by Karen Kay
He muttered, “As I ask?”
She nodded. “I…I would be…” She gazed away, then down. “I would be…yours.”
Despite himself, War Cloud found his body stirring to life with the image that her words aroused in him, and he found that his voice was hoarse with anticipation when he asked, “You would do this…for the children?”
Again, she nodded.
“But you know nothing of me, of the Cheyenne, the Indians, nor what might happen to you.”
He watched as she threw back her head and gazed toward the heavens. “It does not matter. If it means a better life for the children, then I would do it.”
He studied her closely. He said, very, very softly, “Little Bear, look within your heart and ensure that this is what you want, for there would be no going back and it could prove dangerous for you. If you make this bargain with me, I would see it through. Know that.”
“I have already thought it through, sir.” She gave him a shy look. “If you will have me, that is. I know that I am not much, sir, but I promise you that if you do this, I will do all that you ask.”
He snorted, looking away from her. “Do not speak of yourself that way.”
Her glance at him was puzzled. “What way?”
“The way in which you regard yourself, as though you have no worth. Know, Nahkohe-tseske, that I have looked into your heart and what I have seen there is good. I will not hear anyone say anything different about you, not even yourself.”
This seemed to quiet her, at least for a moment. But then, as though she could not resist it, she beseeched, “Sir, may I invite you to do the same with me as you had me do only a moment ago?”
He gave her a blank look.
“Look at me, sir,” she explained. “Just look at me and please see the obvious.”
He stared at her.
And she waited. After a pause, she asked, “Well, what do you see?”
“A white woman. A woman with eyes that show nothing but kindness. You are the first white woman I have ever known. Perhaps if more of your women were like you, your men would not grow up to be such cowards and liars.”
“Sir! I do not like to hear my own kind spoken of in such a manner.”
“I do not like to see my own kind dead,” he countered.
She gulped, sighed, then said, “Do we have a deal, Mister Tall Brave?”
His glance swept over her once again, and despite himself, he found his nerve endings prickling with his acute awareness of her proximity. “I will have to think on it, Little Bear. I will have to think on it.”
“How long will it take you to think?”
He shrugged. “It will take as long as it takes me to decide.”
The expression on her face fell. She muttered, “Like you, I will not hold the offer open for long.”
He shrugged. “My decision will not be rushed. If the offer is no longer open when I am ready, that is your loss, and perhaps mine, too.”
She sighed. “Very well. However, please do not be long in deciding, Mister Tall Brave, for I fear I will not rest well until I know which way it will be.”
He nodded, then added, “War Cloud. My name is War Cloud.”
He caught her swift smile at him, watched as she offered her hand. “That is a very interesting name, Mister War Cloud. Although I told you once before, let me introduce myself again. I am Anna,” she said. “Anna Wiley. How do you do?”
He took her hand, ignored the awareness which swept through his body at her touch, then glancing up into her eyes, he stared at her, trying to read her thoughts. At length, he uttered, whispered actually, “You are certain that you have thought this thing through and that this is something you are willing to do?”
She nodded. “I have.”
He squeezed her hand before letting it go. Staring away from her, he said, “I think, Miss Wiley, that I have decided.”
“But—”
“Miss Wiley.” He grinned, and placing his right hand up at an angle to his head, he snapped his wrist, bringing his first finger down at the same time, the sign for, “It is done.” He uttered quickly, “We have a deal.”
Chapter Ten
Anna caught her breath. He had accepted her offer. The odd part of it was that she did not feel as though she were a sacrificial lamb. Instead, she felt…elated.
Rain beat at her face, yet despite the discomfort, she found herself returning the man’s grin. Cool water ran over her lips and into her mouth as the clean taste of the rain freshened her breath, and she found herself uttering, “Thank you, Mister War Cloud. Thank you very much.”
He shot her an odd look, a corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin. As they stood there facing one another, knee to knee, chest to chest, she could not help but observe little things about him; how his long hair, now soaked, framed his face; how one eyebrow, cocked upward, accentuated the devilish leer on his lips. She could only wonder what the man was thinking that would make him smirk so, but she was not left to wait for long.
Before another moment had passed, he uttered, “I only hope you will get along with my wives.”
The rain drowned out the last of his words and, uncertain she had heard him correctly, she murmured, “Pardon?”
“Haahe, I do not know how my wives will take to another woman.”
Luckily for her, the rain hid her reaction to this choice statement and, although unnerved, she found she was able to keep her voice even as she said, “But sir, I thought you said that the Cheyennes have only one wife.”
He nodded companionably. “Most do. Some have more than one—sisters.”
She compressed her lips and held her tongue, afraid to utter a word. Well, what had she expected? She knew very little about his man, after all.
Clearing her throat in preparation to say something—anything—she cast him a swift look, not at all pleased by what she saw there. In her youth, she had read that Indians were taught to be stoic, that their countenance expressed no measure of their innermost thoughts. Well, she decided, that observation was certainly in error. For this man wore the most self-satisfied look that she had ever seen.
Why, she wondered, did he appear to be so pleased? What did he expect of her? That she would back out of their bargain so quickly?
That was when it struck her. Of course. This was exactly what he thought. This man must have enough experience with the white man to realize that if a man were already married, there could be no pact between him and a white woman. Plus, she had told him this, herself.
Well, this tall brave would just have to think again, for he had bargained without knowing the intensity of Anna’s determination.
She gazed up into the midnight sky and said, pretending a nonchalance she did not feel, “The rain is starting to get heavier. Do you think we could find better shelter for the children?”
The wicked glint in his eye told her he was not at all fooled by her attempt to change the topic of discussion, and he responded, “Very much bother are white women, but perhaps”—he ran his gaze up and down her body—“they are worth it. I will have to see.”
Insulted, as he had surely intended her to be, Anna straightened away from him. But when she spoke, she kept her voice calm as she commented, “I can assure you, sir, that I will be no bother to you, or to your wives.” She sent him her own smug expression as she continued, “For there will be no reason at all for us to have much contact. Now, as I was saying, about the children—”
“There will be much reason for it,” he interrupted her.
“Excuse me?”
“You will need to perform your feminine duties, will you not?”
If he had meant to embarrass her, as she suspected was exactly his game, she refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she lifted her head at an angle and said, “Sir, Mister War Cloud, I feel that this conversation is inappropriate in view of the fact that the rain is getting heavier and the children are having to sit out the storm without protection and—”
“I disagree.”
“You do? But—”
“I feel our words are very appropriate. You would desire to know all that you can about the man you are to give yourself to, would you not?”
She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. The man was being very deliberate and very antagonizing. At length, she opened her eyes to stare directly at him. She said, “It does not matter what you have done in your life previous to this moment. No matter your present marital status, you are now the means to the children’s salvation. I must think first of them and only secondarily of myself. Yes, it will be a sacrifice for me, for you are right. I do not know you, I do not know your ways. But then again, one cannot pick and choose one’s own sacrifices. If a person could, then they would hardly be a concession, would they?”
She almost wished she hadn’t made such a gallant speech, for as soon as the words were uttered, the humorous gleam in War Cloud’s eye disappeared, to be replaced by a moroseness she could little explain. In essence, his features hardened into an unreadable mask. A moment passed quickly, followed by several more, before he observed unemotionally, “No, one cannot choose one’s sacrifices.”
He got to his feet, pulling the buffalo robe up from the ground with him. “Ta-nasetse, go on.” He pushed the robe toward her. “Give this to the children,” he ordered. He started to turn away, but before he did so, he glanced down quickly at her, at her dress, which was swiftly becoming plastered to her body under the constant pour of the rain.
The glint in his eyes softened and his touch became gentle as he brought the robe up around her shoulders, his fingers lingering over the exposed skin there as he said, “Or perhaps you should use it yourself, I think.”
She glanced up quickly to catch the hint of affection in his eyes before he dropped his hands to his side. He said, “I would not like you to become ill. I will need you to prepare the children to travel yet this night.”
“But—”
A fleeting smile crossed his lips. “Do not argue,” he said. “A good Indian woman does as she is told.”
“Sir, I must remind you that I am not yet your—”
“And she does not talk so much either. Now, go. When the storm dies, we will travel.”
She nodded. “All right. Mister War Cloud, do you know where there is a white settlement close to here?”
“Haahe, we will find one.”
“Thank you,” she uttered once more and then impulsively, she came up onto the tips of her toes and reached out toward him. Before she lost her nerve, she pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
That he turned his head before she knew what he was about, that he pressed his lips against her own in what was her very first kiss, were all actions she had not anticipated. Shocked at herself for the quick warmth that stole over her body, startled further to realize that this man might actually want to kiss her, and even a little afraid of his intentions for doing so, she would have drawn back at once, had not his arms come around her waist, preventing her escape.
However, he did not draw her in more closely toward him. In truth, such an action would have been far from necessary. Her body fell, of its own accord, against him without her consciously willing it.
Was this supposed to be his punishment for her? she wondered. If so, this man had reckoned without knowing the feminine mind. For the kiss did much more than simply stimulate her; alas, it inspired her. And she found herself wanting more…of him, of the kiss.
Cool water seeped into her mouth. This, all mixed up with the sweet taste of his lips, heightened her senses and sent a streak of longing racing along her nerve endings. Her breath intermingled with his, and when he opened his mouth over hers, she offered no resistance.
As it happened, it was he who broke off the embrace; he, who turned away from her, presenting her with his back. But it was not an action of repulsion and she knew it.
Briefly, she smiled, gazing in full at the fall of his wet, dark hair down his back, watching in wonder as his shoulders rose and fell with the depth of his breathing. Oddly, such shortness of breath comforted her. But when she spoke, all she uttered was a soft, “Thank you, again, Mister War Cloud. I give you my promise that you will be proud of me.” And with these few words left between them, she turned from him and fled back to the comfort of the children.
But such a kiss could not be so easily erased from her memory. She replayed the feel of his lips against her own over and over within her mind. No matter the tiredness of her body, despite the late hour of the night, she sat up, wide-awake. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she recalled the refreshing taste of his mouth, the clean scent of his breath, the textured feel of his skin beneath her touch.
And with a curious sense of contentment, she at last fell to sleep, her dreams haunted by the dark, mysterious presence of the man known as War Cloud.
Lame Bird returned to them in the early hours of the morning, announcing that the whites were to the south and east. With this information well taken, War Cloud set his path to the west and north, toward the Arickaree Fork of the Republican River.
The storm had lasted but a short time and after Anna had prepared the children for a long trek, War Cloud led their party out over the prairie, the moon and the stars his only guide. War Cloud had hoped to make their next camp on an island in the fork of the Arickaree River. Here there would be shelter and a means of defense, if it became necessary to keep one.
The silvery sky of morning was upon the horizon when War Cloud led them to the island. Normally dry at this time of year, the river was high at present due to the recent storm, but neither he, the woman, nor the children had trouble in fording the stream, particularly since the deepest part of the water was no more than thigh level on the littlest orphan.
The sandy island lay several feet above the height of the water. With bushy willows, tall grasses and small, woody alders, the island would make a perfect camp. There would be plenty of firewood, good places to hide if the need arose and shade for sleeping. Plus there would be food, if only in the form of fish.
Any other kind of sustenance was going to be a problem, War Cloud considered.
Upon his return, Lame Bird had brought with him a few prairie chickens and rabbits. The nourishment, however, had been devoured at once and watching the children as they ate, War Cloud had realized how difficult it was going to be to lead these people to safety—if only because of the diminishing food supply.
No longer was game in sufficient quantity to enable one to live easily off the land. True, War Cloud could augment the nourishment with fish, but even that would soon be gone when the water fell, as it was certain to do. The arid Kansas winds would see to that.
Perhaps tomorrow, while letting the children rest, he would try to find some other game—a buffalo or antelope—and dry the meat.
Presently, Anna prepared the children for bed. He listened to her soothing voice as she sang a calming song to them and found himself barely able to keep his own eyes open. Luckily Lame Bird had volunteered to sit watch, and exhausted, War Cloud had readily accepted his offer. After leaving the boy with directions, he had sauntered away from the others and had discovered a hidden spot, beneath the shade of a willow.
Perfect for a quick nap.
Content, War Cloud sighed and had only settled down, when he saw her.
While one side of the island sloped gently through the water to a line of hills about three miles away, on the other side, the land rose tall in the form of a wall, leaving nothing but prairie rolling off in the distance at its peak. It was toward this side where a person would find the most privacy, for this natural wall would provide protection.
Here is where she stood and he observed that she glanced all around her, obviously searching for the best and most remote spot.
It did occur to him that he should let her know he could see her. But on the other hand, he reasoned, perhaps there were some things which were better left unknown. After all, when would he have another opportunity to observe this woman unaware?
And observe her, he wished to do. Not only because he was male and she, female, but also because she was becoming…well, what was she becoming?
True, he could admit that he admired her; true, his respect for her grew ever more distinct; yet he feared there was more to what he felt than these things. She had put the lives of her children before her own, and on more than one occasion.
She had objected to moving her charges, too, in the middle of the night, yet she had done it, nonetheless, and had accomplished the task without complaint and without incident from the children.
He realized that her duties must be toiling, yet she handled the others always with courtesy and with kindness.
She would make a good wife. The thought came out of nowhere and silently he admonished himself. For no matter what happened, he knew he could never marry—her or anyone else.
Still, despite all this, he gave her his full attention.
The early morning sunlight cast a pinkish glow over her skin as she worked over the arduous task of undoing a long series of buttons at the front of her dress. Grimacing, War Cloud wondered how long it must take her to dress on a daily basis, if it took her this long simply to undo those buttons.
Once more, common courtesy caused him to debate with himself. She had not gone very far in undressing; there was still time to warn her of his presence. It was the polite thing to do. Certainly if she had been a Cheyenne woman and he were caught watching her…
But she was not Cheyenne and he was tired and…
She raised the dress over her head and War Cloud drew in his breath, making a barely audible hiss. For a moment, he forgot to think, until he realized that the anticipation was for nothing.
She was still fully clothed.
He could barely hold in his amazement. For beneath that outer gown she wore another dress, this one more delicately trimmed with lace and ribbons and much prettier than the horrible brown one that she wore over it, at least in his opinion.
Watching her, it came to him why it was that the white woman’s backside was always so puffed out and fluffy. There were loops and stiff ruffles on the back of this skirt. No wonder. She was no different than her Indian counterpart, as he had begun to wonder; her clothes were merely differently arranged.