White Eagle's Touch: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 2

by Karen Kay

  Hamilton peered down the long end of his nose at Katrina, as he said, “I say, m’dear, is this girl of some social class or of a notable position that I should worry about her?”

  “Social class? What has that to do with it?”

  “Why, everything, m’dear. Couldn’t have a lady in such a predicament, but your friend was a mere—maid, was she not? And Irish at that.”

  Katrina didn’t say a word.

  “There,” said Hamilton, “you see? She was not only no lady, it was as I believed. She is Irish. Far be it for me to do something more for that sort.”

  “She is my friend, and I demand that you do something.”

  Hamilton pursed his lips, as though he weren’t certain if he wished to smile, or if he had encountered something sour in his mouth.

  “I require that you send someone after her at once.”

  “Yes,” Genevieve Rohan spoke up from behind Katrina, “it is the only sensible and charitable thing to do. And it must be done with all possible haste.”

  “And who are you, that you request such a thing? A woman who has been out roaming the countryside with an…” Hamilton made a disagreeable sound in his throat, “…an Indian? And you?” He sent a niggardly gaze toward Genevieve. “A woman who has the audacity to marry one of them?”

  Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “At least I can return to English society if I so choose, and I can use my own given name, unlike another here, who, because of his own rash actions must needs to take on a different name, and who can never again visit his home country.”

  Hamilton looked momentarily abashed, though the look was quickly gone as he cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I am still unable to leave the fort without guards throughout the winter.”

  “It would only require one or two men,” said Katrina.

  “So it would seem. However, both you young ladies might have noticed that another fort, Fort William, is being built just across the Yellowstone River by the opposition. I could not possibly let go of a single man when our trade is thusly threatened. I’m sorry, my dears, it just can’t be done.”

  “Why you are nothing but a…a…coward and a…”

  Genevieve gently touched Katrina on the shoulder, pulling her gradually away.

  “…snake.”

  This made Hamilton snicker.

  “We’ll get her back,” declared Katrina, “despite you and your petty attitudes, we’ll get her back.”

  As Hamilton rejoined with, “Why, very good, my girls, very good,” Genevieve gently led Katrina away, to the comfort and sanctuary of their rooms.

  “Do not worry,” said White Eagle sometime later, after Katrina had approached him. “I heard what happened to your friend. It seems some Assiniboin warriors forced their way in here during the trade and stole your friend from these white men before they could defend her. Night Thunder had been sent out that day to do the hunting for the fort, and so he was not here when it happened. But he set off to rescue her as soon as he learned of the deed. He will not relent until he has found her. And I promise you, he will keep her safe.”

  “But what if he doesn’t get to her in time?”

  White Eagle stared at Katrina, and though he looked at her, continuing to hold her gaze for many, many moments, he looked far, far away. Finally, he shook himself, and, taking his wife’s hand in his own and pressing it to his heart, he said, “She is still well, she lives, that I could see, and she is within the sight of Night Thunder. So do not worry overmuch, he will care for her. I promise you.”

  Katrina just gazed at her husband for several seconds before she said, “What did you just do?”

  “I went to go and search for your friend.”

  “You what?”

  “I told you that my grandfather was a medicine man and a man of great power. He taught me to do many things. One of them was to be able to leave the body to go and search for enemies, or in this case, for your friend.”

  “To leave the body?”

  “Yes,” he said. “We are all of us spirits encased within the body. It is possible sometimes to leave it without causing it harm. Out of the body, one can do many things that are not possible inside it.”

  Katrina just stared at this man who was her husband for some time until she was able to say, “I don’t think that I believe in such things.”

  White Eagle smiled down at her and, putting her arms around his neck, said, “You do not have to. You do not have to believe anything at all. But someday I might tell you about all the things that my grandfather taught me.”

  Katrina chanced another glance up at White Eagle. “And will I like it?”

  He grinned at her. “You will like it very much, I think. I promise you.”

  Katrina smiled back at her husband.

  Still, if only for her own peace of mind, Katrina vowed that she would hire one of the hunters from the fort to go in search of Rebecca. It was the best she could do, she supposed, though she promised herself that she would try to find another way to contact her friend.

  It had to happen someday. She supposed today was as good a day as any.

  Her uncle had yet to arrive at the fort, but that was no reason to put off a confrontation with the marquess and tell him, again, that there could never be a marriage between them. And she would have to arrange for his passage back East. It was, after all, the least she could do.

  She didn’t intend to tell him of her marriage to White Eagle, not wishing to place that vital information in the hands of a…gossip. Yet, there was no reason to delay the inevitable.

  And so, for this purpose, she had gone to seek out the marquess, the thought crossing her mind that it seemed odd that the man had not yet attempted to speak to her…first.

  But such thoughts were trivial. She had her duty to do; she would do it.

  She found him in the courtyard, close to the flagpole, the man once more attired in all his finery. On this occasion, he had donned a chestnut-colored sleeved cape, with a trim of Persian lamb for his collar and lining. On his head he wore a Neapolitan hat, plus wig, and in his hand he carried a cane.

  Katrina approached him. “My lord, may I have a few words with you?”

  The marquess turned to her. “Why, of course, my dear. I have been meaning to seek you out.”

  “Yes, my lord, I am certain you have. We have some business left between us that is incomplete. And I fear it is time that we came to some agreements.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes. May I suggest we take a walk, perhaps closer to the entrance gate where there is not so much mud?”

  “Of course, my dear,” the marquess said, and held his arm out to her. “Of course.”

  Katrina wasn’t certain where to begin. She had told the man of her intentions once before, and he had rejected them. Perhaps she should just reiterate what she had said on that previous occasion.

  She inhaled deeply and then, before her courage deserted her, she asked quickly, “My lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose you must realize by now that I cannot marry you.”

  “No, my dear, I didn’t realize that at all. We have an agreement, do we not?”

  “An agreement pending my uncle’s approval, which we do not have, nor do I hold any hope of attaining it. I am afraid that we are not suitable for one another.”

  The marquess cleared his throat meaningfully. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I…I have changed, my lord.”

  “Changed, my dear?”

  “Yes, I have come to…like it here in the West, I have come to appreciate the culture here, and I have decided to stay here, and not return to the East.”

  “Not ever?”

  “Not for a while, at least.”

  “I see. Jolly good, my dear, but there is really no problem with that. No problem at all, I must say.

  Many married couples do not live with one another. Not at all.”

  “But I wish to live with the man of my choice, my lord, and that would b
e quite impossible to do if I am here and he…is thousands of miles away. Quite impossible.”

  “It is that Indian, isn’t it?”

  “My lord, I believe that—”

  “It is, is it not?”

  “Please, my lord, your voice is rising and there is no need. After all, whatever has happened concerning that Indian, White Eagle, is quite beyond the realm of your responsibility.”

  “My responsibility!” Ignoring her, the marquess boomed the word, drawing the attention of many of the clerks and engages. Not only that—the marquess looked quite red in the face. And he continued, “What would you know of responsibility? You, a little twit who can’t keep a promise?”

  Katrina had no more than opened her mouth to speak, when suddenly, from behind her, came another voice, saying, “And what would this man-who-is-a-woman know of keeping a promise?”

  “Keep out of this, Indian. I’ve had quite enough of you, of her, of…”

  “It is not that anyone objects to a man-who-is-a-woman,” White Eagle persisted, “but when that man tries to pass himself off as anything other than what he is, then we begin to object, especially when he tries to marry a woman he does not have any intention of remaining faithful to.”

  “You go too far. You—”

  “Do I? I know of two Pikuni warriors who will tell me and anyone else who will listen, who was unfaithful to whom.”

  The marquess’s coloring suddenly changed from a deep red to a yellowish sort of green.

  He fidgeted with his collar, as he said, “You have nothing on me. Who would believe the word of an Indian?”

  “Many. Especially here in this fort.”

  The marquess opened his mouth to say more but at the moment, a shout announced a visitor, and the gates opened to admit a stranger riding a pony…an Indian…

  No, a white man…

  Katrina stared at the man, intuition telling her that this man, a man with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in buckskin and breechcloth, was someone important to her…her uncle…?

  But she couldn’t speak a word, though her heart surged within her with a feeling of anxiety.

  So this was the man she had declared she would hate for eternity, the man who had caused her so much trouble, the man who had deserted her when she had been no more than five years of age.

  At one time, she might have been inclined to show him the sting of her tongue, but, oddly enough, she found herself unable, or perhaps unwilling to do it.

  In truth, she seemed incapable at the moment of doing more than staring.

  Apparently, several of the others around her stood infected with the same malady. No one moved; no one uttered a word.

  The man barely noticed. Instead, he rode his horse right up to her, to White Eagle, dismounting and coming to stand before them both.

  He paused directly in front of her, surveying her. She returned the glance, contemplating him.

  At last, the man gazed toward White Eagle. “My friend,” he said with a barely perceivable nod, and then, removing his hat, he declared, “and this must be Katrina.”

  Katrina’s throat wouldn’t work. She tried to speak, but the most she could manage was the working of her vocal cords up and down. She swallowed noisily.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you, child.”

  She should speak, she knew it, but she couldn’t utter a thing. Truthfully, she felt like crying, and she hated the feeling.

  “I sent White Eagle to you,” the man was saying. “Figured that would be best. The two of you were always the best of friends. He’s taken good care of you, I can see that.”

  Her lips quivered, but still, no words came to her, and she wasn’t sure what she felt—anger, resentment? Surely, yet…

  Her eyes were beginning to squint under the strain of the restlessness she felt.

  The elder Wellington didn’t seem to notice, however, and he glanced toward the marquess, looking the man up once, then down.

  The old trader shook his head. “This can’t be the one you were intending to marry, is it?”

  Katrina opened her mouth to say something, anything when…

  “The Marquess of Leicester, Lord Leicester, the Third, at your service, my lord,” the marquess saved her a reply, giving the old trader a grand bow.

  Her uncle seemed unimpressed, and he said easily, no expression to be witnessed upon his face, “Marrying for money, are you?”

  Katrina gasped, though the marquess, she noted, seemed little affronted.

  “Oh, this man will never do, Katrina. Not at all.”

  The elder Wellington was speaking to his niece, though his glance did not waver from the marquess. “Needed money for your estate, did you?” he addressed the marquess. “Well, can’t say as I can give you all that you might want, but I can send you away with enough to settle you, if you promise me now that you will walk away from my brother’s daughter, never to see her, nor to come here again.”

  The marquess cleared his throat. “What sum of money were you ready to suggest? I have been through the utmost in inconvenience and trouble, I must say, forced out here by your niece, made to race across this county, to trek across dangerous territory, captured by the Indians and then degraded further by…”

  “That wasn’t how I heard it from my friends. Would twenty thousand dollars settle it for you?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars?” Katrina at last found her voice. “But that’s my money…”

  Her uncle, with the simple wave of his hand, silenced her.

  The marquess’s nostrils flared, and, producing a box of snuff, he took a long sniff, saying, “Thirty.”

  “Twenty’s my only offer, take it or leave it.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Twenty.”

  The marquess frowned. “Why, twenty would hardly buy my passage back to England.”

  The old trader cocked his eye, and said, “Twenty-two and you must promise me that you won’t say a word about my niece to anybody, and that includes the press and those busybodies with wagging tongues back in the East, do you understand?”

  The marquess gave the old man a sour sort of smile. “Wouldn’t think of it. Your niece, I set free—from her obligation to me.” The man giggled in a flowery sort of twitter. “Ah, but I am such a wit, am I not? And I believe, my good man, that we have a bargain.”

  “Good then,” old man Wellington said. “You go on now, I’ll settle with you later. I want to talk to my niece, here.”

  The marquess bowed, his hand swirling down in a grand gesture. “It has been a pleasure.”

  To which the old man scowled and shooed the Englishman away.

  The old trader turned toward Katrina.

  “That was my money,” Katrina said at last, her voice steady, for all that she felt herself shaking.

  “No, it wasn’t, child,” the old trader responded. “It was mine. Intended to do that as soon as the Pikuni told me about the man. Can’t have you marrying a man-who-is-a-woman, now can I?”

  Katrina lifted her head. “I wouldn’t know, since I know so little of you.”

  The old man shook his head. “Never should have listened to your father. Should have kept you out here with me, but he made me promise to send you back East and to see that you were raised with all the best that his money could buy.”

  Katrina raised her chin. “That’s easy for you to say now. You could have come and visited me.” To her absolute horror, her voice shook.

  And her uncle appeared taken aback. He glanced skyward. “I can see I made a mistake there, but my life was out here. Don’t think I could rightly get on in civilized society anymore.”

  “That’s a terrible excuse,” Katrina persisted, shocked again to feel her lower lip quivering. “You could have brought me out here at least now and again while I was growing up.”

  “Could I? And how would you have reacted when you arrived back in society, knowing and all?”


  Katrina paused. “Knowing what?”

  The old trader sent a quick glance to White Eagle. “Didn’t you tell her, son?”

  “Saa.” White Eagle shook his head. “It is not my place to do so.”

  Her uncle sighed, and, all at once, a heaviness appeared to descend over his features, making him look every single one of his years. “Thought my friend there might have told you by now.”

  “What?” she asked, raising her chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  If at all possible her uncle looked sheepish as he said, “Got your dowry here with me, so as you can marry some lucky critter as soon as possible.”

  Katrina exchanged a glance with White Eagle.

  “You have it here?”

  “Sure do.”

  “With you? Right now?”

  “Wouldn’t have left it behind. Carried it with me even when those Assiniboin captured me, so that I could give it to you all proper like.”

  “May I see it, please?”

  The old man nodded and almost at once produced an Indian parfleche, the bag and its ornamentation beautiful, though it bore an unusual design, a white background setting off a beaded, blue flower. It was pretty, but old. “Go ahead and look,” he said. “It’s inside.”

  “In…inside?”

  “Sure is.” Her uncle urged her on with gestures.

  Carefully, slowly at first, Katrina opened the bag, her hand unsteady. Her fingers alit upon an object, and she pulled it out.

  She stared at the thing, turning it round and round in her hand, where it glittered and sparkled like so many jewels.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t you know, child?”

  Katrina shook her head and reached back inside the bag. Nothing more was there.

  “It’s wampum, Katrina. Indian wampum.”

  Katrina continued to look puzzled as she gazed at the white and glittery shells set in a background of blue-and-white beads, all put together on a long belt.

  “Gold to the Indians,” her uncle went on to say, “useless to the whites.”

  Was this some sort of queer joke?