Lakota Flower Page 10

  As she observed the man in such deep thought, Caroline murmured, “I wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”

  Grasping the gist of her words, War Eagle asked, “What kiss mean?”

  Caroline blushed and averted her gaze, shocked and embarrassed by her slip. When he pressed for an answer, she looked at him and explained, “It means to touch my mouth to yours,” as she placed fingers first on her lips and then on his, then lowered her quivering hand to his chest. She watched him stare at her for a few moments before he reacted.

  War Eagle’s left hand cupped her jawline to prevent her from lowering her head again as he bent forward and meshed their lips, his right arm still cradling her against his body. He wanted, needed, yearned, to know how it would feel to “kiss” her and could not resist her unintentional invitation to do so. He had meant for the action to be short and light, but when she responded and his self-control weakened, the kiss became long and profound and tender. Every part of him came alive with desire and delight. His emotions took flight and sang as joyously as a colorful songbird. Within his head, his thoughts were only of her, of this heady experience, and this awesome coup. Within his body, a sensual hunger for her increased at a rapid pace. Within his heart, her lovely flower bloomed and pervaded his senses with her special scent of passionate submission. Within his soul, he somehow knew he had seen, smelled, touched, heard, and tasted an intrinsic part of his destiny. Every part of him urged him to take and savor each moment and sensation, the exposure and outpouring of their innermost feelings. Yet, something he could not grasp, perhaps the voice of the Great Spirit, whispered to him not to go beyond kissing and embracing and he was compelled to obey.

  As for Caroline, when she had witnessed his imminent intent to sate her curiosity and perhaps his own, she had lacked the will and strength to pull away or to protest. She feared, whether she returned to his camp or was taken onward to the Cheyenne’s out of self-defense, this would be the only chance to discover why and how he affected and enchanted her so deeply and strongly. She wondered where she had gotten the courage—no, boldness—to tempt him with a kiss.

  War Eagle realized their desires were increasing to a hazardous level. As with the fallen-tree signal, they could travel this reckless path no longer and must return to the way things had been between them before they kissed and revealed their feelings. He must behave as if he had been doing nothing more than sating her curiosity, performing a generous deed. With great difficulty, he released his hold on her and leaned against the rock behind him. As he gazed forward, he said, “Magaju go fast. We ride soon.”

  Caroline took a deep breath to calm her tension and tremblings, to quell her wayward passions. The magic and intimacy of the moment were gone, shoved aside by him, and that was for the best at this stage of their relationship. She glanced beyond their sheltered position and nodded. Whether “magaju” meant storm or rain, both were leaving the area at a steady pace. She straightened her dress and body, lifting and hugging her knees. She realized how easily and quickly she could have submitted to him, surrendered to wild and wonderful passion, and that astonished her, since they were almost strangers and were enemies of a sort and she had been reared as a lady. She had never experienced such feelings or weakness with any of her past beaux, not even with William Crawford when he had courted her. Why, she mused, did she experience them with this particular man, one out of her reach?

  When War Eagle noted how late it was, he said, “Night come soon. We camp here. I go tend horses.”

  “Do you need help making camp?” she offered as she realized he had been speaking better English since they reached the winter campsite.

  “No. Stay.” I need to be alone, and he supposed she did, too, for them to recover from their reckless lapse.

  Caroline watched him leave the shelter and make his way toward the horses. Under these new circumstances, she wasn’t sure how she should behave. She imagined it was best to ignore the incident as if it had never happened, which is what she was certain he would do. She still was amazed that he had kissed and embraced her, held her for so long, comforted her during the storm, and wasn’t acting ashamed or angered or as if she had lured him into evil. She also was amazed—relieved and grateful—that he had not taken advantage of the situation and had not tried to force her to submit to him. Shouldn’t that tell her he was not a savage or a lusty beast, that he was a gentleman? Tell her that he possessed kindness and integrity? Tell her that he might have good feelings for her and did not want to harm her in any way? Even if those assumptions were accurate, what did it matter in their situation? It mattered greatly to her, she decided, what kind of man he was.

  As a nearly full moon rose in a now clear sky, Caroline curled on her side on a bed of black rock, the buffalo mats too wet to lie on for sleeping. Earlier, War Eagle had made it obvious to her that she was to stay beneath the ledge tonight while he camped with the horses in the tree line. He had brought her food and water, then left her alone to pass the night.

  She rolled to her stomach and rested her head on her folded arms. The surface beneath her was smooth and flat, but it was hard and uncomfortable. A cool breeze wafted over her, fresh-smelling after the rain. She heard nocturnal animals, birds, frogs, and insects sending forth their own sounds and songs. She doubted she would get much sleep tonight, though she was fatigued from their long ride. But it wasn’t only fatigue that kept her awake, it also was thoughts of the man nearby and what she had shared with him today.

  She remembered how it had felt to kiss him, to be in his arms, to hear his soothing voice, to view his handsome face, to perceive his desire for her, and to lose herself briefly in the wonder of … what? Love? Passion?

  Caroline recalled how her hand had wandered over his broad chest and fingered the Sun Dance scars located there, one over each breast. Cloud Chaser had told her about that awesome ceremony when he was explaining their customs, rituals, and beliefs. She could not imagine the full extent of the physical pain he had endured and survived, or a warrior’s fear and anguish that he might fail in his sacred task. She knew it was done as sacrifice, an offering of flesh and energy—his very life if need be—to Wakantanka, as a show of gratitude for blessings and to achieve total unity with his Great Spirit and heritage. She reasoned that it required enormous strength, courage, willpower, prowess and immense love and faith to accept such sufferings. No, her mind refuted, to actually create them by being pierced willingly and bound by those fresh wounds to a pole, by allowing himself to be tormented as he chanted and danced and struggled to jerk free, and to endure pain without flinching or screaming or ceasing until the thongs ripped away and victory was won.

  He and his family must have been very proud of him that day. Cloud Chaser also had told her that a warrior’s honor, “his face,” was one of his most important possessions and he worked hard not “to lose” it. She wondered if “saving face” was the only reason War Eagle would reject her, as it surely wouldn’t be because he didn’t want her as a woman. She couldn’t be mistaken about his behavior earlier. Or could she? …

  In the edge of the forest, War Eagle was having a restless and difficult time trying to ignore the woman nearby so he could get to sleep. He was not worried about an enemy slipping up on them as he dozed lightly when away from the safety of their camp. He had been foolish to expose his feelings for Caroline and to allow her to reveal hers for him. If he was not reading her signs wrong, she desired him as a man and did not look upon him as a “savage” or “hostile” or an enemy. Yet, how could he allow that to matter to him? How could he, a high warrior, a Sacred Bow Carrier, son of the chief, grandson of the shaman, grandson of the past chief, take a white woman as his mate without appearing weak and sacrificing his honor? If there was a way, only the Great Spirit knew it, as he did not.

  The next morning was pleasant beneath a serene blue sky. They had eaten, loaded their supplies, mounted, and left the secluded and enlightening setting. They had communicated mostly with motions and nods a
nd had tried to avoid looking at each other any more than necessary, as if their hearts carried heavy burdens or they feared a repeat of yesterday’s lapse in their appointed roles as enemies.

  They rode for what Caroline guessed to be two hours before they halted at a stream for the horses to drink. She was impressed by his care of his animals. To elude his temptation for a while, she excused herself in the bushes and was slowly returning to his side when trouble struck. Suddenly she found herself seized from behind, a hand over her mouth, a knife at her throat, and elbows somehow imprisoning her shoulders and arms. A man spoke to her in a whisper in a language she did not comprehend. “I don’t understand,” she told him when he slightly moved his hand from her mouth. Before she could scream for help, his strong and dirty hand was replaced.

  “You white-eye. Why you ride with Red Shield? No yell or I kill. You no fight, be quiet, obey, yes?”

  Caroline nodded. He lifted his hand but pressed the blade to her neck in warning.

  “Talk, white woman. Why you here?”

  “I’m a captive of the Red Shields.”

  “If that true, why you no bound? Why you walk free?”

  “I had to … be excused, visit the bushes. Please don’t kill me. My brother is a solider, so you’ll be punished if you harm me. Release me and I’ll tell you what you want to know. I won’t scream or fight you.”

  The warrior ignored her and yelled, “Wanbli! U wo!”

  Caroline realized her captor knew the warrior she was traveling with and had ordered him to come to their location. It did not take much intelligence and perception to realize he was an enemy and that she and War Eagle were in jeopardy, or perhaps only she was in peril. She watched her traveling companion step from behind a large tree and reveal he was already nearby. She listened to them speak, but could only grasp a word here and there.

  “What do you want, Crow dog?” War Eagle scoffed as he glared at the foe who held Caroline captive and in danger and who glared back at him.

  “I have your woman, son of Rising Bear. Throw down your knife or I will cut her throat and you can watch her bleed and die before I slay you. Yield and I will set her free to return to her people.”

  “She is a lowly captive; she means nothing to me,” War Eagle bluffed. “You do not need to use her to challenge me. I will fight you. Come, I am ready to do battle with a coward who hides behind a woman.”

  “You lie, Lakota dog. If she was a captive, she would be bound and injured. Must I cut her many times before you speak the truth? Throw me your knife or she dies.” War Eagle knew the Crow brave would slay Caroline if he refused. He had no choice but to do as ordered to save her life.

  As War Eagle withdrew his knife from its sheath and tossed it to the ground between them, a shocked and frightened Caroline shouted, “No! Don’t give up your weapon! He’ll kill you!” Her blue gaze widened in rising terror as the man she loved took several steps backward, away from the discarded knife, his arms hanging by his sides in submission. It was apparent to her that he was endangering his life to save hers. Didn’t he realize his humiliation and sacrifice were for naught and their enemy would probably slay both of them now that he was disarmed?

  Chapter Seven

  The Crow warrior shouted for War Eagle to move farther away, which he did, slowly and without taking his gaze from his adversary.

  Caroline wished she could understand what they were saying when the two men argued following her outburst. Since the enemy behind her knew English, he must have grasped what she had yelled to her companion, which foolishly exposed her concern and affection for him.

  The challenger whose left hand was either painted or charcoaled ebony—the latter she guessed from the horrible taste on her lips—did not cover her mouth with it again, but he ordered her, “No speak!” as he shook her. Then, using his body, he urged her forward until they reached the discarded weapon, which he kicked backward with one foot, out of the Red Shield’s reach and temptation.

  War Eagle reminded him, “Release her, for I gave you my weapon.”

  “You spoke false. She is your woman. She tried to save you.”

  “She is not my woman, Black Fist. She is only a captive. I was taking her to the Fire Hearts Cheyenne camp to trade her to War Chief Badger.”

  Black Fist pointed out, “You ride away from Badger’s camp. You lie.”

  “The storm forced me to take another trail to his camp. A fire arrow struck a tree and it fell across the path and many rocks rolled down the hills and closed the opening between them. If you do not believe me, we will ride there and I will show you that the path cannot be used.”

  “If you speak true, why did she seek to help her enemy live?”

  “She called out to me because she fears your capture more than she fears me. She knows it is not the Red Shield way to harm women, even helpless enemy females. That is not true of your people. Do you break your word to me and dishonor yourself? Do you forget Crow have a truce and treaty with the whites and army? If you hurt or slay the sister of a bluecoat, it will call forth the soldiers’ wrath on your camp.”

  “They will not know Black Fist killed her, for the dead do not talk.”

  That boast told War Eagle that the man had lied and had no intention of letting either of them live, just as he had suspected. “I do not die fast or easy, Crow dog. I gave up my weapon to fight you with bare hands. I do not want her death to call forth soldiers on my people. I say Black Fist shames himself before the Great Spirit if he slays a lowly and weak female who is not my woman.”

  He had a second knife concealed behind him in his belt, but he had to get closer to them to use it. First, he needed to get Caroline released from the man’s tight grip, and get her a short distance away. He tried not to think about how she had warned him and had revealed her good feelings for him once more. He had to save—

  When Caroline felt the intruder’s grasp loosen and deduced he was distracted by his quarrel with War Eagle, she summoned the courage to use a defensive action her brother had taught her long ago. She elbowed him in the stomach as hard as she could while she simultaneously stomped his foot with her laced ankle boot. Her gambit worked; the foe’s lungs let our a whoosh of air as his body jerked forward, wobbling on an injured foot, and released her in painful surprise. Without delay, she slammed her elbow into his jaw while he was doubled over and sent him stumbling backward before she darted toward her companion for protection. She almost collided with War Eagle before he agilely sidestepped her as he took swift advantage of his enemy’s briefly disabled condition by running forward to attack the man. As she stopped and whirled to observe the impending action, her gaze took in the knife stuck into his waistband, revealing he was not unarmed after all.

  War Eagle reached his challenger before the man recovered fully. He lowered his left shoulder and rammed it with great force and strength into the Crow’s chest, causing the man to stagger backward to the ground, roll over and bound to his feet, then shake off his dazed state. When Black Fist yanked his knife from its sheath, War Eagle grinned as he retrieved his concealed weapon. He saw the Bird warrior’s eyes widen in surprise at that cunning deceit, then narrow and harden in hatred. “Come, Crow dog, fight me as man. You no longer have a woman to hide behind.”

  “You are sly, son of Rising Bear, but I will defeat you and slay you. Before I slay your woman, I will take her upon the ground with much pain.”

  “You speak of the woman who attacked you and freed herself,” War Eagle scoffed in ridicule. Just as he presumed and hoped, that insult angered his rival and provoked him to charge in a rage, as he knew a warrior could not think clearly and act wisely when agitated.

  Caroline watched as the enemy ran at War Eagle with his blade held high and threatening. She saw her handsome captor dart aside at the last moment and slice across his opponent’s waist as he did so. Blood flowed down the enemy’s exposed hip and leg, for the wound was deep and long. The two warriors began to move in a circular pattern as they studied each
other, their dark gazes locked in mortal combat. When they halted and glared at each other, their feet were set apart, their knees were flexed and ready for fast movements, their arms hung loose before them, sharp knives held in tight grips. She knew they were assessing each other’s strengths and weaknesses, waiting for the perfect moment to strike a stunning or lethal blow. They began to dance in and out as they slashed at each other. It was War Eagle who seemed to be the superior warrior; his prowess was undeniable as he nipped at his competitor’s flesh and created new injuries while he sustained only one minor nick on his right forearm.

  War Eagle knew he could not allow himself to be diverted or slowed for even a brief time; such an error could cost him his life, and Caroline’s. He knew a wounded and desperate foe was dangerous and unpredictable, but the excess pride and draining wounds of Black Fist would be his undoing. He did not play with his rival, as he wanted this battle settled soon and in his favor. If he did not make a mistake, he would be granted his wish, as the Crow was tiring fast from the many slashes and loss of blood. He could tell from the way Black Fist now moved that his muscles were getting taut and cramped.

  Caroline did not move or do anything to break War Eagle’s concentration. She was positive he would win. In the flicker of an eye, War Eagle lunged at his antagonist and threw him to the ground. He leapt upon the man’s prone body, straddled it, and struggled to disarm him as his opponent squirmed for freedom. As they scuffled about on the grass and dirt, she turned her back as she saw War Eagle lift his left arm and start to bring down his knife toward the disabled man. She heard a thud, then took a deep breath and turned toward the scene where War Eagle now stood and gazed down at his dead challenger. She watched him lift his head skyward and close his eyes for a minute. She assumed he was giving a prayer of gratitude to his Great Spirit.