Captive Bride

by Carol Finch

  The aging chief squirmed uncomfortably on his paint pony, his misty eyes taking on a faraway expression that touched his wrinkled features. "It is Bitshipe's sad story and her dying words that whisper in the great falls and echo along the walls of the Valley of the Elk. It was because of this tragic struggle between Rose Blossom and the two powerful warriors who wanted her that this legend came to be. Makhupa, the medicine man and shaman of the Crow, was very fond of Rose Blossom. He had long admired her beauty and lively spirit. When he learned that Bitshipe had perished in the falls his own heart was heavy with sorrow, and he made his way to the ridge that overlooked the valley. Raising his arms and his voice in a plea to Morningstar, he placed a lasting curse on the valley. Makhupa commanded the falls to whisper Rose Blossom's tragic fate to Morningstar so he would be merciful to her wandering spirit.

  "Every creature of the earth that lived in the fertile valley now stands in stone. Time does not move beyond the towering peaks where the Mountains of the Wind forge the Yellowstone. The grass, the prairie fowl, the elk, and bear may be seen from the cliffs, as perfect and as natural as they were in life." A tear slid down Arakashe's weather-beaten face. "Even the wild roses, for which Bitshipe was named, bloom in colors of solid crystal. There the birds, even the great sparrow hawk, soar on mighty wings in motionless flight. Only the great falls continues to flow on its course across the colorful rocks, moving forever toward the sea. The air is alive with a sad melody and the mournful voice of Bitshipe continues to call to her lost love. In the Valley of the Elk, the sun and moon shine with petrified light, and because of this curse, our people no longer venture into the region beyond these crests. It is sacred ground. There, the memory of Rose Blossom lives on and the falls murmur Wapike's name."

  "It is a sad legend," Rozalyn mused aloud. She peered off into the distance, imagining a place where birds soared in motionless flight, where a waterfall spoke with a human voice that was heavy with sorrow. It was not difficult to be caught up in the tale when she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the mountains.

  Rozalyn found herself wondering if there could truly be such a place where time stood still.

  "It is a very sad story," Arakashe agreed. Nudging his pony, he pursued the treacherous path long the lofty crests. "The curse of the shaman shall remain on the Valley of the Elk for many snows. When it is Wapike's time to walk into the spiritual world of Morningstar, he will return to the bluff where he and Rose Blossom once stood. There he will answer the call of Whispering Falls and will search out Rose Blossom's restless spirit. Only then will the sparrow hawk dip and dive and feel the wind beneath its wings. Only then will the elk and antelope melt from stone to graze upon the rich grass that lines the valley."

  "Wapike has taken no other woman for his wife?" Rozalyn queried. "But you said it was the custom of your people to live on, to make a new life with another squaw. Does Wapike have no other wives to console him?"

  "Wapike will never take another wife. He cannot." Arakashe braced himself when the pony sidestepped along the narrow trail. "He cannot forget Rose Blossom's hauntingly lovely face or the tormented whisper of her voice. He cannot close his eyes without seeing hers shining before him in the darkness. When Rose Blossom perished in the falls she took Wapike's heart with her. What no longer belongs to Wapike, he cannot offer to another. If he did chose another woman, she would only remind him of Rose Blossom. He would have no love to give her. What could a man offer to another woman if not his heart? A man cannot speak if he has no voice, nor can a man offer love if he has no heart."

  Dark penetrating eyes focused on Rozalyn, who had the uneasy feeling there was something about the legend Arakashe hadn't told her. "One must remember that so great a love can sometimes cause great pain. The legend of Bitshipe is one you will not soon forget. The lesson it holds for all of us is one of caution." The faintest hint of a smile rippled across Arakashe's parched lips. "When Hawk was young I brought him to this place to speak of the legend. He bravely announced to me that he did not wish to die while he still lived, that he would never fall so deeply in love that his heart would bleed. But he could not foretell the future, when he was destined to walk among white men and red men alike, calling all of them his brothers. He grew to be a great warrior among the Crow as well as the Longknives. I have prayed to Morningstar that he will find happiness, and that it will not be cut short by another warrior's vengeance."

  Eerie sensations skittered up and down Rozalyn's spine. She felt as if the mountains were whispering to her while she and Arakashe blazed a trail along their perilous slopes. Was Arakashe trying to tell her that loving Hawk was a lost cause? She had had that very thought a thousand times in the past weeks.

  "Remember well what I have told you, Mitskapa," Arakashe insisted, pinning her to the towering rock wall with a probing stare. "No one has challenged the curse of Whispering Falls. Time has its own way of righting the wrongs of our forefathers. It is the teacher of all things. You must remember the sad legend and avoid the valley of stone. When the curse is lifted, Wapike will walk into the river's waiting arms and life in the Valley of the Elk will be as it once was. Until that day, our people veer away from the mountain overlooking the falls. In the future, you will also speak of this legend. Speak of it with feeling and pass it onto others as accurately as your memory will allow."

  When Arakashe had finished, he eased himself from his pony to make camp for the night. Rozalyn peered at the chief who silently crouched to build a fire to ward off the chill.

  "I was stirred by the tragic legend," she confessed. "But I think there is more, something you are hiding from me. Has it something to do with the feud between my family and Hawk's?" Rozalyn could not imagine how her father could have had anything to do with the legend since her mother had been white, a descendant of the French aristocracy who had established St. Louis. Yet, Arakashe's remark about a man never being able to love again hit a sensitive nerve. That description seemed to fit her dispassionate father, a man who had made the fur-trading business his life, shutting out his family. Perhaps she was just grasping for some connection, she told herself. This might be just another superstitious tale like the ones she had heard from the trappers. Would she ever learn why her father had such a fierce grudge against Hawk's family?

  "You are too impatient, Mitskapa," Arakashe chided lightly. "First you must ponder the legend. Later you will learn its meaning in your life. Not all stories have happy endings. My heart grows heavy when I consider my grandson, and I wonder if Morningstar will smile kindly on him."

  Rozalyn prayed fate would smile upon both of them, but she dared not live on false hope. It was as Hawk had said. They had made a space in their lives for love and they could only revel in happiness until it was time for her to return home. She could expect no more than that. Arakashe had made it a point to remind her that happy endings did not necessarily follow when a man and woman fell in love. Was the wise, perceptive chief of the Crow preparing her for the worst? Was that to be her life story? Rozalyn trembled uncontrollably as she stretched out on her pallet by the fire. The more she contemplated the legend and Arakashe's words, the more depressed she became. Why had she dared to fall in love when she knew there was no future with Hawk? It had been easy in the beginning. Rozalyn had convinced herself that she could survive on blissful memories. But now, when the end was near, she wondered if she hadn't been a fool.

  When she thought of Hawk, she found herself comparing their affair to a journey down a treacherous river. There had been turbulent rapids along the way, and also peaceful waters. But even from the distance they had heard the thundering of a waterfall, one they must approach. And now there was no turning back, Rozalyn thought disheartenedly. She and Hawk had been swept into a current of passion and there was no place to go but down into the torrents of water to the frothy pool below.

  If only Hawk were here with her to chase away her fears . . . But he wasn't and she was left to drown in her dreary thoughts. She kept reminding herself that no one h
ad promised her life would be happy and carefree. She had been existing in a fairy tale for so many months that she had forgotten there was such a thing as reality. Soon she must come to grips with it, and once she had taken the impending fall she would see the world as it truly was—cruel, unjust, and gracious only to a select few. But the worst part of it all was that the man with the dancing green eyes and raven hair would not be there to help her through the rough times ahead, times when the sweet memories of their mountain paradise would be lost to her.

  Chapter 27

  As Arakashe led Rozalyn through the Yellowstone she became increasingly aware that the fantastic tales of Colter's Hell were true. The sprawling lakes and hot pools that lay before her resembled morning-glory flowers in color and shape, and the sparkling waters that spilled over pastel rocks rivaled the beauty of rainbows. It was like walking into nature's sanctuary.

  When the old chief reined his steed to a halt and gestured to the west, Rozalyn's awestruck gaze followed his arm, and she saw a steamy marsh in the distance. "This is the land of the spirit springs. Here, Hawk will come to take you with him on the hunt." Warm brown eyes fell fondly upon her. "I must return to my people to prepare for migration to our spring hunting ground." His tanned finger traced the exquisite features of her face and he blessed her with another smile, one that held a hint of remorse. "You have won a place in my heart, Mitskapa. May the Great Spirit of the people of the free-soaring Sparrow Hawk be kind to you."

  To Rozalyn's amazement, the aging chief reversed direction and left her sitting amidst the steamy springs. "You aren't leaving me here alone?" she gasped in disbelief.

  Arakashe twisted atop his pony, a confident grin lighting his wrinkled features. "You are a strong, resourceful woman, Mitskapa. Even the name I have given you speaks of your ability to survive the greatest trials. Wild Rose, as it translates in your native tongue, signifies that you blossom like a wild bud, taking root at will in this beautiful but perilous region. Soon Hawk will come for you. But for now, it is best for you to be alone in the land of Morningstar."

  When Arakashe disappeared from sight, Rozalyn glanced uneasily about her and then swung from her pony to give her backside a much-needed rest. How long was she to await Hawk's return? What if... The thought of attack by a savage or a beast left her with unsettling sensations. She dragged her rifle from its sling and clung to it, just in case such dangers came her way.

  Aimlessly, she ambled about, listening to the gurgling streams and the warble of the birds that nestled in the trees. She didn't want to think. It depressed her. Besides, she had done her fair share of contemplating during the journey and she had gained little more from her efforts than a headache.

  Rozalyn sank onto the ground to survey the magnificent scenery, keeping a watchful eye for trouble. The last time she had been left alone in the wilds, she had confronted a grizzly. Now she wondered what other creatures were lurking in this vast mountain range, waiting to make her their midday meal.

  A low rumble resounded about her, jolting her from her silent reverie. The sound made the ground vibrate beneath, and then a hiss followed, as if a thousand snakes had congregated to serenade her. Rozalyn shuddered. Perhaps an earthquake was about to occur, she thought. But before she could seek more solid ground, the hissing sound grew louder until it very nearly deafened her, and from the peaceful pool near which she sat, a steamy geyser erupted, shooting scalding water two hundred feet into the air. Startled and screaming for all she was worth, Rozalyn bolted to her feet and darted away before the hot mist doused her. When she was safely out of range, she wheeled around to view the bewildering jet, her eyes wide with amazement.

  There was indeed such a place as Colter's Hell, where hot springs belched from the earth. She had been skeptical when she had heard the tales of the adventurers and trappers who wandered in the wilderness. But now she was a believer. She had seen and heard the eruption, and she could no longer doubt the existence of geysers and boiling springs.

  "Do you still intend to mock me when I insist there is a place where water boils from the earth and rivers of steam hover about the creek beds?"

  Hawk's amused voice came from so close behind her that Rozalyn very nearly jumped out of her skin. He had sneaked up on her as silently as a great cat. His stealth and the fact that he had abandoned her earlier had her temper at a roiling boil that matched the heat of the geyser spewing in the distance.

  She pivoted around, her blue eyes blazing. Then, without voicing a greeting, she let fly with both barrels. "Damn you, Hawk. Have you not one shred of decency? Couldn't you have had the courtesy to inform me of your intentions before you waltzed off in the middle of the night? You can't store me in a cache in the ground as you do your supplies and pelts and then come retrieve me when the mood suits you. I do not appreciate being taken for granted.” Rozalyn's voice was becoming higher and wilder by the second. She was so annoyed with him that she had an urge to hurl something more forceful than words. Hastily she glanced about her, searching for a rock, a club, anything that might serve to pound some sense into the man who, lately, had shown himself to be as insensitive as a pine tree!

  When she spotted a weapon and reached for it, Hawk quickly drew her to him, waylaying her attempt to club him with a nearby stick. "A lecture on my faults and a painful beating was not the sort of reception I had envisioned," he murmured huskily.

  Rozalyn was too angry to be stifled by the velvety huskiness of his voice. She was furious at him, and had been since Hawk had trotted off, leaving her in a stockade with unruly heathens for company. Forcefully, she pushed away, refusing to be mellowed until he swore he would never pull another such inconsiderate prank.

  "Don't think you can coax me into submission, Hawk Baudelair," she spun, her clenched fists resting on her hips, her wild hair tumbling about her in disarray. "Do you recall the names Dark-Eagle and Yellow-Calf? I certainly hope you don't count them among your friends! While you were waltzing about in the wilds, they sneaked into my cabin to abduct me. Not that you don't approve of such tactics," she added sourly. "After all, if you hadn't kidnapped me, I wouldn't be here in the first place." She was just gathering steam and she intended to erupt as long as the nearby geyser did. "Since I was unable to fend off both lechers, I faced rape. Arakashe came upon me and prevented it. Not that you seem to care a whit."

  Hawk had been thoroughly enjoying her tantrum, watching her full breasts heave with every indignant breath she inhaled, and noting the sparks flying from her sky-blue eyes . . . until she told him about the aborted assault. At that news, his mouth compressed in a hard line.

  "I do care and you damned well know it," he snapped back at her. "I have made mention of the fact several times, or has your memory escaped you?"

  "My memory serves me well," Rozalyn flared, her chin tilting a notch higher so she could stare down her nose at him. "You said we would be together until the end. It is your memory lapse that concerns me, my love." The endearment sounded like a curse, and at the moment, that was exactly how Rozalyn meant it. "You are adoring and affectionate when it meets your whim, but when you crave your freedom you think nothing of stashing me in a corner and prancing off. Damnation, I could have been raped!"

  "Well, at least your assailants received retribution," Hawk retored. He knew Rozalyn was right so he couldn't very well argue the point. He had been preoccupied with his troubled thoughts and he had needed the time and space in which to think, not that he had solved his dilemma, but at least he had tried. "I'm sure my grandfather saw to it that your molesters were buried neck-deep in ant hills."

  "Like hell! Arakashe didn't bother with torture. He only banished the drunken trappers from the Crow lands. I personally would have had them shot, but I was given no say in the matter. The Crow chief then had me deposited on a horse and herded away although I insisted I had no inclination to accompany him."

  A bemused frown plowed Hawk's brow. Arakashe must be growing soft in his declining years, he mused. At one time the chief would
have such offenders strung upside down or buried in the ground and left for the ants. It seemed he had become more tolerant of the Longknives. Perhaps that was because Hawk was half-white. Why else would Arakashe have spared the lives of Dark-Eagle and Yellow-Calf?

  While Hawk was attempting to analyze the chiefs actions, Rozalyn hurried on, refusing to be derailed from her train of thought. "And that is another matter that infuriates me. I do not appreciate being carted off by a party of Indians and detained in a camp in which I can converse with only one member of the tribe. Thank heavens Arakashe speaks English! At least when he spared me the time I could communicate with him, unlike the chief of the Sioux who didn't have the faintest idea what I was ranting about!" Rozalyn inhaled deeply and then plunged on, incensed that Hawk had broken into a smile. "Don't you dare speak of love when you merely consider me a convenient object of your lust! I have had enough of your contradictions. If I truly mean something to you, why did you abandon me for two weeks when you know our days are numbered? Bear-Claw taught me to survive in this wilderness but you leave me behind to traipse off only God knows where!"

  "Are you finished?" Hawk raised a dark eyebrow and then bit back a chuckle when Rozalyn glared at him.

  "Not quite," she fumed, taking a bold step forward to shake a dainty finger in his face. "I have thought it over, and I have decided to return to the fort to await my father's arrival. You seem to be satisfied with your self-imposed isolation. Far be it from me to make you drag me along with you when you appear content to hunt and trap the Yellowstone alone."