by Karen Kay
Kristina knew the significance of the gesture. Hadn’t he told her young couples often stole away to marry and were husband and wife as soon as the maiden placed her hand in his?
“I will love you all my life,” she said in English, not caring who in the fort heard her. She placed her hand in his. “I, too, wish to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Kristina!”
She didn’t even hear her mother’s voice. It was drowned out by Tahiska’s laughter.
“Kristina, no!”
Soldiers, youngsters, women were now crowding around the ponies to see what was causing the shrill exclamations. Major Bogard joined his wife, and taking a stand beside her, effectively held her back.
Kristina didn’t hear a thing. She saw only her husband. Hand in hand, they stared at one another as if no one else in the world existed. Then, all at once, she was swept away with the force of his love as he picked her up and swung her around and around. She reveled in his wanton disregard for the restrictions of both of their cultures, and the sound of his laughter rang in her ears.
He kissed her before setting her down.
“I will get my things.”
“No, come! There is nothing here for you now. I will provide for you all that you need.” Tahiska stared at her, the smile disappearing from his face. “Come, it is time we went home.” Without releasing her hand, he led her to his pony, and jumping onto it, bent down toward her, sweeping her up onto his horse. He nestled her against him while his arms encircled her. He placed the reins of the two ponies in her hand. “A wedding present,” he whispered for her ears alone.
Margaret Bogard screamed at the sight of the couple and began to swoon. The major quickly supported her and helped her to the side of the crowd.
“I love you with all my heart, Kristina,” Tahiska murmured into her ear, ignoring the dramatics occurring all around him. “I have thought of you constantly since I left here. I would have been here sooner, but I needed these horses to win your father’s approval. I wish no trouble, but it is time that I bring my wife home.”
Kristina had never felt happier. She smiled at him, and because she saw nothing but him, she was oblivious to the dismayed bystanders.
But Tahiska was more than aware of them. His gaze searched the crowd for his father-in-law, finding him only now returning from his apartment. The major strode toward the young couple, appearing neither shocked nor pleased. In sign he asked, “My friend, what is the meaning of all these horses?”
Tahiska released his hold upon his wife. “I once asked for your daughter in marriage,” he gestured. “But you did not understand then. Let there no longer be any misunderstandings between us. I love your daughter with all my heart. These ponies—they are for you. I would live with your daughter, protect and care for her all my life.”
The two men stared at one another; the Indian’s glance proud, the white man’s unreadable.
Finally the major smiled. He extended his hand to the young brave. “Welcome to the family, son.”
A multitude of emotions flickered across the Indian’s face before he laughed heartily, releasing a high whoop. He accepted the major’s hand and shook it enthusiastically.
“Kristina,” Julia whispered, touching her hand. “You’ll be leaving now?”
Kristina beamed. “Yes.”
Julia nodded. “I will miss you. But wait a moment, I have something for you. Will you wait?” She asked the question of Tahiska.
“Hau.” He nodded, then spoke in English. “But hurry.”
Julia turned and bounded away, returning quickly, and Kristina couldn’t help but observe that Julia must have prepared the gifts long ago.
She handed two intricately beaded necklaces to Kristina. “These,” she said, “are for my two friends. I’m afraid I lack the courage to give these gifts to them myself. I am asking you to do this for me, Kristina. And these,” she said, handing her friend two rings, each made of silver, “these are for you and Tahiska. I noticed neither one of you had a ring to proclaim your marriage.” Julia smiled up at her friend though tears filled her eyes. “I will miss you.”
Kristina took her friend’s hand in her own. “Always,” she said, “we will be friends.”
Julia flashed Kristina a smile and, with a quick glance at the other two Indians, she, pivoted around and fled.
She was gone so suddenly she didn’t see a sullen Neeheeowee watch her departure, every single step.
Tahiska flashed one last proud look at his father-in-law. Then, spinning his pony and the other two mounts around, he dashed from the fort, his wife positioned in front of him and his father-in-law twenty horses richer.
Kristina tried to hold it back. Tahiska, too. But neither could contain themselves, and joyfully they laughed.
Their laughter resounded over the hills and swells of the plains, and soon even the birds joined in, the happy sound echoing like music upon the welcoming, golden hills.
Finally, Kristina had come home.
Epilogue
Minneconjou Camp of Lakota Indians
North Dakota
Autumn, 1834
The moon, resembling a large, golden globe, hung low in the darkened sky. Laughter echoed in the air as the storyteller ended his tale. None of the Indians assembled around the fire spoke. This last tale would be a hard story to beat.
Finally, the umpire of the story contest called out, “Is there no one else to speak? Who has brought us honors? Who was wounded in a fight?”
“I have been,” a young brave said, leaping to his feet. “I will tell my story and Shota is my witness.”
Kristina caught Tahiska’s eye across the sparkling campfire. She smiled, finding an answering warmth in his gaze.
“It was on such a night as this, one winter ago…”
Kristina’s thoughts drifted away as the young man spoke. In the year since she had come to the Indian camp, she had changed almost beyond recognition. Dressed in the traditional garb of elk skin, which was ornamented with quills and beads, one would have mistaken Kristina for an Indian, unless one looked closely at her hair and eye color. Her hair was parted in the middle and braided on each side.
The center part was painted with red vermillion, a custom fashionable to all Plains Indian women, and on her feet were moccasins which were almost entirely ornamented with porcupine quills. Even her skin, bronzed by the sun, would not have given a clue as to her true race.
Indeed, Kristina had taken to Indian life so well, most in the tribe no longer remembered she was white.
But the change was not only physical. Since arriving at the camp, a peace had settled deep within her, for here there was harmony. With virtually no laws, there was yet little crime. Nothing was ever stolen, rights were protected and wrongs were requited. With only the individual’s respect for honor and honesty as incentive, the society existed in relative peace.
For all practical purposes, Kristina had become Indian.
Her eyes met those of her husband’s again across the red embers of the campfire. There was a hunger in his gaze that she recognized well. Unaware that there was an answering glow within her own glance, she rose.
“Where do you go?” asked Kokomikeeis, catching her hand.
“I…” Kristina stammered, blushing.
Kokomikeeis smiled. “You do not need to answer. Your husband sits next to mine and I saw the look Tahiska gave you.”
“Han, yes. Well I…”
“You two act as though you have only been married a few weeks instead of a year. Never have I seen two people with so much passion.”
Kristina squatted beside her. “Not even you and your husband? You have not been married very long either.”
“Yes, but Wahtapah is too shy or too reserved to show his love for me around the others. It is our way. And although I am happy, sometimes when I see the looks exchanged between you and Tahiska—”
“But, my friend. Have you not noticed? Wahtapah often stares at you in the same manner.”<
br />
“I have not—”
“Watch closely. Even now your husband stares at you. Look. Do you see it?”
“I do,” Kokomikeeis said, sobering. She blinked, then grabbed at Kristina’s hand. “You must go. Hurry. Tahiska has already left. He will expect you in your tepee. Go.”
Squeezing her friend’s hand, Kristina rose, and nodding at the others around the fire, fled in the direction of home.
She arrived before Tahiska and, opening the flap, ducked inside, moving to the left, to the woman’s quarters. She sat down, her legs to the side, and threw another stick of firewood onto the center fire. Her gaze scanned the inside of the tepee, her home. She smiled. It was odd, she thought. Most white men thought of the Indian woman as no more than a slave, yet it was the women in the Plains tribes who owned all property. Everything within the tepee, the tepee itself, and even most of the ponies belonged not to the men, but to the women. If ever there was a divorce, it was the man who had no other option but to seek out his mother, since he owned nothing more than the clothes upon his back and a horse or two.
It was only a few moments before Tahiska joined her in their home. Standing up tall within the tepee, Tahiska’s glance held hers before he stepped to the right, sitting down near the back of the tepee on his willow-branch backrest.
He stared at her over the center fire, his glance heated with desire.
“You wished to see me alone?” he asked.
“I thought it was you, my husband, who craved my company.”
He smiled. “So I did. Am I so obvious?”
“Yes, I am afraid so,” Kristina said, smiling.
“It is just that you are so beautiful and I can think of nothing else but holding you in my arms.”
Kristina smoothed down the buffalo robes beneath her before she stood. Her gaze intense, she reached toward the shoulders of her dress, there untying one of the strings that held the dress up. “And you are handsome, my husband.”
Tahiska sat forward from his willow rest and, coming onto his knees, fixed his attention on Kristina.
She untied the other string at her shoulder and with a quick smile, let the dress fall to the ground.
“Kristina.”
“Love me, Tahiska. Show me that you desire me.”
He was around to her side, taking her in his arms before she could utter another word.
“Always, Kristina. Always.”
And as he drew her into their bed of soft buffalo robes, he proceeded to show her.
“You are happy here?”
“Very much,” Kristina answered much later that night.
Tahiska sighed. “I have worried.”
“Why?”
Tahiska’s eyes glanced up at his shield, which hung from the tepee lining to his right. It presented Kristina a clear view of his profile—handsome, strong, Indian.
“I was unsure. Your world seemed so different from ours. Rarely did I see you work at the fort, yet amongst my people, you work almost constantly. I did not know how you would view this. You could have been unhappy and then I did not know what I would do. There were other things. Little things. Do you miss your song-maker?”
“Sometimes.”
“Your dresses made from a plant?”
“A little.”
“White man’s food?”
“Occasionally.”
“Perhaps next year,” Tahiska said, “when we trade with the white man, you can find some of these things.”
“Perhaps,” Kristina said. She snuggled closer to him. “My husband, my love.” She put her arm over him and spoke into his chest. “I miss these things only a little. If I were gone from you, I would miss you more. I would die a little, I think. You mean more to me than all of these things. I can’t do without you, without your love. These other things are as nothing beside you.”
“Kristina—”
“There was no need for worry. There will never be.”
He paused. Then, just when the silence had settled, he said, “It is good, our love.”
“It is good.”
Their eyes met, neither bothering to disguise the intensity of their love for one another. In the distance a coyote howled and a wolf sang. And both lovers knew that whatever would come, whatever the future held, they would face it together.
Tahiska rose up on one elbow over Kristina. He brushed his fingers over her cheek.
“Kristina, you will have me forever.”
Kristina smiled before she replied, “Forever, my love. Forever.”
I love the people who have always made me welcome to the best they had.
I love a people who are honest without laws, who have no jails and no poorhouses.
I love a people who keep the commandments without ever having read them…
I love a people who never swear…
I love a people who love their neighbours as they love themselves…
I love the people whose religion is all the same, and who are free from religious animosities.
I love the people who have never raised a hand against me, or stolen my property where there was no law to punish for either.
I love the people who have never fought a battle with white man, except on their own ground…
I love a people who live and keep what is their own without locks and keys.
I love all people who do the best they can. And oh, how I love a people who don’t live for the love of money!
—GEORGE CATLIN
Last Rambles Amongst the Indians
About the Author
Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.
Karen Kay, whose great-great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.
“With the power of romance, I hope to bring about an awareness of the American Indian’s concept of honor, and what it meant to live as free men and free women. There are some things that should never be forgotten.”
Find Karen Kay online at www.novels-by-karenkay.com.
Look for these titles by Karen Kay
Now Available
Lakota
Lakota Princess
Proud Wolf’s Woman
Blackfoot Warriors
Gray Hawk’s Lady
White Eagle’s Touch
Night Thunder’s Bride
Legendary Warriors
War Cloud’s Passion
Lone Arrow’s Pride
Soaring Eagle’s Embrace
A love that defies the ocean. A secret deeper than blood.
Lakota Princess
© 2012 Karen Kay
Lakota, Book 2
Driven from her home in England by hostile political forces, Estrela was little more than a girl when she came to be raised by a far western Lakota tribe. On the wide, sweeping plains she grew tall and strong, and won the love of a handsome warrior.
But on the eve of their marriage, she is torn away from her native family, torn from the man she loves, and forced to return to a place that feels more like a foreign country than her home. There she merely exists, haunted by her love’s sweet kisses and heated embrace, yearning for his unforgettable touch.
Black Bear has braved the ocean to find the woman whose beauty has captured his soul. But no sooner has he arrived in England than he is called upon to save her life. Who in their right mind would want to murder such a gentle spirit?
As Black Bear comes between her and death time after time, Estrela wishes they could both just disappear back to the plains, and bury the secret she has long hidden—even from him. A secret from which only their love, truer than blood, can save them.
Warning: Contains separated lovers who will let nothing come between them...not oceans, her mysterious past or a murderer bent on destroying their future. Sensuous love scenes could make you want to cool off with some skinny dipping, hope
fully with a gorgeous lover of your own.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Lakota Princess:
“Waste Ho Win.”
Estrela sat up straight and glanced into the crowd.
What was that? The wind blew by her and seemed to whisper. What? No. It could not be. It couldn’t be her name—her Indian name.
She listened; nothing more. She gazed back around and stared at members of the Royal Guard as they lined the streets of Pall Mall. Dressed in red jackets and tall, black hats, the Guard reminded her that she was, indeed, in England. Crowds of the English populous had lined up behind the military for a view of their royalty, the parade being in honor of the adjournment of Parliament. There was nothing here to make her think of the American West. Nothing Indian. Nothing at all.
“Waste Ho Win, where are you?”
Estrela caught her breath. She’d heard Lakota words. There in the wind. It wasn’t possible and yet…
She stared around her. She sat alone, perched up high in the back of a grand, mahogany coach. The Duke and Duchess of Colchester, along with their two daughters, reclined in the main coach, their seats facing one another. Two drivers, dressed in red jackets and black hats, sat in front, controlling a team of four horses.
A faint breeze of humid air rushed past her and Estrela strained to hear more words the wind might carry to her, for any sort of explanation.
Yet there was nothing more. No scent. No memories.
She brushed a hand over her forehead.
Did the breeze know something?
She thought she’d heard him. His whispered words, carried on the wind. She shook her head as though to clear it.
At that same moment the drums began to beat, fifes to play, the Guard, straight ahead of her, began to march. And as her own coach pulled out into the street, behind the Guard, the noise of the horses, the crowd, the military should have blocked out any further sound.
