overlooked the gossip and kept his own counsel on the matter instead of blaming her for his lot. Sarah found the situation harder to ignore. Her friends abandoned her and their vicious little offspring teased Lucie mercilessly. Living outside the circle of society had changed them all and Sarah was determined never to cross the line of social propriety again. Yet here she stood, alone with the man who had once caused her to forget all consequences.
“Come sit.” He indicated a chair at his table.
Sarah crept forward and slipped into the place he indicated, knowing she should have stayed in town. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her.
Sarah glanced about the huge kitchen. Why was there no woman here? She saw no evidence one had ever occupied this space.
What women had he known in the long stretch of years that lay between their parting and this joyless reunion? She had no rights to him, but that in fact did not lessen her jealousy.
“Did you marry, Tom?”
He cast her a look. Color crept up his neck, but whether it was from embarrassment or shame, she could not tell.
“No.”
No, because he loved her, or no, because he hated her?
His eyes flicked up. “But I was engaged once.”
He meant to her.
She placed her hands upon the smooth surface of his empty table, preparing to rise. “Perhaps I’d best go.”
“No, you’ll stay.”
Sarah stood. They faced off across the pine table as uncertainty pressed heavily upon her weary shoulders. “I’ll just set my bedroll on the porch, then.”
“You won’t.” Indignation rang in his voice. “You’ll have my bed.”
The thought of sleeping in his bed sent an expected thrill of excitement dancing up her spine. Shame followed immediately. He had merely offered her a bed out of hospitality. Thomas was now her brother-in-law, but he still gave her chills.
“No, I couldn’t. I’ll rest by the fire.”
He rubbed his neck again. “This is my home and I say you sleep in my bed.”
The double meaning of his words obviously occurred to him too late, for his face flamed scarlet. He broke their gaze.
“Tom, I am not sleeping in your bed.”
He shifted from side to side as he considered her.
“You did once.”
She spun away. Damn him for bringing up what hung un-spoken between them. She reached the back door. Thinking only of escape, she pulled it open a crack before his hand forced it shut.
Sarah whirled to face him.
“That night was the worst mistake of my life.” She tossed the words at him and watched as they struck like a bucket of icy water hurled at his face. It wasn’t true, but she couldn’t take it back. So she stood with tears filling her eyes, making his shocked expression swim before her.
He gaped, and her stomach tightened with regret. But how could she tell him the truth? That one night was all that had kept her alive these many loveless years. It had also been the moment when everything changed for the worse. No, that wasn’t true—not everything. The one great gift in her life, her child, had come as a result of her impulsiveness. Lucie was all Sarah had left of her love for this man.
Thomas leaned in, forcing her to press herself back against the door.
“You didn’t think so at the time.”
She stood tall in a show of bravery that she did not feel.
He hovered as if deciding what to do with her, the strength of his body reminding her that the decision was his to make. Her body pulsed with longing.
He lifted his hand, giving her time to dart away, but she stayed like a beaten dog, yearning for its master’s touch.
His knuckles grazed her cheek and her eyes drifted closed to savor the contact. Her knees went weak, and she was glad for the strong support of the solid oak behind her.
Tom’s whisper brushed against her skin like a butterfly’s wing.
“Still beautiful as ever.”
He stroked her throat. Pleasure issued from his fingertips, rolling through her like ripples from a stone cast into still waters. How could he move her after all these years? Only his touch did this to her.
She remembered his kisses and craved them again. She also remembered him leaving her behind. Her desire for him warred with her fear of repeating past mistakes. After so many years, did they know each other at all?
“Thomas.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. “I’m not the girl you once loved. We’ve changed.”
His hand faltered, then slipped away. She recognized the desire and watched his scorching gaze cool to ice. The flush on his cheeks and flaring nostrils told her that he struggled with himself. He still wanted her, but now he held himself in check. She needed to look away, but his fierce stare held her mesmerized.
“Why did you marry him?”
“For the baby.”
He gripped her arms. “I’m not asking why you married. But you could have had anyone. Why him?”
She met the challenge in his eyes. “To give your child your name.”
His hands slipped away, leaving her cold and hollow. His eyes darted about as if searching for a way out. But there was no way out for either of them. Not any more.
The tears she had held in check now streamed down her face as she whispered the truth, that secret she had not even admitted to herself. “I couldn’t have you, so I took the one you loved best.”
His chin lifted. “I loved you best.”
Chapter Three
The kick to her hip woke Lucie. She blinked in confusion, surprised not by the kick but rather by the total darkness inside the teepee.
Following Calf barked orders and Lucie scrambled to comply. After three months of hearing nothing but this strange savage language, she understood enough of the words shouted at her that most days she managed to get by without a beating.
“Up, lazy girl. Up.”
Lucie pushed the errant strand of hair from her face and quickly found a stick to stir the coals to life. Following Calf roused her husband, Running Horse, with more kindness. The brave ducked out to relieve himself, the sound of his urine stream just beyond the buffalo hide making his wife chuckle as she retrieved the remains of the antelope from last night’s dinner.
Seeming to remember Lucie, she rolled her eyes and motioned. “Your hair.”
Once, Lucie’s strawberry blond hair had been a source of great pride. Now it was the bane of her life, attracting unwanted attention by being so different from everyone else’s. Wavy instead of straight, red instead of black, fine instead of thick. Some of the children had dubbed her Frightened Fox and the name had stuck.
For the first time since Lucie’s arrival, Following Calf seemed read
y to remedy Lucie’s lack of a conventional hairstyle. She forced Lucie to sit before her and gathered the wild snarl of her hair.
“I will need a knife to cut through these tangles.”
Lucie resisted the urge to pull away from the tugging fingers. Using an ivory comb stolen from the Wests’ wagon, her captor attacked Lucie’s mane.
Memories of her mother’s gentle ministrations collided with the rough abuse she now suffered under the same comb. She had not cried in months—thought herself no longer capable of the luxury—but found her throat closing at the sight of her mother’s prized possession. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to surrender to despair.
Running Horse ducked back inside the teepee and seemed to note nothing unusual about his wife’s sudden interest in Lucie’s appearance.
He thrust the bowl of meat at Lucie. She hesitated, suspecting a trick. Never had she eaten first.
Something was happening. Her heart whispered hope. Had her mother arranged for her release?
The possibility rose within her, like a seedling breaking through the soil. That would explain the sudden interest in her welfare.
Her scalp ached by the time Following Calf laid aside the comb and lifted the bowl of grease. Lucie’s confidence faltered. Why make her look like an Indian?
It made no sense.
She ached to ask, but feared both the answer and the cuffing her curiosity generally gleaned. Following Calf scooped a generous dollop of grease and smeared it into Lucie’s hair. In a few minutes, two straight shiny braids lay upon her shoulders.
“Fetch water,” ordered her mistress.
Lucie sprang to her feet, clasped the rope handle tied to the buffalo bladders and darted out into the gray gloom that preceded dawn. A single lark called into the darkness. The wet grass froze her bare feet. September already and no shoes. Again she mourned their loss.
She dallied by the river, listening to the growing cacophony of bird songs. She paused, inhaling the crisp morning air, delaying as long as she dared, before hurrying back up the bank, sorry to leave behind the only peaceful moments of her day.
Back in the lodge, Following Calf forced her to kneel as she stripped Lucie out of the ragged blue dress. Lucie’s cheeks burned in shame. Over the last few months, her body had become strange and embarrassing. Her nipples had begun to swell into ever-enlarging painful disks. She glanced at Running Horse, who paid her no heed but instead rubbed his tired eyes and then retrieved the platter of cold meat.
Following Calf poured icy river water into a wooden trencher and soaked a bit of tanned leather, twisting it to remove the excess. Then she scrubbed Lucie’s face, arms and hands more harshly than necessary to accomplish the task. Moving behind Lucie, she roughly washed her neck, ears and back, then swabbed the leather over her chest. The contact with the sensitive skin of her nipples caused Lucie to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
“Dress.”
Lucie scrambled to comply, tugging on her petticoat and wishing she had a needle and thread to repair the torn shoulder and ragged hem. Her moment’s assessment of her attire cost her a vicious pinch to the sensitive skin inside her upper arm. She stood trembling as the couple ignored her once more, speaking together so rapidly she could only make out a word or two. Horses, blanket. That was all.
Following Calf took the one additional step of scraping the dirt from beneath Lucie’s fingernails with a knife.
The woman turned to Running Horse. “She is ready.”
Ready for what? Lucie’s mouth went so dry she could not speak. Her tongue seemed huge in her mouth as she tried to form a question. Running Horse hauled her to her feet.
“Follow,” he said.
“Where?” whispered Lucie.
He scowled, then ducked through the portal without condescending to speak to his captive.
Outside, blue smoke curled from the tops of teepees, dogs sniffed about for scraps and girls carried water for their mothers.
What was her mother doing right now?
As always, the instant she thought of her old life, a melancholy too deep to name descended upon her. Running Horse gripped her wrist and strode purposefully along, leaving Lucie to dance behind in an effort to keep up or be dragged. He halted at the chief’s tent and Lucie trembled, staring at the open flap. They were expected.
Whatever had happened, it merited the chief’s attention. Did they mean to kill her at last?
Gall rose in her throat and she choked, forcing it back. Running Horse called out and then waited for his host to bid him welcome. Lucie hesitated until her master called for Frightened Fox and then she ducked into the rabbit hole, as she considered these round gaps in the hide. She thought of her lovely warm farmhouse in Illinois, and her spirits flagged.
From experience, she knew not to sit with the men. Instead, she huddled as far from the warmth of the fire as the leather walls allowed. As the lowest member of the assembly, she merited only the place nearest the drafty entrance. She dreaded the cold nights to come. How would she survive January’s bite?
The men smoked and conversed as she struggled to understand. They seemed to speak of buffalo and hunting.
Why was she here?
Finally, someone mentioned Frightened Fox and then some other word with fox and the men all laughed. Her cheeks heated, knowing they mocked her and wondering why she still cared. At least she could not understand this latest humiliation.
She glanced about the group and noticed an unfamiliar face. The man beside the chief did not live in the village, but she had seen him before. Where?
The answer struck like lightning. On the dreadful march with the warriors—that was where she had seen him. When she would not eat the raw meat they offered, this man correctly guessed the reason and boiled the elk. She still had not wished to eat, but feared him. He would not leave her until she had consumed the entire portion.
That food saved her life.
Although after the last three months of misery, she did not know if she should thank him.
He lifted three wool blankets, and Lucie’s eyes narrowed. Had he obtained his wealth through trade or by killing a family of settlers?
When he extended the bounty to Running Horse, her heart seemed to lodge in her throat. Suspicion tightened her innards, squeezing the breath from her.
Running Horse smiled and nodded his thanks. The man glanced at her, meeting her gaze, and a bolt of fear passed through Lucie.
Had he bought her?
She puffed like a winded pony, resisting the urge to flee. Running Horse pointed at her.
“You go with Eagle Dancer.”
Lucie’s stomach dropped, as confirmation arrived like a brick in her belly. She hated Following Calf. Running Horse, though never exactly kind, at least ignored her.
This warrior could do far worse than beat her.
She thought of Julia Cassidy, the older girl she had walked with through Kansas. Her companion had vowed she would kill herself before allowing a savage to touch her. That was the only thing to do, according to Julia. Lucie found that she did not have the courage to end her life, miserable though it was. Would her family really expect it of her?
Eagle Dancer stood, his dark eyes meeting hers with that same fierce, unfathomable expression. She trembled as he motioned for her to follow him from the teepee.
Why did he buy her? The worst possibility arrived first. Would he rape her? She had expected that from the first minute of her capture. It was all her friends in Illinois could talk about when they’d learned of her family’s plans to travel west.
That was why she was thoroughly surprised that, although she was regularly cuffed and kicked, no one had molested her in that way. She stared at Eagle Dancer’s back. He was a full-grown man, with a stubbly chin. What could he want with a skinny girl who did not even reach his shoulder? Her mother said she was all knees and elbows, and this was never more true than now, thanks to the scant food she had been receiving.
She reached his s
ide and somehow found the courage to speak. Lucie clung to hope as she posed her question.
“You bring me to my mother?”
He paused and his brow knit in confusion, then he looked away. When his gaze met hers again, the scowl remained firmly in place. He shook his head, sinking the knife of certainty into her heart.
Her legs gave way. He caught her arm, easily holding her up. His strength frightened her more than his scowl. He waited until she tried to draw away and then released her and turned to go. She glanced back to the chief’s tent and to Eagle Dancer, and then followed her new master as he retrieved his pinto and said his farewells. Lucie noted that Running Horse held the reins of a new bay mustang.
Three blankets and a pony, the price of a slave.
She searched in vain for some means of rescue from this fate and found only the stern faces of the elders.
The fierce warrior leapt onto the pinto’s back and pressed his bare heels to his mount’s wooly sides. Lucie, wearing only a cotton dress, envied the creature her fine winter coat as she fell into step behind the man. Her legs seemed carved of wood, and she did not know what kept her upright.
Following Calf stood before her tent as they paraded by. Lucie refused to look at her, lifting her chin as she stepped past her former nemesis. It was the best she could do to show the woman how little she cared about leaving. Tonight Following Calf would sleep under a new blanket, but tomorrow she would fetch her own water.
The unknown loomed before Lucie, but she would not give Following Calf the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
Behind her, Following Calf’s hiss was unintelligible, but Lucie understood. Her mother would say there was “no love lost” between them.
Dancing Eagle’s pinto walked on and Lucie followed along the river as children who once threw stones and sticks now hurled only insults. Lucie didn’t care. Their words did not bruise her skin or bring her to her scabby knees.
Finally, the most persistent of the boys retreated along with the barking dogs.
Lucie filled her lungs with cool morning air. As unexpectedly as she had arrived, she left the village. Yesterday, she had not an inkling of the changes this day would bring, just as she had had no warning on the day of the attack. Day after day she had walked beside the wagon. Each week had flowed into the next and in one instant everything had changed. Her life seemed either monotony or mayhem.