White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  With so much at stake—his future with her—Jeremy concentrated only on Dove and her instructions. “Because names are important, right?”

  She lifted a brow. “Very good. You were paying attention. Yes. A name is important and therefore should not be overused.” A glint of mischief entered her eyes. “So, I will call you wayawapi. It means pupil.”

  Jeremy bit back a grimace and a protest. Mother Bear. Pupil. Neither title sounded impressive. He should have known Dove would not cater to his tender male ego. “I can think of some other names.” He stared at her mouth, then slid his gaze down to her strong thighs guiding her horse.

  “Like what?” Her voice held a trace of huskiness. When he glanced up, he found her staring at his mouth. Heat rushed through him. “How about ‘lover’?” he whispered, imagining a bright summer day alone on the prairie with her on top of him, those thighs gripping his.

  She snapped her gaze up. “I think not.” Though she tried to sound disproving, her voice cracked.

  “Hmm, that’s too bad. What do you think I should call you?”

  She gave him a sweet smile. “Itancan.”

  Jeremy’s tongue stumbled over the word several times before he came close to saying it right. “What does it mean?”

  “It means ruler. Master.”

  He met her smirk with a horrified look. No wonder he’d had a hard time with the word. Not a chance was he calling her that! “Nice try, Dove, but nothing doing. Reminding himself to keep it light, he suggested, “How about ‘friend’?” He had to remember to keep things light and fun, and above all else, not to do anything that would challenge her authority. But he drew the line at referring to her as master.

  Dove turned back to face forward. “Kola means his particular friend. You would use this with a very good friend. I do not see you as such a person yet. There is takolaku, my friend. And mitakola means your friend.”

  “Wow.” The words were already lost. Yet he loved listening to her voice, the different pitches, intonations and nasal inflections as she spoke. “How about I figure out something later. Maybe you can start teaching me some simple Sioux words for things like trees and rocks?”

  She sighed. “Lakota. Not Sioux. I am of the Miniconjou. We are but one of seven tribes that belong to the Teton Sioux. My mother’s father belongs to the Hunkpapa. There is also the Sichangu, Sihasapa, Itazipcho, Oohenonpa and the Oglala, who are the largest. Before you learn our language, you must first learn our history.”

  The hours passed. Jeremy listened to Dove speak of White Buffalo Woman, who gave the Sioux their minds, which allowed them to think. She spoke of the three groups of Sioux and the seven council fires and the four groups of four gods, sixteen in all, yet the sixteen were as one. As she continued to speak, his head began to swim. So much for just learning to hunt and ride into battle.

  A new respect grew in those few hours as he began to appreciate the history and the power of the stories passed down from grandmother to granddaughter, and father to son. And when the wind tore the clouds open, he didn’t even care that he was cold and wet. Dove’s storytelling, told in a voice which blended seriousness, passion, humor and a warmth that he’d never heard, held him spellbound.

  * * *

  Far from the traveling Sioux, a young woman huddled on the hard, barren ground, her arms wrapped around her two daughters. Exhaustion and lack of food left her weak, but fear for her children lent her the will to keep going.

  She didn’t need to glance to her right to see the five warriors sitting around a fire, eating the remains of a couple of hares. From her pocket, she pulled out two small, charred chunks. She slid them into Beth Ann’s pocket. So far her children hadn’t been denied food, but she couldn’t count on tomorrow.

  “Here. Hide these, and wait until everyone is asleep before you eat them.” She handed the cold meat to Beth Ann. Though only six, her daughter understood and secreted the food. Her youngest whimpered. Elizabeth gathered her close, smoothing her short, blond curls. “Shush, baby. It’s okay.” At three, Jane didn’t understand. Hell, at twenty-three, she didn’t understand why all this was happening to them. She closed her eyes, rested her cheek against Beth Ann’s head.

  She’d given up hope of rescue many days ago. Surviving took up all her energy. It did no good to dwell on what-ifs or to wish she’d stood her ground. Regrets wouldn’t bring back her husband, and wouldn’t change the fact that she was captive of the savages who’d killed him.

  If only—the words crept into her mind anyway.

  If only her husband had waited for the rest of the wagon train, not been so eager to set off and leave Omaha behind. But he’d had enough of the crowded conditions as more emigrants arrived each day to await the journey west.

  If only he hadn’t been so obsessed with getting to Oregon to claim land.

  If only he hadn’t angered the Indians when they’d come to their camp.

  If only he hadn’t shot the one who’d gone into their wagon to take what he wanted.

  If only she had listened to her father, and refused to follow her husband west. If only.

  A shout startled the three of them. Elizabeth glanced fearfully at the warriors. Jane whimpered and clutched at her. Elizabeth stood, forcing Jane to go to her sister. “Watch her, Beth Ann. Keep her safe.” Suppressing her own sob, she walked toward the towering savage and followed him to a blanket thrown on the ground, set apart from the others—and far from her children.

  Lying down on her back as she’d been forced to do each night since her capture, she stared at the stars. When the big Indian climbed on top of her, she focused on one brightly shining star and prayed, blinking only when the wide wingspan of an owl flew past.

  Chapter Seven

  Several evenings later, White Dove followed her friends away from their temporary camp to a secluded spot upstream to wash away the stickiness of travel. A glance over her shoulder revealed the distant dark blur of the Paha Sapa, the Black Hills they called home in the summer. Each day those wonderful hills grew closer.

  Dove glanced up into the warm, blue heavens. Soon, she’d be home, running and riding across the land she loved. For just a while, she forgot her anger and resentment. When Tanagila pulled on her arm, she ran with the others down to the bank and stripped off her deerskin dress. Welcoming shouts from several older women greeted them.

  Nearby, three young girls hunkered down in the water, whispering and giggling to each other. Dove rolled her eyes when she heard them arguing over whom Jeremy liked best. “Why does everyone have to talk about him?”

  Tanagila playfully splashed Dove. “Hunkuya Mato is tanwaste. Owanyag waste! Do you not think so?”

  Dove ignored the snickers of the other women by ducking her head beneath the water to rinse her hair. Yes, Jeremy was handsome. Breathtakingly so. Swiping water from her eyes when she surfaced, she pushed a wall of water toward her friend.

  “You are married,” she scolded.

  “But not dead,” a girl two years older than Dove and pregnant with her third child said with a sigh. “You have had more warriors seeking you than all of us had together.”

  The others nodded. Dove shook her head. “Hunkuya Mato is not a warrior,” she reminded sharply.

  “Not yet.” Tanagila grinned.

  Not yet. Her heart thumped in her chest. Could he really become one? And if he did, what good would it do her? He wouldn’t be any better than any of the others who’d tried to court her. Worse, for she didn’t believe he’d stay. He just wanted to prove her wrong. It was nothing more than another challenge.

  Tanagila eyed Dove with amusement. “When he dresses as a warrior, none will be able to see that he is not Sioux. Only his hair is not as long.”

  Dove snorted. “His body is white.”

  “Not for long,” another woman said. “The sun will turn his
skin brown.”

  Dove couldn’t imagine Jeremy dressing as the rest of the warriors. She’d never even seen him without his shirt. “Whites hide their bodies,” she sneered. “Their society considers it improper for a man to go about without his shirt in the presence of women.”

  Too bad, her traitorous mind pointed out. Dove knew if he decided to dress as a warrior, she’d find no fault with his body—as she’d not found fault with his kisses.

  Shivering, she left the water. She had to think of the future. The future her grandmother had spoken of. Tanagila and the rest of her friends joined her, still talking about Jeremy, their conversations taking a decidedly lusty turn as the women discussed him wearing a breechclout.

  Dove listened thoughtfully, then she laughed, the wicked sound stopping the good-natured banter.

  Tanagila narrowed her eyes. “What are you planning to do?”

  “Just thinking.” And a very scheming thought at that. Motioning for her friends to gather close, she grinned. “It’s time for Hunkuya Mato to shed his white man’s clothing and take his place among us.”

  Huddled together with Tanagila and the others, Dove made her request known. Bursts of laughter broke forth as they each hurried off.

  * * *

  Jeremy strolled along the stream behind the energetic cubs. Earlier, he’d caught some fish to give them. He sniffed, catching strong whiffs of their meal even though he’d bathed them in the stream. Thankfully, they were eating other foods, as he didn’t have a supply of milk out here. With help from Dove’s people, he’d learned what bears ate. He’d never given it much thought before. But as he was beginning to discover, the Indians knew the habits of all animals roaming their land.

  The cubs ran back and forth, never straying too far from him. He shook his head. He’d become their mother. And like any mother, he felt pride and affection toward these fast-growing animals. He was amazed at how much they’d matured in nearly two weeks.

  Jeremy sat by the water’s edge while Mato Cikala splashed in the shallows and Cuweku explored a hole in the ground. The cubs had been named by the Indian children. Mato Cikala meant little bear, and Cuweku, older sister. No, that wasn’t right. Cuweku meant her older sister.

  So confusing. He hadn’t realized how difficult learning another language could be. In Lakota, what a person was called depended on what relationship they were to the speaker. If he referred to a woman’s older sister, she was cuwe. If the woman herself was referring to her own sister, cuwe became cuweku.

  A female’s younger sister was tanka or tankaku, while a man’s younger sister—like Jessie—became tanksi to the world in general, or tankaya to Jeremy as Jessie was his younger sister. And that was only the start. The same rules applied for cousins, mothers, fathers, all relations.

  Jeremy picked up a small twig and tried to write some of the words. But the spellings were guesswork, as the Sioux didn’t use written language. For that he was grateful; speaking was hard enough. Remembering all the rules was even harder, especially the accents for words that sounded the same but for the placement of the accent. He groaned at the memory of pointing to a woman’s younger sister and stating that she was tanka, but he’d put the accent at the front of the word instead of the end. To his horror, he’d called her large.

  Good thing Born By The Water had a sense of humor, for she was a large woman! He tossed the twig into the water. He’d get Dove for this. He suspected she had deliberately neglected to explain what would happen if he messed up the pronunciation.

  Not only was the language hard to speak, but so much of what you said, and how you said it, depended on who you were, who you were speaking to, if you were asking a question or making a statement. And a question asked by a female was different from the same one asked by a male.

  Staring out across the stream, he hoped it would grow easier. During the last three days, Dove had hammered words and meanings into his head. Each morning she arrived at the start of the day’s travel to quiz him on what he’d learned the night before.

  And when he failed to remember all she’d taught him, she smugly taunted him over his inability to learn even the most simple elements of their language, making him feel as though he were failing.

  “Simple? I don’t think so,” he muttered. But he refused to complain or ask her to slow down. He knew she was still angry at him for coming along. And that made him all the more determined. He’d prove to her—and to himself—that he could learn Lakota and anything else he needed to learn. Soon, she wouldn’t have any reason to scorn him.

  Putting Dove and his trouble with language aside, he gave in to the joy of the evening. When the cubs ran toward him, he wrestled with them for a while, then from a pouch tied to the belt around his waist, he pulled out a handful of dried berries, ate a few and gave some to each cub as well. This was his favorite part of the day. Just sitting and staring at the setting sun.

  It reminded him of his home back in Westport, how James had also spent each evening on the porch—just like their mother. Now Jeremy understood. Before he’d thought it a perfectly good waste of time. After a day spent tending to their farm and chores, the last thing he’d wanted to do was sit when he could finally do whatever he wanted.

  Now he looked forward to some quiet time. Just him and the cubs. Surprisingly, he was finding he enjoyed the bears. “Not a common pet, are you two?” He ruffled their fur when they settled at his side. It was time to head back to camp, but he made no move to get up. He still felt like an outsider. He ate with Jessie and Wolf’s family, slept beneath the stars with the bears, which were caged at night and rode alone during the day. He didn’t belong. Yet.

  Cuweku lifted her nose and looked beyond him.

  But before Jeremy could even move, he felt something sharp digging into his back. His heart jumped, then raced. He didn’t know who was behind him, but he felt hot breath on his neck. He sucked in his breath. Years of wrestling with his brothers stood him in good stead as he whipped around, grabbed his attacker’s arm and threw his weight forward.

  It took only seconds for him to realize it had been Dove behind him, but it was too late for him to stop his forward momentum. When she struggled, he quickly pinned her hands beside her head. Jeremy glared at her. “What the hell do you think you are doing? You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that. I could have gone for my knife or gun.” He released her hands and sat up.

  Dove tried to rise. “If I had been the enemy, you would have been dead before you could reach either. Even now, you do not have your knife in your hand—or your rifle.” She glanced at the knife held in her fisted hand, blade pointing downward. “Were I an enemy, I could gut you right now.”

  He grabbed her hand, twisted it until the knife fell to the side. He tossed it a short distance away, not releasing her wrist. “You want to take me on? I’ll give you fair warning that when it came to wrestling with my brothers and Jessie, no one could pin me.”

  For long moments, they glared at each other. His heart continued to pound. And not, he realized, just from being startled into a fight. His buttocks straddled her pelvis. He throbbed where they touched so intimately, as if his heart had sent all his blood to that region of his body. Feeling the stirring of his manhood, he groaned. She felt soft beneath him, so right.

  Without warning, Dove kicked out and bucked, turning over to slide out from beneath him. He tensed, coiled and shot forward, bringing one arm behind her back. To his surprise, she managed to get free several times before he managed to pin her once more beneath him.

  Breathing hard, Dove relaxed. “Let me go. You’ve proven yourself.”

  Jeremy didn’t move. His body pinned hers, his legs on hers, and his hands holding hers snugly above her head. “I don’t think so.” He hated that she’d caught him unaware, and twice now, had pulled her knife on him. His pride was stung.

  “There was no reason to b
ring my rifle. I was not going to hunt and there are no enemies here. I could see the approach of bears—”

  “But you did not see me.”

  “The only people around are your tribe. I can see for miles.”

  Dove tipped her chin up. “Now you can. When the grass grows tall, enemies snake through the grass. A good warrior is always aware of his surroundings, and those around him—whether friend or foe.”

  Jeremy frowned, conceding she had a point. He shifted slightly. It was a big mistake. He felt on fire.

  Dove let out a soft hiss of air, her eyes going smoky, her legs shifting ever so slightly, but enough to make him press into her even more. Her lips parted. “You made your point,” she whispered.

  Her breath, seductive and sweet, lured him close. Against his chest, he felt the rise and fall of her breasts, tempting and taunting him. No. Don’t even think it, he ordered himself. But his body lowered to rest on the soft pillow of her breasts.

  “Jeremy.” She licked her lips.

  His eyes latched on to her mouth. Sweet heaven, why did she have to lick her lips now? Like that. He wanted to capture her tongue, wanted to feel her brushing it over his lips in that slow, deliberate, teasing movement…

  Giving in to impulse, Jeremy dipped his head and touched her tongue with his. He felt her start beneath him, then heard her moan of desire. She pulled her arms as she tried to free herself. Releasing her hands, he framed her face and bent his head, slanting his mouth over hers. “Sweet.”

  “Skuya,” she repeated.

  “Yes, skuya.” Ready to deepen the kiss, needing desperately to taste her, Jeremy got the shock of his life when she flipped him, then straddled him, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  “Skuya,” she repeated, laughing. Standing, she walked over to the bundle that had fallen when he’d tackled her.