Little One told him, “I’m not repeating all that.”
Black Horse nodded and gave himself time to settle his roaming thoughts. The white men fighting each other was good for the tribes. The more men killed, the fewer the Indians needed to battle. Peace and harmony had been the way of Tsitsistas for many generations, long before they had to start following the buffalo to feed their families. He strived for that kind of peace, the kind his father’s father had told stories about. Such harmony could not be found with mistrust living between the bands and the white man. Too many tricks had been played by the white man’s gifts and words. Just as the white trader had tricked him with the poison in the gift he had brought home to Hopping Rabbit, others had been tricked, and others had died. Their poison took many shapes and arrived in many ways. This did not make him hate all white men or seek to harm them. That would spoil his blood, and that of his tribe. A leader could not do that, but he listened carefully to his insides when it came to trusting anyone.
“Did you tell him what I said?” Poeso asked.
“Yes,” Little One answered.
“It didn’t sound like it.”
“The Cheyenne language is different from yours,” Little One explained. “It is easier.”
“It doesn’t sound easier,” she answered.
In order to hide his grin, Black Horse told Little One, “Ask her if others are coming. Going to California. Like her. Holy women dressed in black.”
“No,” the woman answered when Little One translated his question. “We aren’t real nuns. We bought the outfits in Missouri as disguises. It was Meg’s idea. Said we’d be safer wearing them. We gave Betty and Tillie our extra ones after their husbands died and we left the wagon train.”
Black Horse withheld another grin as Little One repeated portions of what had been said. For someone not set on speaking, Poeso said plenty. He turned to Little One. “Tell her they are welcome to spend the night in our camp and leave in the morning.”
Little One frowned, but nodded and did as instructed.
“We don’t want to spend the night,” she said. “We’ll leave now.”
He waved a hand, signaling that was fine with him. He was done with this white woman. Their outfits would keep them safe from other tribes. Many thought those kind of holy white women had special powers. He knew better, but it made no difference, and he would tell his warriors to watch for the white men and steal their horses again if needed.
When Little One finished saying she could leave, Poeso turned to him. “I’ll take my gun now.”
He laughed. “Tell her she can have it after she rides away.”
“After I ride away? That would be impossible,” she said after Little One translated.
“My brother is done with you,” Little One replied. “You leave lodge. See your friends.”
“I’m not leaving without my gun,” she insisted.
Little One looked at him. She was as frustrated with this woman as he. Which was not surprising. Little One was even more wary of whites than he. Black Horse shrugged his shoulder. He would not give this woman her pistol, no matter how tiny it was, until she was far away. “Tell her a brave will follow them as far as the river and give it to her then.”
That seemed to satisfy both of them, and in unison, Little One and the white woman rose to their feet. Neither bid farewell. He did not expect them to, but did wonder what would become of this woman. This poeso. She had the spirit of a mountain lion, and he allowed a grin to form at that thought. If those men from the river were smart, they would forget about these women, especially this one. She was filled with trouble and sprouted it as she walked.
* * *
Lorna couldn’t get out of the teepee fast enough. The chief didn’t frighten her, but he did make her blood boil. He was so arrogant and haughty, she wanted to— Her train of thought stopped right there. Rushing forward, she hugged each of her friends.
“You are all right?” she asked. “No one hurt you?”
“Heavens, no,” Tillie said. “They have been so kind. I had a delightful lunch.”
“I did, too,” Betty supplied. “With a wonderful couple who had three little boys, and...”
Lorna stopped listening to turn to Meg. Once again, the look on her friend’s face almost stopped her heart. “Meg? Meg, what is it?”
Meg didn’t turn her way, and Lorna spun to see what was holding her friend’s interest so deeply that she’d all but turned to stone.
Little One was staring back at Meg, and frowning, as if confused.
Lorna bounced a glance between the two of them, wondering what each of them saw. Neither of them was frightening. In fact, other than that Little One had brown skin and Meg white, the two looked vaguely similar to one another.
Meg finally spoke, but it was to Little One. “Carolyn?”
“No,” Lorna said, “her name is Little One. The Cheyenne call her Aleaha, or something like that.”
“Carolyn.” Meg pulled the habit off her head. “It’s me, Margaret. Your sister.”
Lorna was not expecting that. Neither was Betty or Tillie, considering how they gasped. She spun, only to spy Little One with one hand clasped across her mouth and tears trickling down her cheeks.
Turning back toward Meg, Lorna felt her shoulders slumping. Meg was crying, too, and the next moment, Meg and Little One were hugging.
A cold shiver rippled Lorna’s spine, and she turned all the way around. Black Horse had left his tent, and the look on his face made her stomach clench. He wasn’t impressed by what he saw, either.
Chapter Five
Once again, Lorna found herself seated in the chief’s tent, but now her friends sat beside her. Little One, Black Horse, and an old woman called One Who Heals completed the circle. Unlike the one she’d called Smile, this older woman’s long hair was completely gray and stringy, and deep wrinkles covered her face. And Lorna doubted this woman had smiled in years.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Tillie whispered. “Meg finding her younger sister. They look so much alike.”
“I know,” Betty answered. “They have the same brown eyes and black hair. Oh, I’m so happy I could cry.”
“Me, too,” Tillie replied. “It’s a miracle.”
Stuck between the two of them, Lorna pulled her eyes off the old woman to whisper, “Miracle?”
They nodded. Lorna drew in a deep breath and counted to ten. Everyone in the camp had brown eyes and black hair, but that didn’t matter. Her thoughts were on the situation and there wasn’t a good outcome from this little family reunion. If the sisters wanted to stay together, that meant either Meg stayed here, leaving the rest of them with no one to guide them to California, or Little One—Carolyn—came with them, which wasn’t about to happen by the look on Black Horse’s face.
The man hadn’t impressed her before, but now, the way he glared at Meg as if she had eight legs and multiple eyes, had Lorna’s ire growing by the second.
Betty and Tillie were acting as if they were witnessing a miracle. She shushed them by saying, “It’s not a miracle.” When they glanced at her, one on each side, she nodded across the small circle. “They don’t think so, either.”
Black Horse and the old woman, One Who Heals, were arguing. At least that was what it sounded like. It was hard to determine considering their strange language sounded harsh no matter what was said. The two of them, Black Horse and the old woman that Little One had told Meg was a medicine woman, barely waited for the other one to stop talking before they started, making it impossible to follow. He kept repeating one word. Hova’ahane. She’d heard him use it before, back at the river, but hadn’t known what it meant back then, and couldn’t figure it out now, either.
The hide dress the old woman wore was decorated with a unique design that looked like four arrows crossing each other, which she kept pointing to while releasing long and complicated words that at times rhymed with one another, making it hard to know if she was repeating things or not.
B
lack Horse made no hand gestures or facial expressions, other than to glare at Meg as if she was a bug he’d like to squash. That alone increased Lorna’s ire.
“What are they saying?” Tillie asked.
“I don’t know,” Lorna answered, looking toward Meg.
Her friend didn’t look her way, no matter how hard Lorna tried to get her attention. Instead, Meg kept her eyes on Black Horse, with her chin up. Lorna admired Meg right then, more so than before perhaps. Meg wasn’t bowing to this man like she had back at the river. It was about time.
When Little One joined in the argument, he cut a hand through the air. “Nehetaa’e. Ne’haatovestse.”
The two Indian women looked at each other, but it was Little One who spoke. “Hova’ahane. Ne’haatovestse.”
Lorna wished she knew what they were saying. What they were repeating. It was so frustrating. She couldn’t join in without knowing what they were arguing about. The subject was obvious. Meg and Little One being sisters, which was also very complex.
Little One rattled off several long and convoluted words, but Lorna recognized a beseeching tone in the young woman’s voice, and no one could miss the pleading in her eyes. It was clear Black Horse saw it. He rubbed his forehead before he said something soft and almost gentle.
Both the older and young woman smiled, and Little One reached over and patted his knee. He sat cross-legged, and laid a hand on top of hers. The look the two of them shared made Lorna’s stomach gurgle. One didn’t need to be an Indian to read what passed between them. These two loved each other. Good heavens, were they married? Is that why he was arguing so fiercely? Fearing his wife might leave with her newfound sister?
Lorna pressed a hand to one of her temples. This whole situation was bad enough. Meg’s sister didn’t need to be married to the chief to make it worse.
“My brother, the Great Chief Black Horse...” Little One started.
Lorna snapped her head up. That was right. Little One had called him her brother earlier. A sigh of relief snagged in Lorna’s throat. That was impossible. He couldn’t be Little One’s brother. That would make him Meg’s brother, too.
“...has many questions.”
Lorna’s patience was wearing thin. They all had many questions, and this wasn’t getting them answered. “What does hova’ahane ne’haatovestse mean?” she interrupted. The way she said it didn’t sound exactly as they had, so she explained, “You two kept saying that to one another.”
Little One glanced at Black Horse and when he finally nodded, she said, “Hova’ahane means no, and ne’haatovestse means listen to me.”
Lorna gave a slight nod while letting that settle. Seemed like a long word to mean no. “What’s nehetaa’e mean?”
“Enough.”
Lorna nodded again. It made sense. He’d used that word to stop the braves from circling the wagon upon their arrival.
“My brother make...” Little One paused and tapped her chin with one finger as if she was thinking about what to say next. “Request,” she said. “He has request of you. All you.”
There was no surprise in that. “What is it?” Lorna asked.
“Black Horse has a secret,” Little One said softly. “Must keep guarded.”
Lorna didn’t move, but shifted her eyes between the woman and man sitting across from her. A guarded secret? That they were married and pretended to be siblings?
“Few in our band know that One Who Heals and Black Horse understand and speak the English language, and...”
“Can speak—” Lorna had to draw in a breath as anger exploded inside her, and her attention snapped to Black Horse. “You’ve understood every word I’ve said?”
The sly grin on his lips made her want to march out the door. She would if she had someplace to go. Without Meg’s directional guidance, she’d never get all the way to California. She could get lost in Hyde Park. Had more than once. In all fairness, it was a large park.
“Yes,” Black Horse said before he nodded to Little One.
“He wants your word you will not tell others,” the Indian woman said.
“Our word?” Lorna spat. “He’ll get no such—”
“Please?” Little One said softly. “I do not want to have to translate every word said.”
“Of course he has our word,” Meg said before turning to the rest of their misfit group. “Doesn’t he?”
Twittering like little birds, Betty and Tillie agreed instantly. Lorna, looking at Meg, shook her head, until the pleading in her friend’s eyes was more than she could take. Then she turned to him. “I won’t make any promises.”
He said something to Little One, and though Lorna didn’t know the words, she understood the meaning. It was as close to I told you as if he’d spoken those exact words.
Little One and Black Horse started conversing again, but stopped quickly when the older woman made a hissing sound.
The top of Lorna’s head started tingling as the woman’s deep-set eyes glared her way.
“Speaking Mo’ohta Mo’ehno’ha knowledge will split tongue like snake,” the old woman said.
Meg whispered, “Mo’ohta Mo’ehno’ha means Black Horse.”
Lorna had figured that out by the way the old woman had pointed at him. Although One Who Heals reminded Lorna of an old crone in a nightmarish fairy tale, she wasn’t falling for any such foolery, nor was she scared. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales—good and bad ones—years ago. “No, it won’t.”
Expecting a full argument, Lorna was taken aback when One Who Heals merely shrugged.
“Agree,” Meg said coldly. “For once, Lorna, just agree.”
“I’ve been agreeing with things—”
“This time your life depends on it,” Meg interrupted. “All our lives depend on it.”
All of their lives had been depending on things since they started this journey west, so that wasn’t anything new.
“What if that was your sister?” Betty asked quietly, “Wouldn’t you want—”
“No,” Lorna snapped. There was no one in her family she ever wanted to see again. She had no siblings, but that wasn’t the issue. Letting the air out of her lungs, as hard as it was, she had to admit, at this moment in time, conceding was her best choice. “Fine,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.” It wasn’t as if any of the Indians would understand her anyway. Not unless they also knew English, like their leader. Some leader he was, keeping secrets from his people.
All eyes were on her, but no one spoke. When the silence grew thick, Lorna sighed again. “I said I won’t tell anyone.”
The glint in Black Horse’s eyes said he didn’t believe her, but he turned toward Meg. “Why you say Ayashe your sister?”
“Because she is,” Meg answered. “She was captured when our wagon train was attacked ten years ago. By the Dog Men of a Southern Cheyenne band. She was six, and I was ten.”
“Why not capture you?” he asked.
Lorna’s teeth dug deeper into her bottom lip. She wanted to hear Meg’s answer, but could see the tears glistening in her friend’s eyes, and that made her angry with Black Horse for asking. If Meg had wanted to share that part, she already would have. When Meg closed her eyes briefly, Lorna said, “What does that matter?”
Black Horse gave her a cold glance before turning back to Meg.
Meg was twisting her hands together and her lips quivered.
“You don’t have to tell him,” Lorna said.
Meg let out a breath and nodded. “Yes, I do.” Lifting her gaze to Black Horse, she answered, “Because I hid and they didn’t find me. My father was the wagon master. When the scout returned saying the water hole we needed to reach had dried up, he and several other men rode ahead to search for another water hole. That’s when the Indians attacked. While we were camped. I had wandered away from the wagons, not for any particular reason, just exploring as I often did. When I heard the commotion, I hid in the rocks.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I stayed there until it was over, and..
.and until my father returned.”
Sitting beside Meg, Little One reached over and squeezed Meg’s hand. “I glad you did. I glad you hid and not captured.”
“Pa never stopped looking for you,” Meg said. “He died looking for you, and I promised him I’d find you.”
Things started clicking in Lorna’s mind. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? To find your sister. It wasn’t to go to California at all.”
There was anguish in Meg’s eyes, but also honesty. “Yes. My father guided trains west every year, mainly to learn where Carolyn might be. Two years ago, when he finally admitted I was old enough, he let me join him. He’d discovered the tribe that had taken her had left her with a northern band years ago. He fell ill and died before we could head out again. No one would hire me to guide a train, and I didn’t have enough money to go out on my own.”
Lorna’s stomach turned hard. She felt as betrayed now as she had back in England. “So you convinced me to outfit your wagon and insisted we take the northern route just so you could find her. That’s why you wanted to separate from the rest of the train, and why you said we should go swimming today, and...”
“I said we could go swimming because we were all hot,” Meg said. “I didn’t know we were near Black Horse’s camp.”
“But you hoped,” Lorna said. Meg’s duplicity was eating at her insides. “You were hoping and didn’t care what happened to the rest of us.” It shouldn’t surprise her. No one had ever cared what happened to her.
“That’s not true,” Meg said softly. “I’ve cared what’s happened to all of you. I’ve—”
“No arguing, now,” Betty piped in, although it was in a whisper. “Not in front of our hosts.”
“Betty’s right,” Tillie said. “Besides, one for all and all for one.”
Lorna wanted to scream, but bit her lips together.
Meg turned to Black Horse. “I’ve been looking for my sister for ten years. She is the only family I have.”
Her Cheyenne Warrior (Harlequin Historical) Page 6