Ridge wanted to offer him hope, but Fast Elk would recognize his words as a lie. "What of Winona's son?" he asked instead.
"He is Lakota."
"Winona wishes to take him to her white home."
Fast Elk's eyes flashed. "No. He will learn the ways of a warrior as his father did."
"But you said you will not win the war."
"It does not matter. To die honorably in battle is our way."
"She loves him."
"Then she must do what is best for him." Fast Elk turned and strode away noiselessly.
But who was to say what was best for Chayton? Emma wouldn't leave her son without a fight.
Ridge patted Paint's neck and headed back to his lodge. Again, he could sense suspicious eyes on him and knew someone, maybe even Fast Elk, was observing him.
He passed two young squaws who kept peeking at him and giggling. He smiled and tipped his hat toward them, which resulted in more laughter and more heated looks. If Ridge was ten years younger, he might've fished for an invitation, but there was only one woman who tempted him now.
And she was the one woman he couldn't have.
Ridge dropped the last armload of wood beside the lodge and grinned as he listened to Emma give her son, who'd awakened feeling better, strict orders to stay out of trouble. From what Ridge could recall, that meant a challenge to see how much trouble the boy could get into without his ma finding out.
"Kids are tougher'n they look," Ridge commented as Chayton ran off, his limp barely noticeable.
Emma made a face. "Especially that one."
Ridge chuckled and sat down by the fire. Emma bent her head over her task and one honey-brown braid fell across her shoulder and draped down the front of her deerskin tunic. He could see a hint of her bare knee between the top of her moccasins and the bottom of her dress.
"Are you wearing your knife?" Ridge asked.
Emma glanced up. "Yes." She turned her attention back to sewing beads upon a shirt.
Ridge picked up a stick and drew random letters and numbers in the dirt. "I got the impression you and Hotah have a history."
She wrestled with her bone needle, forcing it through a double layer of deerskin. "You're an observant man, Mr. Madoc."
"You're trying to change the subject, Winona." He tossed his stick on the small fire. "Don't you think you've kept enough secrets from me already?"
Her cheeks flushed. "Hotah never liked me. He would taunt me, call me names, when no one was around. I didn't tell anyone." She shrugged. "After I married Enapay, Hotah stopped bothering me, but I could tell he still didn't like me."
"Did he ever hurt you?" Ridge asked, rage simmering in his veins.
"No, but I never felt comfortable around him." She smoothed her hand across the soft deerhide she'd laid in her lap. "Talutah said Hotah wants to be Chayton's teacher."
"But Chayton's part white."
"I know." She shook her head, bewildered. "It doesn't make sense, unless it's his way of hurting me."
"Can't Fast Elk choose someone else?"
"He could, but there may not be anyone else." Emma squared her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. I'm taking Chayton with me when we leave."
Ridge didn't tell her that Fast Elk wouldn't allow it. Besides, the stubborn set of her jaw told him it would do no good to argue.
Captain Colt Rivers lowered himself to a log beside the campfire, carefully balancing the tin cup of hot coffee. He resisted the urge to stare into the flames and lose himself in their hypnotic flickering. Instead, he pressed his flat-brimmed cavalry hat back and gazed at the stars, picking out Orion, the Big Dipper, and the North Star.
Strange how some things never changed, like the stars, and the rising and setting of the sun. The day-to-day struggles, like birth and death, survival, and the gut-deep pain of losing a loved one didn't so much as make time blink from one moment to the next.
He took a deep breath of the night-fresh air, hoping to blunt the crushing ache in his chest. He'd been married for less than a year, but even after three years, he missed her. He'd gotten drunk for a week after it happened and nobody had dared approach him during that time but Ridge Madoc. He owed the man his life and his sanity.
So why was he following an order he knew his friend would hate? Because, Colt thought bitterly, he was in the army and had to obey his orders no matter how much they rankled him.
Sergeant Gabe Sanders strolled over to join him, easing his considerable frame down beside Colt. "Four guards are set up with changeover every two hours, sir."
Colt nodded at the man who was at least ten years older than himself, and who had experienced most everything a soldier could. "We're in Lakota Territory now."
"Yes, sir," Sanders said neutrally, not meeting Colt's gaze.
Colt sighed. "Spit it out, Gabe."
The sergeant held his big hands up to the fire. "Why the hell are we doing this? So what if a few Indians got away and came up here. Ain't nobody cared before."
Colt stared off into the darkness as he answered in a voice that bordered on sarcasm. "General Mason is coming to visit the fort and Colonel Nyes wants him to think he's got everything under control."
Gabe snorted. "Brown-nosin' son of a bitch."
Colt wasn't surprised by Gabe's contempt. There was no love lost between the seasoned sergeant and the ass-kissing colonel. Bound by military protocol, Colt had to keep his agreement with the sergeant's opinion to himself. "It doesn't change our orders. Bring 'em back, dead or alive."
"Dead, if Cullen's got any say."
Icy apprehension settled between Colt's shoulder blades, and he looked around, searching for the scout. "Cullen's acting too damned sure of himself, like he's got a secret. I have a feeling he and the colonel had a chat before we left."
"Nyes wants another Sand Creek," Gabe stated flatly.
"And I'm his scapegoat if things go south."
"Cullen can't do much by himself and if he starts shootin', I'll kill him myself."
Colt suppressed a smile, but couldn't hide it from his voice. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that, soldier."
"Pretend all you want, Cap'n. I ain't going to have the blood of womenfolk and young 'uns on my hands."
"Nobody will if I can help it."
Another soldier joined them, sitting across the fire on another log.
"Our illustrious scout is missing, sir," Lieutenant Preston Wylie announced softly, his Carolina drawl more apparent than usual.
"Dammit! Any idea when he disappeared?" Colt demanded in a low voice.
"His horse was corralled with the others at supper-time. An hour later and it was gone, sir."
"Maybe we're closer than we thought," Gabe commented, his gray eyes glinting silver.
"What can one man do by himself?" Preston asked.
"Not much," Colt replied. "But with a rattlesnake, you never can tell."
"I can try to pick up his trail," Gabe offered.
Colt thought for a moment, then shook his head. "You'll end up stumbling around in the dark and one of the guards might have an itchy trigger finger. No, we'll just let Cullen hang himself."
"If he does," Preston added quietly. "As much as I abhor the degenerate, he always seems to land on his feet. And if you confront him about his departure, he will probably tell you he was merely doing his job and reconnoitering the area."
Although he hated to admit it, Colt recognized the truth in Pres's fancy speech. For a moment, Colt idly wondered anew about the lieutenant's background. Pres never spoke about his past, but it was obvious he had come from a family who could afford an expensive education. It was also clear he was from the South, but had chosen to fight on the Union side.
"Pres is right," Colt said. "There's nothing we can do about him. Yet."
"What if he stumbles upon Ridge?" Pres asked.
"Ridge can take care of himself, son," Gabe reassured.
They were friends of Ridge, and knew of the animosity between him and Cullen. By now, Ridge should've found Emma Hartwell and
returned the woman to her father. At least, Colt hoped so. He had no wish to run into Ridge. Although he was a good friend, Colt didn't agree with his friend's views on the Indians. Not that Colt would ever condone a massacre, but sometimes force was required to contain the savages.
Maybe if they'd killed a few more down in Texas, Colt's wife would still be alive.
Emma awakened early the following morning to cramps in her lower belly. She restrained a groan and carefully extricated herself from the buffalo blankets so she wouldn't wake Chayton. Quietly, she crawled over to a pile of small animal skins and picked out two, as well as some rawhide laces. She stood and walked bent over at the waist to the closed flap.
"Everything all right, Emma?" Ridge asked in a low voice.
"Fine," she reassured quickly, her face warming with embarrassment.
Emma slipped out of the tipi, surprised to see Talutah already up and coaxing the cookfire back to life. She nodded toward her adopted mother and the older woman returned a smile. But Talutah's smile faded when she noticed the skins in Emma's hands.
Emma would've preferred that nobody learned of her condition. In a Lakota village, when a woman had her monthly, she had to stay in a lodge set apart from the rest of the tipis.
However, she wanted to stay near Chayton. How could she do as Lakota beliefs demanded when her son was in danger?
Her hands trembling, Emma merely ducked her head and hurried into the brush. At least her joining with Ridge hadn't resulted in a baby, and for that, she was grateful.
Talutah stood in Emma's path on the way back to her lodge.
"Gather what you will need and go," Talutah said softly. Emma stiffened her spine. "I cannot. I must stay with Chayton."
"I will watch Chayton."
Emma's heart pounded with fear and she clenched her fists at her sides. "I dreamt of danger for him."
"He will be safe among the People."
She thought of Hotah and wasn't so certain. "Will he? I'm afraid."
Talutah patted her cheek. "Do not worry about that which you cannot control, Winona."
How many times had Talutah given her the same advice over the years? But just as with all the other times, Emma doubted if she'd be able to heed it.
"Chayton will stay with Ridge, if he agrees," Emma said.
She ducked back into her tipi and found Ridge sitting by the small fire. Keeping her face averted, she gathered her sewing items and placed them in a hide pouch.
"I have to go away for a few days," she finally spoke to Ridge, although she didn't meet his gaze.
"Why?"
If a Lakota had asked her the question, she wouldn't have been so mortified. But Ridge was white, and they'd been raised in the same culture, in a society that didn't speak of such personal matters.
"I have to go to the women's lodge," she said rapidly.
"Oh."
Now she did turn to him and almost smiled at the deep flush on his face that she was certain matched her own. "I should be back in two or three days. Could you—"
"I'll take care of him, Emma," Ridge answered the anticipated question without hesitation.
"Thank you," she whispered past the lump in her throat. It would be impossible not to worry about Chayton, but with her son in Ridge's capable hands, she wouldn't fret nearly as much.
Ridge rose and approached her. When he cupped her jaw and his thumb brushed her cheek, Emma closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Over the past two weeks, she'd come to trust this man more than any other. He was proud, steadfast, and stubborn, but wasn't afraid to be tender and vulnerable with her. She knew confessing his reading and writing problems had been more than difficult—it had required trust in her and she felt humbled by that trust.
"I'll miss you," Ridge said, his voice husky. Then he kissed her forehead. "You'd best go before you're accused of stealing the medicine man's power."
Emma's eyes widened slightly. He obviously understood as much about Lakota beliefs as she did. Although curious about his past, it was the tender press of his lips on her brow that stayed with her long after she entered the seclusion of the women's lodge.
Throughout the day Ridge kept his distance from Chayton and the other children, but always ensured he had a clear view of Emma's son. He didn't mind the task, and actually enjoyed the boy's antics. Even though he was half-white, and wasn't the biggest or the oldest, Chayton tended to be a leader among the young children. He excelled at the games they played and often won, but even if he didn't, he never grew short-tempered or angry.
Chayton resembled his mother, from his stubborn chin to his flashing amber eyes. Occasionally, Ridge would catch an expression or a mannerism that reminded him of Emma's, and some unexplainable emotion would tighten his chest.
He found himself debating whether he had the right to convince Emma to leave Chayton behind. How would he feel if Chayton were his son? Would anybody be able to convince him that his child was better off with somebody else?
After Chayton ate some of Talutah's stew at noon, Ridge guided him into Emma's lodge to take a short nap. Ridge sat cross-legged on his pile of buffalo skins, a knife and piece of wood in his hand as he carved and kept watch over the boy. He'd promised Emma he would protect him, and he had no intention of breaking that promise.
Chayton slept for an hour, and then was ready to rejoin his young friends in the warm spring day again. Before he could escape, Ridge removed the bandanna from the boy's forehead and examined the injury. The bump was red and angry-looking beneath the gash, but fortunately it looked like it had decreased in size. By the time Emma returned, the swelling should be nearly gone and only a faded bruise and scab remaining. Since the wound would heal better in the open air, Ridge didn't replace the cloth.
"I want you to be careful not to fall on your head again, cub," Ridge warned the boy in Lakota.
Chayton giggled. "I am not a bear or wolf."
Ridge tousled the boy's hair, which was the color and texture of Emma's. "But you are a cub, cub," he teased. Suddenly not looking forward to sitting around the rest of the afternoon, Ridge asked, "Would you like to see if we can track down a wolf or a bear?"
Chayton's eyes widened. "Maybe I will find a wolf like Dakota."
Ridge chuckled and led the boy toward the river. It would be the best place to find tracks and begin Chayton's education in identifying animal's paw prints. Ridge slowed his pace considerably so the small boy could keep up with him.
As they walked, Ridge would stop and show Chayton different plants, giving their names both in Lakota and English, and explain to him how they were used by the People. The boy took the lessons seriously, repeating Ridge's words in both languages' and taking the time to study the plants' leaves and flowers.
They passed by Chayton's group of playmates and, although they called out to him to join them, Chayton refused. He told them his leksi was teaching him many new things. Although Chayton's voice was smug, there was also pride, which made Ridge wish he truly could be the boy's uncle.
By the river's edge, Ridge squatted down and was immediately joined by the boy, who copied his pose, down to the elbow on the knee and chin in his hand. Ridge focused on the animal track in the mud. "What does this look like, Chayton?"
The boy's lips puckered as he thought. "A dog?"
"Look closer."
He leaned down so his nose was only a scant few inches from the mud. "Not enough toes."
Ridge grinned. "That's right, cub. A dog has only four, this one has five. And there is some webbing, too. And look at the line in the mud behind it—that's where its tail dragged. If you trail it backward, you'll probably find something else, too." Ridge rose and slowly backed up until he found what he sought. He pointed to the small pile of droppings. "See the shiny things in it?"
Chayton gazed at the scat and nodded.
"Those are fish scales. This animal swims in the water and eats fish, but also comes out onto land."
The boy's eyes lit up. "Pta."
Ridge's s
mile broadened. "That's right, Chayton. Pta, which means 'otter' in the white man's language."
"Aa-ter," Chayton repeated.
"That's right. Otter. Shall we find more?"
They found numerous signs of spring—prints of mice, porcupines, beavers, and even a blue heron. Nearly a mile upriver from the village, Ridge spotted small hoof indentations in the dirt.
"Tahca," Chayton spoke up.
"Yes. Tahca. 'Deer.'"
"Deer," the boy repeated, then scrunched up his face. "Why must I learn the whites' language?"
"Because you carry wasicu blood."
Chayton thought about that for a moment, then Ridge could almost see him shrug. The youngster skipped after the trail the deer had left behind. Ridge followed, allowing the boy to find more signs on his own.
A horse's approach caused both Ridge and Chayton to pause as the horse and rider neared them. Ridge squared his stance and hooked his thumbs over his belt.
"Hotah," Ridge greeted with a nod.
The stocky warrior, wearing only a breechclout and moccasins, peered down at him. "You have wandered far from camp."
Ridge shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn't realize I couldn't leave. Me and Chayton here were just doing some tracking."
"I want to find a wolf like the one Leksi told me about,"
Chayton announced to Hotah, although his adoring gaze remained on Ridge.
Hotah's jaw clenched and the knuckles of his hand that held his reins whitened. He narrowed his eyes, but the anger shown clearly through the slits. "What does a wasicu know about tracking?"
"As much as he knows about horse racing." Ridge smiled darkly.
Hotah's face reddened with rage.
"What are you really doing here, Hotah?" Ridge asked, dispatching of his polite facade.
"It is time I begin to train Chayton." His lips curled into a sneer. "The way a true Lakota trains a warrior."
"Winona asked me to watch over Chayton. I gave her my word."
"Your word." He spat on the ground. "Your word is worth nothing."
Chayton shuffled backward and bumped into Ridge's legs.
Ridge grasped the boy's shoulders. "My word is my bond." He met and held Hotah's hostile glare without blinking. Finally, the warrior glanced at the boy.
McKade, Maureen Page 17
