by Karen Kay
A surge of joy filled her, and as a flame began to ignite within her, she spun around in his arms. Did he realize how truly dear he was? Oh, that she could do something for him. But what?
“My darling,” she murmured, as she scooted down his chest to take a flattened nipple into her mouth. She marveled at his sudden intake of breath, and she knew an anxiety to give him the same thrills that he had shown her, only earlier this day.
She shifted her attention to his other breast, again glorying in his deep moan. Then she began a downward descent. Down over his flat belly. Down lower still. But she hadn’t gone far before he checked her progress, pulling her up under her arms.
She gazed back at him.
“Not this time,” he said, shaking his head. “I am still too excited by you, and I fear I would not be able to last long enough to give you your pleasure.”
She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
He grinned and brought up a hand to thread through her hair. “It matters very much to me. Do not think that I do not want this, but we have many years ahead of us, and it is something we will do. But perhaps at a time when I am more accustomed to you—at a time when I am not so excitable by the mere thought of your touch. Besides, it will give us both something to think about, something to look forward to.”
“Yes, I understand. But don’t you know?”
“Don’t I know what?”
“Don’t you know that I already look forward to each minute, each second I have with you? I don’t need any form of lovemaking to remind me of what you mean to me.”
“But—”
With her gaze, she pleaded her case. She was more than a little exhilarated when he at last lay back, and drawing a deep breath, he said, “You are right, but remember, when I pull away from you, it is because I have almost lost control.”
She gave him a brief nod, then she once more began her descent down his body.
His low moan, sounding more like a soft growl, was the first thing she found dear. He tasted of spice and fresh river water, and his scent, balmy, clean and invigorating, excited her.
It had no more than begun when he reached down and pulled her up to him. Switching positions, he lowered her to the ground, which was still warm from his body heat.
Coming up over her, he smoothed back her hair. “Perhaps in old age I may grow accustomed to your touch, or perhaps I am wrong and the feel of you against me may never become a common pastime. But know this, whether or not the fire between us becomes a mere ember in our future, you will always have my love. That will not die. I will not let it. And this I promise you.”
“Oh, Swift Hawk,” she cried, and reaching up, she cradled his head in her hands. “Love me, my darling. Please love me.”
With a deep kiss as a promise for what was to come, he proceeded to do just that.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Friendship is held to be the severest test of character… But to have a friend, and to be true under any and all trials, is the mark of a man!
Charles A. Eastman
The Soul of the Indian
There was a dryness in the air, and the sun was high in the sky. Looking up, Angelia shielded her eyes from its brightness. She and Swift Hawk were once again traveling on the prairie, en route to the wagon train.
Both of them had been more than a little reluctant to leave the safe haven of their coulee. But responsibility was an impatient taskmaster, and at last, both had known that a few days would be all they could have with one another. At least for now.
Swift Hawk had stopped.
“There is something wrong.” He placed an arm in front of Angelia, forcing her to halt as well.
“What is it?” She gazed first at him, then straight ahead. In front of her were numerous stands of trees that surrounded the camping site of the place called Council Grove. Here and there, Angelia could discern a line of white canvases, parked beneath those trees. But the site was still so far away, she wondered if she were only imagining it.
“I do not know what the trouble is,” Swift Hawk responded at last. “I only sense that an enemy lies in wait.”
She gasped. “Hostile Indians?”
Swift Hawk didn’t answer at once. Instead, he crouched low and became very still, as though he were in a holding position. His attention was clearly not on what he looked at, but rather was radiating outward from him, as if with his mind he would discover the cause for his alarm. Angelia remained silent, watching him.
They were, at present, afoot, and were leading Swift Hawk’s pony. The caravan, Angelia had learned from Swift Hawk, had stopped at Council Grove. It was in this place that the merchants would mend any broken wheels, as well as create a store of hardwood logs for each outfit. Since this was the last stand of hardwood trees along the Santa Fe Trail, it was a necessary precaution against accidents.
Angelia had discovered that it was at Council Grove where Swift Hawk, acting as a scout, had found Julian—only a day past. Staring off at those white-topped wagons now, Angelia realized that she too felt anxious.
Council Grove was a meeting place for the merchants who traveled over the Santa Fe Trail. It was a famous spot, as well, although it was not a town. Rather, it was simply a location that had been given its name due to a treaty being signed there; a treaty that had been made in 1825 between the United States Government and the Osages. In that document, the Osage Indians granted the United States the right of its citizens to pass through their territory without harm. For this right the Osages had been granted eight hundred dollars worth of merchandise.
Perhaps her anxiety was due to Julian. It was certainly true that she yearned to see him again.
How odd it was. Here on the prairie, time seemed to be a fickle thing at best, and while it felt to her as though it had been forever since she had seen her brother, the reverse was true with Swift Hawk. Their time together had flown by.
And yet in contrast, she had changed so drastically in these last few days. She sighed.
True to his word, Swift Hawk had left her alone that night when they had made love and had returned to her in the morning, bringing with him news of Julian. Not only that, Swift Hawk had bore yet another treasure: a dress.
“Where did you find this?” Angelia had asked of Swift Hawk as he had returned to her. Seeing the dress, she could hardly contain her excitement.
Swift Hawk smiled at her. “I found your brother in camp with the rest of the caravan. It was as I had thought. Your brother had become lost, and seeing that he would not succeed in getting to the caravan in time, he found a low spot in which to wait out the storm. He knew that Red Fox and myself would lead the wagons to safety.”
Angelia breathed out deeply. “Good. Good. Then Julian is well?”
“He is very well.”
“But didn’t he ask about me?”
“He did. I told him you were also well, that you had left camp to find him, but that I had found you and secured you in a temporary camp. He is the one who gave me the dress.”
“Ah, I see.” She nodded. “Did anyone else ask about me? Pierre? Mr. Hudson, or the children?”
“I saw no one else. I came upon the caravan in the early morning hours, when darkness is at its deepest. I spoke to no one but your brother and to Red Fox, as well.”
“Then the caravan survived the storm in good shape?”
“It is so.”
She smiled at him, and looking up into his eyes, they fell together as though they were each one a magnetic force for the other.
He said, “I think the wagon train might do without us for another few hours, my wife.”
“Do you now?”
He grinned at her. “I do.”
They had spent the rest of the morning and most of that next day wrapped up in one another’s arms.
That had been yesterday. Today, there within their lean-to, they had showered each other with kisses, each caress as precious as if it might be their last. And then, paying their respects to such a beautiful spot, they
had left and ridden out to meet the wagon train. What they would find at the caravan, and how they were to act with one another, they hadn’t discussed. As though by mutual consent, they had decided to discover first what prejudice awaited them.
Angelia feared the worst, but she was ready to survive whatever might be their fate.
“Come,” urged Swift Hawk, interrupting her thoughts. “I must find a place of safety for you while I go into camp and investigate.”
“Into camp? Do you think that’s where the trouble is?”
“I believe it may be so.”
“But if you go alone, that could be dangerous.”
“It will not be dangerous,” he said. “I have been trained for this. I can easily slip into camp without detection and discover why I sense there is trouble.”
“But—”
He frowned at her. “There will be no argument.”
Angelia had learned by now that when it came to Swift Hawk’s idea of her safety, there was no arguing with the man. He would have his way.
But still, she would try one last time. “I don’t understand why you worry. There should be no danger for me in camp, unless there is an Indian attack.”
He gave her a quick glance. “Do you hear an attack?”
“No, but it’s still so far away.”
“Far away, but we are on the prairie. Sound carries easily here. If there were an attack, we would hear it.”
She didn’t even think to question him on it further. She had already learned that when Swift Hawk said something was so, it generally was so.
But he was continuing to speak. “You must stay here. I will find a good hiding spot for you. Then, after I determine what the difficulty is, I will return to you.”
“But—”
“Do you forget that there are bounty hunters who are looking for you and your brother?”
“No, but if bounty hunters are the problem, then they might have Julian and—”
“We waste time, when I fear I am needed. You will stay here. Do not argue with me further.”
“Swift Hawk, please, I—”
But he wasn’t listening. His mind was already miles away.
She sighed, and pretending acquiescence, she let Swift Hawk lead her to a tree, where he proceeded to dig a shelter for her. It was a quickly done affair, a place carved out between a tree and a rock. So cleverly was it done, that when he had finished, it practically melded into the countryside.
He gazed at her sternly. “I will return here for you as soon as I know what this danger is, and if it will influence you.”
“I see. And when will that be?”
“I do not know,” he replied, “but I think maybe tonight.”
“Tonight? But it’s only a little past noon now.”
He straightened away and sighed. “Perhaps you can sew yourself a pair of moccasins while I am gone, for you will need them.” He grabbed hold of his parfleche bag, which had been strung on his pony. Turning back to her, he squatted and left the bag on the ground, there within the shelter.
She was not happy about this, and glancing up at him, she pouted. “You know I want to go with you.”
“Yes, and we have already had this conversation.” His look at her was uncompromising.
“Oh! Sometimes you are so stubborn.”
He nodded. That’s all he did. He didn’t appear angry, nor did he repeat himself. Indeed, all he said was, “I will return soon. Wait here.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
She sighed deeply, and having settled herself within the shelter, she watched as he turned to the pony. Once there, he took hold of his trade-blanket and buffalo robe, her shotgun and his, untied the buckskin reins from the animal, and slapping the pony on the rear, he let the animal go.
At first Angelia could barely speak, and then, “Why did you do that?”
He didn’t even spare her a glance as he set her rifle and the blankets next to her. “If the pony is seen, it will cause others to search for your shelter. And if there is a war party near, it will lead them to you. For myself, a scout goes afoot, since, as you might have noticed, it is hard for a man to conceal himself when he is riding horseback.”
Again, she frowned at him. “Very well. But you must know that I am not happy about this.”
“I do, indeed.” With no further words to be spoken, without even a single kiss or a goodbye, he turned and left.
She watched him until he was out of sight. Taking up the leather that he had left her, she proceeded to fashion herself a pair of moccasins.
Perhaps she might have done as Swift Hawk had instructed too, were it not for the gunshot and the scream that was carried to her upon the wind. It had been a man’s voice, that scream.
Throwing down the leather, she stood up. That was that. For good or for bad, there was no stopping her.
Someone had fired a shot. He had best hurry.
With the sun directly overhead and the heat of the day upon them, Swift Hawk slipped into camp unseen. However, had he ridden in attack upon these wagons with war cries and banners waving, he doubted anyone would have noticed him. The hum of talk was everywhere.
Crawling to the top of one of the wagons, Swift Hawk could see Kit Russell near the center of the commotion. So, too, could Swift Hawk discern Mr. Hudson, who was also there, though his children and mother stood toward the back of the crowd.
The curious yet frightening thing was that the crowd was centered around Angelia and Julian’s wagon.
Stealthily, Swift Hawk made his way back to the ground and sped toward the scene, trying his best to look beyond the few brightly colored sunbonnets and more numerous bobbing black hats. Still no one had noticed him. It gave him some advantage.
As he strode forward, he attempted to hear beyond the hum and barking of many uplifted voices. But it was no good. Though words were being shouted, Swift Hawk could not discern what was being said. He would have to go in closer.
Without warning, Red Fox was in front of him, and Swift Hawk knew a very happy moment. Without wasting time, Red Fox said, “It is your white friend. He is in trouble.”
“My white friend? Julian?” asked Swift Hawk.
Red Fox nodded.
“What is happening here?”
“There is a man who came here,” said Red Fox. “I call him Black Hat, for he wears a black hat, black boots and grows black hair above his upper lip.”
Swift Hawk frowned. Black hat, black boots, black mustache?
But Red Fox was continuing. “Black Hat has wounded our friend and has tied his hands. He is attempting to take him away from here. But the people who travel with this train are protesting this.”
And they were. Even now Swift Hawk could hear the raised voices of Kit Russell and Mr. Hudson.
“Do you know who this man is and where he is from?”
“I do not,” said Red Fox. “But he is a white man I have not seen with the train before today. He wears also a red shirt and buckskin breeches, like many mountain men that we have seen.”
Swift Hawk became deadly still. This was it.
It was the man from his vision. Swift Hawk knew it without even looking; he could feel it.
So this was the danger he had sensed. Here before him, at last, was Swift Hawk’s destiny. Here was his duty.
Show kindness, show mercy to the enemy. Give help. These were his guiding principles. But could he do this if the man was manhandling Julian?
He had no choice. But…
Swift Hawk needed more information. He would have to advance closer to the center of the argument to see if this man, Black Hat, was indeed the one from his vision. And if he was…
“My friend,” said Red Fox, “is something wrong?”
Swift Hawk nodded. “There may be a great deal wrong or a good deal that is right. But I am uncertain, and I cannot explain it now. Come, let us make our way through this crowd. I would see this thing for myself.”
“The man’s lying!�
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Above the shouts, as well as the hum of the crowd, Julian’s voice could easily be heard. Sitting atop his mount, Julian was holding on to his shoulder. Blood dripped there.
“Wait! I can prove it,” came another voice, equally as loud. “If’n ye’ll let me show ye the writ. Got me here a writ a some kind or ’nother ’n’ a wanted poster from the good ole state o’ Mississippi. Somewhere, here in my pocket. This here man’s a murderer. Killed hisself a man. Got a woman pregnant, then left. It’s my job ta take him back fer a trial, but in my mind, he oughta be hung.”
It was the man from his vision. Swift Hawk immediately recognized him.
“He’s lying,” Julian cried out again. “I have committed no crime!”
Kit Russell stepped forward, and taking hold of the writ, scanned it. Glancing up at Julian, he could be heard to say, “Sorry, son. But the man’s within his authority. You’ll have to do as he says. It’s the law.”
Julian looked spooked. But all he uttered was, “He’ll hang me.”
Kit Russell shook his head. “It’s out of my hands.”
The people in the crowd murmured amongst themselves, and Mr. Hudson reached for the warrant, as though to check it for himself. Glumly, he rubbed his head.
The excitement was dying down, and one by one the people began to retreat. Seeing it, Black Hat gave a rotten-toothed smile, and mounting his own horse, took up the reins of Julian’s steed. Steadily, he proceeded to weave his way through the crowd.
Confused at his exact role in this drama, but on the alert, Swift Hawk followed, leaving the wagon train behind him.
What happened next occurred so fast that Swift Hawk barely had time to react and no time in which to think.
Black Hat had not gone far—in fact, the white tops of the wagons could still be seen faintly in the distance—when suddenly she was there. As though she had materialized out of the prairie itself, she stood in Black Hat’s path.
What was she doing? Hadn’t he told her to stay put?
