Grace looked up from the flat rock where she pounded ground meal and water into mush. “Oh, that does sound good and like a fine topping for hot corn cakes.”
* * *
“Too bad the vines have long been dormant. Snow will soon cover the ground, and we must wait until the spring to again savor the sweet taste of fruit. In the meantime, we can appreciate the berries that are dried into the pemmican.”
“Ah, I can almost taste the juice. Somehow, dried meat with ground berries just isn’t quite the same.” Her mouth dropped into a frown.
Little Elk chuckled as he took another bite. “Yes, these berries are very hard to chew.”
* * *
The moist smell of snow lingered in the gray sky. Bundled against the cold, Grace walked back from the creek with a basket of clean laundry balanced on her hip. Some of the women actually smiled at her this morning, and for the first time in quite a while, happiness consumed her. She hummed a tune as she made her way back to Little Elk’s lodge.
He sat warming himself by the fire. His morning’s kill lay next to him: two rabbits and a wild turkey. Grace put the laundry basket down and forced a smile, even though she grimaced at the thought of the work ahead. Tanning pelts wasn’t a skill easily mastered. Her fingers traced the cuts on her hands still fresh from scraping hides yesterday. Would she ever learn to clean animal skins without removing her own?
Drawn to the warmth, she rubbed her palms together over the dancing flames. “Looks like your morning hunt was successful.”
Little Elk puffed out his chest. “Yes, nothing escaped my bow and arrows this morning. My stomach craves a taste of this bird already, so I will leave you to your work while I visit with our chief.”
Without so much as a smile, he ducked outside.
Tears stung the back of her eyes. Why should she care if he left? She could get more done without him underfoot. She stared at the carcasses on the floor and clenched her fists. “Why didn’t you just kill a herd of deer and drag them in here.”
By morning’s end, the rabbit fur hung on the drying rack, and the meat lay on its pallet, cut into chunks. Turkey plucking required more water than she had in the lodge, so Grace made several trips to the creek to get more. If she wanted the feathers to come out easily, she had to dunk the carcass into boiling liquid. She finished constructing a framework of sticks and stretched a large, water-filled buffalo paunch across the wood. As Green Eyes had instructed, Grace fetched stones heated in the fire and dropped them into the water. She held the bird’s limp body by its feet and lowered it into a cloud of steam. The smell of wet, dirty feathers filled her nostrils, and she turned her head to avoid the putrid odor.
With the turkey completely immersed, she knelt next to the pot and began plucking. Hot vapor spiraled up into her face. Using the back of her arm, she wiped away beads of sweat from her forehead and wished she were somewhere else—anywhere else: visiting Green Eyes, washing her hair, or even doing laundry. Grace had always loathed unpleasant tasks, and this was certainly one. The stench turned her stomach. If only Mama still lived. Working alongside her was always so much easier than doing things alone.
Frustration from the overwhelming chore, along with thoughts of her mother, sent tears cascading down Grace’s cheeks. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the slaughter of her family for quite a while, and now she labeled herself a traitor because she had developed affection for a man who was instrumental in their deaths. Her emotions raised a myriad of questions in her mind. How could she forget so quickly what he had done? She no longer had family because of him and his friends.
Her mind argued against logic, and she covered her face with her wet, smelly hands. Little Elk hadn’t killed anyone. It was Black Crow. The man who held her captive now had been nothing but gentle and kind with her. Were her tears for loss of her family… or for the loss of her heart?
Chapter Nine
Little Elk shoved the tepee flap aside and entered his lodge. Grace sat on the floor amidst a pile of turkey feathers. Several small ones hung in her hair, and others had adhered themselves to her skin and clothing. He struggled to keep a sober face while putting away his knife. “You look like a turkey chick just growing feathers.”
Noticing her tears, his amusement faded, and he crouched beside her. “What is wrong, little one?” He rested a hand on her shoulder.
Grace knuckled wetness from her cheeks and looked up with misty eyes. She sputtered when a stray feather drifted into her mouth. “I-it’s nothing.”
She lowered her gaze to the floor.
He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Something brings tears to your beautiful eyes.”
Grace’s mouth gaped for a moment. “I’m fine, really.” She hiccupped. “Do you truly think I have beautiful eyes?”
“Yes I do. And I am sorry if I overwhelmed you with too many tasks.” He stood, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. “I have an idea. The sun pierces the gray sky and warms the air. Wrap a blanket around your shoulders, and we will walk. Work can wait.”
Outside, the winter-like temperature assaulted her nose and sent a shiver through her body. She pulled the blanket tighter. “Where are we going?”
“I had no place in mind. I thought you might like to get some fresh air.” He took hold of her hand and led her toward a huge boulder.
Green Eyes, on her way back from the creek with fresh water, spied Grace and Little Elk walking together. “Where are you two going?” she called.
“To enjoy the morning sun,” Little Elk answered over his shoulder.
Her chest warmed at seeing the two of them together. They seemed such a good fit. Maybe Grace could find the same kind of happiness she herself had found. But a doubt crept into her happy ending. Grace had come to the camp under different circumstances. Still, Green Eyes refused to think negative thoughts. If given time, Grace might adopt the tribe, too.
Not wanting to intrude on their outing, Green Eyes headed toward her own lodge. The tendons on the heavy water skins dug into her shoulders, and she was anxious to unburden herself.
Little Elk perched atop a large rock at the camp’s entrance. The sun’s radiating heat warmed his chilled body. His gaze followed his beautiful, blonde captive who frolicked between the tall pines. “Be careful of the bramble thorns,” he yelled.
Her discarded blanket lay crumpled on the boulder next to him. Like a youngster at play, Grace darted in and out of the trees, but her well-developed body belied her childish actions. Ample breasts jutted against her loose-fitting tunic and, as she lifted her dress to step over a small sapling, she exposed her shapely calves. His groin tightened.
Little Elk eyed her with amusement and wonder. Was she more woman than child? Her white name had been aptly bestowed. She moved like a deer—graceful and swift. He pictured a fawn, young, gangly, and dancing through the forest. No cares, and not yet old enough to worry about the hunter’s bow. The perfect Lakota name came to him—Dancing Fawn.
* * *
Grace paused for a moment and glanced at Little Elk. He motioned for her to join him, and she scampered across the clearing and clambered up beside him. Her chest heaved from the exertion, and her cheeks flushed bright pink.
“Whew, that felt good. I haven’t been so energetic in a long time.” With a big smile on her face, she turned toward him, raised her arms above her head, and took a deep breath. “The fresh air smells wonderful... Much better than those nasty feathers. Thank you for suggesting the outing.” Her warm breath crossed the short space between them and caressed his face.
He assessed her. “You remind me of a young deer.”
“And what prompted that comparison?”
“You move like a fawn—gentle and graceful. So, I have decided to call you Dancing Fawn.”
She stiffened. “You’ve decided? I already have a name.”
“Grace is your waishisu name, not Lakota.”
“What if I don’t want a Lakota name?” Agitation tinged her voice.
“That is not for you to say. It is my decision, and as the woman of Little Elk, you will be called Dancing Fawn. I will hear no more from you.” He crossed his arms and looked away.
* * *
She wanted to scream but realized any further discussion would fall on deaf ears. She’d already seen his stubborn side. Sitting silently, she replayed his last sentence in her mind: Woman of Little Elk?
Since coming to live among the Sioux, she’d been treated like a piece of property; first by Black Crow and now, Little Elk. Until his demeanor changed, she saw herself as a possession, too. What a fool she’d been to think he viewed her as anything else. Now he’d given her a name. How dare he suggest the one her parents had given her wasn’t fitting enough?
Grace pressed her lips tighter to keep from yelling. Did he think because he took her for a walk and pretended to be a friend he could change her name? Angry thoughts bubbled up and begged for release. She turned and glared at him. “No matter what you say, I will never be Dancing Fawn. I am not Lakota, I am not Sioux, and I am not your woman. You may own my physical body, but that is all you’ll ever own.”
She slid off the rock and stomped away, questioning the truth in her own words.
* * *
Grace sat on the riverbank, dangling a twig in the rippling water and occasionally glancing over her shoulder to see if Little Elk had followed her. After all, he considered her his property. She almost wished he would come after her so she could tell him off again and feel the heat of anger. If only she’d grabbed her blanket before she stormed off. The sound of footsteps behind her caused her to jerk around.
“Oh! It’s you, Green Eyes.” Grace felt a pang of disappointment.
“Who were you expecting?”
“Little Elk.” She toyed with the rawhide fringe on her dress.
“What are you doing here in the cold?”
“Just sitting and thinking about how angry I am.”
“I thought you were with Little Elk.”
“You mean my owner?” Grace snapped.
“What happened that upset you so?” Green Eyes plopped down beside Grace then tucked part of her fur wrapper between her legs and the cold ground.
Grace stopped fiddling with the decoration on her dress and instead, crumbled dead leaves. “I can’t help being upset. I don’t like belonging to someone else. Can you believe that Little Elk actually had the nerve to give me a new name and call me his woman?”
“That’s not so bad, is it? If he wants you for his woman, he must have feelings for you. Surely he does since you have shared his lodge for a while now.”
“I live where I’m told. I’m his captive, remember? He has no feelings for me.” She brushed the dirt from her fingers onto her skirt and sighed.
* * *
“I think you are wrong. There is a big difference between being his captive and his woman. Evidently his heart has warmed toward you, and he sees you differently. Remember how Black Crow treated you? Is it the same with Little Elk?”
Grace lowered her gaze. “No, he treats me well.”
“So it sounds as though things are not as bad as they seem. Tell me what name he picked for you.”
“Dancing Fawn.” She rolled her eyes.
“Why, that is a beautiful name. Does it not please you?”
“But I already have a name!”
Green Eyes patted Grace’s hand. “The Lakota believe what you are called should reflect your spirit. Giving you a new name is an honor, and I think the one Little Elk picked is most appropriate.”
Grace gazed into her friend’s emerald eyes. “I can see how you got your Indian name. What was your birth name?”
“Cecile, after my great-grandmother.”
“And you don’t mind being called Green Eyes?”
“It is but another name. What you are called is not as important as how you feel about the person who calls you. Lone Eagle gave me my name, and I answer to it proudly.”
“Well, maybe you’re right.” Grace acquiesced. “It’s just a name. I guess if you can get used to one, I can, too.”
Green Eyes chuckled. “So, should I call you Grace or Dancing Fawn?”
Grace thought for a moment. “How about just Fawn?”
Chapter Ten
After scouring the village for Grace, Little Elk spied her sitting on the riverbank with Green Eyes. As he approached, he squared his shoulders and braced himself for the anger he was about to face. Surprisingly, Grace greeted him with a smile—surely an attempt to fool him. He cleared his throat. “I...I’ve been looking for you, Dancing Fawn.” He purposely used her Lakota name.
Discussing personal business in front of Green Eyes was not something he wanted to do, but he braced himself for Grace’s stormy reaction.
“I’ve been here all along,” she said warmly.
He didn’t expect such a calm response. Caught off guard, he struggled for something to say. “The...the clouds hide the warmth of the sun. Are you not cold?”
She nodded. “I’m chilled to the bone. I was just getting ready to go back to the lodge and finish plucking the turkey.”
Still wary, Little Elk pulled her to her feet then offered his hand to Green Eyes. “You are welcome to come, too.”
She stood and brushed dried grass from her cloak. “Thank you, but I must check on Rain Woman. She is ailing today.”
Green Eyes turned toward Grace. “Fawn, perhaps tomorrow I can begin teaching you to quill.”
“Fawn?” Little Elk raised a brow.
“Yes,” Grace nodded. “I have decided to shorten my new name.”
To hide the grin creeping across his face, he grasped his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pretended to ponder her decision. A compromise pleased him. He returned her nod. “Then, Fawn, it will be.”
* * *
Outside, the wind howled, turning the November air to ice. Despite the extra skins lining the interior walls, driving wind gusts found loose ends of the lodge covering and sent drafts of frigid coldness creeping along the floor. Little Elk lay on his back with arms folded behind his head, and stared into the semi-darkness.
His thoughts were on the beautiful white woman, sleeping across from him, who warmed his heart and stirred his loins. The urge to move to her blankets was strong, but he fought against it. He strained to hear her soft sleeping noises, but only the blowing tempest outside echoed in his ears.
Little Elk rolled to his side, reached for, and fed another log to the dwindling embers. Sleep seemed to evade him tonight. He propped himself on an elbow and peered over the fire pit at Fawn. Flickering flames cast a reflection in her open eyes.
“Fawn, why do you not sleep?”
“The wind woke me. It sounds like a lonely cry, don’t you think?” Her voice trembled.
“It is only the breath of Wakan Takan blowing. The noise is but a reminder of his strength.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve always hated storms of any sort. When I was a little girl, I always sought safety in my parent’s bed.”
He detected a note of sorrow in her voice. “Do not be afraid. As long as I am nearby, nothing will harm you... ever.”
She turned her head and smiled at him. On her cheek, a single teardrop glistened in the firelight.
Little Elk cast off his blankets and crawled to her side. He wiped the wetness from her face and brushed her forehead with a kiss. “Hush. Do not cry, my Dancing Fawn. Let me hold you until you sleep. I promise I will do nothing more.”
She inched over and made room on her mat. He stretched out alongside her, snaked a cradling arm beneath her head, and snuggled close. Her body heat and womanly scent stirred feelings he had not yet acted upon, but he refused to start now because of his vow to her. He slowed his breathing to calm his thudding heart. This was a time to gain trust; he would simply hold her and make her feel secure.
“Sleep without fear, my woman,” he whispered in her ear. “Remember your promise,” his mind uttered to his heart.
; Turning toward him, she draped her arm over his torso. Her skin against his bare flesh sent a prickling sensation up his spine. His pulse echoed in his ears. Although he wanted to pull her closer, he turned his face to the side and took a calming breath. But, the warmth of her breath caressed his neck and sent shivers of desire pulsing through his loins. He buried his nose in the silkiness of her hair and hugged her tight. Neither uttered a word.
It took every ounce of strength he could muster to fight the temptation to satisfy his hunger for her. Luckily, within a few moments her body relaxed, and she snored softly. His masculinity unproven, he closed his eyes and begged sleep to quickly claim him, too.
* * *
Little Elk opened his eyes and whisked aside strands of blond hair that covered his face and obscured his view. The arm resting under Fawn’s head tingled from having been in the same position all night. Reluctant to move and awaken her, he flexed his fist to encourage blood to flow to his numb fingers. With his other hand, he brushed her locks from his face and stared through the smoke opening. The trees outside were still. The wind had blown itself out during the night but left behind a veil of gray covering the sky. He inched closer against Fawn, enjoying the nearness of her.
She stirred and rolled over, casting a sleepy gaze at him. Her eyes flew wide-open, and she bolted upright. “Oh!”
A bright red flush crept up her neck and spread to her face. She edged away from him and combed shaky fingers through her tousled hair.
Did she remember she’d invited him to her mat? He wasn’t quite sure how to remind her. “Y-you were afraid of the storm and I—”
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