His arms were folded across his chest, and Lorna folded hers in the exact way. Perhaps because of the way his gaze once again moved to settle on her. She didn’t want to admit it, but her fate lay in this man’s hands. At least, for the moment it did. The very thing she’d sworn would never happen again.
“You stay,” he said.
“Stay?” she replied. “No, we won’t. Meg can stay, but the rest of us are leaving.”
“No,” he said. “You stay. You all stay until Ayashe decides to return to the white world or stay with Tsitsistas.”
“No, we won’t—”
“Nehetaa’e!”
His fast and harsh snap made a tingle zip up Lorna’s spine.
Little One pulled on Meg’s hand as she stood. “My brother has said that is enough. We go now. You come my lodge.”
“I don’t care if he said that’s enough or not,” Lorna stated, the tingle in her spine had fused into anger. “We haven’t agreed to anything. Nor will we be told what to do.”
Betty and Tillie pulled on her arms, attempting to lift her off the ground. Lorna shook them off and told them to sit back down, but they continued to plead with her to get up. The old woman and Black Horse started conversing in Cheyenne again, angrily, which rattled her nerves to no end. This entire escapade was ridiculous. Jumping to her feet, she told Betty and Tillie, “Meg can stay, but we are leaving.”
“We can’t leave her here,” Betty said.
“She didn’t leave me, and I won’t leave her,” Tillie said with more determination than she’d shown since leaving Missouri. “I can’t believe you’d suggest we should, Sister Lorna.”
Frustration bubbled inside her. “I’m not a sister,” she snapped. “I’m not anyone’s sister, and neither are you.” The sadness on Tillie’s face stabbed her. It wasn’t as if she wanted to leave Meg, either, but she didn’t want to be a prisoner. A captive like Little One.
“A couple of days won’t hurt,” said Betty softly.
“This won’t be settled in a couple of days,” Lorna insisted, glancing back to where One Who Heals and Black Horse sat. They had stopped arguing and were glaring at her. Both of them. With eyes full of disgust. The hair on the back of her neck quivered and she turned to watch Betty and Tillie, as well as Meg and Little One move toward the flap doorway. She followed. Convincing the others to leave would be easier outside, away from this beast of a man and scary old woman.
She’d only taken one step, for the area wasn’t very large, when Little One blocked her way. “You must stay.”
“We’ll discuss that outside,” Lorna said.
“No.”
Lorna turned toward the old woman, who stepped up beside Little One.
“You stay inside,” Little One added.
Far more than a shiver rippled her this time. Lorna attempted to push her way toward the doorway. “No, I won’t.”
For as tiny as she was, the grasp Little One used on both of Lorna’s arms was strong. “You stay my brother’s lodge.”
“No, I won’t,” she repeated.
“One Who Heals not trust you,” Little One said. “Say Black Horse must keep you.”
* * *
The white woman’s hiss filled the lodge as she spun to look at him. Black Horse rose to his feet. White people were trouble, and this one woman was more of a problem than one hundred soldiers. She was not dangerous, but a nuisance. One he did not need. One Who Heals did not trust this poeso, said this white woman will cause many fights among his people. He believed that and did not want fighting. A shiver rippled his spine. He did not want her screeching in his lodge day and night, either.
His mind and heart were troubled enough. Little One could choose to leave with these women. It was a decision she must make herself and he would stand by her choice, but he did not want others to influence her during this time. She needed to find the answers inside herself, not from the mouths of others.
He stepped across the center of the lodge and took the white woman by the arm. She started kicking and shouting as he told the others to leave. They left swiftly, but not fast enough. She had caught his shin with her heels three times. Frustrated, he knocked her off her feet, and by the time she’d landed on her bottom, he had retrieved a strip of rawhide from his pile of tools and weapons. He must seek wisdom, and could not do that with disruptions.
“What are you doing?” she shouted as he grabbed both of her hands.
It was not his way to respond, or to be dissuaded by her shouts as he tied her hands behind her back. He used a second strip to tie her ankles together. Once done, he stood, satisfied she would not interfere with his duties.
She flung aside the mass of curls flowing over her face and shoulders with a snap of her head. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Not trusting her any more than he would a wildcat, he gathered up one more rawhide strip, threaded it between the one on her wrists and tied the other end to a lodge pole. Then he gave her a satisfied nod.
“You can’t do this!” she shouted.
Black Horse said nothing as he left the lodge. Her shouts continued to fill the air while he ordered a young boy to stand guard. No one would enter his lodge without invitation, and no one wanted to be near a screeching poeso, but if she did manage to get loose, the boy would ensure she did not get far.
His people were going about their duties, seeing to their chores and homes as usual, but questions hung in the air. The news of Little One’s sister arriving had spread faster than if the camp crier had shouted it while running from one end of the village to the other, and everyone wanted to know what he would to do about it.
Black Horse held in a sigh and turned about. The news hung as heavy inside him as it did over the village. Many in his band had feared encounters with the white man because of Little One. They did not want her taken away, nor did they want to be blamed for her capture. As their leader, he could not let such things affect his actions.
He walked around his lodge and past the next row of homes, and the next until coming to the outskirts of the village. Putting one foot in front of the other, he kept going past the large herds of horses overseen by a group of older boys and onward through the tall grass and up the hill where trees grew beside the twisting and turning creek.
The familiar thud of hooves behind him brought a smile to his face. Most often, in times like this, when he needed time to see past his heart, he did so inside his lodge, and Horse must wonder why he was venturing away from the camp. “We do not need these troubles,” he told the animal. “The white men are restless, and so are The People.”
Black Horse picked out a tree that offered enough shade for both him and Horse and there he sat, resting his back against the rough bark of the tree’s trunk. Horse nudged his shoulder and Black Horse ran a hand down the animal’s long face before he set both palms upon his knees and closed his eyes.
The white men could use these women as a reason to attack, to kill mothers and fathers and sons and daughters. He did not want that for his people. Yet, in his heart, he did not want Little One to be hurt by his sending her sister away. It was no different than if she had been an Arapaho or Sioux or any other Nation. Little One had the right to know her family.
Horse snorted and then started munching on the grass, and Black Horse allowed his mind to envision the animal eating. They were one and the same, he and this great animal, and he waited for their shared wisdom to fill his body and soul. Animals did not think with their hearts, and he could not, either.
He willed his mind to go deeper, to the earth that provided the sweet grass for Horse and the buffalo that fed his people. He gave his thanks for the grass and for the many other great gifts the earth provided them daily. The food the women gathered that grew wild and lush nearby, the fish gathered out of the stream, the living water collected each morning. Letting his thoughts go, he continued praising all that was given to his people.
When the vision behind his eyes became the image of a black stallio
n standing on a hill, he drew in a long breath of air in order to become one with the stallion. His mind was now clear and open to accept the wisdom that would be shown to him.
A valley appeared, complete with a great herd of mares grazing peacefully with colts and fillies prancing around their mothers. Pride filled the stallion as he reared onto his hind legs, and a deep sense of harmony filled Black Horse. This was what he sought.
Suddenly the herd of mares erupted. As the horses scattered in all directions, Black Horse’s heart started to pound when in the center of the fleeing mares a mountain lion appeared. Sleek and purposeful, it paid little notice to the disruption as it crossed the valley and started to climb the hill. Its glowing eyes never left the black stallion.
One by one, his muscles tightened, like the stallion’s as the horse prepared for battle. The lion never slowed in its approached, but it did transform, taking on the shape of a horse. A magnificent mare with a coat of glistening brown and a mane of long curls.
The stallion lifted his head to sniff the air, and Black Horse felt a surge race through him as the mare topped the hill. The stallion stomped a foot and snorted, his nostrils flaring at the mare’s intoxicating scent. She tossed her head and stepped closer, nickering sweetly.
Black Horse wrenched his eyes open and jumped to his feet.
The vision had shattered, but left remnants behind. His pulse was pounding beneath his skin, desire burned hot in his loins and the scent of the white woman filled his nose.
Horse nickered behind him. Black Horse turned to glare at the stallion. Animals did not think with their hearts, but other parts of their bodies did drive their actions. Horse snorted and lowered his head back to the grass, and Black Horse turned toward the village. Much like the vision, he was upon a knoll, looking down upon the valley where his village sat. All was calm and peaceful. People moved about slowly. He drew in a long breath of air. He rarely questioned his visions, but this time, he did. Unlike the stallion, a sweet-smelling female could not influence him.
A movement caught his eye, and he squinted to pinpoint exactly where and what. A frown tugged on his brow when he realized his lodge was wobbling. Shaking as if assaulted by a strong wind, and then, right before his eyes, it buckled.
The next moment, much like in his vision, chaos hit. His once quiet village erupted as all ran to see what had caused his lodge to collapse.
He glanced toward the sky briefly, and then, knowing he must leave his place of meditation, started down the hill.
Chapter Six
Panic filled her, but try as she might, Lorna couldn’t move. She must have broken something. A leg, an arm, her back. She couldn’t even breathe. The weight of the lodge was crushing. It took all she had to twist enough so her face was no longer smashed into the ground. She gulped for air, but very little would go in. The pressure of the pile on top of her was too great.
When the weight shifted slightly, she struggled to shout, “Help me, please.”
Her plea came out as little more than a whisper. The weight was too great. Tears stung her eyes and she couldn’t hold them back. Not this time. She was going to die. Killed by a collapsing teepee.
Noises filtered past her internal whimpering, and the next moment the weight was gone. Taking in long gasps of air, she attempted to move, but her hands were still tied behind her back. Her shoulders, which she’d thought had already gone numb, started to burn as if they’d been singed by fire.
Lying on the ground, all she could see were moccasin-covered feet, but her sense of dignity returned. “Help me up,” she demanded. “Someone help me up.”
Someone did. The moment the solid hands grasped her waist, she knew who it was, and started shouting, “See what you did? You almost killed me, you heathen. Tying me up like that.”
He set her on her feet, which were still tied together, and she would have tumbled over if he’d completely let go. A fact that irritated her more. She opened her mouth to start spouting off all the insults forming in her mind, but didn’t have a chance to let them out before familiar faces gathered around her.
“Goodness, Lorna, are you all right?” Betty asked patting her cheeks.
“No, I’m not all right,” she answered, twisting her face away from her friend’s touch. “My hands and feet are tied and a teepee just fell on top of me.” Setting her gaze on Meg, she said, “Tell your sister to make this heathen untie me.”
Although there was anguish on her face, Meg shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Lorna insisted.
“It wouldn’t do any good for me to ask,” Meg said. “He doesn’t trust you.”
Lorna twisted to glare at the man keeping her upright by holding her arm.
“He probably doesn’t trust you even more now that you knocked down his home,” Tillie piped in. “Thank goodness you aren’t injured. You could have been crushed.”
“Could have been? I was crushed.”
“But you aren’t injured,” Tillie said.
“I won’t know until I’m untied,” she screeched, looking at Black Horse.
His hands once again grasped her waist. Without a word he picked her off the ground and carried her a few feet away from the mass of commotion near the remnants of his teepee. A group of ten or so women were dismantling the poles from the hide.
Wanting him far away from her, Lorna shook at his hold. “Let go of me, you beast!” When he didn’t, she asked, “Aren’t you going to help them?”
His expression, a stern, hard one, didn’t change. There wasn’t even a flicker of his eyes to say he’d heard her.
“It’s your teepee,” she told him, glancing in the direction of his gaze.
“Women take care of the lodges,” Meg said. “Just like in our society.”
Somewhat amazed, Lorna couldn’t pull her eyes off the Indian women. They reminded her of a hive of worker bees. Without a word, as if each one already knew exactly what to do, they had the poles separated from the hide and were already re-erecting them. It was astonishing how quickly and efficiently they worked; however, she didn’t want to be astonished. Turning to Meg, she pointed out, “Women in our society don’t build houses.”
“Maybe not in England,” Betty said, “but here we do. I helped...”
Lorna stopped listening and turned her full attention on Meg. They had been friends. Best friends from the day they’d met, and she felt deceived. Hurt.
Meg reached out a hand and laid it on a shoulder that still stung. Still burned.
“I know you’re mad at me, Lorna,” she said. “And I don’t blame you, but can you just—”
“Just what?” Lorna demanded. “Let these savages kill us?”
“They aren’t going to kill us,” Meg said following a long sigh.
“You don’t know that,” Lorna insisted. “You aren’t the one tied up.”
“And you wouldn’t be, either, if you would just calm down.”
“Calm down?”
“Yes.”
Lorna bit back another retort when tears glistened in Meg’s eyes. She was still mad, and tears wouldn’t ease that. Not even her own, which she refused to allow to take root. “You should have told me, Meg. Told me the reason you were heading west was to find your sister. Are you forgetting I’m the one who paid for all of our supplies? Mine and yours?”
“No, I haven’t,” Meg said. “And I know I should have told you, but you—”
“I’d have found someone else to partner up with,” Lorna said. “Someone who was focused on going to California.” Another thought happened then. “This is why you said we’d winter out here, so you could keep looking.”
Meg closed her eyes.
Lorna drew in air through her nose. She’d been betrayed her entire life, and had told herself it was over when she’d met these wonderful new friends. The betrayal hurt worse this time, right to the quick.
“I couldn’t let you partner up with someone else,” Meg said quietly. “And not just because I needed
your financial backing. I didn’t lie when I said those wagon trains aren’t safe for a woman alone. You witnessed that. If we hadn’t been dressed as nuns, Lord knows what would have happened to us.” Lifting her chin stanchly, she asked, “Where do you think you’d be right now if we hadn’t partnered up?”
“I don’t know,” Lorna answered honestly. “But I sure as hell wouldn’t be here.”
“Lorna!” Tillie admonished.
Snapping her head in Tillie’s direction, Lorna seethed, “Don’t tell me not to cuss.” Including Betty in her sweeping gaze, she added, “Don’t any of you tell me anything.”
Betty’s chin quivered as she said, “Fine. Be that way.” Spinning around, she marched away.
Tillie, blinking back as many tears as Betty had been, pressed a finger beneath her nose before she said, “I hope you get used to those ropes.” She, too, then turned about and walked away.
Refusing to let anything show, especially how rotten her insides felt, Lorna settled her gaze on Meg. Waiting for her to desert her, too.
“I am sorry I didn’t tell you,” Meg said. “But I’d do it all over again if I had to. I’ve been looking for Carolyn for years. She needs time to get to know me, to decide if she wants to stay here or leave with me. With us. I’m asking you to please just be patient. To give us a week, maybe two, and then, whether Carolyn stays or goes, I’ll do everything I can to see you get to California safely. I promise.”
As much as she didn’t want to admit the rest of them would be lost in a day without Meg, she did want to point something out. “It’s not like I have a lot of choices, Meg. None of us do. This predicament you’ve put us in is pretty set.”
“You’re wrong, Lorna,” Meg said with empathy filling her eyes. “You do have choices. Lots of them.”
Still tied together, her feet were going numb from standing in the same position, and she twisted slightly, which only made Black Horse’s hold tighten. Glaring at Meg, she said, “Name one.”
Meg nodded toward her feet. “Being tied up is because of a choice you made. How would you react to someone coming into your home and calling you names and saying hurtful things?”
Her Cheyenne Warrior (Harlequin Historical) Page 7
