Black Horse

by Veronica Blake

  Meadow stifled a gasp as she felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked down at White Buffalo. He concentrated on the mixture of herbs in his bowl. Meadow chuckled nervously when she realized he was only joking. If he really knew what she’d been doing, he probably would be too ashamed to speak to her.

  “We’ve been—uh—we went down to the river,” she answered. She had never lied to White Buffalo, and she hoped she would not have to start now.

  “It is dangerous, even here in Canada, to go out of the camp alone,” White Buffalo said sternly. “Don’t forget those evil Blackfoot people have followed us up here and are probably lurking about in the forest.” He glanced up and added, “Be careful.”

  His tender gaze did not match his gruff voice as he looked up at her. Meadow nodded her head and then turned away quickly. She did not want him to see her embarrassment. It had been stupid for her and Gentle Water to be wandering around in the forest, especially since the Sioux’ most hated enemies, the Blackfoot, had also taken up residence in this part of Canada. Even worse was that they had taken such a terrible risk just so that they could spy on that man—that beautiful vision of a perfect man. Stop thinking about it, Meadow told herself. She swallowed hard and wiped away the sweat on her upper lip.

  “I will help you,” she said when she felt she was regaining a bit of her composure once again. As she knelt down beside White Buffalo on the soft elk furs that blanketed the floor of the tepee, she noticed he was mixing a simple recipe consisting mostly of crushed yarrow plant. White Buffalo kept his medicinal supplies well stocked, and one corner of their tepee was stacked with pouches containing medicines to treat everything from broken bones to ailing horses.

  “I don’t need help,” White Buffalo said. An amused smile curved his mouth.

  “I’ll go help Gentle Water and Sings Like Sparrow, then,” Meadow said as she shrugged her shoulders and rose up to her feet. She moved toward the doorway.

  “Mi-cun-ksi,” he called out. “Are you bothered by something?”

  Meadow paused. It always astounded her that he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. She wanted to talk to him about the feelings that had been rushing through her ever since she had been to the river, and she wished she could ask him why the sight of Black Horse’s naked body affected her in such a dramatic way. Even now, her mind continued to cling to the sensuous image of him stripping his clothes from his muscled frame.

  “No,” she lied without turning around to face him. A deep sense 0of shame filled her. “I’ll be back soon,” she said as she shoved aside the hide flap and hurried outside again.

  White Buffalo stared after her as Meadow exited the tepee. He had noticed the troubled expression on her face, but he assumed it was just because he had once again refused to let her help him. Ever since she had been a small child, she had always offered to help him mix his medicines or to assist him in collecting the herbs and roots he used in his recipes, and he always declined. If he had a son—or even a nephew—White Buffalo would be eager to pass on his vast medical knowledge. But a daughter was different. Soon, she would find a young man who would teach her all that she would ever need to know about life.

  White Buffalo knew he was lucky to have had her all to himself for this long. She was seventeen—already several years past the normal age of marrying. Lately, however, the young warriors had been too preoccupied with fighting the whites to take notice of the blossoming females who were overly ripe for marriage. But soon there would be a young brave who would realize that there were more important things in this world than war. When that day arrived, he hoped he would not lose a daughter, but gain a son.

  The thought filled White Buffalo with joy, yet at the same time gave him much sorrow. Meadow was all he had left, now that Little Squirrel and their own children were gone, and his greatest worry was that she would decide to leave the tribe entirely. She did have a choice, White Buffalo reminded himself, and someday she might choose to go back to her own people. He hoped that he would not be alive if that day ever came. But, he reminded himself, his beloved Meadow could not be more devoted to the Sioux if she had been born from his own seed. There was only one thing missing from her life, and if White Buffalo had anything to do with it, she would not be deprived of this necessity much longer. For the first time since she had become a woman, there was a village full of eligible young men. He had a feeling that Meadow would soon meet the man she would spend her life with. White Buffalo smiled. He had a way of knowing these things.

  Meadow took a deep breath of fresh air once she was out of the tepee, but it didn’t help. She still felt as if she was going to suffocate. If White Buffalo didn’t need her, perhaps Gentle Water and her grandmother would have a job for her to do. There had to be something that would help to keep her mind off of Black Horse. Tonight—and forever—she’d have to make sure she stayed far away from him, because she was certain she could never look at the man again without wanting to die of humiliation. She scowled down at the dirt as she stomped away from her tepee.

  A low chuckle reached her ears, and her heart skipped a beat. Black Horse stood directly in front of her, no more than a foot or two away. He wore only his claw necklace, white breechcloth and tall moccasins. A beaded knife sheath hung at a careless angle from his hip, and his fringed leggings dangled over one of his arms. Little droplets of water dripped from the ebony tips of his braids, forming wet trails down his bare stomach.

  Black Horse leveled his gaze at the woman’s face. She was not a half-breed as he had first suspected. She was wasichu—white—but obviously not a captive who was kept here against her will. Her pale complexion was streaked with red. He watched as her pink lips parted with a startled gasp and her green eyes grew wide with horror. He had to remind himself of the reasons he had come to Canada. He was here to rest his tired body and renew his spiritual devotion to Wakan Tanka, the Sioux god, not to find a woman—especially one with eyes as green as a moss-covered lake that could drown a man in their depths.

  Black Horse stared at her for a moment longer as he tried to remember his plan. He let his gaze travel lower, until he had skimmed every inch, every curve, of her firm young body. The effect she was having on him was not going to be easy to hide when he was wearing nothing more than a breechcloth. He had to force himself to assume a nonchalant attitude as he looked into her unusual eyes. It was obvious to him that she was afraid and humiliated, but from the way her gaze kept flitting from his face down to his body, he also guessed that she had been enthralled by the suggestive show he had given her and her companion.

  A taunting grin curved his lips. He could just tell her that he had seen her at the river today, but it was much more fun to wait and see how long it would take her to admit to it. He could be patient—sometimes. His eyes raked up and down her body one last time, and then he stalked past her without a single word.

  Meadow could not move. In the time Black Horse had looked brazenly into her eyes and scrutinized her entire body, she had experienced a multitude of new emotions; fear had lasted only a second, embarrassment just a moment longer. But the desire his presence summoned forth was not so easy to escape. She wanted to flee, but her legs were too weak and shaky.

  She turned to watch as he walked casually past the nearby tepees. His bronzed body still glistened with droplets of river water. Her fingertips tingled with a yearning to rub those tiny bits of moisture into his smooth skin and to feel the taut muscles that rippled underneath. But all she could do was stare at him until he disappeared through the narrow doorway of his tepee. Symbols of fierce animals and images of warriors engaged in battles were painted on the sides and were signs that an important man lived in this dwelling.

  The fear that Black Horse might be watching her from inside his tepee was strong enough to snap her out of her trance. As a sense of panic gripped her, Meadow twirled on her heels and ran as fast as her feet would carry her away from him.

  The emotions she felt were too p
owerful to control, and they were still too new for her to understand. But as she raced past the tepees, she was sure of one thing, one devastating thing: somehow, Black Horse knew she had been watching him when he was down at the river today.

  Chapter Three

  When she reached the far side of the village, Meadow saw Gentle Water and Sings Like Sparrow working over a simmering pot at the fire pit in front of their tepee. She could not go charging up to them in this frantic state. Sings Like Sparrow was a wise old woman, and she would immediately sense that there was something wrong. The last thing Meadow wanted was to get Gentle Water in trouble. If they told the old woman what they had done today, Meadow knew that both she and Gentle Water would feel Sings Like Sparrow’s whipping stick.

  Moving quickly behind the nearest lodge, Meadow wondered how she would be able to act normal, now that she knew Black Horse was staying in a tepee only a short distance from her own lodge. She had to find a place where she could be alone while she attempted to free herself of Black Horse’s memory—and cure herself of these strange new longings.

  Meadow knew that most of the men would drink themselves into a stupor at the celebration to night. Even White Buffalo, who was normally a levelheaded man, would eagerly succumb to the temptation of the whiskey. If she could just stay out of sight until the men were too drunk to notice anything or anyone around them, then maybe she wouldn’t be missed.

  With any luck, Black Horse would leave the village soon, and she could work on forgetting the way he had looked when he pulled his breechcloth from between his muscled legs. Meadow drew in a deep, shaky breath and glanced back toward Gentle Water and Sings Like Sparrow. They were still oblivious to her. Taking several cautious steps backward, she ducked behind the nearest tepee. How long would she have to hide and how far would she have to run to escape from the feelings Black Horse had roused in her?

  If she were a man, Meadow thought with an aggravated huff, she could say she was going on a vision quest, and then she could just disappear into the forest or the mountains for as long as she wanted. When she returned, the rest of the tribe would anxiously crowd around her, wanting to hear about the mystical visions she had seen while on her spiritual journey.

  She sighed in defeat. The men had it much better than the women. Many times she had dreamed of being able to jump onto the back of a horse and ride as fast as the wind across the open prairie. As a woman, however, she had little opportunity for this sort of adventure. Cooking, tanning hides, hauling water and firewood, tending children and doing all the other chores that needed to be done in the camp—this was the life of a Sioux woman.

  Knowing there was no escape, Meadow decided to give up her crazy scheme to run away. She had no alternative but to go back to her own tepee and try to conceal her turmoil from White Buffalo. Sneaking toward her lodge, Meadow felt like a naughty child. She could see that nearly everyone was already gathered in the center of the village. A large fire had been lit; several long spits held buffalo quarters that were roasting to crisp perfection. The enticing aroma filled the air and made Meadow’s mouth water. Rows of drums were lined up on one side of the fire. They would accompany the flutes and provide music for the dancers this evening. A pang of disappointment shot through Meadow’s breast. She hated the thought of missing the celebration to night. But, because of that awful Black Horse, she had no other choice!

  Her chest tightened as she held her breath and hurried past his lodge. She exhaled heavily when she noticed he was nowhere in sight, then she quickly ducked through the doorway of her own tepee. Her relief grew when she saw that White Buffalo was no longer there. As she plopped down on the soft furs that made up her bed, a sense of peace settled around her. She had always felt safe in her tepee, even when there had been battles raging outside.

  Fleetingly, she recalled a time when a soldier’s sword had sliced open a large hole in the side of this very same tepee. White Buffalo, younger and quicker then, had pulled the soldier away from it before he had a chance to enter. Little Squirrel had huddled with Meadow in the furs while White Buffalo had defended his home and family. Meadow glanced at the far wall where the hole, now stitched up tightly, was a grim reminder of that close brush with death.

  A noise outside the tepee door drew Meadow’s attention back to the present. A familiar voice called out.

  “Meadow? Are you ready to go to the celebration?” Gentle Water leaned down and entered without waiting for an invitation.

  “I’m not going,” Meadow announced. She returned Gentle Water’s look of annoyance with her own defiant one. To reinforce her position, she grabbed a colorful woven blanket and pulled it up under her chin.

  Undaunted by Meadow’s display, Gentle Water chuckled. “No one will ever know what we did this afternoon.”

  “He knows,” Meadow retorted. She clutched the material of the blanket tighter in her fists.

  “White Buffalo knows?” Gentle Water gasped. She dropped down on her knees in front of Meadow. She was wearing her best dress, a light, fringed buckskin gown with an elaborately beaded yoke. Her leggings and moccasins were also covered with intricate beading.

  “He knows! Black Horse knows!”

  Gentle Water clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle her shocked cry. When she lowered her hand again, she whispered, “He can’t know. How is it possible?”

  “He stopped me, and—and…” She shivered under the blanket when she thought of him again.

  Scooting closer, Gentle Water whispered again. “Did he say if he was going to tell on us?”

  “He didn’t say anything at all. He just laughed and looked at me like he wanted t-to—” Her voice grew too hoarse to speak, and she swallowed, hard.

  “If he didn’t say anything to you, then how do you know that he—?”

  “He knows!” Meadow interrupted. “He’s going to make us pay for spying on him. You didn’t see the way he looked at me. It was almost as if he knows everything about me.”

  Meadow could tell that the tone of her voice and the expression of fear she undoubtedly wore on her face was enough to convince Gentle Water that they had been caught. Gentle Water glanced frantically around the darkening tepee as if she hoped to find a way to escape, but Meadow sensed they were not going to get away this time.

  “What are we going to do? If my grandmother hears about what we did today, she’ll have my nose cut off.”

  Before Meadow had a chance to reply, the flap of the tepee swung open. White Buffalo’s grinning countenance appeared in the opening. He nodded toward Gentle Water with a friendly acknowledgment, then focused all his attention on Meadow. “Mi-cun-ksi! Come, I have someone important for you to meet.”

  The lump that formed in Meadow’s throat prevented her from answering for several seconds. “Wh-who?” she finally asked in a raspy voice, as her stomach twisted with a sense of impending doom.

  “Hurry, my daughter,” White Buffalo said as he pulled the flap wider. “Black Horse is an impatient young man.” The excitement he clearly felt over this introduction, along with the alcohol he had already consumed, made him oblivious to the tense atmosphere inside the tepee.

  The blanket slipped from Meadow’s limp hands. Her terror-filled gaze settled on Gentle Water. The other girl’s look of senseless panic did nothing to reassure Meadow. She looked toward the front of the tepee and fearfully glanced through the doorway.

  Black Horse stood in full view. He was dressed in a magnificent suit of clothing, including a red and yellow painted society shirt. Long locks of ebony horsehair formed the fringe on the shirtsleeves. His leggings were beaded in shades of white and black, and a porcupine-quilled bag was tied around his waist.

  Meadow’s gaze moved up to his bonnet of eagle feathers. The crown of the headdress was made from the skull of a horned buffalo. Only the strongest warriors were permitted to wear a horned bonnet, and those who did were believed to have the strength, the dignity and the stamina of a bull buffalo. Flaring out from the back of the headdress was a br
illiant display of gray, white and black ea gle feathers that extended down Black Horse’s back and stopped only a couple of inches above the ground. Meadow began to tremble.

  “I apologize for my daughter,” White Buffalo said to Black Horse. “She is very shy and modest,” he added.

  Black Horse cast the elderly medicine man a forced smile. The faded light in the tepee did not permit him to see inside, but he was anxious to finish there so that he could continue his search for the green-eyed woman. The whiskey he had already consumed warmed his amorous nature, and the thought of the curious young white woman caused his blood to boil. His night would not be complete until he saw her again.

  Feeling as though she were caught in a bear trap, Meadow reached over and grabbed Gentle Water’s arm and pulled her along as she rose up to a standing position. “You’re coming out there with me,” she said between clenched teeth. With a forceful shove she pushed the other girl out through the doorway. In her shocked state, Gentle Water stumbled out of the tepee without resis tance.

  Black Horse stared at the young woman as she straightened up to face him. He nodded his head curtly. His gaze quickly scanned her face and body. She was, he noticed, a pretty girl, and not fat like many of the Sioux women. But when he looked into her dark eyes, the memory of the woman with catlike eyes claimed his thoughts once again. His brows drew together with impatience.

  “This is Gentle Water—a dear friend,” White Buffalo said in an anxious tone of voice. Then, in a proud announcement, he added, “And this is my beloved mi-cun-ksi, Meadow.” He grabbed Meadow’s arm as she stumbled from the tepee and pulled her up beside him.

  A deafening silence followed as Meadow’s gaze ascended and settled on the face of the tall chief once again. In the brief interim of quiet, Meadow was sure her heart had stopped beating and every drop of blood in her body had just rushed into her face. She detected a slight narrowing of Black Horse’s dark eyes and a barely noticeable smirk curling one corner of his full lips. She could only imagine the thoughts that were going through his mind at this moment.