On his heels came Black Wolf. He smashed viciously at the ball with his curved stick. But little by little Blade Stalker pulled ahead and raced in solitary victory to the far goal, where he drove the ball solidly and accurately between the two mounds.
“Hooray!” Theodora cheered as the crowd shouted its approval.
When the game broke up, Blade came over to her with a grin of triumph.
“You were wonderful.” Her voice was filled with appreciation of his victory, his prowess. Her green eyes shone.
“Thank you,” he replied, noting her costume with pleasure.
He feasted his eyes upon her. “And you look beautiful.”
She’d brushed her tresses till they shone. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back to her waist, where they ended in a riot of curls. Someone had helped her fasten two side braids with white rabbit fur, and the softness of that fur vied with the creamy smoothness of her cheeks. Without her restrictive undergarments, the dress she wore clung to the firm, rounded curves of her breasts and hips. The memory of his hands exploring those soft curves brought a surge of lust. He basked in the admiration glowing in her marvelous eyes, wanting to draw her near and hold her slim frame next to his hungry body. He wanted to hear his praises sung from her honey-sweet lips as he covered them with kisses. He yearned to hear her tell him that he was not a savage, that she was not afraid of him, that she desired him as much as he did her.
As though reading his thoughts, she spoke in a husky voice. “You look pretty spectacular yourself.”
Without the thick mustache, his firm lips seemed molded for sensuality. She’d never been so aware of his commanding physical presence. His broad shoulders and upper arms were striated with muscles, the pectorals firm and hard. She tried vainly to keep her gaze from drifting down his flat stomach and lean hips to his bare, sinewy thighs and calves. He was magnificent, proportioned like a Roman gladiator: bronzed, rock hard, and all male.
“Theodora.” His voice sent waves of longing through her. He took her hands, and she marveled at how small and pale they looked in his strong ones. She remembered the feel of his callused fingers as they’d stroked her bare skin. Her heart started an erratic thumping against her ribs. With reluctance she dragged her gaze to meet his, knowing he would read the desire in her traitorous eyes.
“Come here,” he said. His midnight gaze was hypnotic. She moved closer, drawn by a force too powerful to withstand, until her breasts nearly touched his bare chest. What hold did he have over her, she wondered, that he could pull her to him merely by the strength of his will? She was tired of fighting him. Just when she thought she’d exorcised him from her mind and heart, he battered down her wall of resistance once again and scattered her doubts and her Yankee horse sense like so many corpses littering a deserted battlefield.
“We can’t…” she began, then stopped at the mocking challenge in his eyes. “I can’t …” she amended, as she tried to withdraw her hands from his clasp. She was interrupted by the sound of a sharp slap and a muffled cry of pain. They both turned to see Black Wolf pull his wife back into their lodge by her long, satiny hair.
“He’s beating her!” Theodora exclaimed. “He’s taking his failure to best you out on his young wife.”
“Which proves that, despite his many coups, he’s a coward at heart,” Blade answered with a scowl.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” she demanded.
“A Cheyenne husband has the right to chastise his wife, Theodora.”
“Chastise! How can you defend such a primitive custom?”
“A custom even the white man indulges in,” he answered with irritation, obviously stung by her derision and uncomfortable at the accuracy of her barb. “I’ve seen the same behavior before—from Boston to New Orleans. It’s not pleasant, but it’s a fact of life.”
Theodora recognized the common sense of what he said. She also realized that there was little either of them could do to change the behavior of others. She couldn’t even talk to Whirlwind Woman unless Snow Owl translated for her. She acceded to his logic, but the spell between them was broken. All around them the village was alive with activity. Children went from lodge to lodge carrying messages of invitation for the feasts that were to take place that evening. Over the cook fires women prepared the meal. In the nearby hills great clouds of dust arose as horses were driven into the camp under the watchful eyes of the young boys who had been guarding them.
Some were tied in front of the tipis, to be close by in case of sudden need. Others were set loose to graze in the meadow.
All of Blade’s family were invited to the feast in Snow Owl’s lodge. Snow Owl, with the help of Deer Walking Fast and Two Moons Rising, prepared a stew of buffalo meat, squash, beans, and a sprinkling of wild onions in a buffalo paunch. The bag was suspended from sticks set in the ground over the open fire. Then red-hot stones were placed inside the tight vessel until the stew boiled. Snow Owl also added a handful of small roots about the size of large peas to the simmering meat. She told a questioning Theodora the root was called aistomimissis, which translated to mean “small and tasteless.” However, Snow Owl assured her it was a favorite food of her people. When she saw Theodora’s interest in the unfamiliar plant, she gave her a few to save.
Other cooking pots were made of fired clay, as were some of the small, flat dishes used for eating. Fresh plums, elkberries, and bullberries were placed in bowls carved of horn. Thin, rectangular cakes made with red and black currants were taken from small rawhide sacks and placed on a carved wooden platter.
At the appearance of a lovely young girl, Snow Owl stopped her work and turned to Theodora.
“This is Gray Fawn,” she told her. “She is the wife of Bald Face Buffalo.”
Confused, Theodora looked back at the tall, angular woman who stood at the cooking pot beside Snow Owl, and then at the newcomer. Gray Fawn couldn’t have been eighteen, and she appeared to be about seven months pregnant.
“I thought you said Deer Walking Fast was married to Bald Face Buffalo,” Theodora said in confusion.
“She is,” Snow Owl explained as she stirred the stew with a horn ladle. “Gray Fawn is his second wife. She is also the younger sister of Deer Walking Fast.”
“She doesn’t mind?”
Snow Owl’s brow puckered. “Which one would mind?”
“Well, either one of them!” Theodora exclaimed in disbelief.
Behind her Blade chuckled. She glanced at him seated cross legged on a buffalo robe. Now that’s not a white man’s custom, her expression told him, though a smile hovered on her lips.
“Oh, no,” Snow Owl replied. “Deer Walking Fast is pleased to have the help her sister can give her with the work, and Gray Fawn is happy to have the guidance and comfort of her older sister while she is carrying the baby. Later, Deer Walking Fast will ease the load when her sister has a new child to care for.”
“No doubt Bald Face Buffalo is pleased with both of them,” Theodora said wryly.
“Yes, of course,” Snow Owl answered, happy that at last the ignorant newcomer understood the mutual benefits of the arrangement.
With a muffled snort Blade stood and left the tent, his shoulders shaking with laughter. But he was back shortly with a small boy perched on his back. “Theodora,” he said, “this is Tall Boy, Snow Owl’s son. His other name is Phillipe du Lac. He’s been playing with his friends all day, so you haven’t had a chance to meet him.”
Riding piggyback, a young boy of about five, who might have been Blade’s own son, peeked over his shoulder. With his mixed heritage, he could easily have belonged to a French family.
“Allo!” Theodora said to the child in the hopes he might understand. Like his older cousin, he had raven-black eyes and hair, and his cheekbones, though high, were not as wide and prominent as those of the other members of the tribe. In New Orleans, dressed in the costume of a wealthy gentleman’s son, he would have passed almost without notice, except for the inborn pride and natural arrogance that all Cheyen
ne males seemed to have from infancy.
“Bonjour,” he promptly answered, then began chattering excitedly to Blade Stalker in Cheyenne. Clearly, a woman no matter where she was from or what color her hair—was not nearly as interesting to him as this new cousin who had played ohoknit with such skill and cunning.
It was time to eat and Theodora found she had much to learn. When she sat down between Blade and his cousin, Bald Face Buffalo, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her in astonishment.
“What did I do wrong?” she murmured to Blade under her breath as she looked straight ahead.
His voice was filled with suppressed laughter. “You’re sitting on the men’s side of the lodge. The other side is reserved for the ladies.”
One look verified his statement.
Without another word Theodora moved across to sit with the women. She heard a collective sigh spread through the tipi as she sat down. Blushing with mortification, she bent her head over her food. What did they think she was going to do, for heaven’s sake? Attack one of the braves?
She heard Blade speaking and deduced that he was explaining to his family that she’d acted from ignorance and not from wanton boldness. In the hope of smoothing over her gauche behavior, she looked up and smiled widely at the men one at a time. Painted Robe’s impassive face gave no hint of his inner thoughts. Broken Jaw, Blade’s uncle, nearly flinched as her eyes met his. She was certain the middle-aged man was more outraged at her attempted apology than at the initial discretion. His eldest son, Bald Face Buffalo, ignored her completely. But when she met Weasel Tail’s gaze, the younger son returned her smile, his dark eyes lighting with a glow that bothered her more than Broken Jaw’s obvious censure.
“Eat your meal, Theodora,” Blade ordered curtly, his expression no longer so amused.
Outraged at his tone of voice, she glared at him. “That was my intention from the beginning.”
She didn’t say another word, but let the family talk drift over her while she enjoyed the peaceful scene. She looked about the tipi, feeling strangely content and at ease, despite the armaments that hung by the doorway—hunting knives, tomahawks, bows, and quivers filled with arrows. It was impossible to forget that theirs was a warrior culture.
The meal was delicious. After it was over Theodora stayed with the women and helped Snow Owl and Deer Walking Fast clean up and put things away. Two Moons Rising nursed the infant, still strapped to its board, but when Potbelly began to cry despite her attempts to hush him, she took the baby outside the lodge, far enough away that he couldn’t be heard.
“Why did she do that?” Theodora asked Snow Owl.
“The first lesson a child must learn is self-control. He must be quiet in the presence of his elders.”
Gray Fawn sat on a buffalo robe, weaving a tiny basket from spike rushes. Snow Owl explained that it would be attached to the head of the baby-board to provide shade from the sun for the new infant. Next to her, Deer Walking Fast was quilling a shirt. The men sat by the fire and talked, while Tall Boy leaned against Blade’s shoulder and listened to every word they said. From the corner of her eye Theodora watched the child put his chubby arm around Blade’s neck and whisper animatedly into his ear. Blade seemed to enjoy the youngster’s attention. She’d never seen the stern captain so relaxed and happy. She waited to hear Snow Owl correct her son’s behavior, but the lovely woman only glanced over at him every once in a while and smiled. Had it been a white family, the five-year-old would have been sternly lectured for bothering a grown-up.
Suddenly everyone in the lodge, including Tall Boy, grew very still.
“What’s happening?” Theodora whispered to Snow Owl.
“Ah, my grandfather is going to tell a story now,” she replied. “I will translate what he says.”
Theodora listened as Snow Owl quietly retold Chief Painted Robe’s story in her ear. It was a wonderful tale of chipmunks who talked and acted like humans. Its moral encouraged children to show the traits of independence, perseverance, and valor. As the story was told Theodora watched Tall Boy. He listened enraptured, never taking his eyes off his great-grand father, nor speaking a single word. How much better a way to guide a child, she thought, than to try to beat the lesson into him with a stick. She looked at Blade and their eyes met. This was how he’d acquired his traits of manliness and courage. Like the hero in the story, he was energetic and brave, impatient of control or restraint, and, no doubt, fierce and cruel when need be. The influence of his grandfather had been pervasive. In some ways Wesley Fletcher had been right: They never change, no matter where they go. Theodora realized that for Blade his family would be the most important thing in his life—not career, or power, or wealth. He would treasure his wife and children. And woe be to the person who tried to harm them. His intent gaze seemed to say: Now you begin to know me, vehoka, little white woman.
When the story was over, the guests departed. The families said their good-byes, and Theodora stood with Blade outside the tipi’s opening and watched them return to their homes. Throughout the village people moved to their own lodges after the feasts with relatives and friends, talking and laughing as they went. Far off, a plaintive, haunting melody could be heard as it floated across the nearby meadow. The evening grew gradually quieter. A horse neighed, a dog barked, a woman laughed, and then all was still and peaceful.
“It’s lovely,” Theodora said in a whisper. “I actually thought I heard someone playing a flute in the clearing by the river.”
Blade slipped his arm around her shoulders. “What you heard was a young man playing for the girl he loves. He probably had the flute made by someone with special powers. If the tapen works, it will charm the maiden and she will love him too.”
“And what did the young girl do when she heard him this evening?”
“She came to the door of her mother’s lodge and listened. When he saw her standing there, he knew that his love was returned. Tomorrow he’ll wait for her in front of her family’s tipi.”
“And?”
“And they’ll talk. Just like young people do all over the world. But he may have to stand in line, for sometimes there are as many as four or five suitors waiting to court a pretty girl.” He looked down at her, half smiling. “Sound familiar?”
“Not to me. Martin was the only beau I ever had.”
He bent closer to her, his low voice as sweet as brown-sugar candy. “That’s because you hadn’t met me yet.”
Theodora chose to ignore his comment. “What happens when the lady makes up her mind?”
“Once the brave is sure of her affection, he sends someone to ask for her in marriage. He’ll send a gift of horses with the messenger, who’ll leave them tied in front of her mother’s lodge. If the father refuses the young man’s suit, the horses are returned within twenty-four hours.”
“Oh, poor girl.”
Blade slid his hand from her shoulder and stroked the base of her neck with his long fingers. “Usually the parents accept the man their daughter has chosen. If they don’t, it’s because they feel he can’t take care of her. If she’s willing to wait, he’ll have a chance to prove himself in future hunting and raiding parties.”
Through the open doorway Theodora could hear the others preparing their beds. A thought that had nagged her all evening intruded again on her serenity. “Where will I sleep?”
“We’ll sleep here in my cousin’s lodge.”
The memory of the previous night brought their gazes together.
“Captain Roberts,” she began formally, determined to ignore the blush she knew stained her cheeks, “I’m sorry for the terrible name I called you. I’d give anything to take back what was said—and done. It was my fault as much as yours. I’m just thankful we didn’t …” She couldn’t finish. The words stuck in her throat, and she swallowed painfully.
His fingers slipped into her hair at the nape of her neck. “I have to disagree with you there, little bluenose. I can’t take back anything I said or did. And
I’m not grateful we didn’t—”
“You told them my name was Little Blue Nose, didn’t you?” she interrupted. She shook her head in reproach. “How could you do that?”
Ever so gently he moved his hand up the back of her neck and let the strands of her hair slide between his fingers. “My people always give a person a name that means something. As far as I’m concerned, you are a little bluestocking, for you’ve studied the natural sciences. To my people that knowledge means strong medicine.”
“What’s wrong with just plain Theodora?”
“Now what does that mean?” he said. He seemed to be goading her.
Self-conscious, she peeked up at him beneath her lowered lids. “In Greek, it means ‘God’s gift.’ ”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Exactly. Somehow I thought you’d prefer the others to call you Little Blue Nose. On second thought, Meatozhessomaheo fits you even better.”
She flushed at the possessiveness in his deep male voice. “And where does the name Blade Stalker come from?”
“Ask Snow Owl. If I told you, you’d think I was boasting.”
“I know you left the tribe when you were only twelve. You certainly couldn’t have earned such a ferocious title at that age.”
“It does sound farfetched, doesn’t it?” he agreed. With his hand entwined in her curls, he pulled her steadily toward him. He kissed her lightly, gently on the mouth. “We’d better go in now,” he murmured against her lips, “or I’ll never get any sleep.”
They entered the lodge to find that Painted Robe had already retired. His place was at the back of the tipi, directly across from the doorway. Four feet or so from his bed on the earthen bench that encircled the lodge was Snow Owl’s mattress. And close by hers lay Tall Boy, who was already sound asleep. Between the mattresses were tripods made of slender painted poles that supported the backrests for each bed. The vacant spaces created by the tripods were used as small cupboards to store various household items. On the opposite wall, two beds were placed close together, each with its own back and footrest. From each of the tripods that supported the rests, a buffalo robe was hung on a beaded leather loop. The robe dropped down to cover the backrest and bed, creating a soft hammock to lean against. Both mattresses were covered with several thick fur robes.
Cherish the Dream Page 26
