He did not believe that, and had told One Who Heals that Poeso had much power. Much power over people, and that Maheo had sent her here. He was convinced of that, but did not know the reason why. It was not his way to question such things, yet he could not stop his thoughts. Not only as a man, but as a leader. To befriend a white woman so soon after refusing to fight would diminish him in the eyes of other leaders. Why would Maheo do that to him? Had he not obeyed all the rules? Had he not outfought and outhunted others in order to be deemed a leader? Had he not thought of The People first when Hopping Rabbit had died? Was he not thinking of them now? Again, he thought, Is this a test?
A shiver rippled his spine and he looked down upon the woman who had fallen asleep in his arms. Anger had burst inside him when he’d learned who had hurt her. A father should never hurt his child, not one born from his seed, nor one he had accepted as his own. Such things did happen in both the Indian’s and white man’s worlds, and that angered him. He banished such men from his band, but some leaders did not, because they did not want to interfere. In his mind, and in the minds of his people, children were cherished, much loved. They were the future and needed to have full hearts to keep the bands alive for many generations to come. Hurt children became angry children and angry children became angry adults who made wars continue.
Poeso’s heart had much healing to do. Perhaps she would find that healing in California. She was a white woman, and like white men, they cherished the thing they called money.
He had no use for money, no use for any of the white man’s ways, and thinking about such things made him yawn. When his eyes wanted to close and his mind slip into dreams, he twisted to lie down, but kept his arms around Poeso. Perhaps Maheo had sent her to him in order for him to remember what it was like to be a husband, to once again want a wife and family, children who would populate the earth after his time here was over.
The early signs of Father Sun awoke Black Horse, and sleeping beside Poeso meant great longings filled his blood. He eased away from her and left his lodge, heading straight for the river where he stripped down and walked into the cooling waters.
Other men soon joined him, as was their routine, to bathe in the early-morning light. Before the sun fully appeared, they’d completed their ritual and left the river to prepare for another day of trailing buffalo. He knew that was the task before him, yet concentrating on it was difficult.
The camp was awake and full of life. He stopped at Little One’s lodge and ate breakfast while filling his pouch with dried meat, berries and nuts to eat throughout the day. Purposely not going near his lodge, he made his way to the horse herds. If Maheo was attempting to tell him it was time to take a wife again, she would be Cheyenne. Or perhaps Arapaho. Not a white woman.
* * *
Much like the day before, Black Horse led his people westward, but unlike many hunts in the past, they came upon the buffalo before the sun was fully overhead. The heard was large and spread out over many miles. The Sweet Medicine was with them, and he lifted his hands to the sky in thanks. After giving his blessings, and knowing that when the hunt began the buffalo would scatter, Black Horse urged Horse forward in order to find land and water that would serve their village for the many days they would hunt.
It would take a long time for all of the families to arrive at the new site, including his. A smile grew in his heart as he scanned the water nearby. It was wider and deeper here, and he wondered if Poeso would attempt fishing again. He had not fished much since becoming a warrior, but remembered the fun and had liked watching her find that joy.
Forcing his mind to return to the buffalo, he signaled for other warriors to follow him.
Black Horse led the way back to the buffalo. There they spent many hours scouting the land and herd, planning the hunt that would start in the morning. When he returned to the village, he did not go to his lodge. Instead, he went to the sweat lodge to prepare his mind and body to lead his warriors on a great hunt, and to ask Maheo for a beautiful Cheyenne maiden better suited to his needs.
* * *
Days later, Lorna sat in her usual spot next to Black Horse while everyone ate. Buffalo meat, something she might never have tasted had they not been rescued from beside the river that day, reminded her of the beefsteaks that had often sat upon the table back in England. Since the hunt had started, they’d consumed a large amount of the fresh meat. She’d gotten used to eating what had been put in front of her since leaving her childhood home. In fact, she’d gotten used to a lot of things. She had learned a lot, too. Not just things about the Indian way of life, but about herself. It felt like much more than a week since they had become a part of the Cheyenne community.
For instance, she hadn’t known she was capable of butchering a buffalo. Yes, butchering! The animals were massive, and though most of the men in the camp had dedicated themselves to hunting the beasts, it was the women of the tribe who butchered them and completed all the tasks that followed the harrowing experience. Oh, yes, the first time she’d been instructed to assist in that bloody experience had been distressing to say the least. The sights and smells had been enough to send her to the latrine area—that was the word she preferred to call the dedicated space downwind from the camp—and heave for the rest of the day.
She hadn’t, though, mainly because she’d sensed how happy that would have made One Who Heals. The old crone still didn’t like her, even though she’d been trying to make the best of the situation by staying as far away from the old woman as possible.
Even now, as they ate, she felt the evil glare of those narrow eyes on her every move, and was counting the minutes until the meal would end.
Every night since the hunt had started five, or maybe six days ago—she had lost track of time—Black Horse had spent little time in the lodge. He not only chased and killed buffalo most of the daylight hours, but upon returning to the village, he spent hours with his horses. He rode several different ones while hunting the buffalo and each one was as well trained as his big black one.
There had been days when she’d hoped he wouldn’t kill another buffalo because each carcass packed into the camp was more work for her. Along with all the other women in his family. She wouldn’t spare an ounce of breath to claim they all hadn’t done far more work than she. Teaching her how to not only butcher, but then separate the meat into what had to be eaten fresh and what had to be dried, had to have been more work for them than just doing the tasks themselves.
Then there was the skinning and taking care of the hides and bones, and, well, everything. There was not a piece of the buffalo that went to waste, although she still refused to think of exactly what some parts were used for. There was still too much of her old self alive and well to go that far.
The good thing about all this work, even though she’d become capable of many tasks, was that she still wasn’t expected to prepare meals. That was still beyond her. Meals. There were no set mealtimes. Food was cooked all day long and when people were hungry they ate. The only meal ritual was when Black Horse returned to his lodge at the end of the day. Out of respect, everyone gathered there to eat with him, whether they were hungry or not.
It was part of the ritual, and that was why they were all gathered in his teepee now, as the sun was setting. Again, he’d proved his hunting skills were superior to other warriors by downing several buffalo, and again, she’d worked until her body ached and called for the soft hides to lie upon.
Her wish came true when Black Horse signaled the meal was over. Lorna wasted no time in helping the others with the evening chores, and then gladly returned to the lodge and collapsed upon the hides.
Each night since the hunt had begun, some of the people of the visiting bands had celebrated their successes with music and dancing, and tonight was no different. The sounds of such were still filtering into the tent when her eyes snapped open. Sitting up, she witnessed Black Horse leaving the lodge. The speed of his departure and commotion from outside had her scrambling to foll
ow him.
Several lodges away, two men were crouched down facing each other, with knives drawn. The moonlight glistened on the metal as they swiped the blades at one another. Black Horse didn’t slow his pace as he bounded in between the men and grabbed one of the men by the wrist, forcing him to drop his knife. The other man who had stepped back she recognized as Sleeps All Day.
Black Horse picked up the knife with his free hand and spun the other man around, then forced him to walk away. Few words had been spoken. None that she understood anyway. She took a step to follow Black Horse, but Little One stopped her.
Betty rushed to her side. “Sleeps All Day caught that warrior trying to sneak into Moon Flower’s lodge.”
The crowd quickly departed. Several women, including Betty, entered Moon Flower’s lodge, while Lorna watched Black Horse take the warrior across the river and as far into the neighboring village as the moonlight allowed her to see. Then she slowly returned to Black Horse’s lodge, and sat down, awaiting his return.
It seemed hours passed before he entered the lodge.
* * *
Black Horse drew in a breath at the site of Poeso sitting with her arms crossed. He had hoped she would be asleep, but it was no surprise to find she was not. “It is late,” he said, while walking toward his side of the lodge.
“What did you do to that man?” she asked.
“He will not be back.”
“Why? Is he dead?”
Usually he would say no more, but the quiver in her voice forced him to answer, “No, he has been banished from our village.”
“Banished?”
A Cheyenne woman would understand what that meant. Then again, a Cheyenne woman would be asleep and would not question his actions. Stretching out on his bed, Black Horse closed his eyes. Silver Bear would punish the brave; there was no more to worry about. No more he needed to do. “It is done,” he said. “Go to sleep.”
“How can I do that?” she asked. “Knowing you could have been killed.”
He opened one eye to peer across the lodge. The moonlight made her curls shimmer. The ability not to think about touching her, about mating with her was getting harder with each moon.
“You didn’t need to put yourself in the middle of that fight,” she said.
He closed his eyes. “It is my duty.”
“Is it your duty to get stabbed?”
“I not get—”
“You could have been,” she said. “You could have been killed.”
He held his breath at how she interrupted him, telling himself she did not know better. “There are many things you do not understand about our ways, Poeso. You are not Cheyenne.”
“No, I’m not Cheyenne,” she said with anger. “But I’ve been working as hard as any Cheyenne woman here, and I know danger when I see it. That brave could have killed you.”
“A Cheyenne woman would not remind her husband of such things.”
“Husband? Who said anything about a husband? Not me. Or is that why you banished that brave from your village? Does he like Moon Flower? Do you want her for your next wife?”
Black Horse wanted to squeeze his head between his palms. Normally he did not mind Poeso’s questions, but this night he did not want them. The brave had not been after Moon Flower. He had wanted the one Poeso called Betty. He had told Silver Bear that if Black Horse could have a white woman in his lodge, he could, too. Others had said as much. Handing the brave over to Silver Bear, Black Horse had said that none of the white women were here to become wives. That they would leave as soon as the buffalo hunt was over. Go to the white man’s fort. That thought left his stomach sour.
“Is that why?” she asked again. “You want Moon Flower as your wife?”
“How can I think of another wife with you sleeping in my tent?” he growled. “And talking, talking, talking until Father Sun arrives.”
“I don’t—” She huffed out a breath and threw herself onto her bed with a thud. “Fine. I won’t talk. You can have any wife you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Because you will soon go to California,” he said in order to end the conversation.
“That’s right, I will, and then I won’t care one way or the other who you marry, or if you get stabbed or not.”
Black Horse bit his lips together. She made him want to argue, and that was not his way. Not the way of his people. He had said his piece, and that should be enough.
Many heartbeats later, while he was still staring at the stars though the open top of the lodge, she whispered, “Moon Flower is pretty, and smart. You could do worse.”
“Go to sleep, Poeso,” he growled. Marrying Moon Flower had never crossed his thoughts. No other woman had entered his mind since this poeso had entered his village.
* * *
When Father Sun arrived, Black Horse left the lodge with enough frustration to kill buffalo two at a time.
Although they had taken many buffalo during this hunt, the winter would be long and the band was large. Riding upon Horse, Black Horse led the charge into the mass, bow drawn to make the first kill of the day. He fired arrow after arrow, and Horse never missed a step as buffalo, one after the other, fell to their deaths in his wake. Others would gather the fallen animals. The markings on his arrows piercing the buffalos’ hearts would signify they belonged to him. His mind stumbled slightly when he thought of how many more Poeso would have to assist in butchering. It was the way, he told himself, and she must learn that, even if she was only here for a short time.
She had not spoken again after he’d told her to go to sleep last night, but she might as well have. Listening to her tossing and turning had made sleep impossible, and made him question again why Maheo had brought her here.
Sweat ran down his back and stung his eyes along with much dust and dirt as the buffalo turned, running in yet another direction. Movement on top of the hill told him a group of women had arrived to assist with the buffalo being taken. He did not need to see her to know Poeso had joined them this day.
Urging Horse to follow the buffalo, Black Horse caught sight of a warrior falling from his horse. Buffalo were smart and fierce contenders, and a large bull had already spun around to take advantage of the warrior. Black Horse steered Horse around and reached for an arrow, but realized there were too many buffalo between him and the bull to make a clean shot. Hooking his bow over one shoulder, he pulled out his knife and raced through the heard. The buffalo surrounding him were a blur as he kept his sight on the one charging toward the fallen warrior. The bull, so focused on the brave, did not notice as Black Horse rode up beside it. Bearing down on the animal, pinpointing the exact spot he aimed his arrows at, Black Horse plunged the knife between two ribs on the side of the bull, and then deeper into the animal’s heart.
The bull’s front knees buckled and its large body followed, landing near the fallen warrior. Spinning Horse around, Black Horse rode back to pull his knife out of the bull, and then gestured, telling the warrior to claim the kill as his own before turning Horse about and riding into the herd again. It was the warrior he’d banished from his camp the night before. The one who must learn from his mistakes, not dwell upon them.
The buffalo were soon as exhausted as those hunting them, and Black Horse called a halt to the hunt. It had been a good season and his people would not go hungry when the snow fell. The rest of the herd would be allowed to roam away, and, like Poeso’s first fish, produce more buffalo for another hunt, another season.
* * *
Lorna was fully worn out by the time Black Horse arrived at the lodge that evening, but she refused to let it show. She worked as hard as the other women, and would continue to, whether Black Horse recognized that or not. And she was determined he would answer one more question that evening. Entering the lodge behind him, she asked, “Why did you save that warrior from being gored? He was the one you banished last night.”
He had already gone swimming in the creek, washing away the sweat and dirt from the hunt, and
his skin was still glistening with drops of water. She attempted to ignore that while keeping her stare steady on his face, which was drawn into a frown.
“It is the way,” he answered.
She wanted to know more, but stopped herself from asking, and for once that didn’t bother her. Unlike all the other men she’d ever known, he didn’t like talking about himself. Didn’t boast about good deeds, his bravery, skills or successes. Much like all of those in his band, she’d come to respect Black Horse, and realized those traits were just a few of the things that made him a great leader. The Cheyenne were indeed different from white men, and not all the ways were bad.
Her insides had been tied in knots all day, and she knew the only thing that would help was to apologize. “I’m sorry I angered you last night, asking so many questions.”
“You did not anger me, Poeso.”
“It seems like I did.” Black Horse now knew what Douglas had done, and she wondered if that made her ugly in his eyes. Contaminated. That was how it had left her feeling.
She also wondered if Black Horse regretted what he’d done. The way he’d held her, comforted her and slept beside her all night. That hadn’t happened again, yet she couldn’t erase the memory of how different she’d felt the next morning. As if something inside her had become whole again. It was perplexing, and she questioned it over and over, but couldn’t deny she felt different inside since that night. Thought about him differently, too. It had been those thoughts that had driven her to ask him about Moon Flower last night.
“Well, either way, I’m sorry.” She had come to appreciate many of the people here, including him—another change inside her that she was noticing—and truly didn’t want him to be angry.
“The warrior was shunned from his clan, too.”
Lorna had turned and was about to leave the lodge until he’d spoken. Twisting about, she waited, wondering if he would say more.
“Without that buffalo, he would have nothing to eat.”
Her Cheyenne Warrior (Harlequin Historical) Page 13