White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  “Why?” she asked, staring at his hands.

  Waho glared at her, hatred in his eyes. “He laughed at me. Said to find another. I waited long to claim you and he refused me, made a fool of me.” He spat on the ground. “He was weak. My father was a great chief. He should have been given the position of chief. Not him. And not your brother. White blood has weakened your family.”

  Stunned, Dove thought back to the night her father died. It did make sense now, the arrow in the back. And if it had been Crow, she’d have been shot as well, to stop her from alerting her people to the presence of an enemy. “It was a Crow arrow.”

  Waho glared at Jeremy. “One I found when they raided our horses. I saved it.” He trained his arrow on Jeremy’s chest. “Now he will die, too.”

  “What of Dove?” Jeremy asked. “Are you going to kill her, as well?”

  “I have no choice.” Waho smiled.

  “You won’t win. If you kill us with arrows, everyone will know you did it,” Jeremy said.

  “Arrows can be removed. Once more, the Crow will be blamed.”

  Behind Jeremy, Dove palmed her knife. She couldn’t get a clear shot to throw it, for Jeremy was keeping himself in front of her. She nudged him with the sharp tip to let him know she had it. “Drop,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Jeremy felt the tip of White Dove’s knife and dropped to his hands. The swish of her blade flying through the air was joined by the whistle of an arrow. He heard it hit, turned, saw it lodge in Dove’s shoulder at the same time as Waho hit the ground to avoid her knife. In a flash, Jeremy whipped out his own knife and charged.

  Unable to get his bow back in time to fire again, Waho grabbed his own knife. The two warriors circled. All of Jeremy’s training came back to him. He focused, trying to ignore the fact that Dove was hurt. This time, it was a fight to the death. Only one of them would walk away.

  Waho lunged, but Jeremy avoided his weapon. Waho charged again, jabbing his knife out ahead of him. Jeremy sucked in his gut. The two men circled. Then it was Jeremy’s turn to strike. Back and forth he and Waho went, testing each other. Jeremy kept his gaze on his foe but made sure he kept his body between Waho and Dove so Waho couldn’t get at her.

  Knowing this could go on forever, Jeremy decided to goad the warrior into becoming careless. “Hey, Dove. Jug-head fights like a woman.” He spoke slowly so the warrior could understand him. He knew Waho, like most Sioux, knew some English to aid in trading with the whites; they prided themselves on knowing more than most whites gave them credit for.

  Dove’s furious voice rose in a hiss. “He fights like a coward.”

  “Yeah. A woman has more honor than he does. Shooting an old man in the back. Coward.”

  “You will die, wasicun,” Waho spat.

  “I may be white, but at least I’m no coward.”

  Waho jabbed fiercely forward, leaving himself open to Jeremy’s attack. A moment later, a thin stream of red running down Waho’s chest showed where Jeremy’s knife had made contact.

  The warrior attacked again. This time, he cut into Jeremy’s arm. Keeping up with his taunts, Jeremy jabbed, retreated, and slashed.

  At Waho’s onslaught, Jeremy knew true fear. He hadn’t had much sleep over the last two weeks, had traveled long and hard, and his reflexes were slowing. Waho grew bolder. When Jeremy fell, the warrior jumped on top of him with a triumphant yell, and lifted his knife high.

  In a fight for his life, Jeremy grabbed Waho’s arm and struggled to keep the knife from its downward arc, but Waho had the advantage.

  Panting, and gasping, Jeremy felt the sting of sweat in his eyes. This was it. He couldn’t hold out much longer.

  * * *

  White-hot shards of pain burned in Dove’s shoulder, blurring her sight. Jeremy faded in and out of her vision. She struggled to keep him in focus. She couldn’t pass out. He needed her. Forcing the pain back, she got to her knees. Small stones dug into each knee. She fell forward, caught herself with her good arm, and got shakily to her feet, her hand still on the ground, clutching a large rock for balance.

  The two men continued to fight. Dark red blood glinted off each knife blade. Never had Dove felt so helpless. Jeremy was tiring, and she didn’t have her bow—even if she could have used it.

  Waho gave a shout of triumph when he pinned Jeremy to the ground. “You have failed, White Man. The two of you will be found, your bodies broken. Everyone will think you fell to your deaths.”

  Knowing she had but one chance, Dove fell back onto her knees, ignoring the pain as she grabbed a rock, took aim and threw it with all she had. The solid thud of stone hitting skull broke off Waho’s crazed words. He swayed above Jeremy then fell, unconscious, atop him. Jeremy shoved him off. His knife clattered harmlessly out of the way.

  Sobbing with pain and relief, Dove crawled over to them. “Are you all right?”

  Jeremy fell back onto his back, his arm over his face.

  He wiped the sweat from his eyes and stared up at her. “Took you long enough, woman.” When his gaze came upon her bloodied arm, he sat up, all concern. Swearing softly, he turned her gently so that he could inspect the wound.

  “The arrowhead went through. I’m gonna pull it all through.” Using Waho’s knife, he ripped her dress at the shoulder, carefully cutting it around the arrow in the front.

  “Close your eyes,” he commanded, taking hold of the shaft in both hands.

  Dove didn’t. She needed to focus on something. On him. She felt the jerking motion when he broke off the feathered end of the arrow. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, knowing the worst was yet to come.

  He cut the hem of his breechclout and made two pads of cloth. He held one to the wound. The other he placed between her teeth. “Here goes.”

  Dove bit down hard. The pain when he pulled the arrow through made her cry out. As soon as he was done, he took the pad from her mouth and placed it on the exit wound. The world spun around dizzily, and Dove was barely aware of him binding her wound. When Jeremy finished, she blinked back the pain, and saw Waho lying still on the ground to one side. Hatred filled her. She reached out and picked up the rock she’d thrown at Waho. “He killed my father. He almost killed you. He deserves to die.”

  Jeremy put his arm around Dove. “And he tried to kill you, as well. He led us to believe that the Crow had killed your father. Innocent lives were lost during that attack.”

  Dove glanced at him. “Then we will kill him.”

  Shaking his head, Jeremy took the rock from her. “No.”

  Shocked, she stared at him. “What do you mean, no? He deserves to die. You said so.”

  “Yes, he does.” Jeremy held her gaze with his. “But not at our hands. Not coldly and deliberately. Had he died while I was defending myself and you, that would have been just. But we defeated him. He is of no threat to us right now. There would be no honor or justice in killing him now, while he is unconscious. We will take him back. Let your people decide his punishment. Waiting takes more courage and faith that justice will be done, but it is for the best.”

  Dove glared at Waho. She knew her brother would be furious, as was she, but even he wouldn’t decide Waho’s fate. That decision would come from the council. Jeremy was right. Clenching her hands into fists, she turned away from the enemy. She tugged at her belt with one hand. “Use this to tie him.”

  Jeremy tied him up, found Waho’s horse and heaved the unconscious warrior on top. Then he lifted Dove onto his horse and mounted behind her. Taking the reins of Waho’s horse, he headed home with Dove’s horse following on its own.

  Dove leaned her head back against his shoulder. He tipped her chin up to him. “Sure have a good arm there, sweetheart. You whacked him but good. He never even considered that you might be a threat.”

  “That was his mistake.” Do
ve narrowed her eyes. She’d have been happier if her aim had killed him. “He will be sorry he killed my father.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?” he asked with a humorless laugh. But he didn’t argue.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jeremy led the horse carrying Waho. The Indian had tried twice to escape. Too tired to deal with him, Jeremy had finally given in to temptation and had slugged him a good one, knocking him back out. He flexed his fingers. Now that had felt good.

  Cradled in his arms before him, Dove lay with her head against his shoulder. Daylight was starting to fade when he left the hills. Barely aware of his surroundings, he kept his gaze trained on the cone-shaped tipis of the Lakota village. They were his beacon, leading him home. With each plodding step of the horse, he felt his exhaustion taking hold.

  When he neared the camp, he saw a line of mounted warriors. Were they worried about him and Dove? He opened his mouth to call out, and tell them they were fine but then he noticed that they weren’t looking at him. He glanced over his shoulder—and swore at what he saw.

  Jeremy’s heart nearly stopped when he saw several dozen Crow warriors approaching on horseback, boldly, during the light of the day, making no effort to hide themselves. It was an open declaration of war. He also realized as he’d ridden toward the village, the Crow had been there, following. He hadn’t even known.

  Dove roused and followed his gaze. “Crow!” She struggled to sit while Jeremy concentrated on getting to safety. The approaching warriors were still out of firing range, but they were coming.

  Striking Thunder rode out to greet him. He took in Dove’s injury, and Waho’s still form draped over the horse. “What happened?”

  “Waho tried to kill us.” At Striking Thunder’s look of shock, Jeremy quickly told the chief what Waho had done.

  Dove leaned forward. “It is true, brother. Waho admitted it. He used a Crow arrow he’d found.” Her voice broke. “He killed our father.”

  Jeremy handed Striking Thunder the arrow he’d found. “Got him trussed up like a turkey.”

  Waho regained consciousness. Striking Thunder addressed him, asked him if it was true.

  “You would believe the word of a wasicun?” Waho sneered the words.

  “And my sister, is she lying? And Hunkuya Mato wears cuts from a fight.”

  “Waho is not afraid.” He glared at his chief.

  Jeremy remained silent. He knew Striking Thunder would not doubt his sister’s word.

  “You shot my sister.” Striking Thunder’s voice turned hard. “You should be afraid.” He turned his attention back to the approaching Crow. He reached into his quiver and brought out the arrow that had killed his father.

  Waho’s brave front dimmed a little at the sight.

  Striking Thunder turned to Jeremy. “You will come with me.” Then he speared Waho with eyes glittering with fury. He motioned for three of his warriors to bring the tied-up warrior.

  Waho struggled, but the three warriors held him easily.

  Jeremy helped Dove down, and saw her safely led to the village by Blue Wind and Tawasuota, who’d come for her.

  All exhaustion fled. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, giving him a second wind. He faced the enemy and waited. Together, Striking Thunder and Jeremy rode out toward the enemy. They stopped a safe distance away and waited. Six Crow warriors separated and rode forward.

  Jeremy realized that the foes were evenly matched. A fight would leave heavy casualties on both sides. He thought of Dove, and the two girls, and the rest of the Sioux. When two of the Crow separated from the others, Striking Thunder indicated that Jeremy should follow him to meet them.

  Jeremy recognized one of the Crow warriors. It was the scarred warrior who’d killed Beth Ann’s mother. The two stared at one another. Jeremy didn’t dare turn his head to check and make sure the girls were safely hidden. He’d promised to keep them safe, and he would. The four men, each with four warriors behind them and rows of mounted warriors waiting beyond, measured each other. Striking Thunder began using a combination of sign language, Lakota and another language that sounded sort of the same, but different.

  Then Striking Thunder held up the Crow arrow, allowing them to see the marks, telling them that the owner had cowardly shot his father in the back. The Crow all turned to the scarred man. He shook his head and made a slashing downward movement with his hand.

  Even Jeremy could understand the denial.

  “He denies killing my father.” Striking Thunder looked calm, considering there were a whole hell of a lot of Crow waiting with bows and arrows to charge them.

  Jeremy eyed the warriors, unsure what Striking Thunder was up to. “He didn’t.”

  “You are sure of this?”

  “Yes.” Jeremy spared Waho a glance. The warrior wasn’t looking so calm or defiant now. His eyes were shifting back and forth from Striking Thunder to the Crow.

  “Waho will be punished for his part. Tell me, Hunkuya Mato, what would you do?”

  Jeremy considered. “You lost a father. Because you believed the Crow were responsible, they lost many fathers. They have also been wronged by Waho’s cowardly, deliberate actions. He found that arrow and saved it. I believe he planned to use it. He said he planned to frame the Crow when he did.” Secretly, he knew that arrow had been meant for him.

  Striking Thunder nodded formally. At a look from the chief, the three Lakota warriors who held Waho shoved him forward. As the coward fought and protested and begged for pity, Jeremy almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite. All he had to do was think of Dove with the arrow in her shoulder—far too close to her heart for his comfort. He yearned to go to her, to make sure she was all right, but he knew there were others looking after her. His place right now was at the side of his chief.

  Striking Thunder pointed to Waho and explained how the traitor had framed the Crow, that it was he who was responsible for the deaths of their people, as well. Scarface came forward. The two warriors talked, then two Crow came forward, tied ropes around Waho and pulled him fighting and screaming away.

  Scarface hesitated. He looked at Jeremy and used sign language. Jeremy understood he was demanding the return of the girls. He didn’t look to Striking Thunder. They were his. He’d love and protect them, and raise them or give them to their true family; he would not give them back to the Crow. He shook his head. For several long minutes, the two stared at one another. Would his having the girls cause the war between the tribes that Striking Thunder was trying to avoid? Still, there was no way he was returning the girls.

  Instead, he dismounted and held out the reins to his horse. The scarred warrior stared at the animal, then at Jeremy. He held up his fingers, indicating that Jeremy had taken two captives.

  Striking Thunder dismounted and offered his own horse. Satisfied, the Crow warrior took the two horses and turned.

  Jeremy stood, watched the man leave. Waho was pulled behind and jabbed with lances when he faltered. Jeremy knew it would have been kinder to have killed Waho during their fight, but this way, more deaths had been avoided. Justice, in its brutal, raw state, had been served. Even his taking of the girls had been resolved to the satisfaction of the scar-faced Crow.

  “Still want to live among us?” Striking Thunder asked softly.

  “Still want me? I cost you a good war horse.”

  Striking Thunder slapped him on the back with a good-natured laugh. “There are others. A horse for a child. We have the better of the bargain.” Together, they walked back to the village.

  Jeremy didn’t think there was a more wonderful sight than home, family and friends, and he had it all. He’d found a place he not only belonged, but fit into. And at the heart of it was the woman he loved, walking toward him. “Try to kick me out,” he said, meaning it.

  He hurried to
Dove, who’d refused to be tended to until he was safe. He scooped her up and kissed her, uncaring who was around to see.

  “Take me home,” she whispered.

  “Home.” To his family: two bear cubs, two little girls, his Sioux parents, a whole slew of future in-laws. And the woman he loved. Could life be better? He didn’t think so.

  * * *

  White Wind leaned against her backboard, surrounded by her family and love. Talk and laughter sounded, but she was too tired to pay attention to the conversations. Her weary gaze fell on each one of her children.

  White Dove sat on her left. She and Jeremy had been married the same night the Crow had come. Her daughter’s injury hadn’t been severe, for which White Wind gave thanks. Jeremy sat behind his wife, absently playing with her hair. Jane sat in Dove’s lap. Beth Ann reclined across the way, playing with Sam and Sarah. The girl adored the twins.

  To her right, her eldest daughter, Star Dreamer, rocked her year-old son. Her husband, Grady, sat beside her; they had returned from St. Louis to be here with her. The children—Running Elk, Morning Moon and Renny—had run off to play. Watching Star with her baby, White Wind was relieved that her daughter had found peace and was no longer troubled by visions. The gift of sight, passed down to her from her grandmother, had in turn been given to Morning Moon. Striking Thunder and Emma sat next to Grady.

  Jessie and Wolf sat across from her. Their third child, a daughter, had been born three days before. They were leaving to return to their school with Rook and Sofia in a few days. A buzz went through White Wind’s head. She closed her eyes, content to have her children and grandchildren surrounding her. She wished her husband was also there. He’d loved large family gatherings and he’d have been so happy, so proud of their youngest.

  “I am here, wife.”

  White Wind opened her eyes, then blinked. Golden Eagle stood there, smiling down at her, looking as fit as he had the day she’d met him. “My husband.”