Love's Serenade

by Madeline Baker

  “Tomorrow morning,” Noche said.

  Word of the fight spread quickly through the village. In the morning, every man, most of the women and a number of children had gathered to watch.

  Danny Andrews stood at the edge of the crowd, his eyes wide as he watched the man who had captured him. Despite the cold, Noche stripped down to his breechclout, then paraded around the circle, flexing his arms and hands.

  Moments later, a second man stepped into the circle created by the watching Indians. He, too, wore only a deerskin clout and moccasins.

  They were fighting over him, Danny knew, though he did not know why. He knew only that he would belong to the winner and he wondered why the tall scar-faced stranger would want him and what the warrior would do with him should he win.

  Danny felt no love for Noche, but the man and his wife had been kind to him. What if the stranger were cruel? His eyes were dark and intent. The scar on his face made him seem ominous. What if the warrior took him far away? Danny blinked back his tears. He did not want to leave this place. He would never find his way back to his mother if the tall warrior took him away from the village. His mother… Danny tried not to think of her often, but now her image came clearly to mind and a tear slid down his cheek as he recalled how much he loved her, how much she had loved him.

  He looked at the two men who stood facing each other, their left wrists bound together by a short strip of rawhide. They were each holding a long-bladed knife in their right hand. It would not be a fight to the death; the loser would be the one who first asked for mercy.

  Danny stared at them for a moment. Slightly crouched, they circled first to the left, then to the right. No one was watching him and in that moment, Danny knew what he was gong to do. He was going to run away. He was going home. Nonchalantly, he turned away from the crowd and strolled toward the edge of the camp.

  Toklanni shut everything from his mind but the face of the man before him. Slowly, warily, they circled left and right, getting the feel of the knives, testing the distance between them.

  Noche made the first move, lunging forward with the knife outstretched, slashing at Toklanni’s side. Toklanni parried the blow and the fight began in earnest. Noche was as fast as he remembered, agile as a cat, swift as a snake, but his anger and his hatred made him careless and Toklanni quickly slipped past his guard and drew first blood, opening a narrow gash in Noche’s chest.

  The early morning air rang with the sound of metal striking metal, of their harsh breathing, of the murmurs and cries of the crowd as both men drew blood again and again.

  They drew back a moment to catch their breath and Toklanni summoned Sarah’s image to mind, reminding himself of what he hoped to gain. Renewed determination flowed through him. With a wild cry, he flung himself at Noche, pinning his brother to the ground as he held his knife at Noche’s throat.

  “Do you yield?” Toklanni demanded. “Will you give me the boy, or do I take your life?”

  “Take the boy,” Noche hissed between clenched teeth.

  “I want your promise,” Toklanni said, increasing the pressure of the blade at Noche’s throat. “You will not try to take him back, or attack the white woman’s place again.”

  Noche glared at him; then, as the edge of the knife pricked his skin, he muttered, “You have my word.”

  Toklanni nodded. Noche had given his promise grudgingly, but his honor would make him keep it.

  Sitting back, Toklanni cut the strip of rawhide that bound him to his brother, then stood up, his sides heaving, his gaze scanning the crowd for Sarah’s son. But there was no sign of the boy.

  He let one of the women tend his wounds, then he slipped on his shirt and leggings and went to look for Danny. No one had seen the boy since the fight started and a search of the village was soon underway. It soon became obvious that the boy had run away.

  “Looks like your prize has left the village,” Noche said, his voice cold. “I suggest you do the same.”

  Toklanni turned away without a reply. Minutes later, mounted on his second favorite horse, a big-boned bay mare, he circled the village, looking for sign.

  It wasn’t hard to find, a trail of small, moccasin-clad footprints heading north.

  Thirty minutes later, Toklanni had the boy in sight.

  Danny glanced over his shoulder at the sound of hoofbeats coming up behind him. When he saw who it was, he started running, his heart pounding with fear. The stranger had won the fight and now he’d come for him.

  “Danny! Danny, wait!”

  Spurred by his fear, Danny kept running, though he felt his lungs would soon burst. And then the horse was beside him, so close he could feel the animal’s warm breath on the back of his neck.

  “Danny!”

  He stopped at the sound of his name, too winded to go on. Turning, he stared up at the tall, scar-faced stranger, wondering what awful fate awaited him.

  Toklanni gazed down at the boy. It was easy to see that this was Sarah’s son. He had the same white-blond hair, the same vibrant blue eyes.

  “How do you know my name?” Danny asked suspiciously.

  “Your mother told me.”

  “You know my mother?”

  “Yes. I’ve come to take you to her.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, ciye,” he said, using the Apache word for son. “Won’t you trust me?”

  “What’s my mother’s name?”

  “Sarah Andrews.”

  “What color’s her hair?”

  “Blonde. Her eyes are blue, like yours. And she misses you very much.”

  Danny swallowed hard. And then he walked toward the man, the need to see his mother overriding his fear of the tall warrior with the scarred face.

  “I won’t hurt you, ciye,” Toklanni promised as he reached down and lifted the boy onto the mare. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “You’re really taking me home?” Danny asked. “You wouldn’t lie to me?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, ciye. We’ll be home before noon.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was Christmas morning. Sarah sat in front of the fireplace, a blanket across her lap. She’d been reading the Christmas Story again; now, as she closed the Bible, she wondered where Toklanni was. She hadn’t expected him to be gone overnight and though she told herself he was probably fine, she couldn’t help but worry that he might have run afoul of Comanches or soldiers.

  She was staring into the flames when, inexplicably, she felt compelled to go to the window.

  Rising, she drew the blanket around her shoulders and went to look out into the yard. A light snow was falling, frosting the trees and the fence posts with a layer of white.

  Sarah stared at the scene for a moment, wondering what had prompted her to get up from her cozy place before the fire, and then she saw the horse and riders. She felt a quick shiver of apprehension when she saw that the horse was a bay, not Toklanni’s big gray stallion. Who would be coming to visit on such a day?

  She was about to turn away from the window to take up Toklanni’s rifle when something stopped her in her tracks.

  Sarah leaned forward, her eyes narrowed as she sought to see more clearly through the falling snowflakes.

  She felt a deep sense of relief as she recognized the tall rider as Toklanni. And the smaller one…no, it couldn’t be. But it was.

  “Danny!” She cried his name as she ran out the door, skimming across the snow-covered ground like a bird about to take flight. “Danny! Danny!”

  “Mama!”

  Toklanni reined the mare to a halt as Danny scrambled off the back of the horse and ran into his mother’s outstretched arms.

  Toklanni felt a catch in his heart as he watched Sarah embrace her son, tears of joy and happiness flooding her eyes as she hugged him close, kissing his cheek, the top of his head, the tip of his freckled nose. And all the while she murmured his name over and over again.

  And Danny was crying, too, incoherent words of childish de
light as he nestled against his mother’s breast, holding onto her as if he would never let go.

  After a long while, Sarah stood up, one arm hugging Danny close to her side. “Thank you, Devlin,” she said, hardly able to speak for the flood of emotion that filled her heart.

  Toklanni smiled down at her, his own throat thick with unshed tears.

  “He came for me, Mama,” Danny said, pointing at Toklanni. “He fought Noche for me, only I didn’t stay to watch. I was afraid and I ran away.”

  “You fought your own brother?” Sarah asked.

  “With knives,” Danny added, his blue eyes filled with awe.

  “I’m all right,” Toklanni assured Sarah, warmed by the concern he read in her gaze.

  “Where’s your stallion?”

  “With Noche.”

  She knew, without being told, that he’d given his prized stallion in exchange for her son.

  “What if you’d lost?”

  “I guess I’d still have my favorite war horse.” Toklanni’s gaze moved from Sarah’s face to Danny’s and back again. “It was a fair trade. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  Later, after Danny told his mother all about his stay with the Apache and after they’d exchanged about a hundred more hugs, Sarah lit the candles on the tree, filling the little cabin with a soft warm glow.

  Toklanni couldn’t take his eyes from the woman who was his wife. Her blue eyes were filled with such love and happiness, it made his heart ache. Time and again, she reached out to touch Danny’s arm, his shoulder, to ruffle his hair, as though to make sure he was really there.

  Her face radiated with joy as she watched her son open his presents. Danny was delighted with the mittens, thrilled by the wooden soldiers, pleased to have a new shirt, though he insisted on keeping the buckskin vest and moccasins Noche’s wife had made for him.

  “I wish I had something for you, Mama,” Danny said.

  “Oh, Danny, your being here is the only present I need.”

  Her words made Danny flush with embarrassed delight. “Really, Mama?”

  “Really.”

  “Now it’s your turn,” Sarah said, and handed Toklanni a package tied with a big red bow. “This one first.”

  He unwrapped the package to find a blue wool shirt. It was his first Christmas present, his first gift of any kind, but it was the second present, a red scarf, that tugged at his heart, because Sarah had made it with her own hands, just for him.

  He smiled at her as he put it around his neck, the softness of the wool reminding him of the soft warmth of her hands.

  They had turkey for dinner. Toklanni eyed it speculatively for a long moment before he took a bite. He chewed it carefully and then grinned with pleasure.

  “The Apache don’t know what they’re missing,” he said solemnly, and Sarah and Danny both laughed.

  The meal was a huge success and Sarah declared it was the best Christmas they’d ever had.

  After dinner, they sang Christmas carols and then Danny asked his mother to read the Christmas Story. With a heart overflowing with love and gratitude, Sarah picked up the old family Bible and turned to the Book of Luke, Chapter 2.

  “And she brought forth her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

  Toklanni was watching Sarah’s face as she read the words “firstborn son”. He heard the catch in her voice, saw the two bright tears that sparkled in her eyes as she glanced up from the Bible to gaze lovingly at her own firstborn son.

  “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

  “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord…”

  Later that night, Toklanni and Sarah stood beside Danny’s bed, their hands entwined as they gazed down at the sleeping child.

  “I guess we’ll have to leave here now, won’t we?” Sarah asked.

  “Only if you want to. I have Noche’s promise that he won’t bother you again.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  “No.” This was home. It would always be home. He had been born here and his roots ran deep into the land. But he would willingly take Sarah anywhere she wanted to go. “Do you?”

  Sarah shook her head. “It’s funny. We’ve lived here for five years and this is the first time it’s ever felt like home.”

  “We’ll stay then.”

  “I never thanked you for bringing Danny home,” Sarah murmured. She wrapped her arms around Toklanni’s waist and hugged him to her, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude for her husband. “Thank you with all my heart.”

  “I had to give you something for Christmas,” Toklanni replied. “I knew you were making the scarf for me.”

  “How did you know?” Sarah demanded. “It could have been for me.”

  “No.” He smiled down at her, his heart quickening at her nearness, at the love he read in the depths of her eyes. “I saw the look on your face while you worked on it and I knew it was meant to be mine.”

  “A scarf seems like such a small thing when compared to the gift of my son.”

  “But I have you,” Toklanni murmured.

  And he silently thanked the gods, both red and white, for the gift of life, for the promise of a bright future in this life, and the hope of a life in the hereafter with the woman in his arms.

  Sarah. She had given him hope and joy, wiped the bitterness from his soul, taught him what life and love and giving were all about.

  Truly, loving Sarah and having her love in return was the greatest Christmas gift of all.

  LOVING DEVLIN

  Chapter One

  New Mexico, 1873

  Devlin Dennehy rested his arms along the top rail of the corral, his gaze roaming over the wild horses penned inside the four-rail fence. He’d made a good catch this year, he mused. When he sold this bunch of broomtails to the Army, Sarah would be able to buy that new stove she’d been pestering him for.

  He felt a sense of pride as he gazed around the ranch.

  They’d done well in the last four years. They’d added on to the house, built new corrals, put up a new barn to replace the one that his people had burned down.

  A slight grin tugged at his features as he recalled the first time he had seen Sarah. He had been living with the Apache back then, raiding with his father’s people. To his regret, it had been his half brother who had killed Sarah’s first husband and kidnapped her six-year-old son. Devlin had been sent to the house to kill Sarah, but one look at her face, so much like his mother’s, had stayed his hand.

  Instead of killing her, Devlin had become her protector, keeping watch over her, always from a distance, of course. He had provided her with food and firewood. He had saved her life and she had saved his and, in the process, they had fallen deeply, hopelessly, in love. And because he had loved her so much, he had fought his own brother in order to return Danny to Sarah.

  Devlin’s marriage to Sarah had caused quite a scandal in town, what with him being a half-breed and all. But, in time, people had gotten used to the idea. He was accepted by most of the townsfolk now. He had traded his clout and leggings for sturdy denim and cotton, exchanged his hard-soled moccasins for boots. Now, only the color of his skin and the length of his hair proclaimed his Apache heritage. He couldn’t change the first, he refused to cut the second.

  Four years, he mused. Where had the time gone? Four years since he had seen his father’s people or his brother, Noche. Four years and Sarah was with child, again.

  His gaze lifted to the graveyard located on the crest of the hill where he used to sit to keep watch over Sarah. Two small, white-washed crosses stood out in stark relief against the bright blue sky, marking the graves of two infants who hadn’t survived. A third cross marked the final resting place of Sarah’s first husband, Vern.

  Devlin’s heartbeat quickened when Sarah stepped out onto the porch. She
was a remarkably pretty woman, with hair as yellow as freshly churned butter and eyes as blue as cornflowers. It still amazed him that she had agreed to marry him, that she had willingly endured the scorn and derision of her friends to be his wife.

  He smiled as their gazes met and then she was walking toward him, her calico skirt swaying provocatively. And he wanted her. Just like that. Always like that. He had thought that, in time, his ardor would cool, but he had only to look at her to want her.

  And she knew it.

  He saw it in the seductive smile that curved her sweet red lips, in the sudden light that danced in her eyes.

  “Dinner is ready,” Sarah said, coming to stand beside him. “Are you hungry?”

  His dark eyes moved over her face like a caress. “Very hungry.”

  Sarah felt her heart skip a beat. It was incredible that the fire between them still burned so strong, so bright. When he looked at her like that, it made her heart sing and her soul ache for his touch.

  Devlin’s arm curled around her shoulders. “Where’s Danny?”

  “Fishing with the Loomis boys. He won’t be back for hours.”

  His smile was so bright, it put the desert sun to shame. Effortlessly, he swung her into his arms and carried her into the house.

  In their bedroom, he stood her on her feet and began to undress her, his hands caressing the clothing from her body, his eyes burning with desire as he openly admired the womanly curves now swollen with his child. His heart soared with happiness as he placed his hands on her rounded belly, felt his child’s lusty kick.

  Sarah stared down at Devlin’s hands, so big and brown where they rested on her belly. “I’m getting as fat as old Bessie,” she muttered.

  “You’re not fat.” Bending, he kissed her shoulder, her breasts. “You’re pregnant with our child and you’ve never been more beautiful.”

  When he looked at her like that, his eyes filled with adoration, how could she doubt him?

  Head tilted slightly to one side, Sarah removed the pins from her hair so that it fell in a riotous mass of waves over her shoulders and down her back.