The Warrior's Captive Bride

by Jenna Kernan

  “I think to do so will make it harder for me to leave you.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Night Storm. You told me you could not take a woman until you could provide for her.”

  “And today I brought down an elk.”

  He acted as if this somehow made him well.

  “You are not well.”

  “How do you know? I have not fallen. I ride. I hunt.”

  She threaded her hands in his hair, finding the weak place and adding the slightest pressure. He flinched and drew away.

  “You are still healing. Riding, hunting and lying with a woman are all dangerous.”

  He snorted. “They are also the only things that make a man feel alive.”

  Storm moved to his sleeping robes and sat facing the sputtering central fire.

  “You are a talented healer. I have seen you with the ones from my tribe. Even the men are speaking of your skill. If it is in the power of a healer to cure me, you will do it.”

  His confidence filled her with pride, as did his admission that her skills were recognized and appreciated.

  “If you heal me, then I could be a husband and take a wife to my sleeping robes. I want a wife and many children.”

  A wife? Or Beautiful Meadow. That was the wife he wanted. Whether or not she healed him, he would set her aside for Beautiful Meadow.

  Sky lay quietly as her throat ached. Her tears ran down her face and were absorbed into the tanned hide.

  “Sleep well, Skylark,” he whispered.

  Why had she ever agreed to this bargain?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sky woke to a familiar cold nose poking at her face. She groaned and tried to push Frost away, but he whined and she went stock-still. The lodge was dark except for the glowing embers. How long had she been asleep?

  “Storm?”

  She received no answer. Sky threw back the buffalo robe and pushed herself up. Cold air rushed in to fill all the warm places and she shivered. Frost whimpered and she rested an arm over him.

  Gradually her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw him seated just as he had been when he had bade her sleep well.

  “Night Storm?” she said, and crept to his side.

  He did not move but sat still as the poles that held the lodge. It was frightening to see that his body was no more than a dark silhouette. The night was still, without even the comforting rustle of the wind. That was why she could hear the call of the owl so clearly. Her hand was just inches from his shoulder and she withdrew, pressing her palm to her own beating heart. Frost whined and nudged her.

  She steeled herself and reached again, placing her hand on his shoulder and finding it cold as the air about them.

  “Storm!” She shook him. His body lolled and she thought he would topple like a badly stacked pile of wood, but instead he pulled himself up and drew a great breath.

  She sat back, staring at him as his head pivoted, searching his surroundings as if just awakening.

  “I was dreaming,” he said.

  Frost moved to his side and nudged him. Storm threw an arm over the dog’s back and patted his side. Frost’s tail thumped as he sat beside Storm.

  “I do not think that was a dream,” said Sky. “You were staring at the embers. Your eyes reflected the orange of the fire.”

  “My eyes were open?”

  “Yes.” She inched away and swallowed back her dread. “And the owl was hooting again.”

  He cocked his head, but there was now no sound from outside their lodge.

  “What did you dream?”

  “I dreamed of horses. Many, many horses and my friend Charging Bull, slipping from the herd of the Sioux with two fine mounts.” Storm’s voice trailed off.

  “What happened?”

  “They killed him. Also Two Hawks.”

  “A vision?”

  Storm tucked himself between the buffalo robes. “I do not know. It seemed very real.”

  Frost lay beside his master and lowered his head to his paws.

  “You did not fall or froth or twitch,” said Sky.

  “What?”

  “Your mind disappeared, but you did not fall.”

  “It was only a dream. Go to sleep now.”

  Did he really believe that, or was he afraid to admit that he had finally looked past the veil that separated this world from the next.

  “Storm? Do you think you should tell your shaman of your dream?”

  “No more talk now. I must sleep.”

  * * *

  Sky woke before dawn to the chanting song of her husband greeting Wi, the sun. She rose to birdsong but when she exited the lodge, Storm had already left for the river to bathe with the men.

  Sky met Bright Shawl and Fills a Kettle as they were leaving their mother’s lodge to collect water for cooking at the river and to gossip. Beautiful Meadow arrived and looked down her pretty nose at Sky, then made a gibe about how Sky should be called Dirt because her hands always stank. Before Sky could say a word, Storm’s sister Bright Shawl reminded Beautiful Meadow that her brother would want his wives to live in peace and since Skylark was already wed to her brother, Beautiful Meadow had better mind her manners.

  “Thank you,” said Sky.

  “Do not thank me,” said Bright Shawl. “She had no right to say such hurtful things. And it is not even true. You smell like cedar and fresh growing things.”

  “Besides,” said Fills a Kettle, “you are our sister now.”

  Sky felt a tugging in her chest. If only it were true.

  “Perhaps this one may stay with you and Storm after the gathering,” said Bright Shawl, giving her younger sister a little shove. “She’s a woman now and I know the Low River men are very handsome.”

  Fills a Kettle beamed. “I could come help you with your healing and learn to be a healer, too. Then I could come home with a fine husband and the skills to help the Black Lodges.”

  Sky worried at this suggestion. She had not really considered how she and Storm would separate and she had never given a thought to how much it would hurt his family.

  “I think Storm plans to live with the Wind Basin people.”

  “Well, I don’t want to live with Beautiful Meadow. I already know how to braid my hair,” she said, and giggled.

  When they returned from the river it was to see many women rousing their cooking fires before their lodges. The day began.

  Today was a council meeting. She remembered Storm telling her that he must attend. Something serious had happened and she knew she would hear all about it from the other women later on. Some of the elder women always sat before the council lodge to listen to the men. When the council broke at midday for their meal, the men would consult with their wives before returning to make decisions. In this way the judgments of the council reflected the will of all the people. Sky had hoped to see Storm before the meeting. She wanted to hear more of his dream. But he went directly to the lodge of their chief, Broken Horn, who was the son of the previous chief Lone Horn. So Sky decided to sneak off alone to gather roots.

  If she could just find Peachwort, then she could make a true tincture to add to his tea. She thought it should be easy to spot by the stream because of its high slender stems and small pinkish flowers. She recalled her grandmother saying it could quiet the winds of the mind.

  She said farewell to Frost, who sat before the council lodge. She paused and considered staying. Something was not right with Storm, and she feared the possibility of him having a fall before the tribal council. In the end she decided she could not keep this from occurring and went to do what she could.

  Sky gathered her shoulder bag and set off. She did not make it out of the village alone, however. Frost found her and followed. She was worried a
t first but decided that if he thought it safe to leave Storm, then it was safe.

  As she searched, she felt free and happy away from the gathering of women. Sky came away with a full pouch and a full belly as she had found a patch of blackberries and some lovely beechnuts.

  She returned home at sunset and was met by Fills a Kettle, who was most unhappy to have been left behind.

  “You missed all the excitement today,” said Storm’s sister.

  Sky paused, hoping that Storm was not the cause of the excitement. “What has happened?”

  “Thunder Horse told Broken Horn that Winter Bear is unfit to ride.”

  “Who is Winter Bear?” asked Sky.

  “Oh, I forget you do not know everyone yet.” Fills a Kettle smoothed her hair and then began again. “He is a new groom, but such a good hunter that our chief allowed him to continue to provide for one of the old men who has no living sons.”

  A hunter for the tribe. Just like Night Storm was now.

  “Anyway, Winter Bear fell from his horse in the Fast Water Moon. Thunder Horse prayed over the break, but it was bad and his hand has shriveled.” Fills a Kettle drew in her arm tight to her body and curled her fingers until they resembled a claw. “It looks like this.”

  “Did no one treat his arm?”

  “Yes. Thunder Horse had him rest and keep still and he prayed and burned sage and sweetgrass. But the break healed badly. Thunder Horse says that Winter Bear has broken some taboo and that now he is unfit to be a warrior of the Black Lodges.”

  The pit of Sky’s stomach dropped. Where was Night Storm? She glanced around for Frost and found him gone.

  “What will happen to Winter Bear?”

  “Mother said that Thunder Horse said he should be exiled as he is of no use to anyone and is another mouth to feed. Even the chief, Broken Horn, was in favor of sending him away, but Lone Horn spoke for Winter Bear. There are few who can sway our chief, but his father, Lone Horn, is one who can. His father continues to be his most trusted advisor. The old chief said that Winter Bear has been a diligent man and should have until the Story Moon to learn some useful skill. If he can learn to paint medicine shields with his one good hand, then perhaps he will survive.”

  Sky realized that without the help of Lone Horn, the man had been handed a death sentence. Only the very strongest of men could survive the winter moons alone. A man with only one useful arm had no chance at all.

  Sky understood clearly now why Storm had avoided seeking the help of their shaman.

  * * *

  Sky found Night Storm before their lodge knapping flint into arrow points. She had seen his arrow points and knew he crafted fine, thin points with edges that were exceedingly sharp. He was so skilled that she thought she had never seen more elegantly fashioned arrow points. This was why she slowed when she saw the bits of flint flying up in all directions and the resulting tortured flint looking worse for his efforts. He did not look up as she approached but spoke to her.

  “I did not tell Thunder Horse of my vision,” he said.

  She could see why. Thunder Horse had just had a warrior of status stripped of all he was.

  “That was wise.”

  He paused in the destruction of his flint to stare at her.

  “He seems dangerous,” she said.

  “Yes. He has much power.”

  And he was the uncle of Beautiful Meadow. She bit her bottom lip as she worried over this new powerful enemy.

  Skylark did not believe that Thunder Horse had the sort of power that comes from the world of the spirits, but rather the kind that comes from the misuse of his position. That made him very dangerous, indeed.

  “I am sorry, Storm. But Winter Bear is not you. His arm, well, it cannot be fixed. But you are healing and showing signs of a new spiritual power.”

  “No. I do not have visions. I am a warrior.”

  She pressed her lips together wondering why, as a fighting man, he fought so hard to avoid what seemed to be happening to him. He had revelations. They might be important visions.

  “But what if your friends are really in danger?”

  He stopped his work. “I will watch over them.”

  She wanted to remind him that his injuries weakened him and that he might not be capable of this.

  “Does Winter Bear have a wife?”

  “No longer. She has set out his things from her lodge and told him to return to the Shallow Water tribe. But she left enough pemmican for him to last until the full moon.”

  “Has he no brothers, no sons?”

  “No brothers. His son is very young and he has a sister who had no husband when he left his tribe. Still, she might be married and he might go back to her, I suppose.”

  The rest went unsaid. Winter Bear would be a burden. In the cold moons, when food was scarce and stores ran low, such people often starved. His sister might have to decide between feeding her brother and feeding her child.

  He lifted his chin and looked at her.

  “He and I walk the same road. Only they can see that he is weak.”

  The denial sprang to her lips. “You brought down an elk.”

  “The Hunting Moon gives way to the War Moon. Our time grows short.”

  “You have not fallen.”

  “But last night my mind went away again. I did not know what happened about me. A warrior must always be aware of his surroundings.”

  “You did not fall,” she reminded.

  A woman approached and called a greeting. Night Storm introduced their guest as Prairie Flower and then went back to butchering the innocent piece of flint. Prairie Flower watched a moment and then lifted a brow as she exchanged a look with Sky, who shrugged. The woman had a son who was ill. She begged Sky to come and see him. Sky asked her husband if he needed her and he waved her away. So she gathered her things and followed Prairie Flower to her lodge.

  There she found a child of perhaps four winters, lying upon a piece of buckskin. They had lifted all the sides of the lodge and an old woman fanned him, but despite the cool breeze, sweat ran down his brown skin.

  “What are his troubles?”

  Prairie Flower described a hacking cough and burning skin. Sky laid her ear upon the boy’s chest and listened. His heart was strong but his breathing gurgled and his skin felt wet and hot.

  Sky made a tea of birch for the boy’s burning skin and a syrup from berries and Blue Ginseng for his cough. She showed his mother how to prepare the mixtures and said she would visit the following day. Before she left, Prairie Flower asked her to look at a growth on her husband’s face. The lump was so large it was interfering with Broken Arrow’s vision. Prairie Flower said that she was afraid, after what happened to Winter Bear that their shaman might find her husband unfit.

  It was enough reason for Sky to consider helping him.

  “I could remove it.”

  They both agreed so quickly it made her angry that this shaman who was supposed to bring help brought terror, instead.

  She washed her skinning knife and sliced a bit of wild ginger to clean her knife and then she spread the healing juices over the skin. Broken Arrow sat still as she made a cut through the skin above his eyebrow. When the skin gaped, she saw a fatty tumor beneath. There was no difficulty removing the yellowish mass in one piece except that the facial wound bled so much. She stitched it with a fine bit of sinew soaked in the juice of the ginger root. The stitches helped stanch the bleeding.

  “These must come out in half a moon’s time.” She gave instructions for cleaning the wound and covered it with fresh white sage leaves, then promised to check back the following day.

  When she returned home it was to find Night Storm sitting in the darkness before their lodge. Frost lay quietly beside Night Storm. The dog was not upset, but it concerned her that the
hound clung so close to his master. Night Storm told her that he would be joining the raid on the Sioux.

  He looked to her and his eyes dared her to object.

  “I think you must go.”

  He brightened. “You do? You think I am well enough.”

  “No. I think it is a risk. But you must follow your vision and protect your friends.”

  “It was just a dream.”

  She shook her head. She did not think so.

  Over the next few days and nights Sky treated many people. Prairie Flower’s boy improved and Broken Arrow’s wound did not fester. Storm went on another hunt, but this time it was his friend Charging Bull who took the meat, a pronghorn that he shared with Red Corn Woman. They joined his family and Sky had to listen to plans for the raid that was fast approaching.

  After the meal, they said their good-nights and returned the short distance to their home. Night Storm and Sky sat before their lodge staring up at the starry sky. The new moon was rising. The orange sliver growing larger each evening reminded her that their time together trickled away. Frost stuck close to Storm and Sky watched them both, feeling a kind of anxiousness over his dog’s behavior.

  She asked him about the hunt and his condition. Finally he admitted that the day’s ride had made his head hurt and so she roused her banked fire and made him a simple tea to help ease the pain.

  Sky then sat beside him wrapped in a buffalo robe. He lifted the edge and slipped in beside her. They sat side by side as she tried to pretend this was natural. Sitting next to her husband.

  But the feel of him and the warmth of his body made it hard not to lower her head to his shoulder and wrap her arms about his middle.

  The rising moon shone yellow as it crept higher in the night sky. She stared up at the heavens and noted that Storm did not look at the moon or the fire. Instead, he looked out into the darkness. A shadow of an idea began to form in her mind.

  “My father has asked how many horses I plan to give your parents,” said Night Storm.

  “Since we will end our marriage at the gathering, you do not need any horses.”

  “Would you like to explain that to them?”