Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1

by Karen Kay

  She didn’t. She couldn’t. Tender emotion, turned ugly, now raged within her, feeding on itself, tugging at her, dictating to her, holding her in its grip.

  “Tell me,” she mocked, “how would you deign to support me if we married? Where would we live? How would you even think to raise your head in my society, where it is believed as a fact that the Indian is no more human than a wild animal?” She glared at him. “Do not mistake my words, Gray Hawk,” she said, oblivious to the sting of what she said. “I would never look to you for a husband.”

  Had Gray Hawk been a lesser man, he might have taken her by force at that moment, if only to prove his point.

  He could have. All he would have had to do was kiss her again.

  But Gray Hawk was not the animal she accused him of being.

  Yes, he might mock her, he might tease, but Gray Hawk knew himself to be a gentleman, within the true meaning of that word. Gray Hawk was chivalrous to a flaw.

  He was Pikuni. He was Blackfeet.

  He could no more have taken sexual advantage of this woman, despite the fact that she was white, than he could have killed his own mother.

  And so Gray Hawk did the only thing he could do.

  He grinned. He smirked. He raised an eyebrow and said, “We will see, little Gen-e-vee. We will see.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  Again he smiled and, turning his back on her, began to walk away. But before he left her completely, before he began his daily chores, he looked back over his shoulder at her. And he grinned as he said, “Perhaps.”

  Chapter Eleven

  What on earth had gotten into her?

  How could she have said such things to him?

  Genevieve might have been many things, but cruel was not a word that anyone who knew her would have used to describe her. It never had been. She cared too much about the welfare of others ever to have earned such a label.

  Then how could she have said such things to him? Her words, her meanings, were, by anybody’s definition, brutal. And whether they represented the true “thinking” of her society or not, it wasn’t up to her to speak them.

  She fretted over it the entire evening. She wanted to say something to lessen the damage she’d done by her careless words, anything to ease it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

  To bring up such a topic now would only stab him again with the realities of what she’d said. And she didn’t want to do that. She had caused enough damage.

  Genevieve focused her attention on something else. She gazed at the curling hills of the prairie, which lay all around her. Dusk had brought the hues of pink, orange and red to the sky, and the colors were, even now, reflecting themselves upon the hills, the sky’s shimmering tints of color painting the brown carpets on those hills as though their rolling character were a canvas.

  It was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen.

  The air was cool, fresh and invigorating, and the wind, which seemed incessant, blew locks of her hair across her face. She inhaled the air, fragrant with sage, and, shutting her eyes, imagined she was at home in St. Louis.

  Overhead a nighthawk squawked, breaking into her reverie, and she opened her eyes to the reality of where she was.

  It wasn’t so bad.

  She sat beside a smokeless campfire, a prelude to traveling. She’d even come to think of this time, this meal that they shared at this time of day, as their breakfast, though it must have been close to seven in the evening.

  Gray Hawk, she noted, sat across from her, quietly singing, another thing she’d become used to with him. He sang almost constantly when they were in camp—strange songs, with little melody that she could discern, and all in a minor key. She remembered once asking him about the meaning of the songs, knowing this data would make an interesting contribution to her father’s works, but Gray Hawk’s answer had been so vague, she had chosen to stop trying, and to simply listen and enjoy.

  He also chipped away at a stone, making the object into a deadly point. And this was another thing that amazed her: he was resourceful. It was the only word she could think of to explain it. From the hides of animals, the branches of bushes, from trees and stones and the very earth itself, they suddenly had many serviceable items. All handmade by Gray Hawk.

  She had tried to help; in fact, she did, her job being to skin the animals he brought into camp. But that was all that she did. She didn’t seem to possess the energy or the know-how to do more than that, and Gray Hawk, as though sensing it, hadn’t pressed her.

  “Gray Hawk,” she asked, interrupting his singing, “have you noticed something odd?”

  He glanced up at her.

  “I have been thinking…”

  He had discontinued his song.

  “Isn’t it odd that we don’t run across more animals than we do?”

  He shrugged. “That is a good thing.”

  “But I remember seeing so many different animals roaming these plains as I looked out at them from the steamboat. I have seen some deer, some elk, buffalo, and I hear the wolves at night, but not much else. Why are we not running into more of them when we travel?”

  “Because,” said Gray Hawk, “I am a good scout. I do not want our path to come upon a dangerous animal.”

  “Dangerous?” She laughed, her tone mocking. “If I remember correctly, I saw some elk from the boat, and a buffalo or two. They were big, Gray Hawk, but hardly dangerous.”

  He looked as though he were about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he grinned. “Then you have never experienced the grizzly bear or a pack of wolves. These animals would not only kill you; they would do so slowly and painfully. And you must not yet have experienced the buffalo bull in mating season, who will gore anyone who comes close to him or to his mate. And of course, there is the ca ca boo.”

  “The what?”

  “The ca ca boo.”

  She gave him a puzzled glance. “What’s a ca ca boo?”

  “It is a very dangerous animal. It is half animal and half lizard. It has fur to keep it warm, but scales and gills for swimming under water.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  He sat forward. “It is as big as the trees, maybe bigger; it lives at the bottom of lakes, and…it is particularly fond of women.”

  She snorted, shaking her head.

  “You do not believe me.”

  “Of course not. The trappers and traders would have told me about such an animal.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course,” she said, although she gazed up at Gray Hawk to judge the truth of what he said from his expression.

  “During the day,” continued Gray Hawk, “the ca ca boo lives at the bottom of lakes, and if one is so foolish as to swim in a lake where one exists, it means certain death. But it is most dangerous at night, when it comes out of the water to look for women.”

  “Oh, pooh!”

  He motioned toward her. “You go walking by yourself at night. You see for yourself if what I am saying is true or not.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged, jerking his head to the left. “It is safe for a woman to walk the plains at night only if she is with a man. You see, the ca ca boo hates men, for the ca ca boo cannot defend himself against men on the land—only in the water. But women,” he shook his head, “he will take them back to his home in the lake.”

  “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever—”

  “Go on—go walking by yourself at night. You will see for yourself. But remember, a woman is lucky if the ca ca boo eats her all up. It is better than a watery home, for he makes slaves of all women.”

  “Do stop,” she said. “I want no more of these fairy tales.”

  “What is a fairy tale?”

  “A story that is not true.”

  He grinned. “Go see.” He gestured off to the hills. “Go take a walk. I do not hold you here.”

  “You do too.”

  He looked taken aback. “Wh
ere are the ropes that bind you? Where is the gag to make you cease your prattle? You have been free for a long time. Go ahead and leave.”

  She took a deep breath. “You try my patience, Gray Hawk.”

  “How is that so?” He made a great show of looking all around their camp. “I see no ties. I see no bindings. How do you say that I do not speak the truth?”

  She shook her head. “Where would I go, Gray Hawk? If I knew my way back to St. Louis, I would leave. But I don’t.”

  “I will point the way.”

  “Yes, and I will get lost and I know it. Do not make a mistake, Gray Hawk. You hold me captive by my own lack of knowledge.”

  “That is for you to say.”

  “Would you stop it?”

  “What?”

  “You are baiting me, first with the talk of a dangerous animal that doesn’t exist and now with chatter of freedom, without giving me the means to actually strive for it.”

  He gestured off toward the distance. “Go ahead.” He pointed to the west, toward the sunset. “Go in the direction where you keep the sunset to your right side. If you do that, and if you follow the river, you will eventually find this St. Louis. I do not keep you.”

  “I would get killed.”

  “Why do you say that? Are there not only ‘big’ animals here, not dangerous ones?”

  “Now you make fun of me.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I do. It is unkind of me. I will stop.”

  A moment of silence passed.

  In due time, Lady Genevieve asked, “Then you really do protect me when you walk ahead of me?”

  He nodded. “Aa, yes, it is so.”

  “You are not trying to make me feel inferior?”

  “Saa, no, it did not occur to me to do this.”

  “Why?”

  He drew his brows together, puzzled. He asked, “Why…what? Why do I not try to make you feel this…lesser?”

  “No, Gray Hawk, why do you protect me? I thought I was your captive. I thought you hated me.”

  He glanced at her as though she had lost all sense. “You are my captive, but I do not hate you.” He smiled. “Perhaps once I did hate you, but that lasted only a short while. I protect you now because you are female.”

  “Yes…?”

  “You are weaker, and so need me to—”

  “If I am so weak, why do you make me carry all the supplies? In my culture, a true gentleman would never stoop to such a thing. And a gentleman would never walk ahead of a lady.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “I do not understand. Are your men cowards?”

  “Cowards? Of course not. Why, I never—I—”

  “To the Indian,” said Gray Hawk, “if I did not do these things, if I were to carry the goods for a woman, if I walked behind her, making her lead the way, I would insult her. It would be as to say she was not worth protecting.”

  “But I—”

  “There are many things on the prairie that could attack an unwary traveler. A wrong step could mean a rattlesnake bite. A bad or careless path could find us in the way of a grizzly. If we were to come upon trouble, would you rather I be prepared for it with weapons in my hands, or would you rather I have my arms full of supplies and be unable to protect us?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but she said nothing.

  “If we are to survive,” Gray Hawk went on, “I must be constantly on the alert to my environment and to anything that might cause us trouble—”

  “Wait.” She held up a hand. “I’m not certain that you aren’t making this all up.”

  He sent her a disdainful glance. “Do you say that I lie?”

  “Not lie,” she said, “exactly.” Her voice trailed off. “Mr. Gray Hawk, while I can understand why you might walk ahead of me out here—that makes some sense to me—I am at a loss, still, to comprehend why you make me carry all the supplies. I’m not too certain, Gray Hawk, but I think you might be exaggerating, perhaps to get even with me with tall tales of protection, of animals. I think—”

  “Would you rather we run into a grizzly bear and have me unable to fight it because my hands are full of clothing?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not the point I’m trying to make. I—”

  “I must travel unencumbered so that I can defend us against danger, against the wild animals—”

  “An animal like the ca ca boo?”

  He stopped. He grinned. He shook his head and said, “Especially the ca ca boo.”

  She smiled back at him. She still didn’t believe him, at least not about his reasons for making her carry their supplies, and especially not about the ca ca boo.

  Still, that night as they made their way across the moonlit prairie, she was glad to see that, unencumbered, Gray Hawk stood ready to defend them, and as she gazed about her, she wondered if perhaps there was a half-furry, half-scaled lizard creature just waiting at the foot of the next hill.

  Waiting for her.

  It was not something she wished to put to the test.

  “I want to go and see my father. Won’t you take me?”

  No answer.

  She glanced ahead of her toward Gray Hawk, awaiting his answer.

  Several days, perhaps another week, had passed since she had last talked with Gray Hawk about the plains animals. She had hoped to approach him again on the subject, making note that this would add authenticity to her father’s book, but the subject had never been broached again, and she had found other things drawing her attention…other things like Gray Hawk himself.

  She grimaced as she looked at the man now. Tall and sleek, his walk resembling the prowl of a wary panther, he trod ahead of her, nonchalantly presenting her with the enticing view of his backside.

  She frowned. She should look away, and she knew it. But she didn’t seem to be able to do it. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to. Whatever the reason, she found herself studying the man rather than ignoring him.

  He paced ahead of her, walking as though with restrained passion, as if he had to rein in his emotions. And though she knew he was merely being careful of where he stepped, she couldn’t help but be reminded of other things about him: of the warmth of his arms around her, of his foreign features, of how he had looked under the golden rays of twilight, the dim light throwing his face into shadows and highlights; of his kiss and how it felt to have his lips pressed against her own, his taste so seductive, so masculine-sweet. And it was all she could do at present to try to focus her attention elsewhere.

  It didn’t work, of course. The more she tried to put him out of mind, the more she pulled him, mental pictures of him, into view.

  And as if that weren’t enough, nature, it appeared, also conspired against her.

  There were certain things she did not want to notice about him, things that made her heart skip beats, things that made her stomach turn flip-flops. And nature seemed intent on pushing these things into her view.

  For instance, take his clothing—or rather, lack thereof.

  He wore only breechcloth and moccasins. How was she supposed to look away from him when his clothing left all that skin to her perusal? When the prairie breezes blew back his dark hair, allowing her brief glimpses of his muscular back? When even his quiver full of arrows, which fell almost diagonally across his back, gave no clue that it would ever cover over the power suggested there by his muscles?

  No, nature presented her with a problem: how to look away.

  Her gaze fell lower.

  She grimaced. Here was yet another part of him that she found impossible to ignore.

  The breechcloth. It revealed more of his tight rear than it covered, and she found her gaze too often centered upon that area, wondering how it would feel beneath her fingertips, how it would look naked, how it would…

  She pulled up her thoughts. What was she thinking?

  She had to keep her thoughts to herself. She had to keep from remembering him, the passion of his response, the hard-rock feel of his chest, the tender sensation of his tou
ch, the…

  She shook herself physically.

  Enough!

  Perhaps her problem stemmed from the fact that they now traveled by day, Gray Hawk having announced only yesterday that they had at last traversed the territory of the Pikuni.

  He had been elated. She’d never felt more depressed.

  It meant she was even farther from home. It meant any pursuing party from the steamboat would not likely catch up with them, there being very few white men willing to risk the threat of appearing in Blackfoot country alone.

  But it also meant that she had to march behind Gray Hawk by day, this presenting her with a new predicament: how to do so and keep her sanity.

  “Gray Hawk?”

  Again, no response.

  “Gray Hawk, won’t you please reconsider and take me back to St. Louis?”

  “White woman talks when she should listen.”

  “Gray Hawk, I…listen to what? You are not speaking and I—”

  He had stopped, and she ran straight into him.

  He held up a hand, signaling her to silence.

  She wanted to ask what the problem was, but she dared not. He was suddenly too quiet, his eyes narrowed.

  Something was wrong.

  She took a glance around her. She saw nothing, but then she didn’t know what to look for, how to listen.

  They were traveling in a place where trees, fir trees, abounded. The trees were large, and, looking up, she was awed by the natural canopy they created overhead.

  The path they had been walking was easier now, too, although a bit noisier, since they trod over dry pine needles that crackled with each step they took. She had thought it seemed safer here than out walking over the open prairie.

  Now she wondered.

  Gray Hawk motioned her away from him and down, behind a large bush.

  He stayed out in front, positioning himself behind a tree.

  She fidgeted, and again his hand came out to motion her to silence.

  What was it? An animal? Other Indians? Warriors?

  She began to fret. All this time she hadn’t really considered what would happen to her if Gray Hawk were injured…perhaps even killed.

  She suddenly realized, however, that as invincible as he seemed, Gray Hawk was, like her, flesh and blood. And although she hadn’t been happy about following him, at least he was a predictable companion.