He lifted her into his arms and gave her a mind-destroying smile. “I am never in control when I am near you, Flaming Hair. For that matter, I have not been in control since the day I first met you.”
Joanna rubbed her cheek against his face. “My dearest, love, I do not think any woman can control the powerful chief of the Blackfoot.”
“You do, Joanna. If you but knew the power you wield over me, it would allow you to take unfair advantage of this great love I feel for you. I would do anything to see you happy, for in your happiness, I find joy.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Who would take advantage of whom?” she asked laughingly.
Windhawk looked deeply into her violet-colored eyes and realized Joanna would never know how she held his very life in her tiny hands. She could only guess at the deep love he had for her. Perhaps it was better that way, he thought. His hands moved across her face to trace the outline of her mouth. When he dipped his dark head to taste her lips, her mouth opened to receive his kiss.
Joanna’s body became soft and yielding in his arms as she became lost in the feelings his kiss evoked. Remembering that Tag and Morning Song were coming for the evening meal, she broke the kiss off and pushed against Windhawk. Looking into his dark eyes, she smiled.
“Have I ever told you that you are the handsomest man I have ever known, my husband?”
His dark eyes flashed to life with a warmth that reached out to Joanna, heating her with its intensity. “If you continue to say things like that to me, you may find yourself on the mat,” he challenged.
Joanna knew from past experience that Windhawk made no idle threat. “Put me down, Windhawk. I must see to the meal. Besides, Sky Dancer needs to be fed, and Tag and Morning Song will be here shortly.”
Windhawk placed her gently to her feet. “I can wait until tonight, Joanna,” he told her with a teasing light in his dark eyes.
She allowed her eyes to travel up the long, lean line of his body to rest on his handsome face. “You eyes are bold my husband—they promise more than your words,” she said, arching a delicate eyebrow.
Windhawk reached out and wound a red-gold curl around his finger, then brought it up to his lips. “I will go and tell my mother it is safe for her to return,” he said, chuckling to himself.
Joanna watched her husband walk away, loving the way he carried himself so tall and proud. “Stop by Farley’s tipi and tell him he is welcome to come tonight if he wishes,” she called after him.
Joanna went to the cook-fire and turned the deer roast that was cooking there. She smiled to herself, thinking how much Farley loved to be included in the family gatherings. The old trapper, Farley, was especially dear to her. There was a time when Windhawk had allowed him to live in the village only because she wanted Farley to be near her. The old man was now accepted by everyone, and Joanna was glad. She loved that dear old man, and he brightened up her life with his colorful speech and wise sayings.
Tonight Joanna would have those about her whom she loved most in the world, and that made her extremely happy. She hummed softly to herself as she bent over Sky Dancer’s cradle and lifted the baby into her arms. Joanna looked into the blue eyes of the child, thinking her life was perfect. There was nothing more she wanted out of life, except the happiness of those she loved.
It was snowing outside the big lodge where the chief of the Blackfoot and his family resided, but it was warm and cheerful on the inside. The lodge was unlike any other in the village, since Joanna had brought many of the white man’s comforts into it. There were bearskin rugs on the floor, and a brass bed, which was covered with luxurious furs. Brass kettles and pots hung from one of the lodgepoles, and Windhawk’s weapons hung from the others. There was a feeling of warmth and togetherness among the people who sat upon the bearskin rugs after enjoying a good meal.
Tag studied the faces of everyone present. There was Morning Song, his wife, whose face glowed with happiness. With her, he had become a man. She was the only woman he had ever taken to his body, and the only one he had ever wanted. On their wedding night, their love had been so beautiful and innocent because it had been the first time for them both. Morning Song had been his wife for two years now, and soon she would make him a father.
His eyes then traveled to Sun Woman, his mother-in-law. She was somewhere in her fifties and still a very attractive woman. Her family was her whole life, and she was always doing special little things for those she loved. He remembered the time she had made him a buckskin shirt and trimmed it with dyed porcupine quills. Her joy had been apparent when he had shown his pleasure over the gift. Althought she was forbidden by Blackfoot custom to speak directly to him as her son-in-law, she showed her love for him in the way her eyes would light up when she smiled at him.
His eyes moved to the small bed at the back of the lodge where his nephew, Little Hawk, now slept, then to the cradle where Joanna’s newborn daughter lay. He was delighted with his niece and nephew and looked forward to the time when his own child would be born.
His eyes next went to Windhawk. There wasn’t a man living whom Tag respected and admired as much as the chief of the Blood Blackfoot. Windhawk had been his guide and his teacher ever since he had first come to the Blackfoot village to live. Tag watched as Windhawk’s dark eyes went to his sister, Joanna, and caressed her face. One had but to look at Windhawk to know that he loved her deeply.
Last of all, Tag looked at his sister. Joanna had always been there for him. She had been his strength as a child, and he thought she still might be. He remembered how she had always made him read his books and do his lessons when he was a boy. She had badgered him into learning all he could. She had versed him in the ways of being a gentleman, telling him he would one day return to Philadelphia to claim what, by rights, belonged to him. Joanna had been wrong—he would never return to Phildelphia. His life was here with Morning Song.
He felt Joanna’s eyes on him, and he smiled at her. His love for Morning Song was deep, but nothing could touch the closeness he felt for his sister. They had been through so many heartaches and trouble together, but they had come through them with very few scars—at least, not the kind of scars that showed.
Joanna could feel Tag’s restlessness. It seemed to grow stronger each day. The thing that she feared most was beginning to happen. He was starting to remember how their Uncle Howard had forced them to flee from their own home, and she knew he had come to resent the past. His old life was beginning to beckon him. She knew he would never leave Morning Song to return to Philadelphia, and he couldn’t take her with him, because she would never be accepted by the white race. This thing would eat at him until he faced it once and for all. Joanna wished he could just put it out of his mind and be content with the way things had worked out, but that would never happen. She feared that before this thing could be brought to a conclusion, she and Morning Song might both lose Tag.
Tag realized by the look that Joanna gave him that she knew about his thoughts and was aware of his restlessness. He had never been able to hide anything from her when he had been a boy, and even though he was now a man, she could still see into his soul.
Standing up, he walked out into the night. Pulling his warm blanket about him, he watched as the snowflakes drifted lazily earthward. He could hear the sound of laughter coming from the other tipis and began to feel lonely. Where did he belong?
Would he ever find peace within himself? he wondered. Would this feeling of unrest ever release him from its grip? It was with him day and night now, and he wanted to rid himself of its dominance.
He felt, rather than heard, Morning Song next to him. She slipped her hand into his, and they both watched as the snow covered the ground. Tag smiled down into her lovely face, trying to mask his thoughts from her, but he knew by the sadness in her eyes that he hadn’t succeeded entirely.
“I love you, Morning Song. I always will.”
“Come, let us go home,” she said, taking his hand.
Tag turned and looked at
the outline of the tall mountains that separated him from the white world he had once known. Somewhere beyond those mountains was a man living in Tag and Joanna’s home—the food he ate and the clothes he wore were all bought with the Jameses’ money.
Tag knew that after his Aunt Margaret had died Howard Landon had remarried. The woman who was now his wife was none other than Claudia Maxwell, who had always hated Joanna. It bothered him too, that Joanna’s old enemy was living in their home.
Drawing in his breath, he tried to push his thoughts aside. “Come, we will tell the family good night,” he said, leading Morning Song back into Windhawk’s lodge.
Chapter Three
The Chinook wind was blowing across the land, bringing with it the warm, dry air from the nearby mountainside. The snow had melted into slush, and although there were dark clouds on the horizon Tag didn’t think it would snow today. Morning Song had been begging Tag to take her for a ride, and he thought this would be a good day since the weather was pleasant.
Tag had learned from experience that the weather could turn cold without any warning, and he didn’t want Morning Song to be exposed to a sudden norther. He decided it would be best to return to the village by early afternoon.
Tag noticed that Morning Song was having trouble mounting her horse because of her advanced stage of pregnancy. He lifted her up and placed her on the padded saddle, then tucked a blanket about her to keep her warm.
“Today we will not ride far from the village, Morning Song. It is too near the time for the baby to be born, and I would not want to be the one to deliver the child,” he teased her lightly.
“Please, Tag, could we not ride to the foot of the mountains? It has been so long since I have been away from the village,” she pleaded.
He had never been able to deny her anything, so he gave in easily. “Only if you walk the horse, Morning Song. It will be much too dangerous for you to run the animal,” he cautioned like a fretful mother.
Morning Song nodded her agreement. The sun was shining as the two of them rode away from the village, and they both felt carefree and light-hearted. Morning Song had packed some dried meat and berry-cakes, and she hoped she could convince Tag to stay away from the village until nightfall. Soon she would have a baby to look after, and while she looked forward to having Tag’s child, she knew their life would change. She would no longer be able to go with him anytime she wanted, since she would be nursing the baby.
When they crossed the river, Tag pointed out a white-tailed deer to Morning Song. They both halted their horses to watch the doe and her fawn drink from the Milk River.
Today Tag’s mind was clear. He could see happiness reflected in Morning Song’s dark eyes, and it gladdened his heart. How could he ever have allowed his unrest to come between them? He could be happy the rest of his life in making Morning Song happy. What he had found here among the Blackfoot tribe was a good life, and he didn’t want his bitterness to spoil any part of it. He thought of his unborn baby and realized he had everything a man could ask for. No longer would he allow the past to tug at him. Let his uncle have all he had stolen from him. Most probably it wouldn’t ever bring the man true happiness.
Tag realized that his uncle would always be watching and waiting for him to return. He could imagine him unable to sleep at night, wondering if he and Joanna would one day appear and show him up for the thief he was. Tag would have to find his revenge in knowing he was causing his uncle many sleepless nights.
They rode until midmorning before they reached the foot of the mountains. Tag lifted Morning Song from her horse and held her in his arms.
“Smile and make me happy,” he told her.
She laughed delightedly as he made a silly face for her. Setting her on her feet, he held her against him. “I want always to see a smile on your pretty face, Morning Song. If it is in my power, I will see that you have much to laugh about.”
“Have you no more regrets, my husband?”
“I have no more regrets, my wife.” The baby chose that moment to kick, and Tag felt the movement. “That is our baby telling you that its father will always make the sun shine for its mother.”
Morning Song looked up into Tag’s face. “Will you mind if this baby is a girl?”
“No, I will not mind.”
“My mother says she can tell by the way I am carrying it low, that it will be a girl. I was afraid you would want a son first.”
“I will want it even if it is a girl, but I have one request. She had better have your pretty face and dark hair.”
“I want her to have your eyes, Tag. Would she not be beautiful if she had your eyes?”
At that moment a shot rang out, and Tag turned to look over his shoulder, thinking it would be a hunter beyond the valley. He knew Windhawk would not be pleased if the white man had encroached on Blackfoot lands.
Turning back to Morning Song, he started to take her arm with the intention of pulling her behind a rock formation until he could find out who had fired the shot. He watched in bewilderment as Morning Song seemed to be gasping for breath. Slowly she crumpled to her knees, and that was when Tag saw the dark red stain on the front of her gown!
“My God, Morning Song, you have been shot!” he yelled. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her behind the rocks and held her.
Small whimpering sounds were coming from her throat when she tried to speak. “Don’t talk,” he urged, trying to stem the flow of blood with his hand. In a flash Tag knew that Morning Song was going to die. Tears of grief washed down his face as he watched her lifeblood spill onto a patch of snow, turning it a bright scarlet.
“N…no, Tag, do…not weep…for me. The baby! Save my baby!”
Tag laid his hand on her stomach and could feel the contractions that were tightening her stomach muscles. He could see that the bullet wound was high enough that it had not hit the child. Tag was fighting to put his grief aside to help his wife deliver their baby.
“The baby is fine, Morning Song. Try not to talk…save your strength.”
She reached out her hand and touched his face. “I…must talk, Tag. Do…not grieve for me…go back to the white…world and reclaim…what belongs to you.”
Tag realized it was an effort for her to talk. He tried to hide his grief from her, but he could tell from her her eyes that she knew she was dying.
“P…promise me that you will go back, Tag…Promise me!”
“I will go back, my dearest love. I promise.”
“The…baby comes, my husband. Give her to…Joanna, she will love…”
At that moment a pain ripped through Morning Song’s body, and Tag didn’t know if it was from the bullet wound or from the birth of the child. He watched Morning Star twist as if she were bearing down hard. He wanted to help her, but he didn’t know what to do.
Morning Song gripped his hand so tightly he could feel her nails digging into his skin. He wanted to scream out at the injustice of it all. Someone would pay for what they had done to her! Why would someone want to hurt sweet, gentle Morning Song who had never harmed anyone? His thoughts were wild in his grief, but he had no time to think, because another pain shot through Morning Song’s body.
“Tag, you will have…to help, the…baby…comes,” she whispered.
He raised her gown and saw that the head of the baby had already appeared. Tears were blinding him so badly that everything was a blur. Taking the small head in his hands, he guided it as it was expelled from Morning Song’s body. Knowing the child could die from exposure, he quickly removed his coat and wrapped the baby in it. Holding the child upward, he heard it take its first breath. The cries from the newborn baby seemed to echo through the mountains and reverberate down into the valley.
“T…Tag, you must cut the cord and bind it tightly so the baby will not bleed to death…do it quickly!” Morning Song whispered urgently since she knew her strength was waning.
Tag was in a daze as he ripped his shirt from his body and cut a strip with his knife. He th
en cut the cord that attached the baby to its mother and bound it tightly. When that had been accomplished, he laid the baby down and turned all his attention to Morning Song. Lifting her gently in his arms, he cradled her to him.
“I love you, Morning Song—don’t leave me,” he cried as deep sobs tore from his lips.
“Tag, I am so cold…hold me,” Morning Song whispered weakly. She looked upon the grief-stricken face of the man she loved, wishing she could bring him comfort.
“I will hold you forever, my love. I won’t allow you to die!”
“Tag…I…love…yo…”
Tag felt Morning Song go limp in his arms, and he knew she was dead. An agonizing animal cry arose from his throat as he cried out in his grief, “God, don’t take Morning Song! I cannot bear to live without her!”
Looking down into her face, which was still beautiful even in death, he cradled Morning Song to him while hot tears washed down his cheeks.
Tag was never to know how long he sat there rocking Morning Song in his arms. He couldn’t accept her death—it had come too suddenly! One moment she was happy and laughing, and the next she had been mortally wounded.
Tag was unaware that the baby had ceased crying and the weather was growing colder. Dark clouds had passed over the sun, and it had begun to snow lightly.
Tag was brought back to the present by the sound of approaching riders. He could tell by the sound of their shod horses that it was two white men. Gently laying Morning Song down, he closed her eyes and picked up the baby, laying it beside her. He knew these two white men would be Morning Song’s murderers, and he intended to see that they paid for taking her life!
Touching Morning Song’s face softly, Tag picked up his knife and quickly moved to the side of the rock, waiting until he could see the intruders come into view. He saw them when they emerged from the trees not more than fifty yards away. He could tell by the looks of them that they were buffalo hunters, and his lip curled into a snarl. Even if they had accidentally shot Morning Song, they would still pay with their lives. His eyes glazed with hatred as he patiently waited for them to ride closer.
Savage Spring Page 3