Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3

by Karen Kay

  It was an interesting thing to note. Whereas another might have felt justified in attempting to change his wife to suit him, not so this Indian. He was a man of honor, a man of strong belief, and he would hold dear Rebecca’s convictions even if they differed from his own. After all, weren’t all men, and all women, for that matter, free to believe as they chose? It was not his place to pass judgment on the opinions of another. It was his duty to protect all within his tribe, no matter their beliefs or practice.

  He glanced away, his heart tormented.

  He had many problems, not the least of which that he had yet to seek out Blue Raven Woman’s father and make arrangements for his second marriage. His second marriage.

  Custom dictated that he should have done this as soon as he had come into camp, but he had been avoiding it. What would he say to the man who had thought his daughter would become a sits-beside-him wife? Not that Night Thunder would of necessity have to explain himself; it was only that Night Thunder didn’t know what to say.

  And if he were to be truthful with the elder man, he would have to admit that he was seeking a way to avoid the marriage altogether. How could he say this to Blue Raven Woman’s father?

  It wasn’t as if he didn’t have feeling for Blue Raven Woman. Night Thunder would always admire her. But it went no further than that. His feelings toward her were more brotherly than husbandly.

  Haiya, it was true. Blue Raven Woman could have easily been his sister.

  “She is beautiful,” someone whispered from behind him, speaking in a language as old as time itself.

  Night Thunder stiffened. He had heard that voice only once before…the shadow of the dead.

  “Go to her.”

  Night Thunder clenched his teeth in irritation. What did these spirits want from him? Why did they follow him? Did they not know that he could do little to help them?

  With slight impatience, Night Thunder asked, without the use of words, “Why come you here, speaking to me?”

  “Why should I not?” answered the voice. A long pause followed and then, again, “She is beautiful.”

  “Tahkaa, who?” Night Thunder didn’t say the words aloud, he thought them.

  “Ohkiimaan, your wife,” the voice whispered again.

  Night Thunder didn’t look behind him, nor did he glance to the right or left to see if anyone else had heard the strange words. He knew no one else could hear, had long ago accepted that few people could commune with the dead. What did these shadows want from him? he wondered again.

  He asked, still in thought only, “Tsak, which wife is it that you speak of?”

  “Know you which one,” whispered the voice. “Go to her, she, to whom you are married, for I tell you this with good intent in my heart, she will be your only wife.”

  “Haiya, that is not true, old man,” Night Thunder conveyed silently. It was not an easy thing to do, communing with the spirits, for they imparted fear and dread as well as knowledge. However, forgetting for the moment that he seldom enjoyed speaking with the dead, he added, “Do you know of my vow to Blue Raven Woman?”

  “Aa, yes.”

  “Then, shadow, know that I am the next medicine man for my tribe. Know too that I must always put the good of the tribe before myself, before all earthly desires, even my own.”

  “Have I asked you not to do so?”

  “Perhaps you have,” Night Thunder thought, “perhaps not. But know, shadow, that I am committed to Blue Raven Woman my pledge.”

  “Your pledge?”

  “My father’s pledge to her father. But that does not matter. I care not who made the compact. It is already done. And it is my duty to fulfill the honor of my father’s word.”

  “Is it?”

  “You know something else I should do that is as honorable?”

  “I might.”

  Night Thunder snorted. “Tell me of it, then, so that I too might understand.”

  With little hesitation, the shadow declared, “Love your wife.”

  “I do.”

  “Love her alone, for she will never be comfortable with another in her household.”

  “You think I do not know that? You think I am so deaf that I cannot hear? But if I do as you ask, if I put my honor aside as a thing to be ignored, if I refuse to acknowledge Blue Raven Woman as my next wife, you know that I would be as the liar who cannot keep his word, and I would never be able to serve my people in the manner in which Sun has directed me. I would have failed my people. I would have failed myself. You know these things, shadow?”

  “Aa, yes.”

  “And so knowing, how can you ask me to go to one wife and ignore the other?”

  “Only the one wife, now, you have.”

  “Aa, yes, but soon I must take the other. And when I do, I will return Rebecca to her people, for I know that she would be unhappy, then. Do not speak to me any more of this. You know that I must do this. You know, too, that my desires, my own happiness, are nothing to be considered in this matter.” Night Thunder was glad that he spoke in thought only, for his throat felt choked with an emotion too closely resembling grief, and he did not want to acknowledge it. He continued, still strictly in ideas alone, “I must keep the honor of my father, of my tribe.”

  “Saa, no, not yet. You must wait.”

  “I cannot,” he returned, although he paused. Perhaps it was because the shadow’s idea so closely mirrored his own desire. Or perhaps it was because he was anxious to grasp onto something, anything, that would delay his having to take Rebecca back to the fort. He became curious, and he asked, “Mao’k, why? Why must I wait?”

  “Some things you will discover on your own,” said the spirit. “Come I here not to change you or the path of your life. Come I here to guide you.”

  Even in contemplation Night Thunder felt his frustration build up within him, and he thought, though none too gently, “Why do you haunt me?”

  “Why think you?”

  “What is it you want from me? Can you not see that I am not yet the medicine man of my people? I have not called upon your spirit that you should follow me and talk to me.”

  “And does a person always choose his conversations with the dead?”

  The truth of the question, its delicate knowledge, stilled Night Thunder and he fell silent in reflection.

  The apparition continued, “But look you there at the one who would have been your wife.”

  Night Thunder looked toward Blue Raven Woman.

  “See you not where her eyes travel?”

  Blue Raven Woman spoke to Rebecca. That was all.

  But then, quickly, so fast that Night Thunder almost missed it, Blue Raven Woman shot a glance over toward…Night Thunder stared around the circle.

  Who?

  His scrutiny took in that one, a young man whose eyes were trained on…Rebecca. Night Thunder’s chin jutted out and his gut twisted before he realized that it wasn’t Rebecca the young brave watched…it was Blue Raven Woman.

  What was going on there?

  “They are in love. Good it is to see.”

  “Blue Raven Woman and Singing Bull?”

  “Aa, yes,” said the spirit, “she will make him a good wife if she were free.”

  “But she and I—”

  “Parents, they make mistakes. Both your hearts belong elsewhere. Find you another way. It is right. Your wife could never permit your heart to be given to another. And you are both needed for your people. Find you another way.”

  “But the vow of my father, hers…”

  “Think you that your people want you to be a slave?”

  “Slave?”

  “Is it not a slave who is committed to a promise which will hurt a great many people? Be you a slave?”

  “Saa,” Night Thunder hissed under his breath.

  “Old ways must fall away for the new. And I tell you, from here on, until Wind no longer blows and Sun no longer rises, you are freed from a vow that never from your lips was given.”

  Night Th
under stood for several heart-stopping moments as motionless as if he were an animal, hounded and hunted by wolves. For so long had Night Thunder been committed to this vow, it took some time for the old man’s words to settle in. Night Thunder was greatly baffled. At length, however, the old man’s words began to have effect upon him. Still, he could not completely accept what for so long, had been a way of life.

  “By what right do you break the vow?”

  “By right of your father.”

  “My father?”

  No answer came back to Night Thunder. Also, he could perceive no ethereal presence behind him, and he swung around to try to catch a glimpse of this one who kept haunting him. But the shadow that was the old man had gone. Nothing remained.

  He didn’t care.

  Tender hope gave his heart strength, and enthusiasm soared within him. He swung back to face the dancers once more.

  Did he dare to believe he could have Rebecca as his only wife?

  Saa, no, he cautioned himself against becoming too zealous. His father had once told him…wait. His father had long been in the spiritual world…

  All of a sudden, a mental image came to Night Thunder, a memory of his father as he had been before he had died, his father attempting to speak, to advise his son of something. Was it possible that his father had unfinished business? Was his father, even now, trying to send a message to his son, trying to communicate in the only way he could, what he had been unable to articulate in the flesh?

  Night Thunder frowned. It could be true.

  And if so, what was the meaning of it? What did it have to do with Rebecca?

  Nothing, he answered his own question. It could have nothing to do with Rebecca.

  Rebecca was white, not Blackfoot; she hadn’t been here when his father had been alive. What could her presence here now possibly have to do with his tribe? With him?

  As though in answer to his question, a feather fell at his feet—a golden eagle feather.

  All at once, the entire proceedings of the dance stopped. The drums and singing, the dancers and dancing, everything ceased as one and all became aware of the feather lying on the ground in front of Night Thunder.

  It was an omen. Such was bad medicine….or good… Still, nothing could be done until the proper rites had been recited over the feather, lest bad luck follow all who sang and danced.

  A medicine man from among them advanced forward to perform the appropriate ceremony.

  But before he bent to the ground, before he began the appeal to the spirits, the wise old man stared at Night Thunder. His eyes narrowed, and he said in a voice only Night Thunder could hear, “The spirits are with you, my boy. Determine, you must, what it is that they need from you, what it is they want. This feather,” he said, pointing to it, “is for you. Say I a prayer over it, but it belongs to you.”

  The fact that the medicine man had just spoken in the old tongue of the elders, the fact that the man had obviously witnessed the presence of the spiritual world here this day, did not surprise Night Thunder. He acknowledged the wise old man with a nod.

  But before a ceremony could be done, before the medicine man knelt to the ground, a swift whirlwind caught up the feather and whisked it high into the air, throwing it to and fro, until it came to drift back down to the earth, landing before…Rebecca.

  Perhaps it was only Night Thunder who could see the shadow of the old man place the feather on the ground before Rebecca. Perhaps.

  The old medicine man, however, glanced at Night Thunder and said, “Why have you not said to me that your wife has much medicine?”

  “I did not know it.”

  “Did you not? And yet she sees the spirit as only you and I can do.”

  Night Thunder jerked his head swiftly to the left.

  “I will have to think long about this,” said the old medicine man.

  Night Thunder remained silent, although he acknowledged the wise old man with another nod.

  The medicine man turned and strode toward the feather, toward Rebecca. Kneeling down in front of it, he said a prayer over it, for those here today, for Rebecca. But although the ritual demanded the safe return of the feather to its Indian owner, this one time the medicine man deviated from ceremony. Holding the feather out to Rebecca, the old man placed it into her hand.

  Night Thunder saw Rebecca peer at those around her, at the faces of all those assembled here, and he knew at that moment that Rebecca belonged here with him. There was purpose—a reason—for her to be here.

  His heart grew light, and the very essence of who and what he was took wing and soared. His being filled with a sense of eagerness he had not felt in a long time.

  It didn’t matter that he knew not for what purpose Rebecca had been given to him. It only mattered that she could remain here…with his people…with him.

  With great certainty, too, he realized that he could no longer continue his plans to marry Blue Raven Woman.

  His life had become entwined with that of Rebecca’s. And if she objected to the other woman as a second wife, Night Thunder would have to find a way to end the old pledge, regardless of how others in his village might judge him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Afternoon turned to twilight, twilight to night. By the time Night Thunder entered their lodge that evening, Rebecca had returned to their home, had hung the golden feather from the tepee lining, in plain view.

  Silently Night Thunder stood to his full height within the confines of the tepee, and after only a slight pause, came forward to stand before the golden feather. Delicately he ran his fingers over it.

  He said to Rebecca, “You know that the medicine man has honored you greatly by giving you this?”

  Though the words of his language contained many harsh guttural sounds, Night Thunder had unconsciously imbued a soft inflection into his speech, his voice full of gentle consideration.

  Rebecca appeared to respond to it, too, though she didn’t speak. She simply nodded.

  He asked, “You saw the shadow of the old man today?”

  Another nod from her.

  He gave her his full attention then, and brought his gaze up and over her. A tortured kind of anxiety kneaded away at his insides, but he kept his features carefully blank, as befitted the stoicism of his race.

  Haiya, how he wanted to tell her of his decision this afternoon, his change of mind. He wanted her to know of his realization, of the conversation between him and the shadow, so that she might feel more comfortable here with him.

  But he could not relate the whole of it to her. Not yet.

  Tradition and social custom demanded he settle the matter first with Blue Raven Woman and her family. Moral obligation dictated he keep his own counsel until the details of the estrangement with the other woman were determined.

  Still, no manner of rigorous training could keep him from desiring to comfort Rebecca, to tell her all that was in his heart. He might not be able to say the words, but he could let his actions speak for him, and he smiled at her with a sincerity that was as beautiful as it was honest.

  He said, “Today you looked more fair than anyone of my acquaintance.” Unwittingly, he raised his chin a notch. “Today you looked more Indian than white. You looked as though you belong here, but think not that it is this alone that makes you beautiful.” He came to squat down beside her and ran his fingers over her cheek. He continued, “It is the essence of your spirit, the goodness of your heart, I think, that causes the blood in my veins to surge. It is not often that while here in camp we may be alone, so let us take and keep this night to ourselves, to remember it always.” He swallowed, before he entreated, “Stay here with me.”

  And though he had been speaking of the evening yet ahead of them, he let the double-edged meaning of his words stand there between them.

  She must have felt it, too, for she shut her eyes and bent her head into his hand, where it still remained on her cheek. She rubbed against it tenderly, and he knew strong emotion filled her spirit.

>   Still, she said, “I…you know I welcome you home.”

  “Aa,” he said, “home.”

  “Still,” she said, “you know that I cannot stay here forever, and I…” She couldn’t finish.

  Admiration surged through him; admiration for her strength, her spirit, and her weakness. He said, “I understand.”

  She opened her eyes wide and stared at him. She asked, “You do?”

  He nodded.

  She jerked her head away, staring out toward, the tepee lining, and she said, “Oh, Night Thunder, what are we going to do now? You know how I feel about you, yet you know also that I cannot stay here for long.”

  “Aa,” he said, “I understand.” How he desired to tell her all that had transpired this day, all the knowledge that burned deeply within him, and it was only the strictness of his Indian training that kept him from saying to her what he knew she needed to hear. Still, though he could not speak the words, he tried to comfort her and said, “I would ask you to trust me. I would do all that I can to keep you from hurt, you know this?”

  She nodded.

  “Then you must trust me. I promise you I will find a way to keep you here and make you happy.”

  She looked back at him, her look tortured. “But I could never be contented if you marry Blue Raven Woman.”

  “I know this.”

  “Then how can you say—”

  “Trust me.”

  “But I—”

  “I promise this to you. I will find a way.”

  She wanted to argue with him, he could see it there, reflected in her eyes, but she held her peace.

  Haiya, had he ever known anyone more beautiful, anyone whose courage inspired greater strength within him, anyone who tried his imagination more than she did? He decided that he had not.

  Haiya, he wanted to show her the vastness of his love, too. Slowly he admired the gentle curves of her body, while images of how she looked naked filled his mind.

  He reminded himself dutifully that this was a Sun Dance camp and that he had certain obligations and rites to uphold, to perform. Wasn’t there a dance of the Kuk-kuiks’, the Pigeons’ Society, this night? He should attend. He knew it.