by Karen Kay
She would go, she determined. The only problem remaining was how to obtain the marquess’s agreement to accompany her.
But the marquess had been drunk. Perhaps tomorrow morning might find him more agreeable.
She hoped it would be so.
Drumbeats and chanting sounded off from far below her.
Katrina stood at the railing of the promenade which skirted the northeastern bastion of the fort. Somehow, in her stroll through the courtyard, she had made her way to this spot which stood high above the prairie.
She looked down into the Indian village which was alive with apparent dancing and feasting, and she was struck by the difference between what she was seeing here, and the party which she had just left.
Somehow, this one seemed…better.
There were children down there, for one thing; something that was conspicuously missing within the fort. There was happy laughter, too; not the drunken sort of merriment which she had witnessed earlier tonight.
But there was more to it than that. In her melancholy mood, something about the Indian camp intrigued her and she felt…pulled toward it.
Not that she would do anything about it…those people down there were savage, primitive, and yet…
She could almost feel the happiness that abounded in the camp, and it occurred to her that this emotion was as foreign to her as the people were themselves. The Indians clearly exhibited a sense of lightheartedness that she would have been hard-pressed to find within her own world. These people seemed carefree…insouciant.
Had she ever felt that way?
She couldn’t recall a time.
Yet something was happening to her tonight, some feeling, some emotion had been sparked and set to life within her.
Lord knows, she couldn’t have explained it, had anyone asked. All she knew was that she had to be a part of that scene down there somehow, even if it were only from atop her perch on the bastion.
Perhaps it was because she was so worried, so upset. Perhaps the drumbeat and the singing were acting as a balm for her overwrought senses. Perhaps.
Whatever it was, it was frightening, the change that was taking place within her. But she could not deny that something was happening to her, something…different.
And truly, she should have been appalled by the savagery of those performances, the primitive steps, the simple costumes, the whooping and hollering of the men and women. Yet, she wasn’t.
If she were to be truthful with herself, she would admit that she was enchanted by what she saw.
But she wasn’t quite so honest. And so she merely watched and listened.
Low-pitched voices sang to the beat of a drum while scantily dressed figures danced around a fire.
People stood on the outskirts of the circle of dancers, and she could hear the buzz of talking, see the figures of women, of children swaying to the beat; she could feel their joy.
Had he gone back down there?
She didn’t know where that thought had come from. She shook her head, as though to clear it. She had to stop thinking of the man. Actually, she had to stop acting like she was now.
Still, she didn’t move away.
She listened to the voices. The music reached out to her. Perhaps if she went down there, she might forget about her troubles.
Mayhap, if she could put her worries behind her for a moment, she might be able to think more clearly later.
It seemed possible, if only remotely.
But she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t go there. They were Indian. She was white. And somehow, the two paths just didn’t meet.
She swayed forward, though, against the rail.
She could smell the smoky scent of the fire, the tantalizing aromas of cooking stews and meats, and that drink she had heard had only been recently introduced to the Indians—coffee.
The night sky was dark, starlit only, the moon yet to rise, but still the colors of the dancers’ regalia, the yellows and whites, the blues and reds, were all so clearly defined in the firelight for her, it might as well have been day.
Did he feel her watching them?
She continued to gaze downward, into the village. The structure of the Indian lodges, their tepees, looked soft and inviting to her, compared to the hard walls of the bourgeois’ abode; the Indian lodges gave off a colorful glow against the background of the night. She wanted to feel the texture of those lodges and she found her hand actually moving out toward the scene.
She pulled back. What was wrong with her tonight? The rhythm of those drums soon reached out to her again, and she felt herself begin to move to that pulse. She couldn’t help herself. It was as though the drum was becoming a part of her heartbeat.
She closed her eyes and felt it…simply felt it.
Was it her imagination, or could she hear on the wind the soft refrains of these people’s ancestors singing?
Another odd thought.
But she could not deny it.
What was happening to her?
She didn’t want this…did she? And yet, she definitely felt a part of it all. Despite her strongest argument against it, she felt she had to go down there. She knew it was insane; she knew it was unsafe to venture out there, away from the fort, and yet, there it was; something within her would not be denied. Indian or not, she had to be there.
Besides, she needed to speak with White Eagle. She might need his help on the morrow, especially since her fiancé stood opposed to her intentions. Mayhap White Eagle might be able to give her some advice.
She had to see him; she had to talk with him, and it only stood to reason that he would be there, in the Indian camp. Yes, she must go there.
The decision made, she lifted her skirts and softly made her way back down the bastion’s stairs.
No one would miss her tonight; the sentries, the traders and even her fiancé being too drunk to notice a single woman leaving through the fort’s main gate.
Besides, she wouldn’t go too far into the Indian camp; she would only watch from the outskirts until she located White Eagle. And then she would talk to him and leave. That was all she wanted.
She reached the bottom step and pulled open the bastion door and, as she did so, she was instantly bathed in a silvery glow. She glanced up. Odd. The moon hadn’t been there a few moments ago, but now it shone, large and luminous.
Was it her imagination or did the moonbeams light up a path…a trail that would take her directly to the camp?
She sighed. Perhaps this was meant to be.
He watched her.
He’d followed her out of the party, into the night. He’d listened to her conversation with her fiancé; this Englishman, White Eagle decided, was nothing more than a coward dressed up in men’s clothing. Why this beautiful woman would want to marry such a man as this was beyond White Eagle’s understanding.
It occurred to him that he would more than enjoy stealing her away from this man; he would relish it.
He’d followed her, up into the bastion, too, and there he’d watched her as she responded to the music and the drums of his people. He didn’t make himself known to her, instead, he’d just observed, uncertain exactly when he had become aware that she was changing, not in the way she looked or any outward sort of appearance.
No, he sensed a metamorphosis taking place within her. A change having to do with him; with his people.
And he realized, even if she didn’t yet know it:
A part of her belonged here, in this land. And perhaps, for the first time, she was becoming aware of it…at least, a little.
He would have to take care to nurture that spark of appreciation within her; that is, if he wanted her to stay.
And he wanted her to stay.
Until he had seen her again, he had forgotten how much he had always enjoyed Shines Like Moonlight’s company. In essence, he had forgotten much about her until…
All at once a memory intruded upon him, and White Eagle stiffened.
What was this? Something factual,
or a mere dream?
This could not be, could it?
White Eagle threw back his head, and glanced up toward the ceiling.
Where had this memory come from? Why hadn’t he recalled it until now? Surely, he would not have forgotten something so important, had it truly happened.
Or had he, perhaps, buried this recollection deep inside him sometime in the past?
It was possible.
Glancing toward Shines Like Moonlight and seeing that she was settled for the moment, he let himself think back to a time when he had been eight years old and she, five…
A new day dawned.
The floodwaters had gone as quickly as they had come, but Shines Like Moonlight’s life had forever changed. Her parents were gone.
The five-year-old child clung to him, still. They had stopped to rest, on their trek back to his Pikuni band of the Blackfeet, and to her uncle.
“Miin-wa:sai’ni-t, don’t cry,” he said to her. “We will find your father’s brother and all will be well for you then.”
She just looked up at him, her dark eyes wet with tears.
“Kit-ikakomimm-o:k-i-hpa?” she asked him, speaking in the Blackfoot language. “Do you love me?”
What could he say to the child? “Aa, yes, my pretty little friend,” he answered, “Kitsikakomimmo, I love you.”
“Enough that you will marry me when I am big?”
“Aa,” he said, nodding, “enough to marry you. Now, go to sleep. Tomorrow we will find your uncle.”
“Promise me.”
“Tsa, what?”
She snuggled deeper into the shelter of his arms, and he could hardly hear her as she said, “Say you will marry me when I am big. Promise me.”
White Eagle took his time answering her. But when he looked down into the young girl’s face, her eyes still red and wet with tears, he smiled. And then he said, “Nit-aahkoomohsi, I promise.”
White Eagle straightened away from the wall, shocked. He had forgotten.
That had been so long ago. In truth, it seemed like another lifetime ago.
How could he have overlooked this?
He had promised to marry her; in truth, according to his people, he had done more than that: he had vowed to marry her, a much stronger commitment.
And yet, until now, he had not remembered it.
He was certain Shines Like Moonlight would not recall this, either. It appeared, in fact, that she recollected nothing from her former life.
Should he tell her?
Perhaps. But it would not be easy. It would not be something she would want to hear, especially now that she no longer belonged in his world.
Or did she?
He watched her through the shadows as she swayed to the music of the drum, seeming to reach out toward it.
He looked away from her, and suddenly other aspects of White Eagle’s life began to make sense to him. White Eagle leaned back against the wall of the bastion, as images replayed through his mind.
Could she be the reason he had never married? Why White Eagle had done everything in his power so far to avoid the matrimonial tie?
Even though he hadn’t remembered this incident consciously, had he always “known” it? Sensed that he belonged to another?
It would seem possible.
It would explain a lot about him, about his life, also. It would give reason as to why he had always made excuses to himself and to others as to the cause of his unmarried state.
He had grown used to telling others that he was struggling to earn his place within the tribe, and this was why he could not marry.
But while this was true, the professions of hunter and warrior came easily to him.
Always he gave away the animals and the food he collected, never keeping any wealth to himself. He had thought he had done these things because he was kindhearted. While there might be some truth to this, could he have, unknowingly, kept himself from the matrimonial tie because of a vow he had made to a little girl?
In his more recent past, he had never really stopped to analyze the why of his actions…until now.
What would Shines Like Moonlight say if he told her this? She had asked him what he’d known of her in the past, and he had said he would talk to her about this in their next meeting.
Should he reveal any of this to her? Now, when she was about to marry another man?
True, if she married this other man, her actions would free White Eagle from his vow to her, and he would be able to carry on his life as though he’d never said anything to her at all.
But he dismissed this idea immediately. This was not only dishonest, it was extremely unappealing. And he knew why.
He wanted her.
Simple, really, but powerful. He wanted her. She made him feel…alive.
Quite something for a man to realize, and White Eagle, who was willing to confront a grizzly bear or to lay down his life for a friend, suddenly found himself growing weak over the thought of…a woman.
He wondered, if he told Shines Like Moonlight of their childhood vow, would she feel obligated to keep it? It seemed reasonable, he assumed, to think that she would. Particularly since no Indian of his acquaintance ever reneged on a promise, once given.
But he didn’t want her obligation.
He wanted her to ask him again, as she once had, for his vow of allegiance. He wanted her to want him.
Could he do it? Could he woo her and steal her away from the white man and his civilization? Could he make her want him again?
He remembered the kiss he had shared with her several days earlier. It had been a wonderful explosion to his senses, and to hers, too, he thought, since she had responded to him without reservation, as though she…cared for him.
Could it be? Could she still nurture a spark of need for him? Not consciously, of course. But could she know, perhaps on a different level of awareness, that she was promised to him?
She was from another world entirely, and he sensed that she looked upon his environment, upon him, as beneath her. Yet, despite this, she had responded to him, easily and without guile.
He took a deep breath.
It was worth a try. Spoiled though she was, she possessed also great spirit…fortitude. And these were qualities to admire in anyone.
He brought his attention back to the present and watched her as he stood deep within the shadows of the bastion.
And he decided all at once what he was going to do: He was going to make her begin to care for him again…mayhap to come to love him once more.
He promised it to himself.
Chapter Eight
She saw him.
He was standing across from her, on the other side of the circle of dancers, the fire throwing light and shadows onto his face and chest, making him appear more handsome, yet more mysterious at the same time.
His eyes were dark against the lighter, bronze color of his skin; his cheekbones were high, his chest broad and masculine, and every muscle there shone to perfection, in the glow of the firelight. A single feather fell from one of his sidelocks, and around his neck hung a necklace made of what looked like shell or bone. Strung in about twelve half circles, it looked more like a breastplate than a necklace.
White Eagle stared at her; she knew it, she could see it, even here in the darkness.
He looked strange, foreign, yet…
There was something about him…something that beckoned to her; something unearthly…as though he called to her from a distant place. And she knew she had to go to him, even though she dared not.
Unconsciously, she parted her lips, and she almost took a first step in his direction, when a hand reached out to grab at her own.
She jumped.
“’Tis I, mistress.”
“Oh, Rebecca,” Katrina whispered on a harshly exhaled breath. “You frightened me.”
“As you have me.” Rebecca, too, spoke in a hushed tone. “Why have you come here? It is dangerous.”
“Is it?” Katrina asked, then, “
Yes, you are right. I…I just wanted to see the, ah…Indian dance, and I need to speak to…”
“That Indian man,” Rebecca supplied, “that same Indian man that you spoke to a few days ago?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you waited until the morning to do this?”
Katrina glanced over toward Rebecca. She said simply, “No.”
And Rebecca shrugged. “There is a problem?”
“Yes,” Katrina said.
“And you feel you cannot speak of it to anyone else?”
Again, Katrina nodded, saying, “Yes.”
“Then it must have to do with your uncle.”
Katrina looked down toward the ground. “It does. It appears that the marquess is going to refuse to travel upriver. But worse, he is expecting me to stay here, too, until my uncle can be brought back. This is something I cannot do.”
Rebecca paused for a moment before she said, “And so you are thinking of asking the Indians to take you there?”
“No, not really. I cannot even envision the marquess traveling overland with Indians, and yet, I feel I need some…advice.”
“Yes, I see that, but…to seek out an Indian, and at night. Have you asked the prince if you can travel with him?”
“No,” said Katrina. “Not yet. I fear, though, that his response will be as negative as my fiancé’s. Truly, I know of nowhere else to turn.”
“I understand.” Rebecca glanced quickly around her. “Perhaps, though, you could seek out the Indian in the morning, when it is safer. I fear you should go back to the fort now.”
“No, I…I wish to stay a little longer.”
“But, mistress, we are not within the shelter of the fort, and we are among…well, these savages. They might likely kill you…or me.”
“Might they? Yes, yes, of course you are right,” Katrina said, “and yet at times, I have felt myself more in danger at the fort.”
Rebecca didn’t reply at once. “This is true,” she said at last. “I, too, have felt this. Still…did you know that the fort’s clerks, under the guise of nightfall, have been giving the Indians free liquor tonight? Illegal liquor? And we all have heard what a drunken Indian can do to a trader—even to themselves.”