Sarah was crying now, the tears running down her cheeks, unchecked and unnoticed.
“Why?” She stared up at Devlin, her eyes searching his for answers. “Why?”
“Don’t you know?”
Sarah shook her head. “I was nothing to him, just a captive white woman.”
“No. He loved you.”
“He didn’t even know me,” she exclaimed, suddenly angry because Esatai had died needlessly. “He didn’t know a thing about me.”
“Some people are easy to love,” Toklanni remarked quietly. “I think I loved you from the moment I first saw you, before I even knew your name.”
Sarah shook her head, unwilling to accept the fact that a man she had hardly known had died because of her. She looked down at Esatai. Why hadn’t he stayed with his own people? Why had he come after her?
“What did he say, before he…” She swallowed hard. “Before…” She couldn’t say the words. She had seen death before, but she had never had anyone die in her arms.
“I’m not sure. I think he said, ‘forgive me’.”
A wordless cry of sorrow escaped Sarah’s lips as she buried her face in her hands. She had known Esatai for only a few weeks, but he had been good to her, in his own way. He hadn’t shamed her, or hurt her. He had been patient with her ignorance and her shortcomings. And now he was gone.
She sobbed aloud as Devlin lifted her to her feet.
Toklanni held her close, wishing he could say something to comfort her, but every tear she shed for the Comanche was like a thorn pricking his heart, sharper and more painful than the arrow lodged in the meaty part of his arm.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah murmured. Drawing back, she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Oh, Lord, you’re hurt! I…” Guilt washed through her. How could she have forgotten Devlin was wounded?
“It’s all right, Sarah.”
“No, it isn’t, but I…” All the color drained out of her face. “I’ve never seen anybody…” She gazed into the distance, fighting the urge to vomit.
“It’s all right,” Toklanni said again. It was never easy, watching someone die, no matter if that someone was friend or enemy.
Gritting his teeth, Toklanni took hold of the shaft and jerked the arrow from his arm. White hot agony speared him from shoulder to wrist, but he welcomed the pain. It was cleansing, somehow.
Kneeling beside Esatai, he removed the warrior’s headband and wrapped it around the bloody gash in his arm.
When he looked up, Sarah was staring at him, a gentle reproach in her eyes. “I would have done that.”
“You’ve been through enough. We need to go.”
“You’re going to leave him here, like that?”
“I don’t have the time or the energy to bury him. His people will find him soon enough.”
It was in her mind to argue, but one look into Devlin’s eyes changed her mind. Still, she couldn’t just leave Esatai laying there. Grabbing up one of their blankets, she draped it over his still form.
Wordlessly, Toklanni saddled the gray, then helped Sarah mount.
She heard him cuss under his breath as he swung up behind her. “Are you all right?” she asked, risking a worried glance in his direction.
“Fine.”
“Devlin, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I feel as though I’ve let you down somehow.”
“You haven’t,” he replied curtly.
She studied his face for several moments, but his expression was closed to her.
With a sigh, she turned around, wishing she could heal the gulf that seemed to be opening between them, but then she felt his arm slip around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. His breath was warm against her neck, his chest as strong and unyielding as the mountains.
“Rest, Sarah. Everything’s all right.”
His voice was deep and reassuring, filled with love and tender affection. Relief flooded through her as she settled against him. Overcome with a sudden weariness, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
She woke to the feel of raindrops on her face. The sky had turned dark as night. Thunder rumbled overhead; in the distance, a slash of jagged lightning ripped through the clouds. There were teeth in the wind.
They were both soaked to the skin by the time they found shelter in a hollow formed by a pile of huge gray boulders.
They spent the rest of the day there, huddled beneath their blankets. Devlin held her close, warming her with the heat of his body, but he seemed far away, as though he had withdrawn from her. Was he angry because she had cried for Esatai? Could he be jealous?
The thought was oddly disturbing and yet satisfying. What woman didn’t want her man to be insanely jealous once in a while? But Devlin had no cause. She loved him heart and soul. Surely he knew that.
Resting against his chest, she lifted her hand and let it slide down his scarred cheek. “I love you, Devlin.”
He grunted softly as he lifted her hand away from his face. “I know.”
“Don’t shut me out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel as if you’re angry with me and I don’t know why.”
“I’m not angry, Sarah.”
“Then what?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He said the word, knowing it was a lie, as all his old doubts came back to haunt him. “Get some rest. We’ll he moving on as soon as it stops raining.”
She wanted to argue with him, but her eyelids were heavy. Her body, too, felt heavy and lethargic. Capturing his hand, she placed it over her womb so he could feel their child stirring within.
Closing her eyes, she murmured, “I hope it’s a girl,” and then she was asleep.
A girl, Toklanni thought, with Sarah’s golden hair and sky blue eyes. His daughter. She would be a quarter Apache. Would life be different for her than it had been for him, or would people look at her with scorn because there was Indian blood in her veins? Boy or girl, he didn’t want any child of his to be ashamed or ignorant of its heritage.
Resting his head against one of the boulders, his arms wrapped around Sarah, he closed his eyes, praying for a strong, healthy child.
Chapter Ten
Sarah woke wrapped in the warmth of Devlin’s arms. For a moment, she didn’t move, only lay there, watching him sleep. Even at rest, his face was lined with worry. It grieved her that she was the cause of it.
Unable to resist, she reached out and lightly stroked his cheek, loving the touch of his skin, warm and smooth beneath her fingertips. Her gaze moved over his face, a face she knew so well, admiring the high-bridged, straight nose, the strong square jaw, the high cheekbones, the sensual line of his lips, the color of his skin.
She brushed a lock of hair from his brow, smiling as his eyelids fluttered open. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“It finally stopped raining.”
Toklanni grunted, wondering yet again how she could be so cheerful. They had lost everything they owned. They were miles from town and she was smiling at him, her blue eyes bright, her hair like a golden cloud around her face.
“I’m hungry,” she said, her hand gliding aimlessly over his chest. “Do we have anything to eat?”
“There’s some pemmican left.”
“I’ll get it.”
“You stay put. I’ll get it.”
After a meager breakfast, Toklanni saddled the horse and then they were riding again, heading southeast, toward Pepper Tree Creek.
It would be hard for her men, living in a town again, Sarah thought. Danny was used to the freedom of the ranch, of being able to come and go as he pleased. He had liked fishing in the stream near the house with the Loomis boys. He liked having a yard full of animals. He had even liked milking their ornery cow and prowling through the henhouse, outsmarting the chickens to collect the eggs.
Difficult as it might be for Danny to adjust to such a change, it would be twice as hard for Devlin. He had told her that
his mother had taken him to live in Santa Fe when he was nine years old because she had wanted him to meet his maternal grandparents, to learn how the white man lived. He had hated it. It was there, he’d told her, that he had first heard the word half-breed, the first time he had heard the word squaw used in a derogatory way. The people had been unkind to his mother, as well, mocking her, staring at the blue tattoo on her chin. After six months, they had returned to his father’s people.
With a sigh, Sarah knew she couldn’t ask him to live in a town again. Even though most of their neighbors had accepted him, she knew he still felt like an outsider. Somehow, they would find the money to rebuild the ranch and if not…
Sarah took a deep breath, if not, she would ask Devlin if he wanted to live with the Apache for awhile. He had given up so much for her, it was the least she could do for him.
It was near midday when her back began to ache. Knowing it would only worry Devlin, she didn’t say anything. Leaning back against his chest, she slept for a while and when she woke, it was late afternoon.
Toklanni reined the gray to a halt. Dismounting, he lifted Sarah from the back of the horse. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
Moving behind her, he rubbed her shoulders and back for a few minutes, grinning at her soft sound of pleasure. Turning her in his arms, he kissed her cheek. “Rest a while,” he said. “I’ll see if I can’t find a rabbit for dinner.”
Sarah nodded, then sat down on a rock, one hand massaging her back.
It was near dark when Devlin returned, a couple of prairie chickens slung over his shoulder.
“Fresh meat tonight,” he remarked.
Sarah smiled, biting back a groan as the pain in her back slid around to the front.
Toklanni frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just a little pain in my back.”
Dropping the birds to the ground, he went to Sarah and knelt in front of her. “How long has it been hurting?”
“All day, off and on.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. It’s probably nothing,” she said, and then gasped.
“Are the pains getting worse?”
Sarah nodded.
Wordlessly, he picked her up and placed her in the saddle.
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a little Mexican village not far from here,” he said, draping a blanket over her head and shoulders. “You’re not having the baby out here. There’s another storm coming.”
Swinging up behind her, he lifted the reins and urged the gray into a rocking chair lope, the need to get Sarah to safety pounding through him like an Apache war drum. She had lost two children already. It would kill her to lose another.
It was dark when they reached the little Mexican village nestled in a range of low foothills.
Sarah was in labor now, of that there was no doubt. Toklanni stopped at the first jacal he came to. Dismounting, he knocked on the door.
A moment later, an aged woman dressed in black from head to foot opened the door.
“I need shelter for my wife,” Toklanni said.
The old woman shook her head. “No room. Go away.”
“She’s having a baby.”
The old woman shook her head again. “No.”
Toklanni swore under his breath. He could hardly blame the woman for not wanting to let them in, he thought bleakly. His scarred face alone was enough to make the old woman wary. That, coupled with the fact that he was an Indian, didn’t help any. The Apache and the Mexicans had been enemies for generations.
Turning away, he took the gray’s reins and walked down the dusty street to the next house. And the next. And the next.
No room. Go away. No room. It was the same at every house. No one was willing to open their door to a scar-faced Indian and his woman.
When they reached the end of town, he felt as if his anger would strangle him. Sarah needed shelter and she needed it now. Try as she might, she couldn’t hide the fact that the pains were coming harder, faster.
Muttering an oath, he swung up behind Sarah and reined the horse toward the foothills. He had seen a cave up there on the way into the village. At least she would be out of the rain and the wind.
The cave was small. Toklanni went in first, making sure there were no animals inside, and then he carried Sarah in and made her as comfortable as he could.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he said, taking up his rifle.
“Where are you going?”
“To get some blankets and something to eat. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long.”
He was gone before she could argue with him.
Toklanni rode hard for the village. He didn’t bother to ask for help this time. Leaving the gray tethered in a copse of trees, he entered the town on silent feet, ghosting toward the ramshackle general store located at the far end of the main street.
It didn’t take much to break into the place. Finding a burlap bag, be stuffed it with food, a length of clean linen, another of flannel. To that, he added half a dozen tallow candles, a box of matches, a couple of tin cups, forks and spoons, coffee and tea, a blue enamel coffee pot, a ball of twine. Lastly, he grabbed three heavy woolen blankets.
He retraced his steps out of town, pausing only once in the shadows to let a couple of vaqueros go by.
The gray whickered softly at his approach. Tying the bag over the saddle horn, Toklanni vaulted into the saddle and rode hard for the cave.
The sound of Sarah’s muffled groan reached him as soon he stepped out of the saddle. Grabbing the burlap bag, he hurried into the cavern.
“Sarah!”
“Devlin.”
He heard the pain in her voice, the relief at his return. Moving quickly, he lit a couple of candles, then knelt at her side. Her eyes were glazed with pain, her face and bodice damp with perspiration.
He spread a dry blanket for her in the rear of the cave, then built a small fire to turn away the cold. When she was comfortable, he filled the coffee pot with water and made her a cup of tea.
“Where’d you get all this stuff?” she asked between contractions.
“I stole it.”
“Devlin!” she exclaimed, shocked that he would do such a thing.
Toklanni met her gaze, his eyes dark and brooding. “The Apache don’t think it’s wrong to steal from their enemies.”
“The people in the village aren’t our enemies.”
His expression hardened. “They are my enemies.”
“Because of me?”
His silence was all the answer she needed.
He sat beside her through the long hours of the night, holding her hand, massaging her back, insisting she get up and walk a little between contractions.
He talked to her of his childhood, of his mother and father. And all the while the fear grew deep inside him—fear for the child’s life, for Sarah’s. He cursed the villagers for refusing to give his wife shelter.
At dawn, they heard the low sweet sound of church bells.
“It’s Christmas,” Sarah said, panting between contractions. “This year…we’ll have a….wonderful….present.”
Toklanni nodded, squeezing her hand with a warm reassurance that he didn’t feel.
Christmas, he thought, the day the white man’s God had been born. He remembered the story of the Nativity that Sarah had told him the first year of their marriage, how the people of Bethlehem had refused to give shelter to the mother of the Christ child, forcing Mary to give birth to the Savior of the world in a stable.
Sarah clutched at Devlin’s hands, her fingernails digging into his palms, as a sharp pain knifed through her. For the first time, she began to be afraid. She had been in labor for hours. What if something was wrong? Oh, Lord, what if this baby died, too? She knew how much Devlin wanted a child. She couldn’t fail him again.
Toklanni grimaced as her nails cut into his hands. Such strength for such a sma
ll woman, he mused, and wished he could absorb her pain into himself. Her cries sliced into his heart like an Apache skinning knife. She had been in hard labor since last night. What if something had gone wrong? He didn’t think he could bear to see her agony if this child didn’t survive.
“Devlin, if anything happens to me, take care of Danny.”
“Sarah…”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She grasped his hands as her body strained to expel the child. “Something’s wrong!”
He fought down the panic aroused by her words, by the terrible fear in her eyes. “What can I do?”
“See…if…it’s breech.”
She groaned low in her throat, her fingernails digging into the hard packed earth as Toklanni washed his hands, then probed inside her womb.
Sweat broke out across his brow as his fingers encountered a tiny foot. The baby was coming feet first, one leg bent so that it blocked the birth canal.
Swearing softly, fervently, Toklanni straightened the tiny leg, then took hold of both feet in his hand and gave a gentle tug, timing it to coincide with a contraction.
Moments later, a scrap of pink flesh topped off by a mop of damp black hair slid into his hands.
It was a girl, tiny and perfect, with dark blue eyes and a turned-up nose. She took one look at him and let out a loud wail.
Grinning broadly, he placed the baby on Sarah’s stomach. “We have a daughter,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears.
And then, seeing the look of love and relief on Sarah’s face, he did cry, his heart sending a prayer of thanks to the Great Spirit as he cupped Sarah’s sweat-sheened face in his hands and kissed her with all the love in his heart.
Chapter Eleven
In the flickering light of the fire, Sarah gazed at her daughter, marveling at how pretty she was, how small, how perfect, from her dimpled fingers to her tiny toes. Love swelled in her heart as the baby’s hand curled around her finger. It was worth it, Sarah thought, all the waiting, all the pain, it was all worth it.
Sleepily content, Sarah’s gaze moved over her husband’s face. The lines of worry were gone, replaced by an expression of wonder.
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