Taking the tin cup, Emma took a cautious sip. The brew was strong and sweet, and utterly unexpected. Her brow lifted in surprise. “Tea?”
A faint smile crossed Star Dreamer’s lips. “My mother’s favorite.”
Emma closed her eyes and savored each sweet, wonderful swallow. When she was done, she cradled the warm tin cup in her hands. This small kindness wasn’t what she’d expected. If she were to accept her status as a slave, which she did not, she’d have expected anger and blame.
Watching the fire die down, she felt mesmerized by the orange-red flames. It had been a long day, one filled with emotional upheaval. Setting the cup down, she fought a yawn and lost. With the warmth of the fire surrounding her, bathing her in its cocoon of warmth, all she cared about was laying her head down to sleep. Her vision blurred. When Star Dreamer touched her shoulder, Emma started.
Placing a wooden bowl of steaming water beside her, the other woman spoke, “You will feel better if you wash first. I will be back.”
From the water, Emma took out a small beige cloth and rubbed it between her fingers. It wasn’t woven material but it was incredibly soft. “Thank you,” she murmured. As soon as Star Dreamer left, Emma roused herself. On her knees, she patted her sunburned face carefully, then applied the same care to her arms and the scabbing wounds around her wrists. Whether they healed with or without scars, she knew she’d never forget the days of brutality and the sheer terror of Yellow Dog’s torturous game with his knife.
The shudders rose from deep inside her. Her fingers trembled and her throat tightened with remembered fear. She closed her eyes and fought the feeling. “He’s dead. Gone.” Speaking the words aloud gave her an enormous amount of comfort but the damage of those horrible days was irreversible. Breaking free from the despair sliding over her like a dark cloak, Emma removed her soiled and ruined stockings and scrubbed her legs clean from her thighs down to her toes harder than was needed.
Staring at her raggedly torn skirt and pieced-together bodice, she hesitated. If she took off her dress, there was a good chance she’d never get it back on and secure. As it was, she’d had to tear more strips off her hem to keep the bodice secure as the material continued to tear downward. With a sigh, she adjusted the tied strips and washed the best she could without removing the dress.
Not knowing when Star Dreamer would return or where she was to sleep, Emma turned her attention to her hair. With no brush, she used her fingers to comb through the hopelessly snarled strands. It didn’t do much good. There was just too much dust and dirt in her hair. She needed to wash it.
The flap opened, letting in a stream of cool air. Emma scrambled to her feet, but it was only Star Dreamer returning. The woman handed Emma a long dress made of softened deer hide. “This belongs to my sister. I will leave you to change. Tomorrow, you can bathe in the river and wash your hair.”
Emma stroked the dress in her arms. Like the washcloth she’d used, the garment was butter-soft, pale brown and absolutely beautiful. She held it up, loving the way the fringe dangled from the hem, the yoke and from the sleeves. She fingered the various lengths of fringe then traced one finger along the scalloped yoke. She longed to shed her dirty and disreputable dress and slip into the incredible softness in her arms. Yet, she couldn’t. To accept it, and wear it in favor of her own dress, meant accepting her role as a captive, a slave. That she would not do. Her dress might be in shreds but not her pride and dignity. No one could take that from her.
She handed the dress back then clasped her hands behind her back. “Thank you, but I cannot accept this.” A long silence filled the tipi. Fearing she’d hurt the other woman’s feelings after receiving nothing but consideration and kindness, Emma softened her rejection by adding, “It’s very beautiful.”
Star Dreamer stared at her for long moments. Emma stood her ground. Finally, Star turned aside and set the dress down. “As you wish.” Quickly, she spread a pile of furs along one side of the tipi. “Lie down so I may tend your face and wrists. Then, you will sleep. We start our day early.”
Emma stretched out on the soft cloud of fur beneath her. While Star Dreamer gently massaged a brownish ointment onto her wrists, she told Emma what to expect come the new day. Barely listening, only bits and pieces penetrated the thickening fog closing in on her. “Preparing the buffalo hides, filling water pouches, gathering firewood, grinding cherries, caring for children—”
It all swam together and made no sense to Emma who could not focus on what Striking Thunder’s sister was saying. By the time Star Dreamer finished her wrists and arms, Emma, unable to remain awake, fell into a deep sleep, hardly aware of Star’s gentle fingers smoothing healing salve over her face.
When she’d done all she could to ease Emma’s injuries, Star Dreamer pulled a thick buffalo-fur robe over the white girl whom she’d seen in her visions. Fetching another thick fur, she draped it around her own shivering shoulders as she stared down at Emma. One day, she’d be family; her tanke, sister-in-law. Thinking of Striking Thunder, she smiled. The attraction between them was there. But accepting his future, his fate, ah, that would not come easily or without pain. Moving back to her spot near the fire, she sat huddled beneath the fur’s warmth. As the quiet of the night descended, her gaze darted around the shadows of the tipi, seeing past images of her husband. Fresh waves of grief oozed through her veins.
She closed her eyes but quickly opened them when the familiar and nightmarish visions of the past few weeks replayed themselves: the attack of the hunting party, her own husband’s death and, finally, the white girl with red hair riding free across the prairie.
Moaning and rocking, she wished Two-Ree were there to comfort her. She hated the gift of sight, fought the onslaught of visions, but most of the time, it did no good. And as the event they warned of grew closer, the visions grew in intensity, came uninvited and without warning. And often, by the time she figured out the hidden meanings, saw what the spirits were trying to tell her with her heart and mind, it was too late.
Like Yellow Dog’s attack. By the time she’d warned her brother, it’d been too late and as a result, she’d lost her husband. Guilt mingled with grief. She’d failed. Not only herself and her brother, but her people. If only…
Star dropped her head onto her updrawn knees as silent tears streamed down her face. How could she ever hope to make up for the loss of her children’s father? Two-Ree had been a loving, kind and gentle father and husband. Turning her face to one side, she glanced at two small, empty pallets near the back of the tipi. Her children were with her mother and father. She wished they were here. She needed to hold them close. Thinking of Morning Moon and Running Elk, a new worry plagued her—raising them alone.
Perhaps she should accept her brother-in-law’s offer to take her as his second wife. It was oftentimes the custom when a woman lost her husband. But as quickly as the thought entered, Star discarded it. She had no desire to marry ever again. She had her children, had already seen them as strong, healthy adults and knew she had nothing to fear for them. But her heart? She’d never risk losing her heart to another, not as long as she retained the gift of sight.
How she longed to be like everyone else. Other women had the advantage of being blissfully unaware of their husband’s, son’s or daughter’s deaths. Not her. She’d seen her husband’s mortal wounding, felt his pain and the loss of his spirit leaving his body. A cry tore at her throat. No. Never would she go through that again.
Her gaze fell on her sleeping guest. While her visions of this woman were sketchy, she’d known that Emma would be important to their people—and not just for revenge as her brother thought. For that reason, she hadn’t said anything to her brother, choosing instead to confide in her husband. If Striking Thunder had known that Emma would one day become his wife, he would never have gone after her. The thought made her smile and forget her own problems for a few precious moments.
Her elder brother was much too serious. She knew him well, knew that he denied himself e
ven the simplest of needs in his quest to put duty first. This woman would teach him much about himself. She also sensed that Emma wasn’t what she appeared to be, that she, too, would change and find herself.
Emma moaned in her sleep. “Renny—” The name fell from her lips.
Responding to the desperation in Emma’s voice, the edges of Star’s sight blurred, grayed as a vision took hold. She whimpered, protested. Too many. Too fast. But tonight she was just too tired and spent emotionally to fight them. She closed her eyes and braced herself for more nightmarish revelations of the future.
But this one was different, new, fresh. In her mind’s eye, she saw a young girl running across the prairie. She was fast, her legs a blur as she ran in wild abandon. She had red hair, darker, like the burning embers in a fire. As Star watched, the child cried out in glee.
Star smiled and relaxed and absorbed the images and the colors of emotion. The girl was playing with other children—Indian children—her laughter rang out as they all collapsed onto their backs to watch soft white clouds scroll across the blue sky. The appearance of her brother surprised her until she saw him take the child up onto horseback and ride off with her.
Then the vision cleared, bringing with it a sense of peace. Star moved around the fire and tucked the fur around Emma’s shoulders, grateful to know that soon, the two sisters would be reunited. “Shhh,” she whispered, “your sister is safe.” As if she heard the words in her sleep, Emma calmed.
Outside, ignoring the storm, Tanagila paced furiously in the dark, her long black hair whipping side to side. No one, especially some white woman, would take Striking Thunder from her. At fifteen winters, she was now a woman and was determined to take her sister’s place as Striking Thunder’s second wife. Her brother, Waho, four winters older, had told her why the woman was here, as bait, but that didn’t reassure Tanagila. She had only to look upon Striking Thunder’s mother to know the dangers of a white woman’s presence in their village. Striking Thunder could decide to follow in his father’s path.
“What is wrong, Tanagila?”
The deep, husky voice startled her from her thoughts. She spun around to see a warrior of medium height and build step from the shadows.
Tatankaota, whose name meant “many buffalos,” approached, moving on silent feet. “Why do you wander alone in the dark? It is not safe to be out here.”
Tanagila’s heart sped up but she didn’t make much of it. He’d just startled her, that was all. His gaze roamed over her and it pleased her to know he wanted her for his wife. He was one of the most handsome warriors in their village with his strong jaw, high cheekbones and long hawkish nose.
Tatankaota had already made several offers to her father for her, more than any other warrior, but even before her sister was murdered, Tanagila had held hopes of becoming Striking Thunder’s second wife. Oftentimes, sisters of the first wife were secured to help the first wife with the many chores and give her companionship when the warriors were out hunting, or warring.
“You were not at your tipi when I came to speak to you.” He lifted his arm to reveal his blanket.
Tanagila eyed the blanket and frowned. “I am not in the mood to talk this night. I have much to think about.” In reality, she did not want to encourage him. At first, the attention she’d received from him since becoming a woman had pleased her. But his persistence was driving her other suitors away.
Tatankaota squared his shoulders. “I made another offer for you this night.”
Frowning, Tanagila chewed her lower lip. Her father was urging her to marry, and Tatankaota, five winters her senior, seemed the most persistent. “I do not wish to marry. I’ve told my father this.”
The warrior, far from being discouraged, grinned. “I’ve waited long for you, Tanagila. I will wait until you are ready.” He looked pleased with himself. “Do you not want to know my offer?”
Curious but refusing to show it, she shrugged. “It matters not. I won’t marry you or any other warrior.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Even our chief?” His voice dipped, showing the first hint that he wasn’t as calm or patient as he pretended.
Her gaze snapped to his. “That is not your concern, Tatankaota.”
His confident grin reappeared. “Ah, but it is. You will marry me and only me. I’ve offered six horses and six buffalo hides as well as some of the white man’s tobacco that your father loves. He stepped forward, shook out his blanket and wrapped it around her damp shoulders. Drawing her close, he brushed her lips with his.
Tanagila’s head fell back before she realized what she was doing. His lips touched the pulsing hollow at her throat then trailed up the taut skin to her jaw.
“I won’t—” His mouth stopped her flow of words when he claimed her lips in a kiss that lasted no longer than a heartbeat.
“It is not thoughts of our chief that stir your blood, kechuwa, Tanagila, my darling hummingbird, who tries to flit from flower to flower.” Lifting his head, he ran a finger down the gentle slope of her nose. “Think upon my offer. Don’t keep me waiting long. We are wasting needless time. I want you.”
Watching him disappear into the darkness, Tanagila felt torn and confused by his actions. Realizing he’d done this to her purposely, she narrowed her gaze, angry at his underhanded methods. She vowed not to have anything to do with Tatankaota, and she’d ask her father to reject his very generous offer.
Chapter Eleven
The sound of a hushed childish voice lured Emma from a deep sleep. She smiled. Renny, habitually up before the sun, always bounded into her sister’s bedroom to wake her. “Go ’way, Renny,” she moaned, “it’s much too early.” After going so long on so little sleep, she longed to remain abed the rest of the day.
Renny! Emma bolted upright, eyes blurred and heart pounding. “Renny?” she called, glancing around the circular enclosure. It took a few minutes to orient herself, and remember. When her eyes focused, she spotted two children, a young girl and boy, watching her solemnly from the open flap of the tipi. Both had straight black hair. Her back slumped. No Renny.
Emma closed her eyes against the sting of tears and dropped her forehead onto her knees, willing herself to be strong. A soft touch to her shoulder made her glance up warily. A young girl, around Renny’s age, stood in front of her, staring down at her with compassion. The expression reminded her of the way Star Dreamer had looked at her the night before, so she assumed this girl was her daughter and the boy her son. Looking into those dark eyes that were watching her so intently, Emma had the strangest feeling this child knew how she felt. Not wanting to frighten the girl, Emma forced a smile. “What is your name?”
There was no answer. The boy, around five, shouted something then ran outside while the girl moved to a pallet next to Emma’s and sat. Wondering what she should do, Emma stood, remembering first to check her torn bodice and adjust it. Her gaze fell upon the beautiful dress Star Dreamer had offered her last night. She regretted not accepting it; her own dress was soiled beyond repair and wouldn’t last much longer.
Using her fingers, she attempted unsuccessfully to untangle her long tresses. Once again, the girl came to her and this time, she held out a comb. Nodding in thanks, Emma took it and ran it through her hair. Feeling only slightly better, she went to stand in the open flap. Her stomach fluttered with nervous anxiety. What was expected of her? She had no idea what to do next.
Once again, her silent watcher came to her rescue by pushing past her and taking her hand to lead her out into the bitterly cold morning. Emma shivered as the air seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, reminding her that winter was fast approaching. Their destination was the river. At the water’s edge, Emma spotted a small clump of bushes. Grateful for the privacy, she ducked behind them and relieved herself, using her skirts as a shield. After, she knelt on the wet bank and splashed water over her face, then rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands and arms.
“You may bathe if you like.”
Emma glanced o
ver her shoulder at Star Dreamer, who stood next to her daughter. At a softly spoken word from her mother, the child left. Turning her attention back to the water, Emma longed to scrub her body clean of the grime that clung to her, but wasn’t about to strip out in the open or enter that cold water. She’d catch her death for sure—if she didn’t drown. The river wasn’t large but it moved quickly and looked to be deep in the center. She shook her head.
“Too cold. I’m fine.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Striking Thunder approaching.
Overhearing her refusal to bathe, he frowned. “My people bathe each day. You will join them each morning.” He stopped next to his sister.
Emma noted both he and his sister had straight shiny black hair and eyes the color of richly turned earth. She tilted her chin. “I won’t bathe in water so cold. I’ll catch my death for sure.” Lifting a brow, she added, “And you surely wouldn’t want that.”
Striking Thunder lifted a brow in warning, then pointed to her dress as he addressed his sister in their guttural language. Whatever Star Dreamer replied, it made Striking Thunder’s brows lower in displeasure. He folded his arms across his chest “You were given clean garments last night, were you not?”
Emma’s hands fluttered to her chest, self-conscious of the state of her dress but pride dictated that she remain firm to keep what little independence she had. “I prefer to wear my own clothes.”
Black brows shot up. Striking Thunder strode forward until only a few feet separated them. “Were you not warned to do as you are told?”
Emma glanced away.
He forced her to look at him by tipping her chin up with one finger. “You will bathe, then change into the clothing given to you. And when Wi shows her face once again, you will rise with the others and bathe.”
White Flame Page 12
