by Karen Kay
This statement stopped Strikes The Bear. And Night Thunder, quick to press his advantage said, “I hope that you are ready to give me many horses for the insult you bring to me.”
With these words all sounds within the camp stopped. Everyone and everything suddenly stilled, and all attention swung to Night Thunder.
Strikes The Bear recovered before the rest. “Miistapoot, nitakkaawa, go away, my friend,” he said, annoyed. “Your words make little sense. I have no quarrel with you. Leave here before I decide to begin one.”
“You already have one.”
“Otam, later we can talk of this.”
“We talk of it now. This woman is Siksika, Blackfoot.”
Strikes The Bear straightened up to his full height and glared at Night Thunder, a stare that would have sent lesser men scurrying away. Not only was Strikes The Bear a huge hulk of a man, resembling in size his namesake, he perpetually wore a scowl upon his face which gave him an evil cast. Most people, even the gallant men from the Pikuni, left him alone.
At last, the larger man spoke: “Why do you say this, my cousin?”
Night Thunder paused significantly. Then, slowly he uttered, “Because she is my wife.”
Astonishment, utter and profound, filled the encampment, causing the silence to become ominous and oppressive.
“Ohkiimaan, wife?” Strikes The Bear spoke up, filling the void. He grinned, his smile becoming wider and wider until he laughed at length. “Omaniit,” he said, “be truthful.”
Night Thunder didn’t even blink. “I am. This woman is my wife. You have brought me great insult. I expect you will have to give me many horses for what you are doing.”
Strikes The Bear laughed. “Ikkahsanii, you joke. We all know that Blue Raven Woman waits for you in a Kainah village in our homeland. Do you mean to dishonor her by taking another—a white woman—as your first wife?”
“Saa, no,” Night Thunder answered without delay, though in truth, he desired more time to think. In his haste to save the white woman, he had forgotten about Blue Raven Woman.
“She will not be happy to learn that you have married another as your ‘sits-beside-him’ wife.”
“She will honor our parents’ wishes, as will I,” Night Thunder asserted. “But we leave the point. This woman upon whom you seek to claim revenge is my wife and I assert all rights to her.”
“Saa, no, I stole her. She is mine now to use as the whites used my wife.”
Night Thunder allowed a moment to lapse before he spoke again. Then, calmly striding forward, he began, “Aa, yes, my cousin, it is right that you seek revenge, but would it not be better to wreak vengeance upon the men who did this terrible thing to you and your wife, than upon an innocent who knows not of it? Is it not true that if you do this thing to her, you will be making yourself into as treacherous a being as the white man? Is it this that you wish?”
Strikes The Bear screeched, then glared at Night Thunder. It was several moments before the other Indian answered, “You insult me, I think. It was my intention to marry this woman.” A smile, more evil than humorous, split Strikes The Bear’s face before he glanced back at the woman to say, “To have her take the place of my wife.”
Night Thunder didn’t flinch. “We all know that you lie.”
Strikes The Bear growled.
Night Thunder ignored it and pressed on. “We all know what your intentions were before I walked into this camp. I will give you only one more chance to keep your honor before I am forced to challenge you. I am the husband of this woman. She is mine and you may not use her. Give her to me.”
“Saa, no!” Strikes The Bear, holding up his knife, leapt before Night Thunder, and bending down at the knees, motioned Night Thunder forward. “If you want her, you must take her from me. But I warn you that if you kill me, which you will have to do in order to have her, my relatives will not rest until you, too, have departed for the Sand Hills.”
Night Thunder had already bent forward, had already anticipated this fight. He said, “You are foolish, my cousin. Do you forget that your relatives are mine, too?”
That statement seemed to settle upon Strikes The Bear as no blow could have. Momentarily, Strikes The Bear straightened. “She cannot be your wife.”
“She is.”
“Wai’syamattse, prove it.”
“I do not have to. My word is enough.”
“Aa, yes, your word.” Strikes The Bear’s eyes gleamed with a peculiar glow. “You are quick to give your word to save this woman. A little too quick. If this be true, you should have no unwillingness to ‘Swear by the Horn’ that this woman is your wife.”
Night Thunder stopped perfectly still, stunned. Though he had anticipated there would be punishment for any lie he told, he had not considered that Strikes The Bear might challenge him to this particular oath. Night Thunder hesitated.
To “Swear by the Horn” meant to pledge by the Honor of the Blackfoot Horn Society that what one said was truth. To lie meant certain death, and within very few moons.
Night Thunder quickly evaluated his choices. He could fight these men, but they were his brothers. It would mean killing his own kind; it might mean being killed. He could continue to lie; this, too, would incur his death and the destruction of his honor.
But wouldn’t his lies also spare the woman’s life…and that of his brothers?
Haiya, that was enough for him. Why did he hesitate?
With a spirit of loyalty and a sense of duty that would have put the most stouthearted patriot to shame, Night Thunder decided his future. “I will do it,” he declared. “I will ‘Swear by the Horn.’”
Strikes The Bear smirked. “Then let it be done.”
Murmurings could be heard from the other Indians who had watched the entire proceedings. Preparations for the oath started, but an older, wiser man noted for his fairness and honesty broke away from the circle of warriors.
He stepped forward, pacing toward the two warriors who stood in the center of the circle. Slowly, and with what seemed great deliberation, he began, “Saa, no, the vow need not be done. Not here, not now.” He strode up to Strikes The Bear. “We do not have all of the men from the Horn Society here that we might let our friend take this oath. All twenty-five members must be present before the oath can be clearly taken. I say our friend’s willingness to do it is enough.”
“Haiya,” Strikes The Bear insisted. “I do not believe him.”
The old man persisted, “It is enough.”
Strikes The Bear hesitated, unwilling, as were most young Indian men, to challenge an elder’s authority. He gave Night Thunder a malevolent glare, however, and continued, speaking to the crowd at large, “If she is truly his wife, surely he would not object to our demanding some proof.”
“I have given you my word,” Night Thunder protested. But the warriors seemed not to hear him, their murmurings supporting Strikes The Bear.
Night Thunder forced himself to appear aloof. Neither by face nor manner would he permit himself to betray his agitation. As strongly he was able, he said, “Did not all of you hear her call out to me as I entered your camp? Is that not proof enough?”
“That demonstrates nothing,” spat out Strikes The Bear. “We all know that you have spent several moons within the white man’s lodge. Because she knows who you are does not mean you are…special to her.”
Though every muscle in his body tensed, Night Thunder forced himself to show no reaction.
Strikes The Bear continued, “Surely she would not object to showing you some affection, here before us all, that we might know the truth of your words.”
It took great control and strength of will for Night Thunder to keep from betraying his consternation. But after a few moments he managed to effect a smirk at his opponent before he said, “You know that she would not agree to express a fondness for me in so public a place as this. What would you have her do? Go against tradition? Both hers and ours?”
“It seems little enough to ask.”
Night Thunder allowed himself no quarter as he glanced around the circle of warriors. Sweeping his arms toward all assembled, Night Thunder said, “This thing that Strikes The Bear asks is a great insult to me and to my wife. It would embarrass any woman, and a man, if she were to show her husband…feeling in front of so many eyes.”
“Haiya!” Strikes The Bear glowered, speaking to all. “So there is the proof that he lies. He will not do as I ask because he knows that the woman will not come to him. By his own actions, we know that Night Thunder lies.”
“Saa, no! Have I not already said I will ‘Swear by the Horn’? Perhaps it is you who is the liar. Perhaps your intentions are not as honorable as you claim. Will you, then, also ‘Swear by the Horn,’ as you ask of me?”
“I do not have to. My honor is not in question.”
“I say that it is.”
Strikes The Bear started forward.
“Ssikoo! Enough!” The old man stepped between them, holding out his arms against the two men to keep them apart. “You sound as two old wives arguing over a piece of meat. Do you forget, brother,” he addressed Strikes The Bear, “that our friend from the Pikuni has much medicine that he could wield against you? It would not be wise to go against him. I do not believe he would lie without fear of reprisal from the spirits of his ancestors. And if this woman truly is his wife, then we have committed a grave lapse in manners and we should do all we can to salvage her honor…and ours.”
“Humph!” said Night Thunder.
“But surely you can understand Strikes The Bear’s anger.” The old man looked toward Night Thunder. “Not more than four moons have passed since his wife was killed. The desire for revenge burns in his heart. It is his right to seek judgment upon a white woman. The wise men say good for good and evil for evil.” He paused. “But not if she is the property of Night Thunder.”
Both men glared at the old man.
“There is a way to solve this. While it is true that Strikes The Bear was using this woman to seek his revenge, I believe him when he says his heart was pure and his intentions were to marry her soon after.”
Night Thunder cautioned himself against objecting to what he was certain was a lie. Such an interruption would have been the height of discourtesy.
“The woman should therefore choose the man she wishes, with the warmth of her embrace. It is not too much to ask, given the circumstances.” And to Night Thunder’s grunt of displeasure, the old man added, “But it will be necessary only this once.”
Night Thunder looked toward the woman, knowing that he might have already lost this battle. What the old man asked was little enough to request, yet too much. He could think of little reason why the woman would deem to honor him with her embrace. Perhaps this was to be his punishment, for was it not said that he who deals in lies will soon meet with all he deserves?
Night Thunder stood up to his full height. If he were to face ridicule or death because of what he had been forced to do, then he would face it bravely, with honor.
Still, he needed to tell the woman all that had transpired here, to translate for her what she was being asked to do.
Bringing to mind the language of the Long Knives or the Americans, Night Thunder began to talk to her, using gestures and sign language as he spoke. And if she denounced both him and Strikes The Bear as liars, then so be it…
Chapter Two
Surely Rebecca hadn’t understood. Was Night Thunder asking her to kiss him? To show him a wheen bit of affection? Here, before all the others? Was this, then, an added insult on top of what she had been made to endure by these Indians?
She hadn’t expected to look upon Night Thunder again. When she had been captured by the Indians, she had assumed Night Thunder would go back to his own people with nary a thought for her, believing as she had that the man would feel his obligation to her at end.
But she had been wrong.
Had it been only a few months previous that Night Thunder had pledged his word of honor to protect her?
“I will watch over Rebecca,” he had told his friend and companion, White Eagle, “so that your woman need not worry about her. I give you my word that so long as I breathe, Rebecca will remain safe.”
That White Eagle’s woman had been the niece of a new breed of man that the Indians referred to as the Long Knives had made no difference to Night Thunder. White Eagle had needed help. Night Thunder had given it, no questions asked.
Rebecca remembered at the time being struck by the incongruity of it.
An Indian swearing his life to protect a white woman?
Yet he had.
She was suddenly glad she had spent the time necessary to ensure this man knew her language. Addressing Night Thunder, she said, “Do you want me to kiss you?”
Despite his stately demeanor, Night Thunder looked suddenly sheepish. And Rebecca could well understand why. Thus far in their relationship, Night Thunder had shown her nothing but the utmost respect, keeping a careful distance from her. Even during those times when the two of them had been alone, he had rarely spoken to her, Rebecca coming to understand that in his society, their association with one another—that of an unmarried woman with a man—would have been strictly taboo. Rebecca could only wonder at what else had been said among these Indians to cause Night Thunder to ask her for her embrace now.
“Why is it that you would be asking me this?” She put the question to him gently.
“I have told these people that you are my wife in order to save your life,” he replied to her, his voice deep and strong, yet with a hint of chagrin. “They are demanding some…proof of our union. But I can say no more on it now. I can tell you only that you are being asked to choose one of us. Either myself or my cousin who stands here beside me.”
She glanced from one man to the other, her gaze coming back to settle upon Night Thunder. She held out her wrists. “If someone would untie me?” The old man stepped forward, the knife in his hand, cutting the rawhide bonds.
Several pairs of eyes watched her as she paced toward Night Thunder. She glanced up at him warily and raised her eyes to his. “Could you help me with this…kiss, now?”
She glimpsed no emotion on the man’s countenance before he said, “This is a thing you must do on your own. I can only tell you what you have to do. You must choose either myself or my cousin.”
“With all these people here watching?”
“It cannot be helped.”
“And will this act truly make us man and wife within the eyes of your people?”
An embarrassed, almost bashful look stole over Night Thunder’s face, though his voice was strong as he said, “Only if we consummate the union as a man and a woman who are truly married are bound to do.”
She was certain her face filled with color. She stammered, “And…and must we do this in front of…?” Her hand swept out in front of her.
“No, just one kiss should be all that is required.”
She sighed. “It is little enough that you ask in exchange for my life.”
With this said, she came right up to Night Thunder and put her hand on his shoulder, reaching up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.
As soon as he received the kiss, Night Thunder stepped immediately back from her, and in his own language, said something to the others.
Chuckles were heard from around the circle surrounding them, and after some moments, Night Thunder said to her, “They say a kiss on the cheek is little enough proof.”
She paused. “Then let them deny this,” and she threw herself into Night Thunder’s arms, placing her lips against his.
When her lips met Night Thunder’s, something unexpectedly stirred to life within her. What was it? A warmth. Aye, surely, and yet more.
She felt her blood surge with newfound exhilaration. It made her want to curl in closer toward him, though she curbed the inclination to do so.
The faint scent of him engulfed her and she found it pleasing. He smelled of grass and smoke and prai
rie, yet more…There was another, almost indefinable aroma about him, too, something very male, and very arousing.
And there was an almost soft texture to his skin, his lips. She wondered, how would the rest of his skin feel beneath her fingertips? She brought her hand up to trail her fingers down his arm, only half aware of what she did.
He moaned in response and his reaction, far from causing her to reevaluate her actions, made her lean in closer.
His lips were full upon hers, making her feel warm, protected. Making her aware of her femininity. She became conscious of her breasts pushing forward against her dress, suddenly sensitized, and that area of her body most private to her began to ache, as though that part of her had awakened to life, too. The whole effect caused her to utter a soft sound, deep in her throat.
Rebecca heard another groan from Night Thunder and then all at once his arms came around her, pulling her in so closely to him that she could feel the evidence of his masculinity against her belly.
She could barely think.
For the past two months, she had grown accustomed to the company of this man as he had watched over her, guarding her. She had observed him within this time, had become used to the look of him, the sound of his voice, his quiet humor. She had even come to admit a fair amount of respect for him.
But this? What was happening here between them was more than mere respect. This was…well, it was…sexual.
Ah, yes. Pure and simple. This kiss was communicating more than words could have, that she might…fancy him…and he her.
Had he felt this pull all these months? Had she? Surely not. Or were they both only realizing this now?
She barely heard the footfalls of the other men in the camp, as they moved away, uttering words she didn’t understand. She was only aware of this one man whose arms held her securely, whose touch roamed even now up and down her spine, causing her to shiver.
Someone spoke from beside them, jarring Night Thunder’s sensual exploration.
“Soka’piiwa,” someone said. What did that mean?