White Eagle's Touch: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 2

by Karen Kay

  “Do you mean that?”

  Again, he smiled at her. “I would not say it if I did not mean it. And I have come to realize that without you, I am only half-alive. I did not realize that, all those years ago when you were taken away, so too, did a part of me go with you. Only when you came back into my life did I begin to feel the blood again flow through my body, only then did the wind whisper to me that I had at last found my woman. And I have been thinking perhaps that it is this which a man is supposed to share with his woman, many moments of pleasure. And I tell you now that I pledge myself to the task of always trying to make this so for us.”

  Katrina could hardly speak.

  Not only because of what he said, the way in which he said it, but because she, too, knew that this was all a person should ever ask of another: that they help each other to create many moments of pleasure.

  She said, her voice not over a whisper, “All my life, and perhaps beyond, I will love you. Do not forget this.

  I do not know what will happen when we go to Fort Union. There are many things there, as yet unresolved for me. But know that no matter what happens, I will love you always…and, somehow, I will be with you.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her, softly, gently, with all the passion of a man in love, before he said, “I know that you will be with me. For you see, I will never let you go.”

  “Oh, White Eagle,” she cried, and threw her arms around him, bringing him down toward her, there to shower him with kisses. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

  And he said, as he began to remove her clothes, “See that you do, my wife. See that you do.”

  They were awakened by the firing of cannons.

  He did nothing more than look up from his bed, his weapons already in his hand. He held her in place, signaling her not to move.

  He relaxed. “It is only the white man’s mystery boat returning to the fort.”

  “Oh, the steamboat.”

  He nodded. “Come,” he said, letting her rise. “Let us put on our best clothes and go down to the fort today.”

  What could she say? She could only agree.

  The Assiniboin had just pulled into its dock next to the fort, and one could almost feel the excitement of the residents of the fort even from the distance she and White Eagle still were from it.

  Amazingly enough, Katrina observed that there were two forts there now, one having been built upon an opposite bank of the Yellowstone River, and she wondered at the ability of these men to form another post so soon.

  “Your uncle should be down there.”

  “Yes,” she said, “at last.”

  “Do you worry over what he might say about our marriage?”

  “No, do you?”

  White Eagle didn’t answer all at once. Presently, however, he said, “A little. I have not given him anything of worth to have justified my taking the reward of having you for my wife. I will have to ensure this is corrected as soon as I am able.” He hesitated. “Do you worry over what the other white people will say?”

  She threw her head back. “Yes. And not just because the bourgeois or the engages might disapprove of my taking an Indian husband. I worry over the marquess. I still fear he may make some trouble for me. Especially when he goes back East, where neither you nor I will be to defend ourselves…or my reputation.”

  “And that is so important to you?”

  She hesitated. “Yes, I believe that it is. Why should it not be? In some ways it is all that a woman has.”

  “Is it? Does a woman not also have a man to depend upon, to protect her?”

  “Does she? And what does that man do if her reputation is tainted?”

  “If he is truly a man of honor, he will defend her.”

  “Oh? Is that the way of the Blackfeet?”

  “It is the way I think.”

  She gave White Eagle a glance from under her lashes, and she asked, “And the Blackfeet? What do they think?”

  He paused. “While it is sometimes the case that my tribe, a man’s society, has been known to administer justice in a cruel way, it is not the way of all men. And though it has happened that a man’s friends, if they have reports that a woman has been unfaithful, will try to take matters unto themselves, to degrade the woman they feel has wronged their friend, a man should not allow this. A man should be strong, and not listen to the tongues of these men, since it is well-known that people in a group will often do things that no ordinary man, on his own, would ever consider. A man, to be a man, must rise above such things. And a man, no matter the opposition, should protect his woman, even against his own friends. If he fails, he has only himself to blame. For no one can truly know what happens between two people, except those two people.”

  Katrina stared out over the land. Presently, she said, “I have seen some women accused of things they did not do. Sometimes a woman can arouse the jealousy of another, sometimes another is just simply spiteful. What if some of these reports that your tribe acts upon are untrue?”

  White Eagle hesitated, squinting his eyes against the sun. “There have been instances where a woman has been unjustly accused; such happenings are few. But it makes no difference. A man should defend his woman and his family, no matter the accusation.”

  Katrina glanced at White Eagle, unable to fathom the depths of this man that she had taken as husband. He sounded so wise and so observant. How had one so young learned so much?

  “My grandfather,” he answered, as though he knew her thoughts. “My grandfather was a medicine man and had great powers. He knew much and had observed many things. I have seen him cause the heavens to rain, or a storm to disappear. I have witnessed him predict the future with accuracy. Much of what he knew, many of his ideas, he passed on to me, that I might make use of them and give them to others and to my children. Someday I will tell you more of what he said, and you will be pleased, I am sure.”

  Katrina glanced up toward the heavens. A grandfather who could control the weather and predict the future… What else did she not know about this man? What else would she discover? And she wondered, as the years passed, would there still be more strange ideas she would learn from him? She sighed, certain it would be so. It might, after all, take her a lifetime to realize it all.

  She certainly hoped that it would.

  The smells of muddy water and smoke, unwashed flesh, horse and cow manure hit them all at once, and so it was that with these impressions, Katrina wouldn’t have needed her eyes to know that they had arrived at the fort.

  They were admitted inside at once, no one really taking much notice of them in all the excitement of the arrival of the steamship.

  Katrina soon learned that Mr. McKenzie, along with about twenty men, had left to travel southward, journeying toward the Little Missouri and were not expected back for several months. He had left Mr. Hamilton, a man who admittedly hated Indians, in charge of the fort, but Katrina saw little to worry over, the man being too busy with other matters of importance to pay them any mind.

  She looked in vain for Rebecca, or even the marquess for that matter, but she could find neither.

  She was just about to go and search out Mr. Hamilton, or perhaps a clerk so that she might ask about her friend, when she became aware of the happy laughter of a feminine voice…that voice speaking English.

  Katrina turned toward the sound, spotting a woman she had never seen until this moment, although she was one of the most beautiful women Katrina had ever seen. Dressed in a golden brown redingote dress, trimmed with black lace, and crepe hat, the woman’s red hair was swept up into curls framing her face.

  There could be no doubt as to this lady’s background, not with her proper speech and elegant manners. Yet, Katrina noted, this lady smiled up at an Indian gentleman, who was dressed in the traditional buckskin and breechcloth of his heritage, which made the two of them an interesting couple. And Katrina did not doubt that these two people were a couple. One could not fail to observe it, if only in the mere g
lances the lady gave the gentleman, the fleeting touches, the look within her eye.

  “Really, Gray Hawk,” she heard the lady say, “I hardly think that—”

  “Nitakkaawa,” the Indian replied calmly enough with, Katrina could tell, deep pleasure in the word. She noted, too, that this Indian gazed with little expression upon his face at…White Eagle.

  Katrina stood aghast as this beautiful lady, turning to see White Eagle, said, “White Eagle, it has been some time since I have had the honor of seeing my husband’s more-than-friend.” The lady held out her hands in a gesture of friendliness. “Come closer, and let me introduce you to my father, who has made this long journey here to visit us.”

  Husband? Father? What was going on here?

  White Eagle nodded toward the white woman, toward his friend, though his countenance, too, showed little expression. “My friend,” White Eagle said at last, “it has been many moons since I have beheld my more-than-friend. My heart is happy that he has returned. And I am glad to see he has come back with his wife and her family, safe and well.”

  The two men just nodded at each other, staring, and Katrina came to understand by this that, amongst these people, such a greeting denoted the greatest of admiration and affection.

  “And who is this?” It was the white woman speaking, nodding toward Katrina.

  White Eagle’s expression didn’t alter in the least as he said, “This is my wife, Shines Like Moonlight.”

  “This is your wife?” It was the man called Gray Hawk who spoke.

  And while the lady was left to ponder this, Gray Hawk, looking more closely toward her, said, “So this is the old trader’s niece. It is good that you have married her and that she has, at last, come home.”

  Good Lord above, did this man know her too?

  “Excuse me,” the English lady said to her husband, “while you and White Eagle talk to one another, I would like to be introduced to White Eagle’s wife.” And with this said, the other woman rushed over to take Katrina’s hands in her own. “I am Lady Genevieve Rohan, and I, too, have married into this tribe, as you can see.”

  “Yes,” said Katrina, smiling and gazing good-naturedly into the light brown eyes of this remarkable lady.

  Lady Genevieve glanced around her, at the commotion taking place around them with the steamboat’s arrival. She said, “Come with me, I am certain we have obtained a room in the bourgeois’ house for the night. We must talk and get to know each other, especially since our husbands are more-than-friends. I am certain we have a great deal in common. Come, let us talk.”

  Lady Genevieve Rohan took hold of Katrina’s arm, and chatting to her all the while, led Katrina away.

  They might have reached their destination with no further incident, but just at that moment, through the gates, came a party of Indians, entering into the courtyard and bearing with them the strangest-looking Indian Katrina had ever seen.

  Although there was something…

  Something here didn’t appear quite right, and Katrina found herself looking at that foreign-looking figure more closely.

  Good heavens above, that was no Indian, that strange-looking one. That was the marquess.

  The marquess, minus his wig, and…dressed in Indian women’s clothing…

  Oh, dear. Whatever had happened to him?

  “It seems they had to dress him that way,” Lady Genevieve told Katrina much later, as they sat within the bourgeois’ house, enjoying a cup of tea. “After the Indians had found him, they tried to get him to help them hunt and to make weapons, but the man refused. And to an Indian, when a man appears to lack courage, or to be inclined toward more womanly activities, they dress him in women’s clothing and make him do the work of a woman. Either the man proves himself, or, if he likes it, he settles down to a life where he is considered a ‘man-who-is-a-woman.’”

  Genevieve Rohan, having asked her husband what had happened, tried to explain it all to Katrina, while Katrina, sitting, listening, could hardly credit it.

  What had happened, it appeared, was that the marquess had lost his way one day while he had been out hunting with his dogs. The Indians had found him, but could not bring him to the fort right away, and so they had taken him with them.

  But no sooner had they done so when they discovered that this man not only refused to do his share of the work, he also had about him some airs that could only be described as “womanly.”

  The Indians had acted as was their custom and had dressed the marquess in women’s clothing, setting him to work doing their cooking and mending.

  That the man had actually taken to the tasks was not something Katrina wanted to contemplate.

  She supposed she would have to go and speak with the marquess at some point and ensure his safe journey back to England, but at the moment, she had more important things to consider. She asked, “How did you come to be married to Gray Hawk?”

  Genevieve sighed. “It is a long story. Are you certain you wish to hear it?”

  Katrina nodded.

  “It happened last year that I needed to find a representative from the Blackfoot tribe to help my father finish his book on the native American Indians. He specializes in this sort of thing. Anyway, I came here—”

  “On your own?”

  “I had brought a servant with me.”

  Katrina just stared at the woman. “Weren’t you afraid?”

  “Terribly, but it was an important project, and my father is very dear to me.”

  “I see. Please, go on.”

  “Well, where was I? Oh, yes, I came here and had an Indian captured, because I could not convince one to accompany me back to St. Louis. That Indian was Gray Hawk.”

  Katrina drew her breath. “He must have hated it.”

  “Yes, he did, and he eventually turned the tide on me by escaping and taking me as his captive.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Hardly. He hated me.”

  “Oh, dear. What happened?”

  “We came to know one another well on the journey back to his band of Pikuni, well enough that he married me and the rest is…behind us now. I lived for a while amongst the Indians, and I found them to be hospitable. In truth, I grew to love them, especially my sisters—Gray Hawk’s sisters.”

  “And so you will live there, with the Indians, giving up all you know of your own world?”

  “Sometimes we will. Sometimes we will travel to St. Louis and spend time there with my father. In all, it has been a very happy year. I would be with Gray Hawk, no matter where we live. But we have both managed to bend a little for the other. I’m not saying we will never have another problem again, but we will see them through, together. That’s the difference. And you?”

  Katrina gazed off, looking through the windows in the bourgeois’ house to the main section of the gate.

  “I came here because I had to. My uncle, you see, is a trader, and has lived here for so many years, I don’t believe he remembers anymore what civilization is. He, unfortunately, controls the strings to my inheritance and my dowry. He demanded he give approval to my fiancé before I could marry. I had been engaged to the marquess.”

  “Oh, dear. And now, instead of marrying the marquess, you found love with White Eagle, instead?”

  “Yes,” agreed Katrina, “something like that.”

  “And…does your uncle know you have married White Eagle?”

  “No, I have not yet even met my uncle. We are to rendezvous with him here.”

  “I do not believe he will approve of the marquess.”

  Katrina smiled. “I think that you are correct.”

  Lady Genevieve smiled and took Katrina’s hand. “We have much in common, you and me. I think I should tell you that with our husbands being more-than-friends, we will probably see much of one another. Did you know that a more-than-friend shares everything that they have with one another—except their wives, of course. Perhaps we could do the same. When we travel to St. Louis, mayhap you could, too. And togeth
er, maybe you and I could learn more about their tribe. Perhaps the four of us, together, can forge out a place in this wilderness.”

  Katrina gave Genevieve a warm smile. What a wonderful woman she was. And Katrina knew her gaze mirrored what was in her heart as she said, “I would like that very much. But come, I worry very much about something. I brought a maid with me when I first traveled here.

  She and I became quite close, but we were separated on a long trip that I made to Fort McKenzie, and I have yet to find her here. Would you care to accompany me to Mr. Hamilton, that I might inquire of her?”

  “I would love to.”

  And with this said, both young women rose to go in search of Mr. Hamilton, the temporary bourgeois.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What do you mean she is not here?”

  “Just what I say, m’dear,” Hamilton replied, his nostrils flared in distaste, his head cocked back exactly, perfectly so. “She is not here.”

  “Well, what happened to her?” Katrina demanded of the man, while Genevieve, her new friend, stepped up behind her, reaching out to take hold of Katrina’s hand.

  “Taken away by Indians, I say.” Hamilton made to brush off lint from the linen of his shirt.

  “And…?”

  “And what, m’dear?”

  “Didn’t you send anyone after her?”

  “Of course. But my men couldn’t find her.”

  “How many men are still searching for her?”

  “Why, none. That Indian chap she was with followed her, said he’d bring her back. No need to do anything further.”

  “No need? Why, there is every need. She is a white woman, captured by Indians who have no great love of the white man, if what I have heard of the Assiniboin is correct. How can you just sit here, doing nothing, while she is still in danger?”