by Karen Kay
Somehow at this moment it didn’t seem real, he didn’t seem real.
“Come,” he spoke to her, turning away from her at the same time. “We are too far behind the others.”
Rebecca allowed him to tread on ahead of her while she stood still, lost in her own thoughts. Ghosts, or “shadows,” as he called them, talking to him, calling to him, asking him to set them free from earthly haunts? Could one really be “trained” to talk to such spirits? She didn’t believe in such things, she wouldn’t believe. Yet didn’t her own Irish heritage have similar tales? Aye. Still, this was too much for her to grasp all at once, and she felt herself growing distant from Night Thunder, in more than just a physical sense.
The Indian’s view of life made little sense to her. For instance, no one had made comment upon the fact that both she and Night Thunder had been gone the entire night, something she felt hard pressed to comprehend. In truth, it appeared that the Indians, as a people, rarely condemned one for things which seemed important to her, yet made much over what to her were trivial matters.
Perhaps she would never understand them.
With the flip of her hand, she shook back her hair and tipped her head to face toward the sun, welcoming the warm rays of the morning. She paused for a moment more, letting the sun settle in upon her as though it might wash away her thoughts. But too soon, she realized she could no longer see the Indians, and picking up her skirt, she hurried to catch up to Night Thunder and the others.
Though Blue Raven Woman knew she shouldn’t, she met her brother’s gaze from over the blaze of the campfire. Quickly she looked away.
Had he seen her?
Her brother would discipline her, she knew, if she did something to bring her family shame. But it wasn’t this that caused her to look away. It was her own emotion she feared, not her brother.
Drawing her buckskin robe up to cover her face, Blue Raven Woman turned away from the evening’s tribal gathering, feeling as though she were being engulfed by a sickening sensation of her spirit.
What could she, a lone woman, do? She loved the young warrior, and he loved her. But it could never be. She was promised to another.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love and respect Night Thunder, her betrothed; it was that Night Thunder seemed more brother to her than lover. Of course, she couldn’t be certain, since she had never had a lover.
But she had known Night Thunder all her life, had grown up with him, played games with him as a child. He seemed a part of her family—not in the role of husband, but rather like a relative.
How could she marry him?
Yet, she must.
She had told her mother and her father of her vision, but as she had predicted, no one had believed that she, a young woman, without fasting, without doing the proper honor to Sun, had been granted a vision. Perhaps it was just as well. Surely the dream would only strengthen Night Thunder’s cause. Yet she had wondered who was this golden-haired woman? What did the vision mean?
Still, it mattered little now.
Blue Raven Woman threw back the hide flap of her mother’s niitoyis, tepee, and stepped a foot inside the lodge, ignoring the welcoming scents of sweet grass and smoke. Tears fell from her eyes and she knew she had to get away. She couldn’t let her parents, her brother, find her like this.
Grasping hold of the water hide, she made her way back outside, her path taking her to the stream, which ran close by their encampment. Perhaps if she were lucky she would avoid her grandmother this night, too, since it was her grandmother’s job to keep a close watch upon her, an unmarried maiden, in a village of virile men.
She didn’t want to explain her feelings for the young warrior to her grandmother. A lecture, and a story of what had happened to other women who had been disloyal to their families, would be hers for her trouble.
Blue Raven Woman paused at the stream, her gaze seeking out Sun’s favorite wife, Old Woman, the moon.
Somehow, she felt that Old Woman would understand her. Yet what could they do, she and Old Woman? Custom dictated she marry Night Thunder. It was binding upon her…and upon Night Thunder.
“You should not be out here at this time of night alone.”
Blue Raven Woman jumped and dropped the skin that she used to collect water. This was not her grandmother’s voice. This was male.
She made a grab for her knife, which she kept at her back. Perhaps she had been reckless to come here alone, especially at night. But she would keep her honor. She would not let this interloper seduce her.
The steel edge of her weapon glinted under the moonlight and Blue Raven Woman silently thanked her father for the gift of the white man’s blade, which he had secured in last year’s trade. “Kyai-yo!” she cried out. “Who goes there?”
“Do not be afraid. It is I, Singing Bull.”
She sighed, while at the same time her heart lurched. But her voice was steady, giving no indication of her inner turmoil, as she said, “You should not be here. Others will talk if we are discovered, and I would shame my family; possibly I might even have to pay the penalty of being seen with you.”
“No one has followed me, I am certain.”
She turned away from him and picked up her water skin, though she didn’t replace her knife in its sheaf. “You come here to me under the guise of starlight and there is no punishment for you if we are discovered, but there would be humiliation for me. Please, if you care for me, go away.”
He didn’t come closer, to her, which she knew was good; yet at the same time she wanted him near to her, and the weight of the conflicting emotions made her feel unnaturally giddy.
“I will leave here as soon as I ensure that Suyi Tupi, the Water People, do you no harm.”
“They would not dare to hurt me so close to our camp. Please, you must leave me.”
“Aa, yes, I will.” He paused as though he expected her to say something else, but when nothing was forthcoming, he carried on, saying, “I have only come here to ask you to wait for me.”
“Wait for you?”
“Aa. I go to honor myself and bring home glory for you and your father, that he might think more kindly on me and upon my appeal for you.”
“Saa! You do not intend to steal horses, do you? You might be killed.”
He shrugged.
“Do you not realize that it matters not that you bring honor to the village? Your suit was not denied because of you or your family. I am to marry Night Thunder. It has always been so. It cannot be changed.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I know it. I tried to tell you this once before—Night Thunder and I have been pledged to each other since we were children. Our parents made the oath and you know well that it cannot be set aside, no matter my feelings…” she glanced up at him hopefully, “…or yours.”
He jerked his head to the left before he said, “Do you think your father would still ignore me if I bring him twenty, maybe thirty horses?”
“Aa. Have you lost control over your senses? Your lack of wealth is not the reason you were denied. No one disputes your prowess as a warrior. Wasn’t it only last year that you brought home the glory of three Cree scalps, those who had tried to murder us in our sleep? No one doubts you.”
She felt him look away from her and she glanced over her shoulder, wishing all at once that she hadn’t. The moonlight played over the shadows of his features, making him appear as handsome as her idea of the Blackfoot legend, Scarface.
She observed Singing Bull shift his feet, and instinctively she knew something was wrong.
She arose and took one step toward him, “What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
“What is it you do? There is more than horses you go to seek, is there not?” And when still he didn’t answer, she knew it was true. She gasped. “You go to join the war party against the Assiniboin, do you not?”
He glanced away from her.
“It is not necessary.”
“Perhaps,” said Singing Bull, �
��and yet even if this is true, I do not want to live without you.” His voice broke and she had to strain to hear this last part.
“Saa, you do not need to do this. There must be another way.”
“I would rather die than watch you with Night Thunder.” Singing Bull stood firm before her, though she heard a catch in his voice as he continued, “We could steal away this night, and when we return, we will be married. Your parents would have to accept it.”
“They would only do so if you have the necessary payment of horses to give to my family to atone for the insult done to them. Do you have them?”
He didn’t answer.
And she persisted, “And what of my brother? You know that he would have the right to discipline me.”
“I can make him understand, I think. He respects me. And I would not let him mar you.”
She remained silent. Oh, how she wanted to relent. But the consequences, if their marriage were not accepted, were far too great. Nor would it be easy to face the shame she would cause her family.
Singing Bull persisted, “Will you do it? After we become married, I will go and capture many horses and give them to your father. You know that I can do this.”
More silence. She bowed her head and when she didn’t answer at once, she saw Singing Bull shudder as though he had only now realized the impossibility of the truth. He uttered, “I ask too much of you, I think. I understand that. And it is as it should be. You will do as your father wishes and bring honor to your family and I will bring glory to myself and our tribe by driving the Assiniboin back to their homeland. So is the way of the people.”
Staring up at him, her heart cried out to him, but what could she do? What he suggested was not possible. She closed her eyes and sighed, murmuring to herself, “Aa, it is the way of things.” Bending, she picked up her water skin, replaced her knife in its sheaf at her back, and straightening up, she fled toward the shelter of her home; fled before she changed her mind and put honor and love of family second to the love of her life.
Chapter Eleven
The fire crackled and spit red-yellow sparks as it burnt the dry cottonwood and grasses that fed it.
Rebecca inhaled, and the sweet scent of buffalo grass reached out to engulf her. Fascinated, she stared over toward the man who sat opposite her, on the other side of the fire, the faint light from the flames throwing the man’s high cheekbones into prominence. He had captured his black hair into neat braids at each side of his face, strips of red rawhide holding them in place. One separate braid fell down his back, she knew, though she couldn’t see it.
She fidgeted, staring at his lips, as she recalled how it had felt to be held in his arms last night; how exciting his kiss had been, urging her on into a world of passion she’d only dreamed existed. Not even her fiancé had made her feel that way. It was a hard thing to admit.
Would Night Thunder expect more kisses from her tonight? More lovemaking? Or perhaps more important, would she give them to him?
The thought made her blush. She couldn’t submit to him again. Last night had been different. Last night they hadn’t thought to live through the night…
Realizing where her thoughts were going, she glanced away from Night Thunder, hoping he didn’t possess the kind of “medicine,” as he called it, to be able to tell what she was thinking.
She cleared her throat. Try as she might throughout this day, Rebecca had realized that she could not condemn Night Thunder for what had happened between them. Not believing they had any future, the two of them had simply followed their instincts. Besides, if she condemned him, wouldn’t she have to denounce herself, as well? What she hadn’t considered, and possibly what he hadn’t, either, was what would happen if they lived. But again, they hadn’t been thinking clearly.
She gazed back at him, sending him a fleeting glance.
Oh, dear, she gulped nervously. He was surveying her now in much the same way that she had been doing to him earlier. She fidgeted under his steady regard.
Was it her, or was his appearance tonight more exotic than usual? It was almost as though he had made an effort to make himself look more appealing to her. Had he?
She let her gaze travel over him, trying to determine what it was that was so different about him. Was it the shells that he wore? Shells which, fashioned as slim hair pipes and strung together with large trade beads, hung down each side of his face and onto his bare chest? Or was it the more rounded shell earrings which dangled from his ears? On a civilized man the effect would have looked ridiculous, perhaps even feminine. Night Thunder, however, appeared far from effeminate. He exuded more masculinity than any man of her acquaintance, civilized or savage.
Her gaze fell away from his face and she found it hard not to examine his bare chest, all the hard muscle and sinew, with no chest hair to mar its perfection. His shoulders were broad, his waist slim, tapering down to a flat stomach upon which rested the belt which held up his breechcloth.
His legs were long, his leggings tight, the bulge in his breechcloth more pronounced than…
Her stomach dropped.
She tried to think of something else; truly she did. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from wondering how he would look without that breechcloth.
She almost moaned aloud at her thoughts, but she managed to keep the reaction to herself.
Still, she hadn’t been able to see the full effect of him last evening when they had made love, had only felt the rigid solidness of him, and she couldn’t help but speculate, how he would look when fully aroused. She had never before witnessed a naked man.
She almost gasped at the erotic meanderings of her thoughts, and biting her lip, she tried to keep herself from contemplating any more about it, about him. Yet she couldn’t stop herself as she glanced once more toward that breechcloth, and she swallowed convulsively when it appeared that the swelling down there had grown even larger. Quickly, she glimpsed away from him, away from that part of him, and stared upward, toward the stars.
“Humph.”
She heard him make the sound, but she ignored him. The man was dangerous—to her composure and the idea of how she should be conducting herself. She needed a moment in which to settle herself, and she took a deep breath, keeping her sights firmly away from him.
But his baritone voice split through the silence of the night, momentarily startling her as he asked, “Do you worry that I will make love to you again tonight?”
She gasped. The man was certainly direct.
“Or do you worry that I will not?”
Embarrassment consumed her, and she drew the buckskin robe she’d been given in toward her, trying to bury herself within its folds. Had her worst fear come true? she wondered. Had the man read her thoughts? Did he know that she wanted him?
She took her time answering him, although when she did speak, her words rang out clearly, carried toward him on the wind. “You should not ask me about such a thing,” she said, her voice, she noted, lacking the hard edge she had hoped to instill in it.
But he didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at her. “I would dare much, it would seem, with my ohkiimaan.”
“O-ki-m…what does that word that you said mean?”
He gave her a half smile, his look sheepish, as he replied, “Wife.”
“Wife?” She gave him a quick look.
He nodded. “Wife. Ohkiimaan, wife.”
She pulled at the robe as though she were trying to settle it better around her shoulders, and unconsciously she jutted out her chin. She said, “I am not your wife, make no mistake.”
“Are you not?” he countered. “Do you forget that we have come together as man and wife? I do not wish to call you by the name my people give to a woman who comes to know a man intimately to whom she is not married. So tell me, if not wife to me, then what?”
“I…” she choked. What could she say? This was not a topic she wished to explore, talk about, or examine in too close a detail. She decided to change the subject. “What about Blue Raven
Woman?” she asked.
He didn’t respond immediately, and his silence made Rebecca stare up at him. She frowned. His smile, and the gentle teasing which had lit up his eyes only a few moments ago, had faded. She almost wished she hadn’t asked. At last, however, he uttered, “Aa, yes, so that is what is bothering you. Say then what you mean.”
She gulped. “I…I meant,” she stuttered, “well, if you are married to me, then you wouldn’t be able to—”
“I must make Blue Raven Woman my wife, too. Nothing about that has changed.”
“Except that we…that I…” she hesitated. What had she been about to say? But he was right. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known. She said, “Then I am not your wife. I could never marry a man who is already married, nor one who must marry another. I would bring on the wrath of my God. Besides, in my society, two people are not joined in marriage until they are declared man and wife by a person of the cloth.”
He thrust out his chin. “What is this ‘person of the cloth’?” he asked.
“A man of our church, a holy man.”
“Aa,” said Night Thunder, “a holy man. Is it only in this way that a man and woman can be ‘joined’ in your tribe?”
She nodded.
And he grunted, while a dangerous glint lit up his eyes, causing Rebecca to shiver. “That explains much. Tell me, Rebecca, is it because of this that the white man will join with one of our women and leave them as though they mean nothing to him, when the white man returns to his own country?”
Rebecca sucked in her breath. “Has that happened?”
“Many have noticed that those men who take an Indian wife without the words of the Black Robe leave her. But those who bring a Black Robe to our village and take with them the words of this man treat our women as one would expect a husband to do. We have not understood why this is so. We have only seen that it is.”
Rebecca stared at him, speechless. What could she say? If what he claimed were true…“Then it is a terrible thing that my people have done to yours.”
He appeared to digest her words in silence. But then, all at once, he asked, “Is it this that you desire? Should I find a Black Robe that we might take his words? Would this make you feel that you are my wife?”