Rain Song nodded. “I want to see the place you call home when you are in these mountains.”
He took her hand and led her back down the path. He made her a light pack, and himself the heavier one. Removing the blankets and bridles from the horses, he spoke to them, “Go home.”
To Rain Song’s surprise, the horses galloped down the hill and were soon lost from sight.
Wind Warrior turned to Rain Song, and when he saw her raised eyebrows, he merely smiled.
They had been climbing steadily for hours. Often Wind Warrior would stop and let Rain Song rest before resuming the climb. In some places there were paths leading upward, and other times they had to pick their way up steep inclines.
Just when Rain Song thought they would never reach their destination, Wind Warrior took her hand and led her up a rock-face cliff. What she saw took her breath away. One mountain rolled into another, and then another, as far as the eye could see. The sky was so blue, the fluffy white clouds seemed like chunks of cotton.
Her gaze feasted on the wondrous sight. “Some of the peaks look like pictures of cathedrals I have seen in one of Aunt Cora’s books.”
Wind Warrior looked at her with interest. “What is a…cathedral?”
“It is a place, a building where we worship God. Of course, I have never actually seen one. At Fort Benton we had a small chapel.”
Wind Warrior nodded in understanding. “Then your place of worship is similar to this place, where I seek the Great Spirit.”
Rain Song gazed into his eyes. “Wind Warrior, do you believe your Great Spirit and my God are the same?”
He looked pensive for a moment. “How could our Gods not be the same? There is only one Creator of man. It matters not where you worship him, or by what name he is called, he is God, the Creator of all living things.”
Her heart melted as she gazed into his soft brown eyes. “When you say it like that, I believe you.”
He took her hand and assisted her to the top of the mountain, where he slid his arms around her waist, holding her against his body. “There is much you can teach me about your people. I want to know who they are and where they came from.”
“And I want to learn what your connection is to these mountains. What were your thoughts when you were up here alone?”
His mouth curved into a smile. “Many of my thoughts were of you. I imagined you here with me, like this. I was sure in my heart you would love this place as much as I do.”
She was filled with joy. Had he really thought of her? “It is so beautiful, it takes my breath away.”
“There is a curious quality about in this place that might please you.”
“Show me.”
“Stand right here, and speak as loudly as you are able.”
She looked puzzled.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Call out a greeting to the mountains and they will answer you.”
She nodded, wetting her lips and wrinkling her brow in seriousness. “Hello…hello…hello…hello…hello.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that an echo?”
“It is.”
Wind Warrior took her hand. “Let us continue. It is not far to our home.”
She laced her fingers through Wind Warrior’s, feeling so full of happiness she could not speak.
Wind Warrior’s mind was on other matters. He knew Dull Knife would have heard the echo, but the reverberating sounds were deceptive. Although his brother was one of the tribe’s best trackers, he would not have been able to discern from which direction the sound came.
Although he was pushing Rain Song hard so she would be safe, she did not complain. At the end of the day, he noticed the tired lines under her eyes and decided to stop early.
As the sun went down, Rain Song fell upon her robe, exhausted. She was so weary she fell asleep with the uneaten meat still clutched in her hand.
Wind Warrior knelt beside her, taking the meat from her fist. Brushing a tress of hair from her face, he was lost in wonder that such a marvelous woman belonged to him. “Rest, my soul,” he murmured, lowering his head to brush his mouth against her forehead.
Tonight he would be on guard, for Dull Knife must know this would be his last chance to track them. Tomorrow they would be walking on stone and leaving no footprints.
Chinook came up to him and dropped down beside him. He rubbed her furry coat and then pointed to Rain Song. “Chinook, lie beside her. Guard her with your life.”
The wolf rose and trotted toward Rain Song, then dropped down to curl up beside her.
Wind Warrior walked a little way back down the incline, ever watchful. He heard an owl on the wing, searching for some night creature to feed on. He heard the wind whispering against his ears.
Glancing across the darkened woods below, he saw a small flicker of light. Dull Knife was no more than an hour behind. But if he had built a campfire, he was resting for the night. And after tomorrow, Rain Song would be safe from pursuit.
Chapter Twenty-eight
In anger and frustration Dull Knife moved slowly forward, stopping often to examine the area for an overturned stone, a bent grass blade, or even a footprint.
The countryside looked familiar to him.
He was certain he had passed the bent pine tree earlier in the day. And he thought he recognized the cliffs. But then again, everything here looked the same.
Give him the wide-open prairie and he could track anyone. But it was impossible to find footprints in this mountain of rock and stone.
Wind Warrior knew every tree and stump in these mountains, and he had no doubt cleverly backtracked to make certain he left no sign of his passing.
Dull Knife was lost.
Dropping his pack and leaning against the tree, he was disgusted with his own inability to track his brother. If he gave up, Wind Warrior would have won.
Again.
Glancing toward the west, he saw that the sun had dropped behind the tree line. Darkness fell early in the mountains. It was unnatural to Dull Knife. He liked the land along the Milk River, or even the prairie beside the Sweet Grass Hills. Only mountain goats, and his brother, could survive in a place like this.
As he fed off a roasted rabbit he’d killed earlier, Dull Knife leaned against a boulder, allowing his mind to wander. He would not give up. Wind Warrior would have to leave the high country before the threat of winter settled over the land.
He would force himself to be patient, although patience was not in his character. When he wanted something, he did not like to wait for it. It infuriated him that he had waited years for Rain Song, to no avail.
Tossing a clean rabbit bone into the campfire, Dull Knife thought of Spotted Flower. She had drawn him in with her wicked tricks and he shuddered when he remembered what she had done to him. Even now his body hungered for her, while his mind rejected her.
Rain Song was pure, Spotted Flower was evil, and yet his body craved the evil one.
Why, then, did he want Rain Song?
Because in his own way he loved her—loved her goodness, her purity, and her beauty. He remembered the first time he had heard her sing—the sound had gone through him like a strong wind. He admitted to himself that he was a selfish being and thought only of his own needs, and he needed Rain Song.
Hate ate at him when he thought of his brother touching her.
Rage would be the knife he drove into his brother’s heart when they at last faced each other in combat and Dull Knife took the prize.
When they finally reached Wind Warrior’s mountain home, it was dark. Clouds covered the moon and Rain Song had to rely on his guiding hand for each step she took. She could hear a stream gurgling nearby and wished she could see the beauty Wind Warrior had described to her.
Wind Warrior led her into a cave, where she collapsed on a pile of fur skins while he lit the campfire. Warmth soon surrounded her as she burrowed into the soft skins.
She had not meant to fall asleep, but the furs were so comfortable and her body craved rest. When she
awoke, a wonderful scent wafted through the air. Meat was roasting over a spit.
Wind Warrior smiled at her and she thought her heart would burst with joy.
“I am hungry for fresh meat,” she said.
He came over to her, dropping down beside her. “The meat is almost cooked.”
She shyly touched his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “I am glad we have arrived.”
His eyes darkened. “As am I.” He touched her hair, releasing it from the braids. “So long have I imagined myself doing this.”
She touched his face, and he gripped her hand.
“I want to be all things to you, Rain Song—when you are hurt, I want to heal you—when you are sad, I want to cheer you. Walk beside me in this life and we will find joy together.”
“If I thought you were sad, I would hurt for you,” she admitted as new emotions tumbled through her mind. Love was a wondrous emotion, and it came in many forms. She thought of how she loved her mother and father, and Fire Wolf. But that love did not compare with what she felt for this man beside her.
Wind Warrior rubbed his mouth across hers. “I believe you can keep me happy.”
She touched her lips to his cheek. “Really?”
He eased her back on the furs. “Let me show you.” He slowly pushed her gown upward and touched her intimately. He stared into her eyes and saw the look he had always wanted to see shining there. “You are my heart and soul.”
Rain Song could hardly believe she had won the heart of this magnificent warrior.
He yanked off his leggings and settled his naked flesh against hers. Slowly he pulled her to him. “Show me how much you love me.”
Breathless, Rain Song closed her eyes, giving herself over to her husband.
Wind Warrior’s hands moved across her body and she tossed her head feverishly. Her hands were fisted at her sides, until he loosened them, brushing each with his lips. He was skillfully seducing Rain Song, making her whimper with need.
“Now,” she pleaded, trying to catch his elusive mouth with hers. At last she succeeded pressing her lips against his.
Wind Warrior groaned as she became the seductress.
He arched over her, eased forward, and did not disappoint.
The next morning when she awoke, Rain Song found Wind Warrior still asleep. Boldly, her gaze traveled across his long, muscled body and she marveled at the beauty of him. His ebony hair spilled across the soft robe he lay upon and she touched it lovingly. His face intrigued her—it too was beautiful.
She touched his forehead, then traced a finger lightly down his cheekbone to the corner of his jaw. Her gaze moved to his beautifully sculpted mouth.
She pulled away when that mouth curved into a smile.
Wind Warrior rolled her over, his eyes intense. “So you want to play?”
He dipped his head, tracing the arch of her eyebrows with his lips, and she melted inside.
When he moved his hand down her neck and gently covered her breast, her eyes widened.
Wind Warrior touched his mouth between her breasts and Rain Song moaned with pleasure.
She ached and tossed when his hand slid from one breast to the other—cupping, torturing, teasing. Desire poured through her as his hand swept lower. Rain Song’s reaction was instinctive, and she raised her hips in invitation.
Wetting her lips, she met his gaze. “You win, I surrender.” Then she proceeded to torment him. She raised her lower body, rubbing against the swell of him.
He tried to hide his smile—she was flirting with him, and she took his breath away. Touching his cheek to hers, he slid inside her.
Rain Song’s body sang to his tune.
Spotted Flower could hardly believe she had escaped.
True to his word, Claude had guided her in the direction of Fort Benton. She was weary, but happy, when they finally reached the Missouri River.
“I will leave you here,” he said in broken English.
Spotted Flower watched him remove seven of the beaver skins from the packhorse and tie them to the back of her horse.
“You gave me your word you would take me home.”
“I am French, and would not be welcomed into the American fort. All you have to do is cross the river here where it is shallow, and then follow it to Fort Benton.”
“Must you take so many of the skins? I’ll need money.”
Claude smiled at her. “Oui. I must.”
“Then go,” she said angrily. “I don’t need you anyway.”
He touched his fingers to his cap. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, Spotted Flower.”
She glared at him. “That is no longer my name—I am Lillian,” she said, entering the shallows and swimming her horse across the river.
Lillian did not know what she would find when she reached Fort Benton, but anything would be better than the life she had been forced to live. She hoped her pa was still alive and running the outpost so she would have a place to stay.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she watched Claude ride away and frowned. He had nothing to fear from Dull Knife; the risk had been all hers.
Thinking of Dull Knife made her shiver. He would search for her when he discovered what she had done—he would want his revenge.
But she would be safe as soon as she was inside the fort.
Lillian kept following the river as Claude had told her to. A day and a fearful night passed, and still she saw no sign of Fort Benton.
Doubt gnawed at her mind—what if she had become confused in the dark and was riding in the wrong direction?
Just when she had given up hope, she saw the Missouri widen and there was Fort Benton.
She was home.
Life beside the stream, nestled in the mountains, was good.
Spring moved into summer and before long autumn beckoned with a splash of glorious reds and yellows as the trees changed colors.
Each day Rain Song discovered more about her husband. He taught her how to trace the flight of an eagle, to watch the bear cubs playing with their mother. He taught her how to track wild game, and to discern the difference between the hoofprints of a deer and an elk.
At night, after they had feasted on fresh game and she curled up in his arms, she told him about her life before she had been taken captive. Wind Warrior would ask her to sing to him, and he would listen with his heart in his eyes.
“I could live here forever,” she told him one night as she lay in his arms. “I would not care if we never returned to the village.” She paused. “Except I would miss my mother and father, and Fire Wolf.”
His arms slid around her, drawing her close. “Sadly, we will be leaving in two days. I fear I have already lingered too long. For a week now, I have seen frost on the plants and trees.”
“I suppose the winters are too harsh to remain here through the season?”
He closed his eyes, loving her in the very depths of his heart. “You will want your mother when it is time for the baby to be born.”
Her eyes widening, Rain Song was amazed. “A baby?”
Smiling at her innocence in the ways of the world, he bent to kiss her slightly swollen stomach. “Have you not noticed you have had only one blood flow since we came to the mountains?”
“I…did not think it meant anything.” Her eyes widened in amazement, and a feeling so sweet and strong hit her, it stole her breath. She was going to have Wind Warrior’s baby.
“I planted my seed in you,” he said past the lump in his throat. “You are with child.”
He laid his cheek against her thundering heart and closed his eyes. “Are you happy about what we have created out of our love?” he asked, not knowing how she felt about having a child. He raised his head and watched closely for her reaction. “Are you?”
The wonder of having Wind Warrior’s child washed through Rain Song, and she laid her hand on her stomach. “A child,” she whispered. When she looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. “My husband, my heart cannot contain my joy,” she
admitted brokenly.
Wind Warrior held her to his heart. He had a sudden fear that he could not hold on to such happiness. It now filled his being, but would it one day slip through his fingers like sifting sand?
Were his thoughts a dire premonition? he wondered.
I do not know.
Nothing lasts forever.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Wind Warrior was fighting his way out of a thick fog, his heart beating, his throat dry. He caught glimpses of fire, destruction—women, bloody and dying, children crying out in pain. For a moment he thought he was glimpsing the great prairie fire. But no, the horror that was unfolding before him was happening in the Blackfoot village along the Milk River.
His eyes snapped open and he lay gasping for breath. He had been dreaming, and yet it was more than a dream—it was very real.
Danger!
Rain Song still slept beside him. Not wanting to disturb her, he eased away from her body and stood.
With his heart pounding, he made his way to the edge of the stream, splashing water in his face. Standing, he made his way to the edge of the cliff and stared down below.
Something was stirring in his mind, something terrible. Panic rose inside him and he had the strongest feeling he had to get back to the tribe as quickly as possible. He had to warn his people about approaching devastation.
Hearing a noise, he turned to find Rain Song behind him, a troubled look in her eyes.
“What is wrong, my husband?”
He took both her hands in his and gazed deeply into her eyes, trying to rid himself of the horrible vision that had come upon him.
“Wind Warrior?”
“What I say to you now is nothing I can prove; I can only feel.”
Rain Song was confused. “I do not understand.”
He slid his arms around her. “Of course you do not, when I do not understand myself. Sometimes dreams come to me. I cannot see the future: as some believe. But when I have a vision, I must act.”
“Tell me,” she urged, sensing the unrest in him.
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