The Trapper

by Jenna Kernan

  “Thank you,” she said and gave a curtsey. Then she returned to her painting.

  She painted as if alone in her drawing room, ignoring the entire village as they gawked at her. She stood still and composed beneath the lace parasol canopy as a queen among her subjects.

  How did she do it? Was it her upbringing? He thought of all the women in his life. Most would have dissolved into useless wailing faced with capture by Sioux. Courage, of course, but this was something else. Confidence and a single-minded focus he sorely admired.

  Lena lowered her brush and said, “It’s finished.”

  She stepped aside, full of assurance as the chief approached. It was only then that Troy noticed Lena’s hands choked her skirts and her breathing came in sharp little tugs. Lena was frightened. She just knew better than to show it. His regard for her increased again.

  He scowled at her narrow waist, knowing that corset squeezed the life out of her, but he couldn’t get her to give it up. Stubborn, willful and confident as an eagle, Lena was all that.

  “Easy now. Deep breaths. He’ll like that fine,” Troy murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. She glanced at him and seemed to draw reassurance from his eyes.

  The chief shouted and Lena stepped back, her eyes flying to Troy.

  He smiled.

  “Shouting shows he thinks you’re important. A sign he respects.”

  She removed the painting and placed a new page on her easel.

  “I loathe shouting. Reminds me of my father.”

  Her voice was so low he almost didn’t hear her. Did the man bully her? Certainly he would force her into marriage. Troy disliked the man without ever laying eyes upon him.

  Charging Buffalo gathered his council together and they waited for Lena to begin again. The next painting took her until the light began to fade.

  She spoke to Wind Dancer. “They understand that water will destroy these paintings? They must stay dry and away from fire.”

  “We understand,” said Wind Dancer.

  Lena rolled her shoulders and then lowered the brush. “I’m finished.”

  The men crowded about. They nodded gravely. The Medicine Man pushed forward, shouting at the men and then at Lena. She backed away as he advanced. Troy stepped between them to intercede, knowing that if he put the Medicine Man down, it would mean his death.

  Chapter 15

  Eleanor’s heart pounded in her ears. The old Medicine Man advanced, lifting his staff as if he meant to strike her. Troy stepped between them.

  What could she do to stop this?

  Charging Buffalo interceded, facing Red Eagle. The great blood vessels in the Medicine Man’s neck pulsed as he faced his chief. Her gaze went around to the council members, who now shifted nervously as if uncertain what to do. Wind Dancer grabbed Lena’s arm and drew her away, back to the tent where she had spent last night in miserable worry. Troy followed without invitation.

  In a moment they ducked inside.

  “What’s going on?” Troy directed his question to Wind Dancer, who did not enter, but crouched outside. Behind them Charging Buffalo’s stern voice reached them followed by the higher tones of the Medicine Man’s reply.

  “Red Eagle say Medicine Woman not protect our spirits but steal them.” He straightened a moment, giving her a view of his lean, muscular legs, and then he stooped again. “Charging Buffalo say medicine protect. The council are not sure. I go.”

  He rose and darted away.

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  He glanced outside. “Wait.”

  “We could run.”

  Troy stuck his head out of the teepee then ducked back in, closing the flap behind him. His alert gaze darted about the enclosure. “No place to run where they can’t catch us.”

  The shouts went on and on, finally fading as the group moved away.

  “Sounds like they’re going talk it out.” Troy threw his hat aside and itched his head then he sat upon the yellow grass within the circle of leather.

  At the sight of the dry yellow mud on his scalp, Lena suddenly remembered his injuries. She crouched beside him, stroking his head.

  “How are you?”

  He lowered his chin for her to take a look. “I ain’t ate nor slept since they cracked me on the noggin yesterday morning. The headache is better though.”

  “I can’t see anything but this paste they’ve rubbed into your scalp.”

  He held her gaze a moment and a tingling awareness fluttered in her belly.

  “They’ll talk a while to decide.” He replaced his hat.

  The voices receded, but she knew they continued out of her hearing, deciding her fate and his.

  “Will they torture us?”

  He sighed and lifted an arm. She snuggled in the nook he offered. Her skirts billowed up, covering his legs as well as hers as they sat side by side.

  “You was real brave out there. Now, you have to be brave a while longer.”

  “Red Eagle hates me.”

  She felt his chin brush her hair as he nodded. “You’re a threat.”

  Eleanor straightened. “I did not ask to come here.”

  “You’re here just the same. Red Eagle was head man. Now the tribe is looking to you for their medicine. Don’t sit right with him.”

  “What can we do?”

  “I’m working on it. They already got two braves outside the teepee. I’d have to kill them to run. Odds are I’d only get one before they raised the alarm. That’s a sure way to get killed. You stood your ground out there. That can’t hurt.”

  “If Charging Buffalo is chief then his word is law.”

  “No. The council will decide. Red Eagle is a powerful man. They will listen to him and to their chief. They won’t come to a decision tonight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The Sioux are many things, but never hasty.”

  “I don’t understand Indians.”

  He sighed. “We ain’t all the same, you know.”

  She realized he took offense to her comment and why not? He considered himself Cherokee and she continued to disparage his race.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you. I am shocked and embarrassed at my ignorance.”

  He drew away to face her, his gaze serious. “Tribes, languages, cultures, religions. Lots of Cherokee are Christians, some been farming side by side with the whites for three hundred years, did you know that?”

  She shook her head. “I did not.”

  “Throwing us all in one basket—that ain’t right. They’re no more the same than Germans and Irish.”

  She laughed. “They’re from different countries.”

  “This is much the same.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think of you as Cherokee any longer.”

  “What then?”

  “I think of you as a man.” She wanted to say her man but did not dare.

  “I’m not ashamed of being what I am, man along with the rest.”

  His eyes glowed with an intensity that made her tremble. She regarded him. This could be her last night on earth and God had seen fit to allow her to spend it with the man she adored.

  A call came from outside the tent. Two women arrived carrying a trencher laden with cooked meat. One stirred the coals and revived the fire until it danced once more. Wind Dancer entered a moment later, stooping to enter.

  “The council is decide what is right. You waiting here. After this meal you go out, then stay in all night. No come out or killed.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Troy.

  Wind Dancer’s expression gave little hope. “You stay in.”

  Alone with their meal, Troy tried the meat. Lena’s stomach heaved with worry.

  “Eat,” he insisted.

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s buffalo.”

  She shook her head.

  “Lena, you need to eat and sleep. How you gonna face them all starving and tired?”

  He lifted a morsel and she opened her lips
to allow the bite to pass. They did not speak, but focused on consuming what was given.

  Afterward Troy stood.

  Lena’s heart pounded as fear threatened to consume her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Privy, actually probably a grove of cottonwoods. Sit tight. When I come back they’ll take you.”

  “I can’t…” She blushed. “I wouldn’t be able to, to—well, not with a man watching.”

  He gave her a measuring look and ducked out of the raised opening. She sat still in the tent listening to the sounds of strangers coming and going. Dogs barked and a baby howled. She added logs to the fire and watched the flames lick the bark. What would tomorrow bring?

  Voices came from just before the tent. She clutched her throat and waited.

  Troy ducked inside. “I got four women to go with you. Best I could do.”

  She peered out, but could not manage to stand.

  He gripped her wrist. “You’re the daughter of John Hart. You best act like it.”

  Eleanor nodded and stood, shaking out her silk skirt before bowing out of the entrance. Her unwelcome companions flanked her, one taking the lead. Maids, she told herself until she noted the sheathed hunting knife tied to the belt of each woman.

  They did not speak, only motioned to the grove, giving her the privacy of a large bush. Squatting in the dark, she considered running. She glanced down at her skirts and her pale yellow dress glowed in the moonlight. She would never elude them and if she did, her clothing would snag on the brambles all about. Troy’s words came back to her. Dress for running. She sighed, remembering her scornful response that ladies don’t run.

  She glanced skyward at the waxing moon, reminding her of the night she made her promise to return and marry.

  How far away that seemed now. She would be lucky to survive the next day, let alone return to fulfill her pledge.

  She understood now all her father’s reluctance to her journey. If possible, the West was more dangerous than he had imagined. Had she turned back at New Orleans, she would now be safe at home. But then she would never have met Troy.

  They might have only one last night together. She straightened. This time society and family had no dominion here. Tonight, she would allow her heart to lead.

  What would he say if she told him she wanted to know him as a man? Her face heated and her ears tingled as she considered broaching such a delicate topic. She was no fool and knew that to sleep with a man now could bring her ruin.

  Faced with the risks presented by the Sioux, she thought the possibility of a bastard child suddenly seemed less momentous. She might not live long enough to bear a child. That thought lifted the hairs on her arms. She considered another possibility—she conceived and returned home with child. This same situation brought Troy’s love to end her own life. Lena would never take that way out.

  Such a scandal would rock her family’s foundation. If she became with child, they would send her to the continent. She had heard the whispers to that effect about Amy Grace’s daughter, Nancy. Rumors only, but she was gone the correct number of months. At the time, Lena had speculated with the rest upon the woman’s return. Now she considered something that had never occurred to her. What had happened to the child?

  The thought of leaving behind her own flesh and blood turned her cold. But she did not know if she could deny herself what might be her only chance to know this wonderful man on the most personal of levels.

  One of the women called.

  Eleanor returned to the group, who now swept along like shadows seeing a path invisible to her. Firelight glowed from within the buffalo skin houses. The woman before her halted and Lena blinked in surprise. Was this her tent already?

  Her jailor called and the hide flap lifted. She peeked inside and recognized Troy’s familiar fringed leggings.

  “Thank you and good night,” she said.

  One woman lifted her hand and they departed. She stood in the dark before the portal, wondering if she were alone. She could not see them but rather felt their presence in the dark. Eleanor walked away from the tent and made only four steps before a man appeared to bar her way, motioning the way she had come. She halted. Troy was right about the guards.

  She returned to Troy.

  Eleanor stooped and entered the circular room. Now she must decide if she was to remain chaste or offer herself to him. She felt the need to be held by him, to feel the protection of his embrace and forget the nightmare outside the circle of their fire. Didn’t she deserve one night of happiness?

  Yes.

  She straightened and gazed at Troy. His eyes were shut and the soft sounds of sleep issued from his parted lips. Her mouth gaped and she sunk to her knees before him.

  “Troy?” she whispered.

  He did not move.

  Disappointment rounded her shoulders. After all the anticipation, she felt like weeping. How could he do this to her?

  Then she recalled the fight, his fall, the gash to his head and that he had walked all night to find her.

  Her fingers swept back the hair from his forehead. “You came for me.”

  She knelt before him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He did not stir. It took a few moments to release the laces from the buttons on her shoes. Next she struggled with hooks and eyes hidden at her side. Finally she pulled off her corset and, sighing in relief, scratched her ribs and belly, then dragged the cotton chemise free from her skin for the first time all day.

  She hung the bodice and skirt on a peg on the tent pole and placed her shoes neatly beneath, as if this was her new armoire.

  Then she released the veil and pins from her hair, brushing out the ringlets beside her ears with her fingers. Her hand paused as she considered how foolish it was to dress her hair here. The Sioux knew no different and she was certain Troy did not keep up with the latest styles. So did she do this for herself or others? She determined to release herself from the rigors of styling her hair.

  In stocking feet, Eleanor walked across the yellowed grass to the skin where Troy slept. She lay beside him, cautiously sliding an arm over his broad chest as her head found the pillow of his shoulder.

  Troy’s arm snaked out and, without waking, he dragged her to him, holding her tenderly as if he had loved her all his life. She sighed and breathed his scent, feeling instantly comforted.

  Last night she had tossed and paced, finally giving up all together. The meager comfort of her sketchpad did not console her and finally she wept.

  But tonight the fire seemed warm and Troy’s arms cradled her in safety. She gave a stifled yawn and blinked up at him, noticing the dark shadow of whiskers spread across his jaw. Two days’ growth.

  She rubbed the line of his jaw with her knuckles savoring the rough texture, so different from her own.

  Was this what it would be like to marry for love? Would she sleep each night wrapped in the loving comfort of his embrace instead of alone in her lonely ornate chamber? Would he hold her even in sleep and never be parted, save by death?

  Her hand fell to the flat expanse of his chest. The steady beat of his heart sounded in her ear and vibrated beneath her palm.

  Danger lay all around her. But somehow they could not reach her here in his embrace. Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the decision of the council. Tonight she would sleep beside this man as his wife.

  “I love you, Troy,” she whispered.

  Troy opened his eyes at the gentle call from outside the teepee. The woman’s voice announced herself again. He glanced at the closed flap entrance. He blinked his eyes and saw it was full light.

  He called out for her to enter in what little of her language he knew.

  The flap lifted and a woman appeared. She smiled at him and then her eyes went wide. She did not enter, but only lowered the tray of food to the ground and retreated.

  What was that about?

  Something wiggled beside him. He glanced down to see Lena cuddled up against him like a kitten on a cold day. Her leg
draped his thighs. A slender pink calf poked out from beneath the buffalo robe. Her arm looped familiarly across his belly and an ocean of wild red waves cascaded over his arm and onto the buffalo robe. Troy swallowed hard.

  Lena’s hair was down. His breath caught at the sight. Pale pink dusted her cheeks and her beautiful lips turned in a secret smile as she dreamed on.

  He should wake her—shouldn’t he?

  Then he noticed she wore only a slip and petticoat. His body pulsed to life. The squeezing ache quickly settled in his groin. Why had she done this?

  Didn’t she know every man had limits to his control? She’d crossed that line when she removed her armor and let down her glorious hair. He stroked her back and she made a purring sound. His fingers tangled into the curls. Thick as carded wool. Rich—just like the rest of her.

  Her fingers flexed, gripping the hide that covered his belly and he twitched.

  “Great God almighty,” he breathed.

  His eyes flashed to the peg where her garments hung. He either had to get her into that dress or out of this shift in a hurry.

  One way or the other, right now, he decided.

  He wrapped his arms about her and her eyes blinked open. Her hand descended as if reaching for him. No—she couldn’t.

  He nudged her and her eyes blinked lazily open. Her smile dazzled.

  Trying to look cross, he said, “Lena, what are you doing?”

  The smile never wavered. “Sleeping in your arms.”

  “You can’t go crawling into a man’s sleeping robes without knowing what will happen.”

  Her smile changed from languid to sensual, sending a raw sexual energy flooding into his bloodstream.

  “I know.”

  Did she? For she was about to find out. He rolled her to her back. She offered no resistance as her hands looped about his neck. The soft fragrance of flowers wafted up from her pale body as he lowered himself to her. He nudged a knee between her thighs. To his utter astonishment, she parted her legs, allowing him to nestle there. Pressing against the core of her brought a moment’s sweet pleasure followed by a rising, unsatisfied ache.

  Propped upon his elbows, he stared down into her expressive eyes. She showed no fear or hesitation. His body trembled with want, but he would not force this. He was no savage to take an unwilling woman.