Destiny's Bride

by Ginger Simpson

  Once she’d satisfied her hunger, she worried about other things. She turned her gaze to him. “How far? How many days? Will your people like me?” Her barrage of questions spilled out, one after another.

  Lone Eagle flashed his familiar patient smile. “Within a few days, you will see mountains in the distance, and within their safety, we will find my tribe. You have nothing to fear. As my woman, my people will treat you well.”

  Despite his assurances, her fear remained very real and raised the hair on the nape of her neck. For the second time he had referred to her as “his woman.” What did he expect from her? So far, their relationship was one of friendship. He appreciated the fact that she saved his life, and she relied on him for security, but it was far too soon to become another man’s wife. Her heart still grieved for her husband. Should she voice her feelings or wait? Surely he knew from her tears that her pain was still fresh.

  Lone Eagle repacked his horse while Cecile ventured out into the tall grass to relieve herself.

  “Watch where you step,” he called after her.

  His warning chilled her. Where there still snakes about? Careful with the movement of each foot, she found a place that veiled her completely and eased her full bladder. She took the same care, walking back through the dried grass, and accepted his help back into the saddle. His effortless mounting demonstrated his impressive agility and horsemanship, and he rode without a saddle.

  “You ride with such ease and balance. I only wish I had your skill.”

  He lowered his gaze, seeming embarrassed at being complimented. “Riding comes naturally to me, as it does with all members of my tribe. When your child is born, I will teach him to ride.”

  He seemed certain she carried a boy, but then wasn’t that what every man wanted? If she was to be his woman, wouldn’t a boy child be his son? Time to concern herself over that matter would come later, but right now engaging in normal conversation broke the tedium of the ride. So far, the only sound between an occasional comment had been the swish of prairie grass as the horses trampled their way through. “Tell me your plan for teaching,” she prompted.

  Her comment spurred Lone Eagle’s story telling. He segued from one to another while she created mental pictures of buffalo hunting, women tanning hides…her helping to scrape the fur from the pelts. That picture came a little harder than the rest, but she loved listening to him.

  “Where did you learn to speak English so well?” she asked when he took a breath.

  “The white missionaries came to our land for a time before the blue coats made them leave.” The look on his face indicated the topic wasn’t something he wanted to discuss so she didn’t press him further. Her tired body finally found the perfect rhythm with her mount.

  A gap in conversation and the rolling gait of the horse lulled her into a state of drowsiness that allowed her mind to drift. She pictured her mother and father, their house, and herself safely inside once they found her. A smile tugged at her lips until a chilly fall blast blew in, numbing her cheeks and nose and drawing her back to present. Not long ago she'd suffered the effects of the burning summer winds, and now she felt the vivid threat of approaching winter snows. Shivering, she pulled her coat up under her chin to block the cold air from her bare neck. Her bladder felt uncomfortably full, and with each step her horse took, her urge for relief increased.

  Her pleading look to Lone Eagle successfully conveyed a message. He rode closer. “It is time to stop for the night. We will set up camp and rest here.”

  Such beautiful words. She wasted no time finding a private place to squat.

  “Ohhhh,” she sighed as the never-ending stream puddled around her feet. If she’d waited much longer, she foresaw a real embarrassing moment.

  She returned to a meager meal Lone Eagle had prepared, and while they ate, her aching back, sore behind, and chafed legs begged for one simple answer. “How much longer? I’m body weary and bone tired.”

  “Before long, Green Eyes, we will camp next to a stream where you may bathe. Will that help?” He called her by the Indian name he’d bestowed upon her.

  She imagined baring her skin to the cold and huffed, sending her breath into a vapor visible to the eye. Instantly a bath didn’t sound so appealing but she forced a smile, trying to appear pleased with his thoughtfulness. Overcome with exhaustion, she didn’t mind enduring the dust and grit for a while longer. Her priority at the moment was to find a place to lie down and sleep.

  The stale biscuit that served as dinner was hardly worth the energy it took to chew it, but she continued munching until she'd consumed the whole thing. She arched her back and rolled her neck from side to side to work out the kinks. Her mouth gaped into a wide yawn.

  ***

  Lone Eagle ate his dinner and then spread out the bedrolls. He had no sooner finished when she crawled over, stretched out on hers, and immediately fell asleep. He gently covered her, his eyes exploring the curves of her sleeping body and the beauty of her face—his Green Eyes. How beautiful she was, even with disheveled hair and a veil of dust smudging her flawless skin. Even though he was anxious to share her blankets, he wouldn’t force himself on her. She needed time to grieve her loss and he would give her that. More than anything, he wanted to continue gaining her trust and earning her respect.

  Despite his growing hardness, he sought his own bedding a few feet from where she lay. On his back, arms folded under his head, he gazed at the assortment of stars in the cloudless sky and listened to her gentle snores.

  Chapter Eight

  The brightness of the sun woke Cecile. For a fleeting moment she recalled waking up in much the same manner on the trip from Silver City to Walt’s newly-acquired land. She rolled to her side to escape the harsh sunlight, only to be jolted wider awake by her sore muscles. She hadn’t slept on the hard ground in quite a while, and with being unaccustomed to horseback riding, she ached from head to toe. Who’d have thought she’d long for that old sagging mattress?

  Struggling to her feet, she straightened her rumpled clothing, while her muscles protested the movement. Her fingers splayed through loose, tangled and dirty hair, and she pulled her lips into a frown, thinking how she must look. The urge to pee suddenly intensified now that she stood, and relieving herself became more important than vanity. With her muscles protesting, she dashed for the nearest clump of grass.

  Lone Eagle was already awake and preparing coffee. She’d taught him how before they started the journey since he so enjoyed the brew. The wonderful aroma followed her from camp. When she returned, he handed her a cup of coffee and a biscuit. She wished for something else, but since she'd had a hand in preparing the food for the trip, she knew it was this or nothing. While she munched on the hard bread, she found solace in the fact that her morning sickness had diminished.

  After she finished the dismal meal, and their belongings were stored, they mounted up. They rode in silence until Cecile could no longer stand it.

  “Tell me more about your people.” Anything to pass the time was better than the repetitive sound of the horses’ hooves.

  “My mother is Singing Sparrow and my sister is Little Dove. My only brother walks the spirit trail.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She fully understood the sorrow of losing a loved one, but Lone Eagle showed no emotion at the mention of his brother’s death.

  “You will see that my tribe is like one family, and you will be welcome.”

  “What do you mean by one family? Does everyone live in one house?”

  “No. Each person plays a part in teaching our children. Your child will have the benefit of many who know much about life, so fear not for the young one’s safety. The Lakota believe children are gifts from the Great Spirit.” He flashed a smile that lessened her doubts.

  “I know very little about your way of life. Tell me more about your childhood.”

  “My fondest memory is my initiation into manhood… my vision quest. All young men share this experience, and during mine, I spent fo
ur days and four nights alone away from the village,” he said. “I was not allowed food, and wore only my breechclout and moccasins. Before I left the village, the shaman called upon the spirits to guide and protect me while I sought a guiding vision.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. It sounds frightening to me.”

  “The ritual is expected. Receiving a vision helps a young boy determine his future. Male children are given a child’s name at birth, but during this quest, the vision a young boy receives determines his adult name. The Shaman translated the message I received to mean that I should be named after the magnificent eagle who flies the skies alone.”

  “Have you taken a wife?” Although his tribal history interested her, she dared ask a personal question. He was such an attractive man.

  “I was to wed Little Rabbit, but the white man’s sickness took her from me.” Lone Eagle frowned. “When she died, I found peace in helping others.”

  “That’s very admirable… and I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He nodded. “As I said, we are all family and take care of those in need. When my brother White Cloud died at the hand of the Crow, he left behind his wife, Spotted Doe, and a son. When hunting, I always bring back game to feed them, and I slay enough buffalo to provide skins and meat for their needs. I try to fill the need of father in Little Elk’s life by teaching him the things he needs to know to become a good warrior and hunter.”

  His chest swelled with pride as he spoke of his people and their customs, describing them as peaceful people who celebrated life and nature in many ways. The picture of the Lakota he painted portrayed them with a great respect for the earth and all its creatures, and showed a soft side in him she hadn’t noticed. She listened, trying to imagine the scenes he described.

  “The Chief’s teepee is the biggest; the one in the center of the village with animals painted on the outside. There will be many children playing in the camp, while the men hunt and fish to make sure no one goes hungry. The women busy themselves with their daily chores, and prepare extra fruits, berries, and dried meats for the winter when food is less plentiful.”

  He conjured a picture not of fear, but of harmony. She desperately hoped it was a true description of what she’d find.

  “Many of my people thought I would take Spotted Doe as my wife when my brother went to the spirit world,” his voice cut short her ponderings, “but my heart did not feel for her what I felt for Little Rabbit.” Lone Eagle stopped talking and glanced over at Cecile. She waited for him to continue, feeling her cheeks heat he had shared something so personal. Was he waiting for her to respond in some way? She turned her eyes forward and concentrated on the trail ahead, but still sensed his stare. The rode in silence, until, as promised, they made camp next to a small stream that wound its way through the tall grasses.

  Her eyes widened. How had he found this? For anyone else, the place would have been invisible. Clear water bubbled over pebbles smoothed by time and beckoned to her dusty body. Even the brisk air didn’t faze her. She dismounted and stood on the stream’s bank in a heartbeat.

  Even though the water bordered on frigid, dangling her fingers in the slow-moving current invigorated her. She dared not bare herself and fully immerse her body in its coldness, so she wet a cloth and washed every part of herself. She’d tolerate her filthy hair until they reached camp and she could heat the water. Her mother had always warned her about wet tresses and cold air and getting sick was the last thing Cecile needed to make riding so far even more unbearable.

  She returned from the steam wishing for warmth from a fire, but so far, Lone Eagle only built one in the morning to prepare coffee then rapidly doused it. When she questioned him, he’d explained that smoke could be seen for miles and he didn’t want to announce their presence. While Cecile had agreed with his logic, she secretly wished they’d meet someone who could point the way back to Silver City…until a stabbing reminder of how Walt had fared when meeting up with strangers pierced her heart.

  While she’d bathed, Lone Eagle spread out the bedrolls. Without the layers of dust and grime, Cecile felt much better. She lay down on her bed and fell into an exhausted sleep but not before noticing Lone Eagle had placed his bedroll a little closer to hers.

  ***

  Again the morning sun stung her eyes as she tried to open them to the brightness of the new day. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around the vastness of the prairie, then struggled to rise. Her aching muscles and saddle-chafed thighs fought against her. Did one ever get used to riding all day and sleeping in the dirt? She stood on tiptoes and stretched her hands over her head, realizing how many places on her body ached.

  His skin glistening, Lone Eagle walked into camp. His long black hair hung in wet strands over his muscled shoulders and down his bronze back. Water droplets trickled down his chest onto his hard flat stomach. He wore nothing this morning except his breechclout.

  Funny, she’d paid scant attention to how very well he was put together until this very moment. She chastised herself for staring and with a flush turned away, pretending to look at the scenery.

  Eager to get started, Lone Eagle served water rather than coffee with her biscuit, and hurried her through breakfast. He seemed uneasy, and even she noticed something didn’t seem quite right. A dusty damp smell wafted in the air, and the eerie stillness gave the horses a wide-eyed look. They whinnied and pranced in place, displaying the same edginess she felt. She was concerned, but about what, she didn’t know.

  ***

  By lunchtime nothing out of the ordinary had happened and Lone Eagle’s rigid posture eased. The two had covered quite a distance, and Cecile’s body cried for rest. “Can we please stop for a while?”

  He scanned the area and picked a spot under a tree—shade she hadn’t seen for miles and miles. Lone Eagle cleared an area and spread out a blanket. He unpacked the coffee pot, cups and a few more stale biscuits and placed them on the cover. “Come. Sit and relax,” he beckoned.

  She rubbed her backside and rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’ve been doing most of the day.” But she sat and leaned against the tree trunk. A backrest felt good for a change.

  They shared their noontime fare and had barely finished when a chilly breeze rustled through the few remaining leaves on the tree. The gentle stirring of air provided a momentary respite from the dry prairie before becoming a howling tempest, hurling small stones and debris in its path. Cecile followed Lone Eagle’s lead and jumped to her feet, hurrying to gather belongings before the supplies blew away. Her arms full, she steadied herself against the stinging gusts by backing up against the tree. Scudding black clouds hid the noonday sun and large claps of thunder shook the heavens, opening the ebony puffs and sending torrents of rain pouring down.

  After tethering the rearing horses, Lone Eagle grabbed another blanket and, fighting the force of the wind, secured it to the existing tree branches to create a shield for Cecile. He pushed the packs of clothing and the bedrolls under the awning and crawled in beside her. The wind threatened to demolish the makeshift tent, and the rain blew in from the sides and soaked them both to the skin. The loosened blanket beat about them like a whip. Lone Eagle pulled Cecile close, shielding her body with his own, shrouding her with the bedrolls in an attempt to keep her safe and warm.

  The storm ended as quickly as it began. The clouds moved away, the wind died down, and the sun returned. They emerged from their tattered shelter, looked at each other, and started to laugh. Their drenched clothing and scraggly hair were the only evidence the storm had come and gone. Lone Eagle shook his long locks, sending droplets flying in all directions. He pulled off his buckskin shirt and wrung water from it. The scar from his injury had healed nicely. “I think after what we went through, we’ll camp here for the night and let the sunshine dry out our belongings.”

  “What?” So busy assessing his corded muscles and tanned skin, she heard only part of what he’d said. Her cheeks heated and she averted her gaze.

  He he
ld up his shirt in one hand and a soaking wet blanket in the other. “I said, we can’t travel with everything so wet.”

  He and Cecile spread their wet blankets and clothing on the tall grass, creating what looked like a large colorful patchwork quilt. Clad only in her undergarments, Cecile sat under the tree, grateful the sun had dropped low enough to filter warmth through the bare branches. She intended to rest while Lone Eagle ventured away from camp to set a rabbit snare.

  Her head lolled to the side, Cecile dozed. Walt’s face invaded her mind, and the all too familiar feeling of emptiness crept in once again. Had she made the right decision to leave their home behind?

  Deeper in sleep, she dreamt of her husband and what had happened to him. Caught in the vivid terror, her unconscious mind sensed someone’s presence. She awoke with a start. Her heart raced and her pulse felt like a rapid drumbeat. Relief coursed through her to see Lone Eagle grinning as he held a rabbit in the air. At last something besides stale biscuits; she wanted to jump up and hug him, but the extreme soreness of her buttocks prevented it. Instead, she smiled as he helped her to her feet, wondering how he always seemed to sense her need for assistance. The sun had done its duty in drying the bedding and clothing, and she dressed in a shirt and pants still warm and then packed away the extras. The luscious smell of cooking rabbit made her stomach rumble in anticipation of a hot meal. Long Eagle showed no concern over building a fire, and that confused her.

  Having never eaten rabbit before, she was surprised to find it tasted much the same as the chicken her mother used to roast. Cecile wiped the grease from her mouth on her shirtsleeve and swallowed the last bite. “Thank you for the delicious dinner, Lone Eagle. You must be as talented in hunting as you are in cooking.”

  “That is women’s work in my village. I cook only to survive.” His squared shoulders showed male pride.