Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1

by Karen Kay

  She knew what the problem was, of course, and she began to resign herself to the fact that, as far as her father was concerned, her marriage did not exist.

  She glanced down toward the notes she was editing.

  There was much work that needed to be done on the book, even still, so perhaps it was for the best that her father failed to acknowledge the union. Maybe, for the time being, it saved him needless heartache, allowing him to get on with his work.

  And he needed to work, just as he needed Gray Hawk. In truth, the two of them had shut themselves behind locked doors, Gray Hawk graciously answering all the questions and inquiries her father had about his tribe, about his beliefs, his customs.

  But there would be an end to it…and soon, maybe in only another few weeks. Genevieve could tell, just from the notes she worked over, that her father was nearing the conclusion of his book.

  It was good. She loved the style and flair with which her father imbued his work, making some far-off place come to life. The manuscript was a marvel of information, beauty and historical fact. And…it would be done on time.

  But was that enough?

  Young Mr. Toddman had already contacted their same publisher and was even now in a race with her father over the publishing date. And worse, Mr. Toddman had made it appear, to those back in England, that her father would not be able to finish his work.

  That might have been true at one point, but it was certainly not the case now.

  Still, even if they submitted their manuscript on time, their editor could not accept and release two books on the same subject.

  Which book would the publisher choose?

  It all seemed so chancy…and unfair.

  But this, though it concerned her, was far from her real problem. In truth, not a day went by that she didn’t worry about one thing or the other. She felt painfully torn in two directions.

  When the book was done, it would be time to leave with Gray Hawk, and she…

  Well, was she ready to go? Or more importantly, could she go?

  She was certain her father would try to stop her, which meant she and Gray Hawk would have to steal away.

  Gray Hawk had once mentioned that they might have to do this, and she’d thought nothing of it at the time. But now she wondered.

  Could she do that to her father?

  She set her lips together. Of course she could; she must.

  She had given her vow to Gray Hawk. She wouldn’t break it.

  She had tried to tell her father of her promise, in an attempt to appeal to the viscount’s sense of duty; he had merely shrugged and asked if she knew more of the Blackfoot language.

  Again she almost hoped it was a matter of absentmindedness on her father’s part. Yet she knew better.

  But, oh, how she wished sometimes that Gray Hawk would stay here, that her father would accept him, help him to fit into society, honor their commitment. It would solve so many problems, ease so much heartache, if this could be.

  Because there was more.

  Jumping back into her life had reminded Genevieve of all the luxuries she enjoyed here: a simple bed, a mattress, chiffon and silk clothing, good and varied food—sugar.

  Every day she tried to convince herself these things were not so important that she couldn’t give them all up, yet it became harder and harder to do.

  She drew herself up and turned away from the window.

  She would not think about it any longer. She knew what she had to do—she would do it and stop this continuous ambivalence. It did nothing but confuse her.

  She would honor her word to Gray Hawk. It was that simple.

  Or was it?

  “You do not look as though you are working very hard. Perhaps I should bring a deer or two for you to skin.”

  Genevieve jumped, swinging her attention back into the room. She put her hand to her chest. “Oh, my, Gray Hawk, you startled me. I didn’t hear you enter.”

  “Aa, yes,” he said. “I could see that you were thinking deeply. How is your father’s work coming?” Gray Hawk moved forward, toward her desk and the papers that were scattered there. He stroked his hands through the notes, his attention seemingly caught on them, but then suddenly he looked up at her, his gaze inquisitive, yet…nonchalant. He asked, “Do you worry over something?”

  Genevieve stared at him for a moment without answering.

  It seemed that Gray Hawk did not wish to adopt the European style of clothing, despite Robert’s attempts to have him do so. And this should have been fine with her, but in a way, it wasn’t. In truth, she found it depressing.

  Gray Hawk showed no inclination to want to fit into her world.

  She had hoped that he would. She gazed away as she said, “Yes, I worry.”

  He nodded. “Is it over your father’s accepting me? I think that—”

  “No, yes, I mean, not really. I worry about his book. There is another man who is writing a manuscript on much the same thing.”

  “Aa, yes, I know. Your father has told me of this person. Your father has given me to understand that this man was once a member of your household?”

  “Yes, he was,” she said. “He was an apprentice and worked with my father. It is odd that this Mr. Toddman has turned on us, for he helped my father on so many other projects. But somehow, on this one, Mr. Toddman changed. He…became angry, though my father and I have still not determined why. And Mr. Toddman became convinced that he could do the same thing as my father…only better. He is seeking now to prove it and to discredit us.”

  “Nitsikksisitsi’tsii’pa, I understand. Does this man have with him a Blackfoot Indian to study?”

  “Apparently so,” she said. “At least, that is what I have been led to believe.”

  Gray Hawk inclined his head. “Then I can understand your worry.” He paused, and when next he spoke, he talked from right behind her. He asked, “And is that all that you worry over?”

  “Yes, I…no…mostly.”

  “There is something else?”

  She glanced down. “No, not really.”

  Gray Hawk grunted. “You have yet to tell me, Gen-ee, why the white man lies.”

  “Gray Hawk, I don’t see that that has anything to do with this.”

  Standing behind her, he bent down to whisper into her ear, “You lie. You also do not do it well. I would advise you, therefore, not to do it at all.”

  She smiled. “You know me so well?”

  “I know you so well. What is it, Gen-ee?”

  “It is nothing, Gray Hawk. I worry over my father. That is all it is.”

  Gray Hawk moved out and away from her. He trod on silent feet toward the couch, which was across the room.

  But he did not sit.

  He paced around it, looking at it, the chairs, the windows, the ceiling, the walls. He stepped to the fireplace and turned back to confront Genevieve. He said, “I do not like these walls. I long for the simple pleasures of the tepee, of my home, where I can feel the wind on my face, taste the sweet air from the mountains. I long to be out on the hunt, on the warpath.”

  He gestured toward the paintings on the walls. “The white man’s dwellings, while impressive, make me feel small and hemmed-in. This is not my home. It is not where I belong.” He trod toward her. “But you, Gen-ee, this is your home. Tell me, will you miss it when you leave with me?”

  “I don’t think I—”

  “Do not do that, Gen-ee. Tell me what is in your heart. Say the truth.”

  She jerked her head away from his gaze. She sighed and, at length, she said, “I will miss it.”

  Gray Hawk folded his arms over his chest. “It is as I thought. Do you wish me to let you out of your promise to me?”

  “No, I…what do you mean?”

  He walked back to her desk, hesitating there and flipping through her papers. He said, “A person is always bound by his word unless the one to which he gave his promise releases, him from it. I have the power to allow you to be able to stay here. Do you wish
me to release you?”

  She didn’t say anything for a long while, and Gray Hawk glanced up to her. He said, “I would have you with me because you want to be, Gen-ee.”

  She jerked her gaze back toward the window, glancing outside, though she registered nothing of what she saw. Her stomach twisted, and her heart seemed to be beating in her throat as she said, “Do you try to rid yourself of me?”

  “No, Gen-ee. If I wanted you out of my life, I would not do it this way.” He hesitated. “I…feel very deeply for you, my wife. I love you. I would have you happy with me.”

  She moaned, briefly shutting her eyes. She said, “I love you too, Gray Hawk. I have never lied about that. But…I…love my father, too, even Robert. And my home. I would not leave them. Yet, when I gave you my promise, I knew then what I did. I was aware that it would not be easy to come back here, only to walk away from the life I have known once more. Still, I was willing to do it in order to save my father and his project.” She turned her attention back into the room, gazing straight at Gray Hawk. “What sort of person would I be if I gave my promise to someone and, at the least sign of hardship, I relented?”

  “A very warm and loving person, Gen-ee. You feel things so much. It is a part of your beauty, a part of who you are. I would not take this from you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I thank you, Gray Hawk, but I gave you my solemn oath. I will stand by it.”

  He leaned away from the desk and strode toward her. “We could live in both worlds.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “My people do very little in the winter. It is always a time of hardship, for not always do the food supplies last. We could winter here with your father.”

  “My father lives in England.”

  “Then he could come here every winter.”

  “No, Gray Hawk, it would not work. He would not do it. Besides, don’t you see? My father will never accept our marriage.”

  “Gen-ee, I think that—”

  She held up a hand. “But there is more to it than just my father. If I were to come back here every winter, I would never want to leave it. I would become more and more attached to my old way of life, much in the same way I am now, and would eventually become unhappy with the way I would live with you in your camp. No, I must live in either one world or the other, not both.”

  Silence filled the room. Gray Hawk sighed, but at length, he said, “Rules are not always so stringent. People, like the willow tree, must sometimes bend with the storm. Some think that love is a matter of fate and should never require that they work at it. This is seldom the case. One must always be willing listen to the other, to bend.

  “Yes,” he said, “it would be difficult to come back here every winter. It would be a sacrifice. But if it is important, then we should do it. Yes, we would have to solicit your father’s cooperation, but have you considered that if you do not do it, if you do not return and visit now and again, you could become unhappy also?”

  “He could always come to visit us there. He loves to go among the more…”

  “…primitive people?”

  “I… Gray Hawk.”

  He stepped right up to her, taking a lock of her hair into his fingers and twirling it around and around his finger.

  He said, “I know you want to stay here. I have seen that this is on your mind. Is there more to it now that you are back in your home? Do you find me primitive, too? Is this why you do not accept any of my proposals?”

  He captured the lock of hair in his fingers and pulled it and her toward him. “And now I ask you the same question you just asked of me,” he said. “Do you wish to be released from me?”

  “No, Gray Hawk. I—”

  “Gen-ee, I…am glad.” His face was only a hairsbreadth away from hers. He kissed first one of her eyelids, then the other. He said, “I know what you want of me, my wife; what you would like to ask me; but understand, I could never leave my home. I have purpose there. I have none here, except helping your father.”

  “But you could learn a trade, become experienced in something else.”

  He breathed out deeply and looked up toward the ceiling. “And do you think I would be happy here?”

  “You could be.”

  “Gen-ee.” He kissed her cheek, her temple, his lips teasing her earlobe as he spoke softly. He said, “Have you not seen how people in this town treat me? It is as though I were less than human. It is the same as it was at the trading post where I lived for a year. To others there, I was always the ignorant Indian, the good-for-nothing. And though I often tried to prove myself, even hunting for the entire post, I was never thought of as an equal, rarely even allowed to eat at the same table as the white men. Your father tries to be different. But it is only here in your house that I experience any sort of respect, and that is more toleration than anything else. I could not live long in a place like this.”

  Genevieve didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say. She understood what he said. She even agreed with it. Yet when he was close to her like this, when he spoke so reasonably…

  She turned her face toward his, her lips kissing his cheek. “Oh, Gray Hawk, I am so confused. And I am unsure of myself. But of one thing I am certain: I have missed you at night.”

  “And I, you. I would come to you if I did not care that it would offend your father.”

  “Gray Hawk, please, I need you here with me. I’m not sure I wish to return with you, but I don’t want to lose you, either. Couldn’t you try to live here? We could go and visit your family sometimes, perhaps once every few years. You are intelligent. You could learn to—”

  He put a finger over her lips.

  “I would lose a part of me, Gen-ee, which is why I understand if you would be reluctant to leave here.”

  “Gray Hawk,” she tried to bring his lips around to hers. “Gray Hawk, please, I… Please, my love. Please, kiss me.”

  He did, his lips covering hers and his tongue sweeping into her mouth. And she swayed in toward him. “Gray Hawk, couldn’t you try it here, at least for a short time?”

  He sighed He lifted his head just a little. “I will think on it Gen-ee. I will think on it. It is as much as I can promise you. At least for now.”

  Two fireplaces had been stoked at both ends of the ballroom, throwing sparks, smoke and the fresh smell of burnt wood into the room. There were three different chandeliers, which, dripping wax alternately onto the hardwood floor or onto some poor, luckless person, lit up the room as though it were daylight.

  Torches were burning at every entrance and all around the room. Windows were closed, the evening being a cool one, although the curtains remained open, allowing the ladies and gents to admire their images in the glass as they swirled around and around the ballroom floor.

  Now and again a guest left through one of the three balconies, cold air and gusts of wind pouring into the room as the doors opened and closed.

  But no one objected. There was too much wine, too much food and too much fun for anyone to take offense.

  Guests continued to arrive in a steady flow. This party was, after all, the most major social event in the St. Louis community in quite some time.

  Some of the people clung to the sidelines as they entered the room; some rushed toward the wine and the food; while others sped their way onto the dance floor. Wine and whiskey circulated through the crowd as though they were old friends, while a small orchestra played from the minstrel’s gallery, situated up high and at the very end of the hall.

  Enticing melodies, seductive yet stately, streamed down from the lofty gallery, the strains unfamiliar to one lone Indian, who had never heard them before.

  Gray Hawk stood at the edge of the crowd and stared up at the orchestra. He had always known the white man’s world was different from his own; he’d just never imagined how great that difference was. In truth, he couldn’t remember ever witnessing such a display of wealth.

  He gazed out upon the dancers, still amazed that
white society allowed such a public display of touching.

  Still… He grinned to himself. He could dance this way with his Gen-ee.

  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it until now. But it occurred to him that he hadn’t had much time alone with her these past few days, and this would provide an excellent opportunity to hold her, even if it was in front of other people and only for a little while.

  He glanced all through the crowd, looking for his wife, for her father, or any other familiar, face, even the brown face of another Indian.

  He found nothing.

  In truth, besides himself, he saw no other brown-skinned person in the crowd.

  He felt a momentary twinge of resentment against such a thing. Why was no other Indian invited here?

  He stepped farther into the room.

  He heard a giggle. He glanced to his left. A female head turned away.

  “Why, I never! A savage!” a feminine voice said.

  “What could the viscount be thinking?”

  Gray Hawk gazed over toward the two young women, both of them staring at him as though he were a sort of particularly distasteful insect.

  Was something wrong with him?

  He peered down at himself. Had he forgotten to wear some important piece of clothing…his breechcloth, perhaps?

  He could see nothing amiss, dressed as he was in his white buckskin breechcloth, leggings and shirt, his very best. His leggings fitted tightly to his calf and thigh muscles, and each article he wore was sewn with porcupine quills and colorful beads. Across his back was his quiver full of arrows, and over his shoulder, his bow.

  He looked back up. All his clothing was in order.

  The two women were still scrutinizing him, their looks offensive.

  And then he understood. He wasn’t certain why it had taken him so long to see it. These two women were acting as they were toward him because he was Indian.

  Gray Hawk raised his eyebrows at the two ladies. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, taking his bow from around his shoulder, and placing it as though he might shoot it at any moment, he grinned widely at them. In truth, he winked.

  The two young women gawked, looking more flustered than two prairie hens in a coyote den. One of the ladies flicked her fan open and fluttered it furiously in front of her. The other grabbed her friend and pulled her violently away, the two of them scurrying over to the farthest corner of the room.