That had been exactly what had happened in her home on a daily basis, but, in this instance, Lorna saw the point Meg was attempting to make, therefore, she pinched her lips together.
“We always have choices, Lorna,” Meg said. “Sometimes they aren’t the ones we want, but we still have them.” Nodding toward Black Horse, Meg said one more thing. “You can choose to believe the Cheyenne are savages, as you called them, or you can choose to believe they are kind and peaceful people who took my sister in and loved her when other tribes would have killed her.”
Lorna wasn’t sure if it was Meg’s words or the way Black Horse nodded at Meg that sent a little tingle up her arm and into the vicinity of her chest. Maybe Meg’s words made a lot of sense. Well, in a sense they did, but it could also be that she had come close to dying when that teepee had collapsed on her. Either way, she didn’t want things to continue the way they were.
It felt as if she was swallowing her pride, the little bit she’d scavenged when she’d left England, but what had to be done had to be done. Glancing toward Black Horse, she asked, “What do I have to do in order for you to untie me?”
He glanced around.
She bit her bottom lip while waiting.
Meg leaned forward and whispered, “You can start by not expecting him to speak to you in English while others are near.”
Lorna held back a growl. This was going to be harder than she expected.
Still whispering, Meg said, “Gaining trust is much more difficult the second time around.”
As if she’d had a chance the first time? There, too, Lorna kept her mouth closed. The teepee was standing tall again. It appeared nothing had been damaged when it had toppled. As the other women left, Little One walked up beside Meg. No words were passed, not between the Indian woman and Black Horse or Meg, but the silent communication was clear.
Meg and Little One walked away, and Black Horse once again hoisted her into the air. Lorna didn’t appreciate being carried any more than before, but she didn’t squirm this time, or protest verbally. When he ducked to carry her inside, she leaned closer, just to make it easier on both of them, although the brush of his bare skin against her cheek sent a fiery shiver down her spine.
The inside looked just as it had before, including how the robes were laid out, and this time, that was where he set her down. On her bottom, which she was grateful for considering her legs probably wouldn’t work if how they were tingling was any indication. Accepting what would happen was partially her choice, she said, “Thank you.”
He chuckled and the twinkle in his eyes had her pinching her lips together. This time to keep a smile at bay. An oddity. One she didn’t want to fathom.
“That irritates me,” she said instead.
He lifted a brow.
“That,” she said. “How you understand every word I say, but pretend as if you don’t. You’re even convincing at it.”
Sitting down in front of her, he pulled a knife from his waistband. “My people would not understand why I not tell them I know the white man’s words.”
Assuming he would use the knife to cut her bindings, she stretched her legs out. “Why?”
He frowned slightly.
Lorna bowed her head to accept her own punishment. He had no reason to trust her, and she knew what that was like. Unable to trust, unable to believe anyone had your best interests at heart. “I’m sorry,” she said, and truly meant it. There were so many things she’d thought she’d left behind, so much pain, but in truth it had just been buried inside her, waiting for a chance to sprout, much like garden seed. “I am. Sorry, that is, and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
The twinkle had left his eyes, but they were still soft when he looked at her.
“I don’t break promises,” she said quietly. “I’ve had too many people break them against me.”
“Your friend Meg?”
She nodded. “Yes and no. She didn’t break a promise as much as she didn’t tell me the entire truth.”
“There is a difference?”
“Yes, there is a difference.” Lorna wasn’t about to try to explain that. It would take her too far down memory lane, and that was one choice she did have—not to remember, at least whenever she could help it. “So,” she said, nodding toward the knife. “What do I have to do in order for you to untie me?”
The twinkle was back in his eyes, and the grin on his face made him look anything but fierce.
“Hold still,” he said.
With a knife that size coming at her, she’d most certainly hold still. An hour ago she’d have been screaming to see such a weapon. Something Meg had said must have struck a chord. These people certainly could have killed Little One, but they hadn’t. She was looked upon as the chief’s sister. In any society, being the leader’s sister was a lofty position.
He removed the leather strap from her ankles and signaled for her to turn around. While doing so, she wondered if perhaps Black Horse didn’t look fierce now because actually he hadn’t earlier, either. Other than in her mind. That was a perplexing thought. But when she thought on it a bit harder, she clearly remembered the way he’d looked back at the river. He had been fierce looking. Extremely so.
As soon as the leather let loose, her hands began to tingle. Burn actually, as did her shoulders as she brought her arms forward to rub her hands together against the pins-and-needles sting assaulting them.
After setting the knife aside, he took her hands and rubbed them between his palms, which erupted an entirely different kind of sensation inside her.
She pulled her hands from his hold.
“They stop stinging soon,” he said.
“Already did,” she lied, not wanting him to rub them again. She didn’t like to be touched. Up until she’d started traveling with Tillie and Betty, she’d never been hugged. Not since she was a child and her father was alive. Those two were always hugging, and touching. It had taken her some time to get used to it. Her father had hugged her, but that had been so long ago, she’d forgotten how it felt, and for some reason, didn’t want to remember.
Throwing those thoughts aside, she once again asked, “So why haven’t you told your people you know the white man’s language?” Shaking her head, she added, “It seems odd to call it that.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Because I’ve never thought of it that way. Where I come from people speak many different languages.”
“You are not from this land.”
“I haven’t been in America very long, but I was born here.”
“You come across the great water?”
She nodded. “On a ship with many other people.”
“Why you go to California?”
The way he said California, almost as if it had more syllables and was part of a song, made her smile. He grinned, too, and there was the faintest hint of red on his cheeks. It made him appear more approachable, and she chose to use that. “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me why your people don’t know you speak English, and I’ll tell you why I have to get to California.”
He shook his head slightly, not negatively, but more like he was amused she was willing to bargain with him. “Epeva’e.”
“What does that mean? Epeva’e?” She mangled the word worse than he had California.
“Epeva’e,” he repeated slowly.
“Epeva’e,” she tried again, getting closer to it sounding like how he’d said it.
He nodded as if he approved. “It is good.”
“It is good that I can say it?”
He smiled. “Epeva’e means it is good. All right.”
“Oh, epeva’e.” Complete understanding hit her then. “Oh, so you will tell me?”
“Heehe’e,” he said. “Yes, I will tell you.”
She couldn’t help from pointing out. “That is the oddest word for yes.”
His smile increased. “The English have odd words.”
The ease that had grown between them was relaxing, and welco
ming. “We could argue over odd words for a year,” she said. “And how people keep coming up with new ones.” She’d discovered that upon landing in New York. Words she’d known her entire life meant different things over here than back in England. More interested than before, she said, “You go first.”
He appeared thoughtful before saying, “When Little One was left here by the Southern Cheyenne, she had to give up her old ways.”
“Why?”
“It is the way.”
Lorna waited for more, when it didn’t come, she asked, “That’s it? It is the way?”
“Yes, she needed to become one of us.”
“Just like that?”
He nodded.
“Isn’t that asking a lot?” In her mind it certainly was. “I mean, she was kidnapped off a train, and then told to no longer be that person. That’s impossible. And wrong.”
He frowned slightly, but then shook his head. “The Southern Cheyenne have much bitterness against white men. The Northern Cheyenne want peace with all.”
The conversation was detouring slightly, but she found it interesting. “I read books about Indians, and it said the different tribes have been fighting not only the white man, but other tribes for years. Centuries.”
“This is true,” he said. “Some societies kill. That is what they do.”
“And you just accept that?”
“Do you not have soldiers?” he asked. “Those who kill?”
Looking at it that way, she had to agree. “I guess we do. I guess we just accept it, too.”
“Little One had to find peace and harmony to live here, which meant she had to give up her old ways.”
Surprisingly, some of what he said was true, but not all of it. “But you didn’t make her give up her language? Instead, she taught it to you, didn’t she?”
He lifted a brow. “You...” The word trailed as if he was attempting to say something else. Then, tapping his temple, he said, “Think.”
“I think?” Once she said it aloud, she caught what he was saying. “You mean I’m smart, as in I figured it out.”
“Heehe’e.”
No one had ever told her she was smart, and the swelling inside her chest was quite delightful. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head slightly.
“So why can’t she teach anyone else?”
“Everyone believes she left all her old ways behind. To become one of us. If they know otherwise, they may wonder about her.”
“Question her motives,” Lorna said aloud.
“Heehe’e. One Who Heals said one day Tsitsistas, The People—”
“Your people, meaning your tribe? The Northern Cheyenne?”
He nodded. “One day our people will need to know the white man’s words, but until then—”
“You want to keep Little One safe,” she interrupted, pondering her thoughts aloud. “You learned the language so you’ll have it when you need it, but until then, no one will question or distrust Little One.”
Again, he nodded.
“Why? Because you are the chief?”
“Not chief. I am a leader of The People.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Heehe’e. Yes.”
She chose not to ask what the difference was at this time. “What about One Who Heals? She knows the white man’s language, too?”
“Heehe’e. Yes.”
The old woman still scared her. She was one of those who had re-erected the tent, and her glare had been even stronger than it had been earlier. “She doesn’t like me,” Lorna admitted.
“She does not trust you,” he said.
“Do you?” It was out so fast she almost didn’t realize she’d asked it.
“I do not know yet.”
A shiver tickled her spine, and the comfort she’d known just a moment ago started slipping away. “Are you going to tie me up again?”
“I do not know yet.”
A deflating sense washed over her, even though she wasn’t exactly sure why. “I guess that’s a fair enough answer.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. At least she certainly hadn’t expected it. “I don’t know,” she said half to herself. She hadn’t trusted anyone, other than Meg—and look where that had gotten her—in a long time.
“Epeva’e.”
Frowning, she glanced up. “Epeva’e? It is good that we don’t trust one another?”
“Heehe’e,” he said. “Trust takes time.”
She nodded. “You’re right. It does.”
He gave another one of his single head nods, like a slight bow of the head. It was more than a nod, and more than an acknowledgment. Almost an agreement or affirmation.
As odd as it seemed, that little action of his was powerful. At least to her it was. She opened her mouth, assuming he’d expect her to complete her share of the bargain, tell him why she had to get to California. She was willing to do so, but shouting outside stopped her before she could start.
He rose to his feet and held out a hand.
Startled, she asked, “I can go outside with you?”
“Heehe’e.”
He said no more, but Lorna understood this was a test. One she was determined to pass.
Chapter Seven
Black Horse didn’t release Lorna’s hand until they were both standing outside his lodge. He told his mind her name was Lorna, not Poeso, but it was hard. Just like the mountain lion in his vision, she’d transformed, and that affected him in a way he’d never experienced before. That scared him, too.
He did not trust her, but right now he did not trust himself as much as he should, either. She resembled the mare in his vision more and more. Especially when she smiled, and much like the black stallion, his nostrils were full of her scent. It was stimulating, and that he did not need. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. More than that, he liked this woman. Her pride and determination. She spoke her mind, but listened, and was smart. Very smart.
The camp crier drew closer, and was followed by a crowd of people cheering.
Lorna was glancing from the crowd to him and back again. He smiled at the joy building inside him, and again at the relief on her face.
“Epeva’e,” he shouted when the camp crier stopped before him. “Epeva’e.”
The scouting party arrived moments later, their ponies covered in sweat and breathing hard. Black Horse spoke with Crazy Fox, the leader of the party, learning where the buffalo herd had been spotted and the number of buffalo gathered together. The answers he received were most welcome. Crazy Fox claimed the herd was the largest he had seen in his lifetime. The crowd cheered at the news.
Black Horse cheered with them, and ordered all to prepare for the celebration commencing the hunt.
Among the jubilation he heard a whispered “What’s happening?”
The two white women who had stormed away from Lorna earlier now stood behind her, peeking around her mass of curls. He could understand why they sought her protection. She had the qualities of a leader.
“I don’t know,” Lorna answered, glancing at him. “But it must be good.”
He made no acknowledgment she had spoken, even though his heart smiled. Much like the mountain lion, Lorna did not trust easy, but she wanted to. She just didn’t know how. Understandably. Few white men could be trusted.
“How do you know that?” one of the other women asked.
“Look around,” Lorna answered. “Everyone appears happy.”
“You’re right,” the other said. “I wonder what happened.”
He made no response. Little One along with the white woman Meg were pushing their way through the crowd.
“It is a sign, my brother,” Little One said in his native tongue. “My sister’s arrival is a good thing for our people. She is good medicine.”
Black Horse offered no immediate verbal opinion. Signs the buffalo hunts would be fruitful this year had been given to him, but the joy on hi
s sister’s face was because of her sister, not the hunt. He did not like that.
Little One as well as Meg both shifted their gazes to Lorna, and he saw the questions in their eyes. It was not expected that he explain why she was untied. Using the Cheyenne language, he told Little One to take the women and go prepare for the celebration.
“Even that one?” she asked in Cheyenne.
“Heehe’e.” He had to prepare for the hunt, and could not do that with the woman in his lodge. She made him want to smile, and that should not be.
Cautious, Little One whispered to Meg, telling her Lorna was to go with them, and when she told that to Lorna, she looked at him with a question. He turned to enter his lodge, and experienced a fleeting sense of disappointment when there was no argument outside. He wanted to believe he could trust her, but did hold doubt. She was white. His band might question his knowledge of the white man’s language if they knew, but they would accept his judgment. The other bands that had gathered with them for the hunting season would not—they already questioned why he did not want to fight the white man. Many knew Little One was white, and assumed that was why he had not voted for battle last winter when several other leaders had. They would question his motives more with white women staying with his band. That could put them all in danger. He did not wish to fight the white men or other tribes, and he had given permission for these women to stay with them. Therefore, it was his duty to protect them as he would his own people.
Black Horse picked up his bow and tested the tension. It was also his duty to feed them.
* * *
Lorna went along with Meg and Little One, but kept looking over her shoulder at Black Horse’s teepee. Not just to make sure she could find her way back this time. He’d said he didn’t trust her, so why had he let her leave?
The conversation between Meg and Little One drew her attention once she could no longer see Black Horse’s lodge. “What is hotoa’e?” she asked, having heard the word several times now.
“Buffalo,” Meg answered. “A scouting party found a large herd. Tonight there will be a big celebration.”
Her Cheyenne Warrior (Harlequin Historical) Page 8
