by Karen Kay
He returned the gesture, and they stood close, staring into one another’s eyes, searching, as though each would understand the other better. Then, glancing down at their hands, he said, “The time has come for me to break the physical tie that binds us, for there is no longer a need of it, because we are now of one heart.” He let go of the buckskin. “At last it is done. We are truly married.”
“Yes, we are.” However, again constrained by conscience, she added, “But, please, in name only.”
He simply smiled at her. “Come. I think it time to take you back to Irena’s tent. For I do not believe you are ready to spend the night in mine.”
“I think not.”
“But before we go, there is one more detail we should discuss.”
“Oh?”
“Hau, there is.” Without another word, he kissed her, a sweet, lingering kiss. But it didn’t last. Pulling slightly away, he said against her lips, “It is done.”
“Yes.” And the good Lord help her, she responded to this man and his kiss once again.
Chapter Nine
“Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to witness is not a mere show. What you are about to see here today are the real people who made America into the great country she is today. The characters you will witness before you are not actors. These are the people who have lived their lives on America’s Great Plains. Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you a Congress of Riders of the West!”
“I don’t know, Frank.” It was Buffalo Bill speaking. “I think the introduction is too long-winded. Let’s hear it again.”
The announcer, Frank Richmond, repeated word for word the opening introduction. Meanwhile, the participants of the show filtered into the arena for this dress rehearsal. All those first entering were cowboys who each one sat atop a multicolored steed. Behind them, a tall and elaborate painting of the Great Plains provided a backdrop over about one half of the arena.
How interesting, thought Suzette, staring at the painting. Like the theater, the show used props.
“I think,” said Buffalo Bill to Richmond, “you could leave out one of those sentences somewhere there in the middle. Brief, to the point. That’s the best sort of introduction.”
“Bill… Bill!” A short, dark-haired man ran across the arena toward Buffalo Bill. “Red Hand is not gonna be able to do the fight with you,” he said, out of breath. “Just got injured. Horse kicked him. We’ll be needing someone to replace him in the fight-to-the-death scene.”
“Damn! Is he being cared for?”
“Yep, near as I can tell.”
“Good, then who else have we got who could do it?” As he spoke, both Buffalo Bill and the other gentleman left the podium to drift away from the arena.
“All right, is everybody ready?” It was Richmond, the announcer, speaking. “We’re about to start again. Resume your original positions.” He paused as the cowboys filtered out of the arena. “Here we go from the top. Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to witness is not a mere show. The characters you see before you are not actors. These are the people who have lived out their lives on America’s Great Plains. Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you a Congress of Riders of the West!”
The noisy band started to play, a band Suzette now realized consisted of a woodwind section—clarinets and flutes—as well as a brass section. It was a marching song they were rendering—a rather loud marching song—but as soon as it began, into the arena pranced a procession of some of the finest specimens of horseflesh Suzette had ever seen.
Of course their cowboy riders were even wilder and more dangerous looking than the animals. All the young men wore cowboy hats, which they removed as they rode farther into the arena, for as they came in, they waved them in the air. Many in the small rehearsal audience waved back.
Some of those cowboys, Suzette noted as she stared at them, had grown their hair long, but most kept their hair cropped short. All were groomed with a mustache, some with beards grown full out. Most had donned jeans or plain trousers, as well as chaps, multicolored shirts and leather gloves.
Several of the cowboys in the front guard held flags, but a few had hopped off their horses and, while continuing to walk, whisked out their ropes and began a series of rope tricks. It was amazing.
Next into the arena galloped the Mexicans, their guns held high as they sent off one shot after another. A few of their fellows followed on foot, strumming their guitars and singing a song that was in competition with the one being belted out by the band.
It was a noisy concatenation at best, but spectacular all the same. At last, pulling up the rear, came the Indians. No women were in the procession; it was all warriors who were adorned with full headdress, buckskin shirts, leggings, breechcloths and moccasins. Each man, in his right hand, held a staff decorated with feathers. Each lifted that staff high into the air, much as the cowboys had waved their hats. Those few in the audience responded with a round of applause.
“All right,” said the announcer, “that’s fine. That’s good. Now at this point, we’ll play the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’—the song that Buffalo Bill thinks should be America’s national anthem—and then we clear the arena. Are you ready? All right, let’s do that now.”
Suzette leaned forward to see if Black Lion was among the impressive-looking warriors, but either her vision was at fault or he was missing from this particular performance. Placing her hand over her forehead, she strained forward in her seat.
“Are you looking for anyone in particular?” asked Irena, who was seated beside her.
“Uh, yes. I was…uh…looking at the Indians.” Suzette glanced away from her grandmother. She had yet to confide to Irena that she was pregnant, let alone that she was married to a man who was not her babe’s father. Indeed, because she was British to the very end, Suzette hardly knew where to start. But one thing was certain, this was not the time and place to make a confession. Still looking in the opposite direction, Suzette said, “The Indians and the cowboys are quite a sight, are they not?”
“Yes. It’s why I thought we should come here to see the dress rehearsal. Of course, you’ll be invited to watch the show itself when it plays this weekend, but the rehearsals are more intimate…less people. I thought you would enjoy it.”
“And so I do,” replied Suzette.
“Careful. Careful,” came Richmond’s voice over the megaphone. “We’ll do the buffalo hunt first. Now I want every rider to form a protective line around the audience. Do this as soon as the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ is done playing. And I’ll say something like this: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, for your protection, our riders are forming a protective line around the arena so that you may witness a buffalo chase in safety.’ That’s right. That’s right. Take your positions now. Jed, a little to your left. That’s right. All right now, are you ready? Because as soon as you’re in position, we’ll let the buffalo into the ring. Remember, your job is to keep the buffalo toward the center of the arena. That’s right. Okay, let ’em loose.”
Suzette could hear the buffalo before she saw them.
It would have been hard to miss the sound, since the ground literally shook. They burst through the open gates and entered the ring—there must have been as many as fifty of them.
Were they being controlled? Suzette hoped so, because they seemed to be on a path aimed directly at her. Suzette jumped out of her seat, ready to run, and would have done so, too, except for Irena, who was still seated beside her.
“It’s all right, Suzie,” said Irena. “Sit back down. It is dangerous, but only to the cowboys and the hunters. You’ll see.”
Reluctantly, Suzette sat as instructed, though she wasn’t sure she could trust her grandmother’s logic. She peered out toward the arena. She had never seen a live buffalo before. They were massive, wild and hairy beasts, and she shuddered to think of meeting one of them without the safety
of the arena.
While she was staring at the beasts, she saw him. Riding a spotted pony that was no taller than were the buffalo, Black Lion rode hard into the fast-moving herd. He was yelping and urging his mount to run up to the side of a buffalo. Without a saddle, without even a hold on the reins, he performed the stunt hands free.
In awe, she watched as his pony nudged itself in close to one of those buffalo. Closer and closer it pushed until its master, Black Lion, at last shot off round after round of the arrows, aimed directly at the buffalo. No buffalo bull fell, however, since the arrows the Indians used were rubber tipped. But the pony acted as though its master had killed the beast and dropped back to find another target. Once again, it was the pony that brought his master in close to the buffalo, so close Suzette was certain Black Lion could have reached out and touched the beast.
Again, Black Lion shot off round after round of arrows. What happened next was surely not in the script. One buffalo slowed and turned. It pawed the ground. Then it rushed toward Black Lion.
Those who were seated in the audience leaped to their feet. A few of the women screamed. Several of the cowboys, those who had lined up around the arena, prodded their mounts slowly forward.
“Stay where you are,” came the announcement over the megaphone. “Protect the audience.”
The cowboys retreated.
The bull charged. Was Black Lion prepared for the attack? He looked relaxed in the saddle. Was he too relaxed?
The bull stormed forward. Suzette screamed.
The pony stood still. However, in the nick of time, the pony darted to the side, then swung around to meet the bull’s next challenge. Again, the bull lunged forward, but this time Black Lion sent off one arrow after another, directly toward the bull’s head. Quickly, he fired, and though each arrow hit its target harmlessly, their force still stunned the bull.
The bull stopped, but he didn’t turn. That gave Black Lion’s companions, the two other Indians, the opportunity they had been awaiting. Yelling and hollering, each holding out a blanket, they provided a diversion, and the bull, confused, caught sight of one of its own herd, one who was exiting the arena. Luckily, the bull followed its companion out of the arena.
It was over.
A feeling of relief swept through Suzette, which was followed at once by a round of applause from the audience. For her own part, Suzette let go of a long-held breath.
All it would have taken was one foul step and her newly acquired husband’s life would have been over. The feeling of loss that accompanied the thought seemed out of place for a man she barely knew.
Or did she know him better than she thought?
At present the three main players in the little drama were taking their bows, then with a wave to the audience, the three Indians exited the arena. But the roar from the relatively small audience would not let them go.
“Yes, yes,” said Richmond, the announcer, “come back in here, boys. Take another bow.”
As the three young men rode once more into the arena, the clamor from the people rose in a crescendo. In their hands, the Indians held bows and arrows, and on cue, they threw their hands high into the air. The small crowd went riotous, Suzette included. Even the cowboys who had placed a protective guard around the arena applauded.
“That’s right. Give them a hand, folks. They certainly deserve it,” said the announcer.
At last Black Lion looked directly at her. But what was this? What was he doing?
Without dropping his gaze from hers, Black Lion set his mount in a direction that would take him to stand right in front of her. Then, reining in the Appaloosa he rode, Black Lion wasted not a single effort, and in a salute to her, he placed his right arm over his breast.
It was an honor. Suzette grinned back at him, and caught up in the moment, she whipped her hat off her head and threw it into the arena.
It was a bad toss, a girl’s toss, and it fell to the ground well short of its mark. But it didn’t matter, because turning his pony around and reining the animal into a run, Black Lion rushed toward the hat at a full gallop. Leaning over the side of the animal as it approached the hat, Black Lion plucked the bonnet up with ease. Straightening in his seat, he waved the headgear in the air as one final salute to her. No sooner had the act been committed then he rushed from the arena.
Suzette stood still, staring at the place where Black Lion had exited long after his image had faded from view. He had been magnificent. He had been thrilling. And this from a person who had been raised in the drama of the opera.
He had also been in danger. But it wasn’t merely this that worried her. There, in the midst of the buffalo hunt, she had feared for him, truly feared for him.
Suzette wondered what this meant. She had married this man for his name alone. Did she already have stronger feelings for him than she ought? Certainly she respected him, and particularly what he had done, was doing, for her. Certainly she responded to him physically, but…
On the tail end of that idea, images materialized in her mind’s eye, those of Black Lion. There he was, confronting the buffalo; there he was, listening to her, reasoning with her, arguing with her, tying their hands together, marrying her…kissing her.
She touched her lips. She had returned each of those kisses, she reminded herself. But it seemed to her she could have done little to help herself. Especially because his kisses were as untamed as the man was himself. If she were to be honest, and she really should be, she would have to admit to yearning for more contact with the man.
In the form of what? More kisses, more embracing, more fondling? What was it he had said to her, there in the beginning of their relationship?
If you are ever willing and wanting more, I, too, might be agreeable…
Like a fine vein of gold marbling through a rock, his words laced through her thoughts, and without conscious effort, desire, pure and carnal, leaped through her. With a certain degree of self-abhorrence Suzette knew she was not only married to this man, she wanted this man, and on a very physical level.
But in so short a space of time? Surely, he was kind. Surely, she liked him. Surely, he created feelings of lust in her. But…?
Could such a thing be a result of being pregnant? After all, was it not said that pregnancy could cause unusual cravings?
Still, on a subconscious level she knew that this thing stirring within her was not a matter of bodily hormones. She wanted him as a woman wants her mate.
It was an alarming realization. She sat back down, feeling as though the wind had been knocked from her. In truth, she felt both frightened and excited.
It also unsettled her. Had she not hoped to escape this very scenario? Was that not one of the reasons she had sought out a man with whom she ought not to associate?
Truth was, she didn’t want to experience love or lovemaking. As far as she was concerned, men did hurtful deeds and said hurtful things. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with William?
Quite unconsciously, she stiffened her back, and at the same time she tried to tighten her resolve against her feelings for Black Lion. She was here to do no more than give birth to her child, return to the opera and hopefully regain not only her self-respect, but the veneration of a society that had shunned her. That was all.
Still, she was more than aware that she was not immune to this man’s charm. That this could pose a problem was also without doubt.
However, perhaps she worried needlessly. Indeed, Black Lion had his life to lead, she had hers. There really should be no trouble at keeping the man at a distance.
She sighed.
As Black Lion rubbed down his pony, he wondered again how he should proceed. His luck, it would appear, had changed, for at last he had found the owner of the voice from his dreams. Of course he couldn’t be certain, but he believed she could be the one who owned the sacred song.
Why had he not recogn
ized before now that her voice was the one from his dreams? Surely he had heard her sing that first day he had found her in Irena’s tent. Perhaps he had been too bewildered by her requests at the time. Or mayhap he had found her beauty too distracting.
But, regardless of the reason, he pondered what he should do now. How should he approach her? Undoubtedly, she was his wife, and although a man might solicit his wife’s help with ease, this was not the situation between the two of them.
Could he sing the song to his wife? Perhaps. But if she was not the one, and he did sing it, would he lose forever his only chance to help his people?
It was a good question, an important question, and one he could not answer.
It was hard to know what to do, and he wished fervently for guidance. If only someone else were here to help him, or better yet, if only White Claw, the wise man from the Lost Clan, were here. White Claw would know what to do.
Black Lion instinctively wanted to seek out his wife, to sing to her and to free his people. How happy he and the Clan would be. Yet, he must control himself, for if he acted in a way he should not, all could be lost.
He frowned.
He could seek out a medicine man here amongst the Lakota with the show. But, though he had grown to manhood amongst the Lakota, they were not truly his people. And except for Two Bears, Black Lion had never confided to anyone the truth of who he was. Fear of the consequences of doing so had made him hesitate. Instead, he had sought out advice from the Great Spirit, He who spoke to him through his spirit protector.
Black Lion paused in his train of thought. That was it. His spirit protector. His spirit protector would know what to do, for the mountain lioness spoke words that came from the Creator.
Yes. He would go into the mountains.
Speaking gently to his pony and leading her back to her stall, Black Lion closed the door on the animal, petted her and left the stables to seek out the wisdom from his spirit protector.
Chapter Ten
