Merry saw the wisdom in her friend's advice. She kept her gaze on her son, hoping he'd look her way so that she could motion for him to take Christina back to their tipi.
White Eagle was listening to the fierce argument being given by the majority of the warriors. They all wished to show their loyalty to Black Wolf by supporting his decision to ignore the child.
The chief nodded, then deliberately suggested that an old woman called Laughing Brook take on the duty of raising the child. Black Wolf immediately shook his head, denying the idea.
"Merry's child would suffer at her hand," Black Wolf announced to the warriors. "I could not let this happen. The child is innocent."
Gray Eagle hid his smile. Black Wolf was opposed to giving the child to the crazed old squaw, proving he did in fact care.
The problem would be to make Black Wolf realize the full truth—a difficult challenge, the chief realized, for his son-in-law was a proud, stubborn man.
The chief reached for the animal skin, thinking to put an end to the dispute now, but the shaman stayed the action with a shake of his head.
Gray Eagle let the holy man have his way. He rested his hands on the folded skin and continued to mull over the problem while the warriors argued with one another.
And in the end, it was Christina, with her brother's gentle prodding, who solved the problem for everyone.
Black Wolf's son listened to the harsh debate over Christina's future. Though the boy was only six summers, he'd already shown streaks of his father's arrogant nature. Uncaring what the retributions would be, he suddenly pulled Christina along with him as he edged around to face his father.
Christina hid behind her brother now, though she peeked out at the angry-looking man staring at her brother so ferociously.
The chief was the only one who saw the baby mimick Black Wolf's scowl before she pressed her face against White Eagle's knees.
"Father," White Eagle announced, "a white woman saved my life so that I could return to my people."
The boy's fervent words gained an immediate silence. "Christina is now my sister. I would protect her as well as any brother would protect his sister."
Black Wolf couldn't contain his surprise over the arrogant way his son dared to speak to him. Before he could form a reply, White Eagle turned to where his mother stood. He pointed to her, looked down at Christina, and said, "My mother."
He knew full well what was going to happen. Christina had proved to be quite consistent in her possessiveness. What belonged to White Eagle belonged to her as well. White Eagle only had to repeat the words once before the little girl scooted out to her brother's side. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to shout, "My mama." Then she smiled up at her brother, waiting for him to continue this new game.
White Eagle nodded. He squeezed her hand to let her know he was pleased with her answer, then turned until he was staring at his father again. He slowly raised his hand and pointed at Black Wolf. "My father," he announced in a firm voice.
Christina sucked on her thumb while she stared at Black Wolf.
"My papa," White Eagle stated, giving Christina's hand another squeeze.
Christina suddenly pulled her thumb out of her mouth. "My papa," she bellowed, pointing her finger at Black Wolf. She then looked up at her brother to gain his approval.
White Eagle glanced over to look at his grandfather. When the leader nodded, Christina's brother nodded to her.
It was all the approval the little girl needed. She let go of White Eagle's hand, turned, and scooted backwards. Without showing the least bit of fear, she fell into Black Wolf's lap.
Everyone watched the baby settle herself. Black Wolf visibly stiffened when Christina reached up and caught hold of one of his braids. He didn't push her hand away, though, but turned to look at his chief.
Gray Eagle was smiling with satisfaction.
Merry rushed over to kneel down in front of her husband, keeping her head bowed. Black Wolf could see how his wife trembled. He let out a long, controlled sigh of acceptance.
"My children have no place at this council. Take them to our tipi."
Merry immediately reached out to take Christina into her arms. She was prying her daughter's hand away from her husband's braid when the full impact of what he'd just said settled in her mind.
His children.
Merry really did try not to smile, but when she glanced up at her husband, she knew he could see her joy. And certainly her love.
Black Wolf acknowledged both with an arrogant nod.
Gray Eagle waited until Merry had taken the children away. "Do I now have a granddaughter?" he asked Black Wolf, demanding confirmation.
"You do," Black Wolf answered.
"I am pleased," Gray Eagle announced. He turned to the shaman then and asked him to tell the council about his vision.
The holy man stood and recounted his dream to the warriors. He slowly unwound the rope binding the deerskin and held it up for all to see.
There were many startled murmurs. The shaman silenced the group with a dramatic sweep of his hand. "We are the buffalo," he said, pressing his hand to his chest. "The lion does not belong with the buffalo. On this earth, they are enemies, just as the white man is enemy of the Dakota. Yet the gods test us now. They've given us a blue-eyed lioness. We must protect her until the time comes for her to leave us."
Black Wolf was clearly astonished by the shaman's words. He shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner, Wakan?" he asked.
"Because your heart needed to learn the truth first," the holy man answered. "Your daughter is the lioness, Black Wolf. There can be no mistake. Her hair is the color of white lightning, and her eyes are as blue as the Great Spirit's home in the sky."
Christina's bellow of anger suddenly echoed throughout the village. The shaman paused to smile. "She has the voice of a lioness, too," he remarked.
Black Wolf smiled with the others and nodded.
The holy man raised the skin into the air. "Merry's promise will be fulfilled. The spirits have decreed it."
Christina was formally accepted into the tribe the following evening.
They were a gentle people, the Dakota. Everyone opened their hearts to the blue-eyed lioness and gave her treasures beyond value.
They were intangible gifts that molded her character.
From her grandfather, Christina was given the gift of awareness. The old warrior showed her the beauty, the wonder of her magnificent surroundings. The two became inseparable. Gray Eagle gave Christina his love without restraint, his time without limitation, and his wisdom when she demanded immediate answers to continual little-girl questions of why and why and why. Christina gained patience from her grandfather, but the greatest treasure of all was the ability to laugh at what couldn't be changed, to weep over what had been lost, and to find joy in the precious gift of life.
From her father, Christina was given courage, and determination to finish any task, to conquer any difficulty. She learned to wield a knife and ride a horse as well as any brave—better, in fact, than most. She was Black Wolf's daughter and learned by observation to strive for perfection in every undertaking. Christina lived to please her father, to receive his nod of approval, to make him proud of her.
From her gentle mother, Christina was given the gift of compassion, understanding, and a sense of justice towards friends and enemies alike. She mimicked her mother's ways until they became a true part of her personality. Merry was openly affectionate with her children and her husband. Though Black Wolf never showed his own feelings in front of others, Christina quickly learned that he'd chosen Merry because of her loving nature. His gruffness with his wife in front of the other warriors was all part of his arrogant manner. Yet in the privacy of their tipi, Black Wolf more than allowed Merry's petting and soft words. He demanded them. His gaze would take on a warm expression, and when he thought his daughter was sound asleep, he'd reach for his wife and give her back all the gentle words of love she'd taug
ht him.
Christina vowed to find a man like Black Wolf when the time came for her to choose a mate. He would be a warrior as proud and arrogant as her father, as demanding and protective of what belonged to him, and with the same fierce capacity to love.
She told her brother she'd never settle for less.
White Eagle was her confidant. He didn't wish to break his sister's innocent determination, but he worried for her. He argued in favor of caution, for he knew, as well as everyone else in their isolated village, that Christina would one day return to the world of the whites.
And in his heart, the truth tormented him. He knew, with a certainty he couldn't deny, that there were no warriors like his father in this place called England.
None at all.
* * *
Chapter One
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London, England, 1810
Lettie's screams were getting weaker.
Baron Winters, the physician in attendance to the Marchioness of Lyonwood, leaned over his patient and frantically tried to grab hold of her hands. The beautiful woman was writhing in agony. She was clearly out of her head now and seemed determined to tear the skin off her distended abdomen.
"There, there, Lettie," the physician whispered in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "It's going to be all right, my dear. Just a bit longer and you'll have a fine babe to give your husband."
The baron wasn't at all certain Lettie even understood what he was saying to her. Her emerald-green eyes were glazed with pain. She seemed to be staring right through him. "I helped bring your husband into this world. Did you know that, Lettie?"
Another piercing scream interrupted his attempt to calm his patient. Winters closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and his hands were actually shaking. In all his years, he'd never seen such a difficult laboring. It had gone on much too long already. The Marchioness was growing too weak to help.
The door to the bedroom slammed open then, drawing the baron's attention. Alexander Michael Phillips, the Marquess of Lyonwood, filled the doorway. Winters sighed with relief. "Thank God you're home," he called out. "We were worried you wouldn't return in time."
Lyon rushed over to the bed. His face showed his concern. "For God's sake, Winters, it's too early for this to happen yet."
"The baby has decided otherwise," Winters replied.
"Can't you see she's in terrible pain?" he shouted. "Do something!"
"I'm doing everything I can," Winters yelled back before he could control his anger. Another spasm caught Lettie, and her scream turned Winter's attention back to her. The physician's shoulders heaved forward with his effort of restraining her. The Marchioness wasn't a small woman by any means. She was extremely tall and well rounded. She fought the physician's hold on her shoulders with a vengeance.
"She's out of her mind, Lyon. Help me tie her hands to the posts," Winters ordered.
"No," Lyon shouted, clearly appalled by such a command. "I'll hold her still. Just be done with it, Winters. She can't take much more. God, how long has she been this way?"
"Over twelve hours now," Winters confessed. "The midwife sent for me a few hours ago. She ran off in a panic when she realized the baby isn't in the proper position for birthing," he added in a whisper. "We're going to have to wait it out and pray the baby turns for us."
Lyon nodded as he took hold of his wife's hands. "I'm home now, Lettie. Just a little longer, my love. It will be over soon."
Lettie turned toward the familiar voice. Her eyes were dull, lifeless. Lyon continued to whisper encouragement to his wife. When she closed her eyes and he believed she was asleep, he spoke to Winters again. "Is it because the baby is almost two months early that Lettie is having so much difficulty?"
The physician didn't answer him. He turned his back on the Marquess to lift another cloth from the water basin. His motions were controlled, angry, but his touch was gentle when he finally placed the cool cloth on his patient's brow. "God help us if she gets the fever," he muttered to himself.
Lettie's eyes suddenly opened. She stared up at Baron Winters. "James? Is that you, James? Help me, please help me. Your baby is tearing me apart. It's God's punishment for our sins, isn't it, James? Kill the bastard if you have to, but rid me of it. Lyon will never know. Please, James, please."
The damning confession ended with a hysterical whimper.
"She doesn't know what she's saying," Winters blurted once he'd recovered his composure. He wiped the blood away from Lettie's lips before adding, "Your wife is delirious, Lyon. The pain rules her mind. Pay no heed to her rantings."
Baron Winters glanced over to look at the Marquess. When he saw the expression on Lyon's face, he knew his speech hadn't swayed the man. The truth had won out after all.
Winters cleared his throat and said, "Lyon, quit this room. I've work to do here. Go and wait in your study. I'll come for you when it's over."
The Marquess continued to stare at his wife. When he finally lifted his gaze and nodded to the physician, his eyes showed his torment. He shook his head then, a silent denial, perhaps, of what he'd just heard, and abruptly left the room.
His wife's screams for her lover followed him out the door.
It was finished three hours later. Winters found Lyon in the library. "I did everything I could, Lyon. God help me, I lost both of them."
The baron waited several minutes before speaking again. "Did you hear what I said, Lyon?"
"Was the baby two months early?" Lyon asked.
Winters didn't immediately answer. He was slow to recover from the flat, emotionless tone in Lyon's voice. "No, the baby wasn't early," he finally said. "You've been lied to enough, son. I'll not add to their sins."
The baron collapsed in the nearest chair. He watched Lyon calmly pour him a drink, then reached forward to accept the glass. "You've been like a son to me, Lyon. If there is anything I can do to help you through this tragedy, only tell me and I'll do it."
"You've given me the truth, old friend," Lyon answered. "That is enough."
Winters watched Lyon lift his goblet and down the contents in one long swallow.
"Take care of yourself, Lyon. I know how much you loved Lettie."
Lyon shook his head. "I'll recover," he said. "I always do, don't I, Winters?"
"Yes," Winters answered with a weary sigh. "The lessons of brotherhood have no doubt prepared you for any eventuality."
"There is one task I would give you," Lyon said. He reached for the inkwell and pen.
Long minutes passed while Lyon wrote on a sheet of paper. "I'll do anything," Winters said when he couldn't stand the silence any longer.
Lyon finished his note, folded the sheet, and handed it to the physician.
"Take the news to James, Winters. Tell my brother his mistress is dead."
* * *
Chapter Two
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Your father was such a handsome man, Christina. He could have chosen any woman in England. Yet he wanted me. Me! I couldn't believe my good fortune. I was only pretty enough to be passable by the ton's measure, terribly shy and naive, the complete opposite of your father. He was so sophisticated, so very polished, kind and loving, too. Everyone thought he was the most wonderful man.
But it was all a terrible lie.
Journal entry August 1, 1795
~
London, England, 1814
It was going to be a long night.
The Marquess of Lyonwood let out a controlled sigh and leaned against the mantel of Lord Carlson's receiving room. It wasn't a casual stance but one employed for necessity's sake. By shifting his considerable weight, Lyon was able to ease the throbbing in his leg. The injury was still a constant irritant, and the sharp pain radiating up through his kneecap did absolutely nothing to lighten his somber mood.
Lyon was attending the party under duress, having been successfully nagged into doing his duty by escorting his younger sister, Diana, to th
e event. Needless to say, he wasn't at all happy about his circumstances. He thought he should try to affect a pleasant expression on his face, yet couldn't quite manage that feat. Lyon was simply in too much pain to care if others noticed his sour disposition or not. He settled on a scowl instead, his usual expression these days, then folded his arms across his massive chest in a gesture of true resignation.
The Earl of Rhone, Lyon's good friend since Oxford pranks, stood beside him. Both were considered handsome men. Rhone was dark-haired, fair-skinned, and stood six feet in height. He was built on the lean side, always impeccable in dress and taste, and gifted with a lopsided smile that made the young ladies forget all about his crooked nose. They were simply too mesmerized by his enviable green eyes to notice.
Rhone was definitely a lady's man. Mothers fretted over his reputation, fathers worried about his intentions, while unseasoned daughters ignored their parents' cautions altogether, competing quite brazenly for his attention. Rhone drew women to his side in much the same way honey drew a hungry bear. He was a rascal, true, yet too irresistible to deny.
Lyon, on the other hand, had the dubious distinction of being able to send these same sweetly determined ladies screaming for cover. It was an undisputed fact that the Marquess of Lyonwood could clear a room with just one glacial stare.
Lyon was taller than Rhone by a good three inches. Because he was so muscular in chest, shoulders, and thighs, he gave the appearance of being even larger. His size alone wasn't enough to thoroughly intimidate the stronger-hearted ladies hoping to snatch a title, however. Neither were his features, if you could take them just one at a time. Lyon's hair was a dark golden color, given to curl. The length was left unfashionably longer than society liked. His profile mimicked the statues of Roman soldiers lining
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