Lakota Princess

by Karen Kay

  “But I thought,” she ventured, “that you might have decided to stay here.”

  He gave her a long, considering look. “In what role have you envisioned me?”

  “I—” she choked.

  “Did you intend…?” He still spoke in his native language. “Did you have marriage in mind?”

  She swallowed.

  “I…” She gazed away from him, and then, “Black Bear,” she said. “I’m already married.”

  He merely raised an eyebrow. “Then I suggest,” he said, his voice calm, clear, “that you decide what you will do. For Waste Ho, you are married to me, too.”

  “We never—”

  “We most certainly have, you most certainly did. Did you not state to me that you belonged to me?” He stared steadily at her. “You must decide now which husband you want more. One you do not even know…or me. The choice is yours.”

  “I have no choice. You ask me to break a vow. You must know I cannot do this.”

  He tilted his head back. He stared at her. “I do not know this,” he said at last. “You broke a vow to me. You did this freely and of your own will. What am I to think?”

  “Black Bear, you know that I…I…”

  He waited. He watched. He set his lips together. “I had no choice in that. The Earl of Langsford was my guardian, my friend. He was a father to me at a time when I had none. He saved my life, and not just once. I owed him. I could no more have denied his demand on me than… But you know this. Why do you do this now?”

  He waved his hand, making signs as he spoke in Lakota, “Understand, Waste Ho. This land, these ways here are foreign to me. I grow hungry to see my family and friends. I have little to do here except make love to you. And while this is pleasant, it is not enough. I feel I grow less a man each day. I provide nothing here. What I do here is more easily and better done by others. It is my duty to return home where my strength and my skills are needed. Just as you say you are bound here, I am compelled to return. We go soon. You make choice now.”

  Estrela could not look at him. She blinked away tears. What could she say? She couldn’t ask him to stay. Not now. She couldn’t go.

  She gulped. And turning back to him, she tried to smile, but the gesture came out wobbly. “When do you leave, then?”

  “We stay for the King’s visit. Then we go.”

  “I see.” She glanced away again. “I will tell you my decision then.” She bit her lip. “Couldn’t you just—”

  “Does the goose forget that the gander has a duty to his flock as well as to his mate? True, he mates for life, true; he will love his mate all his life, but he also cares for others in his flock. Does the goose forget that this very protection he provides is his strength? That to take it from him would be as to take away his life?”

  “Black Bear, you are no bird.”

  “The point is the same.”

  She gazed down, stalling. “Perhaps,” she said at length, “the gander misunderstands. Is it possible that the gander does not realize that he might not be gander at all? Could it be that gander might be Eagle instead? That his strength comes not from the flock, but from himself, his mate, his family? Could it be that Eagle could make his own way in life, not depend on others?”

  “Waste Ho,” Black Bear said, signing his words in the language of gestures as he spoke. “You misunderstand. True; Eagle does not draw strength from the group, but you see, Eagle gives the group strength. There is a difference.”

  She closed her eyes. She nodded. And though she felt a sob well up inside of her, she kept her composure. “I will tell you before the King leaves,” she said. “I…” Her voice broke. “I promise.”

  He nodded, and then, because she couldn’t see, he said, “Hau, hau. Good, it is done.”

  He rose from the table and Estrela, her eyes blurred with tears, could not even lift her gaze to watch him leave, his action a mimic of what was to come.

  That she didn’t see his departure, however, was no consolation at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The transformation of Shelburne Hall from a mere beautiful manor to a spectacular castle was nothing short of a miracle. Lights blazed at each window, floors gleamed in the candlelight and each piece of wooden furniture shone under many coats of wax.

  The dining hall, where all the guests were now gathered, stood a masterpiece in tall windows and Grecian architecture.

  There were five huge windows on just one side of the long hall. Each began with a golden arch at its top which rested on white pillars at each side. Heavy red curtains hung luxuriously over the windows and were pulled back at the sides to provide a spectacular view of the landscape. A fire blazed at the head of the room with a fire screen set in front of it to shield those who had the misfortune to be seated close to it.

  Over the black and white marble floor was an enormous red, Chinese rug and upon the rug stood the long dining table, which currently sat what must have been at least fifty guests.

  Servants, twenty in number, each dressed in gold and red, stood to the left of the room, each presiding over a portion of the table.

  The tantalizing smells of roasted lamb and of beef, fish, and game permeated the room, along with the delicate scent of roasted potatoes and vegetables.

  Wine passed from one person to another freely, including sherry, champagne, and Madeira. At least four servants were on hand to do no more than replenish the wine for the obviously thirsty guests.

  Black Bear, having left the table early, stood at the back of the room and stared. He had never seen such a feast as this, and he watched in awe as course after course was served. It had begun with a soup, followed by red mullet and cardinal sauce. Before one was able to finish one dish, the next was served.

  There were servants carrying round platters of lamb cutlets, fish, duckling, roasted turkey, stewed beef, and venison followed by other servants carrying peas, beans or asparagus, desserts of chocolate creme or truffles, tart-tasting ices and, once again, the ever-flowing supply of fine wines.

  Black Bear frowned. This fine culinary display could not distract him from the future.

  Should he continue his efforts to persuade Waste Ho to come with him? The question kept surfacing over and over within his mind. Should he demand that she leave here after experiencing wealth and abundance such as this, he wondered?

  He hadn’t truly meant it when he’d said they were leaving immediately. He had offered it up to Waste Ho as a challenge. He knew he could not leave until he discovered the plot against her life.

  That didn’t, however, keep him from seeking to make her his own.

  Now.

  But as he watched the feast taking place before him he wondered: Was what he asked of Waste Ho the best for her? Should he continue to pressure her to return to his country where, while there was no shortage of food, there was the ever-constant threat of death from either the elements or hostile, enemy tribes?

  He could not provide this sort of luxury for her. He, while wealthy in his own country, did not possess anything like this.

  Which meant what?

  He could not stay. He must not. Much as this life offered security, the longer he stayed here, the less a man he felt. And how he longed for the thrill of home, for the friendly faces of his relatives, for the familiar quiet of the land.

  This was not his home.

  It also was not hers. Or was it?

  As he watched the dinner progress, he was becoming more and more afraid, more and more aware of just what he was asking her to leave behind.

  Was what he demanded the best for her?

  He had come here, knowing he was right, convinced she needed him. And he’d been right. She had needed him. She needed him still, but not in a capacity that fulfilled him.

  He must return.

  Did it mean he would have to leave her?

  Could he?

  He was gambling with her now, gambling that she loved him more than the wealth that surrounded her, more than the vow that boun
d her.

  It was an all-or-nothing game.

  If he lost, he lost all, even himself. For life without Waste Ho would be no life at all. Hadn’t it been so before?

  Wasn’t it Waste Ho who even now brought him happiness? Light?

  But he could not relent.

  Bored, unable to continue in this foreign environment, he had made the gamble.

  And now he had to stand by it.

  He sighed.

  He’d come to this land thinking that she was still one of his people, that, once he had wooed her back to him again, she would want to return home, to the prairie. But he had reckoned without realizing what wealth existed here. Even he was tempted by all that he saw. How could he ask her to leave it, when she could have it all?

  Was he doing the right thing?

  He didn’t know anymore. He just didn’t know and the uncertainty of it was as unusual as it was an unpleasant experience for him.

  He glanced around him.

  Waste Ho had not yet arrived to the dinner. He didn’t understand why this was. He had thought at first that she might be sick, but upon questioning Anna, he had learned that this was not the case. He could make no sense of it. Waste Ho strove to make others feel comfortable and yet being this late, even to the Indian, was considered ill-mannered.

  In view of the fact that their English sovereign sat here in this very room, this did not make sense to him.

  Black Bear had, himself, been correctly on time although he had chosen to eat very little. If he were to meet the King tonight, he might need his strength. And because he had been trained all his life into warring, he knew that too much consumption of food could weaken the mind and slacken the body’s reflexes to a point where it made one act as though dispirited. And so, he had refrained.

  Black Bear gazed down at himself as he stood to the side of the crowded room. He still dressed in the style of the English, wearing black tights, black boots, and a white, linen shirt under a black coat. Tonight, especially, he had worn his best, adorning that best with his usual bone choker instead of a cravat, beaded earrings at his ears and a fur-wrapped braid on one side of his head. The other side of his hair he had left hanging loosely to his waist, his attempt at pronouncing his duality in culture.

  Black Bear stood against the wall of the room with his two friends beside him, who, themselves, had also chosen to watch the dinner patty rather than participate. Their observations alone would make for tales that would enlighten many an evening when they returned home.

  As the evening wore on, however, Black Bear despaired more and more.

  He loved Waste Ho more than life itself. But if she stayed here, he still had no choice but to leave. It was a possibility he had never, not once, considered. He had always, even during his gloomiest mood, known he would somehow take her home with him.

  This was the first time he had truly been uncertain.

  And Black Bear didn’t like it.

  He didn’t like it at all.

  Estrela sat in her room, unwilling to go down to dinner, yet unwilling to stay where she was.

  She sat at her vanity, wearing the finest clothes she had, a white frock of thin muslin with only a chemise beneath. She had tied a pink satiny sash beneath her breasts and wore a white pelisse over the dress. She had left her hair down, the long splendor of it sparkling in pale curls down her back.

  White satin slippers covered her feet, and as Estrela sat at her dark, mahogany vanity, she stared at the reflection of a girl she no longer knew.

  Who was she, really?

  Was she truly a Princess? She didn’t feel it.

  Was she Indian?

  She could find no trace of the culture in her appearance.

  She felt neither, outside both cultures. And it wasn’t a good feeling.

  She didn’t belong—anywhere.

  Duty demanded she stay. Her heart begged her to go.

  What was she to do?

  Could she live without Black Bear?

  No. She could not. She might exist. She could not “live.”

  Could she break a vow?

  She could, but again, she would merely exist. Without self-worth, what did one have?

  Black Bear, her heart answered, and Estrela closed her eyes.

  Why not go with him? Hadn’t fate pushed her in that direction since he had arrived? She had tried to deny him, but at every turn, circumstances had brought him closer to her, not further away.

  No, she demanded of herself. She could not do it. She had promised the Earl. And not just any promise. It was a vow he had taken with him into death. It was a vow she could not lightly break.

  She dropped to her knees before her vanity and with her head lifted to the heavens, arms open wide, she prayed, but whether to the English God or to Wakan Tanka, God of the Lakotas, she didn’t know. And in her prayers, she begged the Earl to forgive her.

  Tears fell softly down her face as Estrela at last came to see the truth. She could not leave Black Bear. She would not.

  It was a startling thing to learn about herself: that Black Bear, his happiness, his well-being meant more to her than her own self-respect.

  As she glanced upward, her gaze catching on her wardrobe, she knew what she would do.

  It was an odd feeling.

  Her mind suddenly cleared. Able to take direction now, she knew her only course of action.

  But before she rose, before she readied herself to go down to dinner, she closed her eyes, begging the old Earl to release her from a vow that had almost destroyed her happiness, her life.

  Tears streaming down her face, the wind suddenly chose that moment to push open the doors.

  As the breeze brushed past her, jostling back her hair, ruffling her frock, she could have sworn she heard the old Earl forgive her.

  At long last, Estrela stood released.

  A hush fell over the assembled crowd. No one stirred. No one spoke. Not even the sound of tinkling silverware marred the silence.

  Estrela stepped a foot farther into the dining room, and as she did so a gasp was heard as loudly as if it had been shouted.

  Black Bear glanced over to the entrance.

  He gazed. He shut his eyes, unable to mask the emotion in his expression. In truth, as the moments flicked by, he stood, eyes closed, one single tear welled up in his eye.

  He barely breathed for fear he was hallucinating. But at last he opened his eyes and looked.

  She stood, there at the entrance, her glance lowered in quiet, Indian modesty.

  She stood dressed in all the splendor and wealth of the plains Indian. Her gown, which he remembered from years ago, was fashioned from the finest of elk skin, the dress decorated from top to bottom with elk’s teeth and ending in beaded fringe at the bottom of the selvage. Among the plains Indians, this was the most prized of all dresses. On her feet she wore blue and red beaded moccasins, white quills adding definition and further accenting the colors there.

  She had wrapped a beautifully quilled and designed buffalo robe around her shoulders, and her hair was braided neatly at the sides of her face. Blue, red, and yellow beaded earrings fell from her earlobes, and in the part of her hair, she had painted the flesh there, red, as was the Indian fashion.

  Black Bear moved forward. He stopped.

  Tears marred his vision making his passage difficult, but at last, Black Bear strode to her, and there, in front of the whole assembly, Waste Ho threw her robe; Indian-style, around him.

  It was the way of Indian courting. She knew it. He knew it.

  And as she wrapped the robe around him, he bent his head toward her, his lips finding hers, gently at first, and then, as the kiss wore on, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, feeling her, loving her.

  The robe slipped to the floor, neither she nor Black Bear noticing. In truth, neither of them caring.

  Neither was aware of anyone else in the room.

  No, this was between them. This was the fulfillment of a vow, the original vow made by t
hem before any other being had come between them.

  “I love you,” she said, whispered, and he nodded. In truth, Black Bear couldn’t have spoken at this moment had he tried.

  So Black Bear didn’t try. He just looked, he admired, closing his eyes against the overpowering emotion that coursed through him.

  At last he said to her, “I will care for you, love you always. I will give you all of me.” He gulped. “This I promise.”

  And Estrela couldn’t help it.

  She cried.

  Right there before the King of England, before the Queen, before all assembled, she cried.

  He cried.

  And if there were many in the crowd who felt the power of their emotions, no one said a word.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Oh, that’s quite another thing! That’s quite another thing!”

  King William watched the proceedings from his position at the head of the table with something akin to glee. “I say, are they all Indians?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, and no.” It was the Duke of Colchester who spoke up beside him.

  “Ah,” His Majesty said. “Exactly so, exactly so. I do so like such definitive answers.” The old gentleman, bubbling, his round eyes even wider, suddenly squinted and laughed. “What do you mean, yes and no?”

  “Well, you see, Your Majesty,” the Duke of Colchester tried to explain. “The three dark-haired gentlemen there, two of them dress like Indians and are Indians, and the other—well, he, too, is Indian, though he doesn’t dress as one. But then you can see that for yourself. And then the blond, well, she’s not truly Indian, though she grew up with them, but she’s dressed like one, although she isn’t really, although she was with them, but she’s not really…” The Duke cleared his throat. “Now do you understand?”

  King William, although not known as one of the greatest Kings of England, was not cruel. He had a natural enthusiasm about him that could endear him to most people and he enjoyed a good laugh, even at his own expense.

  He sat now, watching the Duke of Colchester and without much warning, he suddenly burst out in laughter. “Well,” he said, “now that I understand absolutely nothing, won’t you tell me what it is that you mean?”