by Karen Kay
“It is a fine plan. For you. But what if I want more from my wife?”
“You could still be free to marry another, could you not?” She frowned. “Within your society, it is permitted to have more than one wife, is it not?”
“In the past this was true. But we are now a part of the white man’s world, and I believe the missionaries on my reservation would disapprove.”
“Oh. I did not realize. And this is your objection?”
“No, I have no objections, except that it has never been part of my plan to marry…anyone. Yet, I agreed to help you, and I will, but I would ask one thing of you.”
“Yes?”
“I would like to kiss you from time to time while you are here. And—”
“What kind of kissing?”
“A simple kiss, and perhaps all the acts that go with it.”
“Acts?”
“When we kiss, I would like to touch you like this.” He held up a hand to run his fingers down her cheek.
In response, and quite against her will, she felt herself go limp.
“Or perhaps like this.” He brought his hand down to massage a sensitive place on her neck.
She gulped, and with eyes closed, shivered. “And that is all you would expect?”
“If you will it.”
Her eyes flew open. “Will it? What does that mean?”
“Simply, that if you are ever willing and wanting more, I, too, might be agreeable. But if that time never comes, then I will have to be satisfied with a mere kiss.”
What an understatement that was. There was nothing mere about this man’s kisses.
She said, “This sounds like something that I could do.”
But he wasn’t finished. “There is one more thing.”
“Oh?”
“Though the child will not be my own, I would like to come to know him. If I am to be a father, then I should like to see him, if only so he might become familiar with a man and what is expected of a man in the society he finds himself. I will not try to possess him or take him from you.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
“I would like to come to know her, as well.”
“You realize I intend to return to England after the babe’s birth?”
“I do. Do you agree?”
“Are you expecting to come with me back to England?”
“Hiya.”
“And that word means no?”
“It means no. Are we in agreement?”
“Yes.”
“That is good,” he uttered softly. “Do you have a father or brother whom I should seek to gain permission?”
“No, not here. My father and mother are in England.”
“They know you are here? You did not run away?”
“They know I am here.”
He nodded. “And the Song Bird, the one the whites call Irena, is she a relation to you?”
“She is my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother…” He arched a brow. “She looks good for a grandmother. I am glad, though, that she is not your mother. For a man must not speak to his mother-in-law and must avoid her by all possible means. Irena is a friend, and we have had many conversations. I would not like to have to avoid her because of marrying you.”
“No. I should think that would not be pleasant. So, if Irena were my mother, you would really have to avoid her?”
“Hau, that is correct. A man must not look at his mother-in-law, nor should he speak to her. But gifts can be sent to show one’s respect.”
“How strange.”
“It is not strange,” he defended. “To talk to the mother of one’s wife would be very unusual, I think. It makes for ill relations in the family.”
Suzette tilted her head to the side. “How peculiar. You are an odd one, I must say. But I am bound to marry you anyway…” she sent him a surreptitious glance, “…on the pure understanding, of course, that it is in name only.”
“Hau. I have not misunderstood you or your desires on this matter. But I think you forget one thing.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“Once you become accustomed to my kisses, you may find it difficult to leave me…” Without any further conversation, he leaned toward her and kissed her soundly on the lips.
Chapter Eight
The wedding ceremony was short, as well as grudgingly done. The chaplain, Reverend Hopkins, was proving to be anything but cooperative. It seemed that in regards to the prejudices between the whites and the Indians, Black Lion had indeed been accurate. In truth, were it not for the derringer Suzette carried in her purse, the ceremony would likely have not taken place at all.
The only witness to the affair was Mrs. Hopkins, who stood off to Suzette’s side, where she was tut-tutting and muttering to herself. The word “savage” was distinctly heard now and again.
Suzette ignored her. All she required was the woman’s signature on a piece of paper. No more. No less.
“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“Yes,” Suzette said, even while she held the gun pointed directly at the reverend. “I do.”
“And do you…” the chaplain did not look directly at Black Lion, “…take this woman to be your wife?”
“Hau.”
“And that means…?” The minister peered over his glasses at Black Lion.
“Yes. I do.”
Reverend Hopkins sighed and hesitated, as though he prayed for some miracle to save him from what he was required to do next. At length, he continued, though the words seemed to be dragged from him, “Then I pronounce you husband and wife.” Closing the Bible in his hand, the minister said not a word more to them. Instead, he turned away from them and treaded straight to his desk.
Minutes ticked by. At last he looked up at her. “If this is to be legal, I will require both of your signatures, that is, providing your husband knows how to sign his name.”
Black Lion made no reply to the insult, but rather stood behind Suzette as she signed her name. Suzette held her breath as she passed the pen to her new husband, but it seemed Black Lion had no problem with letters or the signing of his name. Unfortunately, that fact appeared to dishearten the reverend, and it was with great reluctance he handed the pen to his own wife, Mrs. Hopkins, who was the last to sign.
Shaking his head doubtfully, Reverend Hopkins looked over his glasses at Suzette. “I only hope I do not come to regret this.”
Suzette smiled. “You will not. Besides, I fear you had no choice. You can always, in all honesty, tell people that the deed was done at the point of a gun.” Uncocking her pistol, she returned the weapon to her purse.
When both Suzette and Black Lion lingered, Reverend Hopkins appeared even less sympathetic to them. “Well, that will be all now. Mrs. Hopkins will show you out.” Rising, he turned his back on them, as though the simple action might put the entire affair from his mind. Slowly, he paced toward the other side of the room.
Mrs. Hopkins was no more cordial than her husband. Reaching out to throw the entrance flap of their tent open, she said curtly, “Through here,” slapping the flap down as hard as she could as soon as Suzette and Black Lion had crossed over the threshold.
Once outside, a feeling of uneasiness swept over Suzette, and she let out a breath, watching its evidence in the frigid air. Black Lion did the same.
“I did warn you about that,” he said with a quick glance at her.
“So you did. But the chaplain’s antagonism matters very little to me. The deed is done.”
“Hau. The deed is done.”
Silence. She wondered if he felt as awkward as she did. If so, he didn’t mention it.
Finally he said, “I will escort you to Irena’s tepee for your wedding night.”
“Yes. I would like that.”
> They began their trek toward Irena’s tent. Suddenly, Black Lion placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I promise to defend you against your enemies and to hold you in honor within my heart.”
Wide-eyed, Suzette stared up at him. What?
“The Black Robe did not mention these things,” he explained, “and since we are taking vows this night, I thought I should say those details that the Black Robe should have said.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “and I thank you for that, but so that you know, I can promise you nothing of a similar nature in return. You do remember that, do you not? That I need only your name? Nothing more?”
“I remember it very well. But though you require little from me, you are still my wife. I would give you what protection it is within my ability to give you.”
“Yes. And again, I thank you.”
“That is all.” He grinned at her. “For now.”
“For now?”
Black Lion did not elaborate. Instead, he said, “We must conclude this in the right way. Follow me.”
“Why?”
“If we are to marry—”
“We are married.”
He ignored her. “We must do this in an honorable manner.”
“We have done this in an honorable way.”
“Come.” He held out his hand to her.
She hesitated. After all, what did she really know of this person? That he was handsome? Yes. That she felt alive, enjoyed his company, felt secure in his presence? Yes. But was that enough?
She stared at that hand, as though within it were the secrets to this man’s character.
“Come,” he repeated.
She looked up into his dark eyes, which were calmly observing her. She exhaled, again watching her breath mirror the temperature in the air. She brought her gloved hand up to meet his, where he grasped it against his own.
There were some things, she decided, that one had to take on trust. Call it instinct, call it feminine intuition. Whatever it was, she sensed she could believe in this man’s integrity. For now, that was enough.
He didn’t escort her into the Indian encampment, which was what she had thought he might do. Instead, he guided her into the woods that adjoined the entire Wild West encampment.
Even in the frosty air, the distinct scent of the ever-present pine trees greeted her. Aside from several large cottonwood trees, and a few birch dotting the landscape, it was a wonderland of pine.
He led her to one of the larger trees, there being much room beneath its balmy branches to shelter them. Here, he positioned her against the toughened bark of the tree. Moonlight shone into their little grove, a gentle shaft of light that highlighted his features with the silvery moonbeam. It has been said that moonlight is a woman’s best friend. She dared to challenge that the concept was for women only, for this very handsome man had never looked so good. Her emotions were heightened, and she was more than aware of it. Indeed, the moment seemed exaggerated, his looks, even the scent of his flesh, stirring her imagination.
It was a strangely intimate environment, protected somewhat from the cold air, and it hid them and anything they might do or say from the world at large. Truly, this was their own private haven.
She felt close to him.
“I am glad now that I brought this,” he said.
“What?” she whispered. “What did you bring?”
“This.” He pulled out a piece of buckskin from a bag tied around his waist.
Buckskin? She stared at it, then at him.
“I am going to tie your hand to mine.”
She nodded, though her expression was a puzzled one.
“But first,” he continued, “I am going to cleanse you and myself, that we might make our ceremony pure, and that the smoke from the sage we use will drift up to the heavens where the Above One will know what it is that we do on this very cold morning.”
Again she nodded, and this time with a little more understanding. This was to be their own private wedding ceremony. No priest. No witnesses to approve. Just her, him. And of course, God.
He lit a small bundle of sage, reciting something in his language as he directed the smoke over her head, on down to her shoulders, her chest, downward still toward her legs. It didn’t require knowledge of his language to understand that he prayed.
“Take the smoke into your hands,” he said to her, “and use it as though you were washing yourself. Spread it over your face and body.”
She did as he directed, inhaling the scent of burning sage.
“And say a prayer to yourself as you do this.”
Once again, she did as he instructed.
“Waste. Good. It is good. And now I will cleanse myself in the same way.” He proceeded to do so, whisking the smoke from the sage over his head, his shoulders, his body.
When it was done, he took hold of the piece of buckskin and tied it first around her wrist, then his. When their two arms were fastened securely, he said, “A wedding requires a song, I think. I own such a song, and I will sing it to you, though I will change the words. In my song, I am going to thank the Creator for giving you to me. And I am going to ask Him to watch over you, over me and over our marriage. To make it strong.” He placed one arm over his chest as he spoke.
Suzette felt as though she had fallen into the moment. As the moon danced over his features, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were caught up in a fairy tale. He was superb, in body and in spirit. Her throat choked up on the enchantment that the two of them were creating. He truly meant to marry her, he honestly wanted to help her, and all without asking for a single thing in return.
It was the kind of gesture one might expect from a family member, but not necessarily from someone who was practically a stranger. And if he became a little dearer to her at this time and in this place, she might be forgiven. She stared up at him without saying a word, but on another level entirely she was attempting to memorize every tiny detail about him, if only to try to understand this man better.
And then he began to sing:
“Taku oci’ciyakin kte, I will tell you something.
Cica’nnigapi, I choose you.
Cajeciyata, I call thee by name,
Cica’nnigapi Suzette, Suzette, I choose you.
Heci’ciye, I say that to thee,
Cica’nnigapi Suzette, Suzette, I choose you.
Le anpe’tu kin cica’nnigapi, This day I choose you.
Cajeciyata, I call thee by name.
Toke’ Wak’antanka niya’waste ni, May God bless thee.
Cica’nnigapi Suzette, Suzette, I choose you.
Toke’ Wak’antanka niya’waste ni, May God bless thee.”
The song was in a minor key, although it ended in one that was major, and as his words and the melody enveloped her in a feeling of warmth, a few snowflakes fell down from the tree branches above them, reminding her that it was, after all, winter. It was a moment out of time.
She was afraid to move, lest she break the spell, this time was that magical. She was moved. She, who was accustomed to having men sing to her—for she made it her career—was yet touched.
True, there was no orchestra to accompany him, no chorus, no audience, save herself. No, indeed. The song was sung simply from one heart to another.
“And now it is your turn,” he said. “You sing to me whatever is in your heart, on this day when we have become one.”
Suzette opened her mouth to speak, but at first no sound would come forth. Clearing her throat, she was at last able to whisper, “Yes, I will sing, but…” Should she make the point? She hated to bring up a particular that might cause the mystique of their time together to vanish. Yet, she felt compelled to say what she must. “You do still understand that this is in name only?”
“Hau. This I understand.” He leaned toward
her. “But…” he breathed against her ear, his words warm, “…if we are to say our vows before the Great Spirit, we should recite them with whatever is in our hearts. And if all you feel is the necessity to have my name, then you should sing of that, for you now have it.”
She nodded, feeling more than a little touched by this man. “I feel rather inadequate. You have been most eloquent and—”
“Nothing is inadequate,” he responded. “Sing from your heart, for only in that way will it be pure.”
“Yes. All right.” Clearing her throat once again, she began to sing, using the same melody of his song—at least as much of it as she could remember. She sang in the same key with the same style as he had done, and these were her words:
“I thank this man who is showing me kindness.
I thank this man who has love in his heart and
I thank this man who gives without asking favor.
Great Spirit, bless him. Great Spirit, bless our marriage.
Though I seek only his name for the favor of my child,
In my heart I will never forget him, nor his kindness.
Black Lion, I, too, choose thee.”
When she had finished, she looked up at Black Lion and found him staring at her as though she might have said a thing quite alien.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look…startled.”
“Hiya. Hiya, nothing is wrong. Truly, I think something is very right.”
She smiled at him. “I am glad.”
“As I am, also,” he responded in kind. “Your voice is very beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“And I have heard it before.”
“You have? Did you attend the opera in England, then?”
“Opera? Hiya, no. No opera. I have heard your voice in my dreams.”
“Your dreams?” A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. “How poetic.”
“Poetic? Perhaps. All I know is that in some way, in some unknown course in my life, I have had the good sense to do something very right this day. I have married you.”
Her stomach flip-flopped. She was flattered, and she looked at him as though his words were as precious as a discovery of gold.
