by Karen Kay
“It is possible. You might. It happened earlier, shortly after the sun hit its highest peak.”
“Around noon,” she interpreted.
“Haa’he. I was on the prairie, and with the dark clouds coming, I threatened the Thunderer, challenging him to a duel. As I was turning away, I saw the vision, there in the clouds. It was an image of two men. One was a white man who wore a black hat and black boots. His mustache was black, as was the hair upon his head, and he wore a red shirt and buckskin trousers.”
Angelia nodded. It could be anybody. “And the other man?”
“He was a short man, fat, with little hair on his head, though what hair he did have was black and was slicked across his head. He was dressed differently than the first man, than any of the other white people I have seen, thus far. His trousers were of a material similar to those I have seen made by the Pueblo Indians, those Indians who live a little farther south and west of us. This man’s shirt was also of a different color and looked like the cotton shirts of the French, yet not quite the same. And he had a flimsy material of sorts at his neck.”
“Yes, I understand. What you have described could fit the description of any well-to-do man in the southern part of our country.” She frowned as an unusual image took shape within her mind, one that wouldn’t let go. Why, Swift Hawk might be describing a man she knew…a man she despised. “Was there more?”
“Yes. My people were there also, happy, but most important they were free. In my vision I had accomplished my purpose. It is this that leads me to believe that my path may be to find these men, for I think they might lead me to breaking the curse.”
“Yes. Yes, it would seem so. However, Swift Hawk, I must protest. I really think that you should follow this path now, not—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Do not say more. My mind is made up on this. I will see you safely to Santa Fe.”
“Correction. You will see my brother safely to Santa Fe. If you go to seek this man, I will go with you.”
“No.”
“Yes. On this, my mind is made up. Where you go, I go.”
He shook his head. “You would only hinder me.”
“I will not hinder you. I will help you. You know this is so.”
He sighed. “We will not speak of this now. Once we escort your brother to Santa Fe, perhaps then we might discuss it again.”
“Certainly. Discuss it all you like. But I will go with you.”
He grinned at her. “You know that I could slip away from you without your knowledge.”
“I know. But I’d only set out after you and possibly get myself into trouble. You know this.”
He laughed, and turning toward her, he kissed her, pulling her hips in close to his. “And I would find you and take you back to Santa Fe.”
“But if you didn’t know when I had left, or where I had gone…”
Again he grinned. “Are you threatening me?”
“Certainly. I mean it. Where you go, I go.”
His smile faded, and by the look in his eyes, she was given to understand that the moment had become more serious. “Know this: I love you very much. And I am honored to have your love. Know, too, that I pledge to you that I will do what I can to earn your loyalty, that which you give so freely.”
She smiled, and taking a finger, she ran it gently over his chest. “Does that mean that you have changed your mind about taking me with you? You’ll do it without argument?”
He shook his head. “You are impossible,” he said, but he smiled. He also captured that finger. “I have not promised you that. We will talk of it later. But for now, I have other things on my mind.” He ran a hand over the curve of her hip.
“Oh? What sort of things were you thinking of, my husband?”
He kissed her again, his touch lingering over her buttocks, where he pulled her hips in so closely to his own. She was at once filled with the knowledge of exactly what this very exotic man had in mind.
She purred in response. “Oh, that sort of thing.” She smiled at him and returned his kisses, one for one. “I think that would be a fine thing. A very fine thing, indeed.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Let neither cold, hunger nor pain, nor the fear of them, neither the bristling teeth of danger nor the very jaws of death itself, prevent you from doing a good deed.
Charles A. Eastman
The Soul of an Indian
Several hours later Swift Hawk sat up, away from her. Angelia immediately pulled him back.
“Where are you going?”
He leaned over her and pushed a lock of hair from her face. Then he kissed her. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” She gazed up at him, her eyes searching his, as though by a look alone she would determine his thoughts. But his glance revealed nothing, so again, she asked, “Where are you going?”
He sighed. “I am leaving here to see if I can discover what has happened to your brother. It is my hope that he has made fresh tracks now that the rain has stopped.”
She nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. It would be better if you stay here. You can watch over the pony.”
“You are not taking your pony?”
“No. I will be scouting. A scout usually travels afoot—in this way, he may go unnoticed by any wandering war party.”
“Ah. But it is night, Swift Hawk. How can you look for a trail at night?”
He shrugged. “It will be difficult, but it is not impossible, and it is safer to do this at night.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because few are about at this time, and also a scout is harder to see, harder to recognize.”
“But—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “I will return to you before the light of dawn. If your brother is in trouble, I will help him and bring him here. If he is not in trouble, I will return to you alone, and we will seek him out together…but let us do this tomorrow. Now I would ask that you go back to sleep.”
Stubbornly, she shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I would go with you.”
He sat for a moment as though in thought. After a while, he nodded. “I understand, and I should have expected as much from you. It is said that strong women will sometimes do this. And if this be the case with you, I will not stop you, my wife. But know that your presence could hinder me in my search, for I would need to be constantly alert for enemies, much more so than I would be if I were on my own.”
“But I don’t understand. Wouldn’t I help you?”
“You always help me,” he replied diplomatically. “But because you are a novice, I will have to ensure that your trail, as well as mine, is erased from the land. And I will need to account for your mistakes in leaving tracks and calling attention to us, for you will make these mistakes. And I would keep you safe. So, by all means, come, but it might take me longer to find your brother.”
“Oh.” Angelia bit her lip, her brow furrowed into a scowl. “If I stay here, do you think you can find his trail—tonight?”
“Haa’he. It is possible.”
“Then I will stay and, as you asked, I will watch over the pony.” She grinned.
He nodded in response. “That is good. Now, go back to sleep. I must prepare myself to leave here.”
“Prepare?”
“A scout does not go forth on a mission without disguising himself. There is some danger on the prairie.”
“Disguise?”
“Haa’he.”
“As what? What guise do you use when you scout?”
“That depends on where I am scouting,” he said. “On the plains a scout will often disguise himself as a wolf. However, in the desert, I might use a different means to conceal myself, and certainly I would do so in a wooded area, where one should look more like a bush than an animal.”
“Really? And how do you do this? Disguise yourself? I mean, since you scout mostly on the prairie, do you carry a wolf skin in your bag?”
“Someti
mes I do. But I did not bring this with me. I will use mud from the stream, instead.”
“Mud?”
“Haa’he, do you wish to watch me prepare?”
“Yes, husband,” she said, still grinning. “I think that I do.”
Swift Hawk sat up, reaching a hand down to help her. “Come, we will go to the water, and I will show you how I become a wolf.”
Angelia agreed, and keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around her, she crawled out of their lean-to and followed him to the water.
The rain had stopped, the clouds had disappeared and at present, a crescent moon lit up the night sky. It was not a cool evening, even though the rain had fallen long and hard. Rather, it was pleasing. However, her feet, which were shoeless, met with mud every place she stepped, the stuff oozing through her toes.
At last, however, they had tiptoed to the river. While Swift Hawk bent down to grab a handful of mud, she gazed up into the star-littered sky.
“Look,” she said. “There’s the Big Dipper.”
“Where?” he asked.
She pointed.
“Ah, that is known to the Cheyenne as the Seven Brothers.”
“Seven Brothers?”
“Haa’he, seven brothers and a sister. They escaped from a herd of wild buffalo by climbing a tall tree. But the buffalo tried to knock down their tree, and in defense, the brothers and their sister took refuge in the sky, where they remain to this very day.”
“Hmmm.” She squatted beside him and hugged her knees. “What a wonderful legend.”
“Yes, and there are many more legends I could tell you. Someday I will.”
“Yes. Someday.” She glanced at him, and her eyes widened in some alarm. “Swift Hawk, what are you doing?”
“I am painting myself.”
“With mud?”
He shot her a lopsided grin. “Watch closely and see how this mud will harden on my body. For when it is dry, it is a similar color to the prairie wolf.”
“A prairie wolf? Ah, I see. So by caking mud on yourself, you become a wolf?”
“Haa’he. Watch.”
She did. Indeed, when he painted himself with the stuff—sometimes trading the mud for ash, which was supplied to him by their fire—she could begin to see the transformation. Bending, she put a finger-streak of mud on her arm and watched it as it dried. Interesting. It did actually resemble the color of the wolf.
Meanwhile, Swift Hawk was covering every inch of himself with the muck, even going so far as to create wolf ears on top of his head. When at last the deed was done, he crouched next to her, looking, in her estimation, half human, half wolf.
“Do you see how it is done?”
“I do, indeed. But I have a question, for you forgot one thing, I think.”
He glanced at her. “Did I?”
“Yes. And it is something of importance.”
He raised that eyebrow of his.
“It is this: How do I kiss you goodbye?”
“Kiss?”
“Yes, I would not send you out alone on the prairie without a kiss.”
He grinned. Even beneath the disguise of mud and gook, she could discern his smirk. But he didn’t say a word. Instead, he opened his arms wide, inviting her in.
“Now, wait a minute. As it is, I have very little clothing with me. I am not about to muddy this blanket.”
“Then take it off,” he said quietly.
“Take it off?”
He nodded. “If we are to say farewell to each other, then let us do it properly…”
No sooner were the words uttered than she dropped the blanket to the ground, uncaring that the soggy earth would muddy it. She stepped toward him and threw her arms around his neck. “When you leave, you will be careful, will you not?”
He bobbed his head in agreement. “I am a scout. It is in my nature to be careful. But come, I cannot kiss you with mud on my lips. Walk with me to the water while I wash this mud from my mouth.”
“Yes. All right.”
Taking a few necessary paces toward the water, he bent down to wash off his lips. However, in doing so, he somehow splashed water on her.
“Oh! That’s cold. Don’t do that again, please.”
“Do not do what again? You mean this?” He splashed her once more.
“Oh, Swift Hawk, stop that this instant.” She turned away from him, only to feel another splash at her backside.
Spinning back toward him, she said, “Now that will be enough of that. Cease this!” Though she frowned at him and flashed him a warning glance, she had also placed her hand in the water just so, had cupped it and without awaiting his approval, sent a spray of water his way.
She heard his laugh, followed immediately by another splash at her.
“What is this?” She glared at him, but his look at her was innocent. “You realize, of course, that if you keep this up, I will retaliate even more.”
He sprinkled her with yet more water. “I do not know what this word ‘retaliate’ means.”
“It means this,” she instructed, showering him with so much river water the mud began to run off him.
If he were concerned about it, he didn’t show it. Instead, his laugh was full-hearted and rich, as though he were as carefree as the wind. In truth, his next action surprised her, for he executed a shallow dive into the water, surfacing quickly. From this new position, he sent her another spray of water, and it was done so swiftly, she was wet from head to foot before she had realized what had happened.
“Ah! I don’t believe this,” she said. “You know this means war.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he teased her with another light sprinkling.
“Very well. If we’re going to make a battle out of this, there must at least be rules.” She eased herself into the water gradually.
“Rules?” he asked. “There are no rules.”
“Yes, there are,” she insisted. “Because you are bigger and stronger than I am, there have to be rules. Like…” She thought a moment. “Like, you should have one hand tied behind your back. That would make a skirmish between us fairer.”
She stopped long enough to note his response. A mistake.
She was instantly showered.
“Oh.” She sputtered. “That was definitely not fair.”
He grinned. “That is because in a water fight, there are no rules, except this.” And he did it again.
“Swift Hawk!”
“But,” he said in a conciliatory sort of voice, “if you believe I should fight with one arm behind me, I will do it, although I will still win.”
“Humph! We shall see.” She dove into the water. Oh, it was cold, but not as cold as being out of the water, in the wind, and being splashed. As soon as she surfaced, she said, “Now, if we are to fight, what are the stakes to be?”
“Stakes?”
“Yes. If I win, what do I get? And if you win, what do you get?”
“How about…to the victor should go the right to ask a small service of the other.”
“A small service? For instance?”
“If I win, perhaps you could wash my pony for me, and maybe you could wash…me too.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “That is a very suggestive statement.”
And it was true. At the very thought of washing him, touching him, a warm pleasure rushed through her. However, she ignored the sensation—at least for now, and continued, “That seems fair enough. And if I win, perhaps you could rub my feet for me, like you did that one day, and maybe you could rub other places too.”
“A lusty request.”
“Yes. Quite.” She pursed her lips, but there was laughter in her eyes. “Do you agree?”
“Agreed.”
No sooner had the word left his lips than he dived under the water.
Darn. Where did he go? She gazed every which way at the water.
She was not left long to ponder, however. He had swum to her feet, and with a quick jerk, pulled them out from underneath her.
“Oh!” She came up sputtering. “That was unfair.”
He surfaced close to her. “We have already defined the rules.”
“Not fair!” Cupping her hands, she sent him a shower of water, and kept it up, floating on her back and kicking her feet when her arms became too tired to continue.
He appeared to be impervious to her efforts. Alas, the only thing she received for all her hard work was his laughter.
And then even that was gone. Again, he had dived under water. Where was he?
Suddenly something surfaced directly in front of her, splashing her delicately and stealing a kiss from her. Plunging immediately back into the water like a naughty boy, Swift Hawk swam out of range.
She laughed, awaiting him to resurface. Ever alert, she watched the water for an indication of where he might have gone.
Instead of presenting her with a clear target, the whole process was repeated, and he stole yet another kiss.
She giggled—couldn’t help herself. She felt like a schoolgirl being teased by a favorite beau.
But where was he now?
She was not left long to wonder. He surfaced behind her, though she barely heard him emerge. When he spread his arms around her midsection, she knew immediately that she had found him.
Because he pulled her in toward him, she felt the imprint of his wet, nude body against her own. Leaning his head down against her shoulder, he showered her with kisses, and began to sway with her. They danced, their limbs entwined in a sensual movement that was half rhythmic movement, half floating.
He whispered, “I love you, Miss Angel, my wife.”
“That’s Mrs. Angel now,” she corrected, throwing back her head, and she came in closer to him, that she might give him more access to the sensitive spots on her neck. “Hmmm, that feels good.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?”
As they stood there, straining against each other, waist deep in the water, his head came to rest against her shoulder, and his hips moved in unison with hers. Then he was swimming backward, bringing her with him, his arms still wrapped securely around her. Soon she felt the smooth bottom of the shore against her hips, then the feel of it on her legs, and stretching, she leaned back against him.
One of his hands came up to rub her breasts, while he whispered in her ear, “Love me, my wife. If you would send me off with a token of your love, I would rather have it all, I think, not a mere kiss.”
