by Lynn Landes
“We will see.”
He presses a kiss to her forehead and steps away. “Let me see to your wound.”
“Which one?” she quips.
“There are more?” he demands.
Suddenly she wishes her mouth was not quicker than her head. Tears fill her eyes, and she moves to the skin. “I just need to rest for a few minutes, Ahote.”
“Show me,” he demands.
“In the corner is a smaller bundle, it has dry clothing and herbs.” She replies, ignoring his demands. “If you could bring that, we could patch up my head.” Ahote moves quickly and watches her as she carefully sits on a boulder closest to the small fire.
A few minutes later he has checked the wound and found it to be a small gash. Satisfied that it has already stopped bleeding, he moves on the injury on Kimani’s cheek.
“You surprise me, Ahote. Your touch is gentle, but you are called the Hammer. Why?” She asks needing the distraction.
“It is my weapon of choice during battle.” He offers her a clean buckskin shirt, and she takes it from him, desperate to feel warm and sleep.
“Turn around so I can change,” she murmurs.
Ahote turns and walks to the fire to add a few small pieces of kindling. He hears her struggling behind him and turns sideways while she works to remove the sopping wet buckskin dress.
When she gasps in pain, he jumps to help. “Stop, before you hurt yourself.” He carefully pulls the dress over her head causing her to double over in pain and grab her ribs.
The sight of her pale skin and perfect breasts is covered quickly, but not fast enough to shield the scars and bruises from him. She turns away trembling and pulls the shirt on over her wet leggings and drops to the nearest boulder gasping for breath. “I just need a few minutes.”
His admiration for her grows more with every second as does his determination to claim her as his bride. “I think your father, named you wrong, little warrior.” He picks her up gently in his arms, and she doesn’t fight him when he places her on the buffalo hide and covers her with it.
“Sleep, and I will watch over you.”
“Thank you, Ahote,” she murmurs, and her eyes close.
Ahote lays beside her and traces the freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose and runs a thumb over her lips, smiling when she bats at his hand.
As a son of the Chief of his village, her father will not turn his claim away. He has been waiting to make his offer, and now that he has his lodge ready to bring home a bride, their future is set. Those responsible for her injuries will be punished, and he will teach her what it means to be his.
A few hours later, Kimani wakes and finds him lying beside her. His eyes are so brown they are almost black. She reaches out a trembling hand and traces his face, memorizing every detail. From the scar at the corner of his mouth to the curve of his nose.
“I remember this scar. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped them.” Her eyes close as she pushes back the memory of the Sioux Indian who tried to take her the summer of her tenth year. “Have you always looked after me, Ahote?” She asks softly.
“Not well enough. I’m sorry your wait was so long.” When she touches his lip, he nips her finger causing her to jump in shock.
Ahote laughs a deep, husky laugh filling the cavern with his sound. Kimani smiles in response. For a moment she almost forgets where she is and why. When her smile starts to fade away, he leans forward and captures her mouth with a demanding kiss. Stealing her thoughts, worries, and fear he replaces them with longing, and hope.
He is the first to break the kiss, pulling back before he compromises them both. Kimani lets him help her up. “We should get back,” he replies turning away. Ahote begins to neatly roll up the hides.
Kimani sits on a boulder and watches him work. “I don’t know if I can swim…”
“You will trust me to help you,” he says gently. “You are not alone anymore, little butterfly.” The meaning behind his statement touches her heart.
“I’m not?” she asks.
“No.” When he holds out a hand, she pauses and looks into his eyes. The need to belong is so strong she finds herself reaching out. It is a strong hand, gentle, yet unyielding, like the man. In his eyes, she finds a sense of belonging that has been missing. He offers what Harris could not, does she dare trust it?
“How did you find me, Ahote?” Kimani asks as he guides her to the water.
“I will always find you, neaN-biha.” He grins and backs into the water slowly tugging her with him.
My heart, he calls her, and she is transfixed by him. He kisses her softly, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, savoring the taste and feel of him.
Together they swim back.
Chapter 2
“You can’t carry me all the way back, Ahote,” Kimani protests when he lifts her once again.
“I have claimed my prize,” he retorts, ignoring her and continues walking back towards the village, past the boats, horses, and towards the main lodge.
“Ahote, your tribe will never accept me,” she sniffs and struggles against the way her body reacts to him. Lean, roped muscle, tempts her, and she is in awe of him. Waterlogged, she’s thankful for the heat from his embrace.
He stops walking, shocking a small gasp from her. “Does someone else hold your heart, Kimani?”
Steel blue eyes flash in her mind, but she crushes that dream. “No, but…”
“I have planned to claim you for two springs, little butterfly. They know you have my heart. I will deal with those who hurt you.”
“You weave a beautiful dream, Ahote.” She says and laces her fingers through his damp, black hair. He starts walking again, desperate to get her back and make his claim before he takes her and runs.
“Dreams are the soul’s way of showing us the path. You will trust me, Kimani.”
She laughs softly and lays her head on his shoulder.
“I will try, Ahote.”
They pass the canoes, grass field and horses to the center of the village where the tepees are set up. The slowest part of the river backs up to the camp. Most of the lodges are set close together, creating a circle which allows the women to help look after the youngest of the tribe. The tribal celebration is still going strong when they return. Cheers erupt when Ahote appears carrying Kimani. The warriors surround them chanting, and the drum beats grow stronger. Hoots and chants encircle them, Kimani blushes and buries her face in his neck.
Ahote squeezes her gently, and his laughter rumbles through her body. He throws his head back and howls, shocking her and calling his brothers. Ahote’s father, Chief Sumac hears the call and moves to his sons’ side. The braves from his tribe surround them returning his chanting and dancing. Kimani tenses until she looks into his eyes. Passion, determination and a promise of peace.
Chief Nashoba lifts a hand bringing the clearing next to the massive fire to a standstill. Kimani trembles as her Father walks towards them. He stares at her injured face, and his eyes grow grim.
“Ahbe’?” she whispers the Shoshone word for Father.
“You will walk with me,” Chief Nashoba declares.
“Ahote, release me.”
“Never.” His arms tighten around her. “The Wolf Clan welcomes the daughter of the Great Chief Nashoba into their tribe. I will honor and protect her all the days of my life.”
Kimani gasps and stares at him in shock.
“You will make your offer in my lodge.” Her father replies and walks away leaving them standing in disbelief.
“Kimani will come with us and get cleaned up,” her Mother asserts.
Anger rips through Ahote, and his arms tighten around her. He’s not ready to give her up. His father’s hand on his upper arm reminds him of his duty. Slowly he lowers her feet, surrendering her to her family.
Kimani watches until Ahote enters her father’s lodge, followed by his own Chief and Father. Her stomach cramps as the others pull her away. The drums start
again, followed by music and laughter as the celebration continues.
“Kimani, we must get you changed and to your Father’s lodge,” Mitema says, pulling her away from the crowds to their tepee by the trees. Warmth envelopes her as they step inside. Nashca hurries to grab a second dress, made of white buckskin, a traditional dress worn for weddings.
“Not that one,” her mother warns. Both girls stop moving and stare. Mitema ignores them and pushes her gently on a half log used for a seat. “Your hair is wavy. I love the way the firelight dances on it. I always have,” she sniffs and begins brushing it. If she sees the wound on her head, she doesn’t mention it.
“Bia” Mother, “what is happening? I don’t understand.”
“I know, daughter. Your Father will explain.”
Nashca helps her dress in a traditional pair of leggings and an orange buckskin dress beaded with white shells. Both women stop moving when they see the bruises on her body. Mitema’s head drops to shield her tears.
Slowly, she helps her dress and then guides Kimani through the night towards her father’s lodge. It is a massive tepee built large enough to house thirty members of the tribe at a time. Smaller tepees surround it, but it is distinct because of the design. The horses painted by her hand race along the buffalo hide. She smiles at the image it represents. At night with the flames flickering through the tan leather, the black horses seem to race across it.
Nerves flutter in her stomach, as Nashca tucks her arm through hers in support. Mitema stops short of entering. The flaps are closed meaning no one can enter, but they can hear.
Ahote’s voice shouts in anger and the voices of the men inside rise to meet his. The flaps are thrown open, and Chief Sumac steps out, followed by his warriors. Ahote is among them, and he is flanked on both sides by his brothers. Each guide him quickly past Kimani, and he refuses to look at her.
Her heart sinks like a stone in the river. “Ahote?” she murmurs. He stops walking to turn back and look at her. With a grim look, he turns away and walks on with his tribe.
Mitema announces her arrival and steps back to wait for the council members to exit the lodge. All who pass, refuse to meet Kimani’s eyes. What could she have done to deserve such treatment?
“It’s going to be alright, Sister,” Nashca whispers and guides her inside when her Father calls out for them to enter.
Kimani stumbles along beside her sister and Mother into the lodge and sits across the fire from her Father and brother Yuma. She studies her father’s face. Time has aged him, leathered skin, dark hair, dark eyes. He wears the headdress of the tribe, with its massive white and black eagle fathers.
“Kimani, this is not how I planned this tribal.” He sighs and accepts a drink from Mitema. Her trembling hands are covered by his as their eyes meet. Kimani knows something is terribly wrong.
“I don’t understand,” she whispers.
“I know, daughter.” He drinks deep and hands the bowl back before continuing. “Nashca and Yuma are children of our bodies, and you are a daughter of our heart. We only want what is best for you.”
“I know that, Ahbe’. I love you both with all of my heart.” Nashca squeezes her trembling hand.
Chief Nashoba sighs deep, “It is with that love in mind that I ask you to hear me out. When the tribal is over, I am returning you to your people. I meant to tell you later, but I didn’t expect Ahote to ask for your hand.”
“Returning me to my people?” She stops speaking for a second and stares at her family. “You are my family!”
Mitema hides her face in her hands, unable to bear the heartbreak she sees reflected in her daughters’ eyes. The Chief continues speaking, afraid to stop or change his mind.
“Ahote’s offer has been refused. War is coming, between the White Man and Indian. The last massacre killed four-hundred Shoshone. We must leave, Kimani. I have accepted a treaty, it offers us protected land up in the North. My prayer is that we will find peace, but you would not be received well. You have seen how our own people treat you.”
“You think the others will treat me any better?” Kimani shouts! They all jump in surprise. “I’m nothing more than trash to them. I will never be accepted by the white men.”
“Not with the River’s family. They have allowed us to remain on the land, working it and even shared in the profits. I spoke to them, and they were happy to offer you a home with them, where you will be safe and protected.”
Harris River’s pops into her mind, but she pushes that thought away. He’s still in love with his dead wife. There’s no future for her with him. When she starts to object the Chief jumps to his feet and walks around the fire. He removes his headdress and hands it to his wife. Kimani stops speaking, afraid of what will happen next.
“How many years have they come to our aid, daughter? Countless. How many years has Harris treated your wounds? I could not protect you from our own people, do you think it will be any different with Ahote’s tribe? Look at your face.” He drops to his knees beside her and takes her face in his hands. For the first time, she feels the trembling in his body.
“I kept you child. Selfishly, I took you. When I found you with the wagon train, I couldn’t leave you.” He glances to his wife and back, “I should have turned you over to the nearest wagon train or town. We rode through the white man’s camp, and all we found was death and disease, but in the midst of that sorrow, a child’s laughter rang out. When I turned, there you were. A baby chasing a butterfly,” his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You stole my heart that day and every day since, daughter.”
Clearing his throat, he presses a paper into her hand. It is a worn letter, stained and tattered. “When you are ready, this letter will tell you of your people. They called you Vanessa Schmidt. Until then, know that we love you.” He rises slowly and walks to his wife.
“I know this is the right thing to do.”
Tears roll unchecked down her bruised cheek.
“With us, you will always be a target.” He turns back to her, “Ahote means well, but he can’t protect you from what’s coming. I can. I had hoped to give you a good memory to take with you, daughter.”
Kimani sobs into her hands. He wraps an arm around her Mother’s shaking shoulders. “Nashca will take you to your teepee.”
Yuma slips silently from the lodge, leaving the weeping girls together. When her tears slow, she whispers, “He’s wrong, sister. They will never accept me as one of them. Am I forever to be an outcast?”
Nashca doesn’t reply; she simply hugs her close. When they come to her teepee on the edge of the trees, Kimani stops her.
“Nashca, I love you, but I need to be alone. You have a young brave waiting to spend time with you. Go be with your husband to be.”
“I’m sorry, sister.” She hugs her tightly and runs away, leaving Kimani standing outside in the cold night air.
Defeated, she ducks into her teepee and walks slowly to the small fire. Bruised and broken, she drops to her knees and weeps for all the treasured dreams that are now tattered. Clutched in her hand is the letter. Kimani balls it up and throws it across the teepee and sobs harder.
When a blanket is dropped around her shoulders, Kimani pulls it tight, “Thank you,” she sniffs, and her head snaps to the side.
“I told you I would look after you, little butterfly,” Ahote stands beside her and waits for her to say something. Dark narrowed eyes and shining black hair, he looks like a vision.
“What are you doing here?” she gasps.
“I’m claiming my prize,” he pulls her to her feet. Her mouth falls open, and he laughs softly.
“Say, you want to be mine, Kimani. I’m tired of waiting. The white men do not deserve you, and I will not let you go without a fight.”
With a sob of relief, she smiles and leaps into his arms. “I want to be yours, Ahote.” He kisses her hard before turning to pull her to the door.
“Do you wish to take anything with you?” He asks quietly.
“No,” she
glances at the balled-up letter on the floor of her tepee, then back at him, “I have all I need.” He grins in approval.
The lovers slip into the woods behind her teepee where they are joined by the Chief and his warriors. They are given horses and ride to the cover of pine trees to the east of the sprawling camp. Chief Sumac waits with the medicine man and closest member of his tribe to witness their marriage.
Ahote takes her hands and nods to the medicine man to begin.
“God in the sky’s above, please protect the ones we love. We honor all you created as we pledge our hearts and lives together.” He joins their hands and covers them with his own.
Ahote smiles at Kimani, “We honor Mother Earth and ask for our marriage to be abundant and grow stronger through the seasons. We honor fire and ask that our union be warm and glowing with love in our hearts.” He pauses waiting for her.
Kimani replies, “We honor wind and ask that we sail through life, safe and calm as in our father’s arms. We honor water to cleanse and soothe our relationship -- that it may never thirst for love.”
Together they continue, “With all the forces of the sky’s you created, we pray for harmony as we grow forever young together.”
Ahote pulls her close and kisses her, while the tribe howls around them.
Kimani laughs as he picks her up and strides to his horse. He lifts her onto the back and leaps up behind her. “Tomorrow is soon enough for worry, tonight we celebrate.”
He rides to the shallowest part of the river where the rock slides occurred. “I’d planned this differently,” Ahote says as he dismounts and lifts her from his horse. A canoe is waiting for them.
“Across the river at the base of the cliff walls is a clearing among the pine trees. We should be able to make it quickly enough.”
Kimani nods and climbs in and watches as he expertly guides the light canoe across the river, guided only by the light of the moon. It is wide and deep with the water moving slowly. After thirty minutes, they make it across, and he leaps into the shallow water, pulling the canoe to shore.