by Tess LeSue
“Only on one condition . . .”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”
“I want to see everything. The colonel won’t let me leave the fort, because they can’t protect me. But I could go with you.” She gave him a sunny smile.
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “It’s not safe.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing is ever safe. If I can survive Kennedy Voss, I can survive this. And I want to see the competitions. I want to see the markets. I want to be part of the feasting and watch the courtships. I want to see it all.”
“Of course you do.”
“And I want to meet your father.”
“Oh no, you don’t. That’s one step too far.” But he sounded lighthearted enough.
“Shake on it.” She held out her hand.
He looked at it in disdain. “We’re past the shaking stage, sweetheart.” He leaned across and kissed her instead. And once they started kissing, they couldn’t stop.
* * *
• • •
THE NEXT FEW days were the most joyful of Ava’s entire life. She knew they couldn’t last. She and Deathrider were from two different worlds, and the circumstances were so surreal; it was like a strange and beautiful dream. Sometimes she wondered if she wasn’t still back in Señora Torres’s house in California, dying of infection from her gunshot wound, having one last vivid fever dream. Because if she had to have one last dream before she died, this would be the one she’d want.
She and Deathrider spent a delirious week. Between the tense and astonishing events of the treaty during the days and their delirious nights together, they existed in a haze. The week blurred into a bright, loud, overwhelming shimmer of feelings.
It was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t him. Which caused a few problems.
“Miss Archer!” Captain Scott had detained her that first morning after Deathrider had slipped away, back to his people. He left her with a kiss that was so tender, it brought tears to her eyes. She was turning into a complete sap.
Ava had braided her hair and pulled on her traveling clothes and headed for the porch, where she planned to watch the happenings in the camp while she waited for Deathrider to return. She wasn’t really interested in soothing Scott’s wounded ego before she’d even had her coffee, so she was shorter with him than she should have been.
What a disappointment he’d been, she thought as she watched him approach. She’d thought he was nice. But for all Scott’s sentiment the other day, he’d been handsy as all hell, touching her in places he had no right to touch.
“I wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”
Of course he did. His behavior had been abominable. She waited for his apology.
But it didn’t come. To her astonishment, he had the nerve to scold her.
“It’s against army regulations for Indians to be in the barracks proper,” he said stiffly.
He wasn’t serious? Especially as how Laughing Raccoon was emerging from the colonel’s house right at the instant he spoke, carrying a pot of coffee and a handful of tin mugs.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to the authorities.” Two bright spots of color burned high on his cheeks, and his eyes glittered with animosity.
“You mean, you’ll report me to the colonel?” She stared pointedly at Laughing Raccoon, but he didn’t seem to get the hint. Bluntness was in order then. “Are you saying, Captain, that’s what’s good for the gander isn’t good for the goose?” she asked briskly.
“This has nothing to do with geese,” he said stiffly, “and everything to do with decorum.”
“Coffee?” Laughing Raccoon interrupted them, holding out her hand for them to unhook a tin mug from one of her fingers.
“Not for me.” Captain Scott’s chin went up.
Ava stared him down and took a mug, holding it out for Laughing Raccoon to fill. “Thank you,” she said.
“I’ll be going down to the Brulé camp in a moment, if you want to come along,” Laughing Raccoon offered.
“I can’t. I’m sorry,” Ava apologized, not breaking eye contact with the captain. “I’m meeting someone.”
Captain Scott flushed a deep and angry red. “You’re a disgrace to your race,” he said viciously before stalking off.
“What’s wrong with him?” Laughing Raccoon asked.
Ava didn’t even know where to begin. She shrugged and drank her coffee.
As the morning aged, the tribes kept pouring into Fort Laramie, until there were campsites as far as the eye could see. The supply train with all the gifts from the government to the Indians was late, held up in St. Louis, and the superintendent and the colonel were conferring furiously with Fitzpatrick, the man Deathrider called Broken Hand. From where she stood on the porch, Ava had a good view of their comings and goings. They seemed panicked that the Indians would leave when they discovered there were no gifts of sugar, or tobacco, or any of the other treasures the army had organized.
“This may end before it even begins,” the colonel confided in Ava when he and Fitzpatrick emerged from the cottage to smoke their pipes on the porch. The superintendent had gone to send messengers to St. Louis. “Or it may even erupt in open bloodshed.”
“Over some sugar and tobacco?” she asked dubiously.
“And blankets,” he said defensively. “Knives, cloth, coffee, beads. A fortune worth of materials, Miss Archer. Signs of good faith.”
Ava was still dubious. But she held her tongue.
“Deathrider!” Fitzpatrick lit up when he saw Ava’s lover ambling through the fort toward the cottage. He waved Deathrider over, not realizing he was already headed in their direction. Ava could see Captain Scott across the square, glowering. She gave him a jaunty little wave.
“I’m glad to see you,” Fitzpatrick said, “we have a problem.”
Deathrider listened to his problem but didn’t look concerned. “Now that they’re here, I doubt they’ll turn around and leave.” His gaze was on Ava. He couldn’t seem to look away. She suppressed a smile, feeling a surge of desire. That look in his eyes was intoxicating.
“Besides,” he told the men, “the Lakota have asked the Shoshone to a feast tonight.”
Fitzpatrick looked shocked. “But they’re enemies . . .”
“It’s like finding night has become day,” Deathrider agreed. “Everyone is in an uproar.”
“How do you know the Lakota won’t kill the Shoshone midfeast?” the colonel interrupted.
“We don’t,” Deathrider said with a shrug.
That sent them into another frenzy. “We’ll need to arm the men, have them ready.” The colonel summoned Captain Scott and gave a series of staccato orders. Scott stared sullenly at Ava and Deathrider as he received them.
“The Cheyenne and the Arapaho have been invited after the feast,” Deathrider told them. “It will be a mighty celebration.”
“Over the bodies of your enemies?” Scott snapped.
“Scott!” the colonel barked. “You speak out of turn.” Then he turned to Deathrider and repeated Scott’s words, but without the vitriol: “Over the bodies of your enemies?”
Deathrider shrugged. “Who knows how events will play out? The Oglála are fierce warriors, and there is much bad blood with the Shoshone. But the Brulé are keen to treat. So we shall see.”
“Scott! Spread the word to our guests that there’s a total alcohol ban for this week. No one is to touch a drop. That includes our men. The last thing we need is to add drunkenness to this tinderbox.” He mopped at his damp forehead with his sleeve. “This week will see the end of me, I swear.”
“I don’t envy you, Colonel.” Deathrider put his hand on Ava’s back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised to show Miss Archer the camp.”
“It’s the damnedest thing,” Ava heard the colonel saying to Fitzpatrick as they wa
lked away, “but I always imagined those two would be mortal enemies. Have you read her books?”
“Fiction,” Fitzpatrick said dismissively.
“Total fiction,” Deathrider agreed, grinning down at her.
“Not total,” Ava protested. “Just . . . incomplete.”
He took her hand and pulled her down the slope toward the camps. The feel of his big hand closing around hers sent shivers through her. He felt it and smiled at her, his eyes chips of pale winter sky.
She still couldn’t believe he was here. In the flesh. And that he was smiling at her. Maybe she’d died of that infection . . . or even way back in the desert of thirst. . . . Maybe none of this was real. . . .
But who cared if it was real? It felt magnificent to walk in the sun with him, hand in hand, as he pointed out the tribes and their leaders; she peppered him with questions, and he answered. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, and she just about melted. He turned her into a wanton. She just wanted to drag him into the nearest tent and ravish him. Last night and this morning, he’d spent endless hours torturing her with pleasure, but she hadn’t had a chance to return the favor yet. And the things she’d like to do to him.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he changed direction abruptly, almost yanking her arm out of its socket.
“To find some privacy. Your patting is driving me wild.”
She hadn’t even been aware she was patting him, but it was true. Her hand was curled around his biceps, patting it in soft strokes.
“Where can we find privacy out here?” she laughed, looking around at the teeming people. There were makeshift lodges, tents and teepees in every direction; cook fires were burning, animals were grazing and children were running wild.
“My place,” he growled, pulling her so fast, her feet barely touched the ground.
29
HIS PLACE” WAS a teepee in the Arapaho encampment. Right in the middle of the Arapaho encampment. Ava blushed scarlet as he spirited her through the makeshift village of teepees, not introducing her to anyone. She looked around, wondering if his father was here, but there seemed only to be women and children. They were all staring at Ava curiously.
Deathrider pushed her gently through the opening, and then they were in their own private cocoon, away from everybody’s prying eyes.
The moment they were alone, he was kissing her, and she fell into him hungrily, pulling at his clothes. She couldn’t get close enough, fast enough. They were naked and down on his furs before she could draw breath. And that was where they spent the rest of the day.
The first time was hard and fast, the second slow. She traced every tattoo on his body with her fingertips, enjoying the way he shivered at her touch. And then she kissed his old scars, one by one, starting at his ankles and working all the way up to his face. She made it take an age, until he was mindless with desire.
The third time was sleepy. They were spooning, with her back pressed against his chest. She rose through layers of sleep as she felt his mouth on her neck, his hands on her breasts and the hard length of him pressing against her buttocks. She rubbed against him, arching her back. He had only to touch her, and she was wet. She reached behind to guide him into her. It was slow, tender, a series of long thrusts as his breath swirled warm and sugary against her neck. When she came, she found she was crying. When he came, he breathed her name. That only made her weep more.
“Don’t cry, Cleopatra,” he whispered, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on her temple.
“I’m just happy,” she said stupidly, brushing the tears away.
He pulled the furs over them, and they drifted back to sleep.
The next time Ava woke, she shrieked to find herself looking at a man. Or rather he was looking at her. It was growing dark, and the man had a lantern in front of him. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the teepee and staring at her intently.
Her shriek woke Deathrider, who sat up, pulling the furs with him. She scrambled to grab them, to keep herself covered.
Deathrider groaned. Then he said something in his native language. He sounded snappy but not alarmed. Ava looked back and forth as the two men had a conversation she couldn’t understand. She couldn’t read the other man’s face. Was he angry? He had a very stern look about him.
She kicked Deathrider under the covers. Why wasn’t he telling her what was happening?
He glanced at her and sighed. “Ava,” he said grudgingly, “this is my father.”
She could have died. Of course it was. And here she was naked, in his teepee. She blushed again. “Nice to meet you, Mr. . . . ?”
“Two Bears,” the old man grunted in heavily accented English.
“I thought you were with Running Elk,” Deathrider complained, flopping back into the furs and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. At least he was speaking English now, so she didn’t feel quite so anxious about what was happening. Deathrider’s father was still watching her with that intense gaze. It made her nervous.
“I was with Running Elk,” his father said, also switching to English. “But he has the feast with the Shoshone, so I had to leave. We have a couple of hours until we have to go back.”
Ava inched her hand toward her chemise, which was on the ground nearby. She thought she saw Two Bears’s lips twitch in amusement. He didn’t move to help her. Or to turn his back so she could dress in peace.
“I see you haven’t prepared any food,” Two Bears told his son dryly. “There is nothing for me to eat.”
“Get a wife if you want food waiting for you.” Deathrider didn’t remove his hands from his eyes.
“You see how he disrespects his father?” Two Bears told Ava sorrowfully as she contorted herself to try to slip into her chemise under the furs. “Can you cook?” he asked Ava.
“No,” Deathrider said shortly. “She’s a terrible cook.”
“Hey,” Ava protested.
He lowered his hands and gave her a look.
“It’s rude to say it, even if it’s true,” she muttered.
“That’s a shame,” Two Bears sighed; then he rose. “I will see if Spotted Owl has something to share with us. I assume you’ll stay for dinner, Woman in the Furs?”
“Her name is Ava.” Deathrider sounded completely exasperated. “I’m sorry about him,” he apologized after Two Bears had left. “You’d best get dressed. He won’t be long. He’s clearly dying of curiosity.”
“He is?” Ava wondered how Deathrider could tell.
By the time Two Bears came back with food, they were both dressed. Two Bears sat opposite her and watched her closely while they ate. He made her nervous as all hell, and she kept dropping things.
“You can stay here,” Two Bears said decisively. “We have room.”
“She has a room,” Deathrider said impatiently. “Back at the fort.”
Two Bears ignored him. He met Ava’s gaze. His dark eyes had the vaguest of twinkles in their depths. “You can stay here,” he repeated firmly. “I will take my son to the Lakota camp now. There will be some goings-on late into the night, I imagine, and I don’t want him shot climbing into a window later at the fort. White men are not known for their tolerance when it comes to visiting their women late at night.”
Ava pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh.
“I won’t be long,” Deathrider promised Ava when he kissed her goodbye, leaving her sitting cross-legged in the furs.
“That is a lie,” Two Bears told her. “He will be as long as he needs to be for the sake of decency. Our allies need to be appeased.
“Don’t lie to women,” she heard Two Bears scolding his son as the flap closed behind them. “It never ends well.”
* * *
• • •
AFTER TWO DAYS of staying with Deathrider, Two Bears told her to gather her things from the fort.
&nbs
p; “Don’t get ideas,” Deathrider warned his father again. By then, Two Bears had dropped so many hints about marriage that Ava knew very well what ideas Deathrider was talking about.
Deathrider himself wasn’t talking marriage. Anytime they weren’t discussing the treaty negotiations, which were moving slowly, they were . . . not talking at all. The moment they were alone, they were making love. It was impossible to think, let alone speak.
Ava felt an odd pang whenever he warned his father off the topic. Not that she was thinking marriage . . .
Was she?
What would that even look like? As she stared at the hide of the teepee walls, she imagined living with him, with his people. Would she be happy? Would he? He never seemed to stay in one place for long. What if he wandered off and left her . . . ? What then?
No, it was best not to think about the future. She had now, and that was all that mattered.
“You don’t want to leave your belongings unattended,” Two Bears told her on her third morning with them. He was preparing to go off to the amphitheater with the chiefs again. “It’s a waste of time,” he’d said of the treaty the evening before, when he’d come back from a day of talking. His voice was rough from smoking. “You might as well put rain back in the clouds as talk to a white man.” He’d given Ava a sideways look. “No offense.”
“No offense taken,” she’d said cheerfully. “I quite agree. White men are a pain in the ass.”
She startled Two Bears into a laugh.
“I like her,” he told Deathrider the next morning as he left for another day’s talking. “Help her go get her things.”
“You don’t have to,” she said awkwardly once Two Bears had gone.
“You’re here all the time anyway.” Deathrider finished his breakfast and pulled his moccasins on.
“I don’t have to be,” she bristled. She felt suddenly exposed. Like she’d been forcing herself on him. It was because . . . because she liked him so much . . . and she wasn’t sure how he felt about her in return.
