“I have never been afraid of you, Windrider,” she responded. “We must go,” she stated nervously.
Smelling sweet victory, he grinned and nodded. They joined the others, and the steady march continued on until dusk.
The scenery slipped by without Rebecca noticing it or the passage of time. She had never before allowed herself to ponder her iniquitous relationship with Bright Arrow. Where had her purity, honor, and modesty gone? She had been raised with virtue and morals; when had they fled? She had transgressed the laws of God and man. Listing the facts, her situation sounded so sinful. Willingly, she had entered a life of disgraceful wickedness. They had made love the first day he had taken her captive. Perhaps it had been a clever seduction, but not rape. They had been strangers and enemies, controlled and charmed by physical attraction. They had yielded to carnal temptation. Did initial captivity excuse her brazen conduct?
Love had come later between them. But did love justify her ensuing behavior? For nearly a year she had existed as his slave, compelled to obey his every order and whim. Yet she knew beyond a glimmer of doubt that she would have resisted any other man to the death before submitting to his desires. In all honesty, she admitted to herself that she had craved Bright Arrow; she had permitted herself to excuse her actions by pretending she had no choice in the matter.
When she was free to choose her behavior, had she changed? No. Had she refused his lovemaking? No. She had continued her life of iniquity. As if to justify their living together, they had pretended to wed. They had stayed together for years; they had created three children. Yet they were not married in any degree, and that admission troubled her deeply. What would her beloved parents have said if they were still alive? She had lived in sin…
How could she rectify this predicament? The Sioux Indian Bright Arrow couldn’t wed Rebecca Kenny under the white man’s laws. The white captive Rebecca Kenny couldn’t wed Bright Arrow under the Indian laws. Without a willing minister, they couldn’t wed under God’s laws. Were all laws and powers against a mixed union? There was no answer to her dilemma. Either they must live in sin, or they must separate. Windrider had almost demanded, “Free him. Send him away.” But there were three children born out of wedlock to consider. Now that she had confronted this distressing situation, how should she deal with it? Did any of it matter to her husband… lover? Could she ever make love to him again without feeling shame and guilt?
Yet, Windrider could become her husband under the laws of the Cheyenne and under the eyes of the Great Spirit. It wasn’t fair! Why did the Sioux have to be so different, so hostile to whites? Knowing all about her, Windrider was pursuing her as a future bride. To win her, he was willing to discard his other wives and his friendship with Bright Arrow. She felt like an unfettered lass being courted—and she was! Windrider had made his feelings and intentions known to her. Bright Arrow had no marital, legal, or moral claim on her.
That conclusion was a stunning shock. She had never verbally pledged herself and her life to Bright Arrow. She had given her love freely and wildly but had promised him nothing more. The vows they had exchanged had been issued and pledged between Rebecca Kenny and the imaginary Clay Rivera. There had never been any agreements signed or spoken between them. Rebecca Rivera… She had never called herself or thought of herself by that name! She had been born—and still was—Alisha Rebecca Kenny.
How ironic that her first name was from Bright Arrow’s mother, Alisha Williams, now Princess Shalee, friend to both her mother and father. Such a strange twist of fate, to fall in love with the son of the woman for whom she had been named twenty-five years before. If her parents were still alive, would that change her fate, her rejection by the Sioux?
She had been like a puppet, yanked this way and that, always performing in a play which was written by someone else. The illustrious son of Gray Eagle had captured and enslaved her. She had done as she had been told to avoid physical and emotional torment. He hadn’t asked her to marry him. He had demanded they be allowed to join or he would leave his people. Had it been some rash strategy on his part? The council had forbidden a marriage between them, and he had been warned that they would be banished if Bright Arrow didn’t halt his foolish game. He had left his tribe and taken her with him, to await their surrender to his terms. Neither side had yielded in nearly seven years. The mock marriage had been his idea when he had learned she was expecting their first child. Had it been to soothe her conscience? Had it been to place some hold over her? Had the child sealed his part in this bargain? She had never thought about leaving or staying with him; it had just happened that way. First, his captivity; next, his banishment; finally, their children. The years had fled as he controlled her destiny and emotions. He had made all the decisions, and she had blindly obeyed them. But so much had changed, especially recently.
What would her life be like today if she had escaped from Bright Arrow before he had left his tribe? What if she had chosen to remain at the fort after rescuing Bright Arrow? What if there had been no children involved? What if she had returned to St. Louis after her first child’s birth? What if she had allowed Bright Arrow and the baby to return to his people? What if she had demanded he leave them long ago when he had first begun to destroy himself? What if they had gone to live with another Indian tribe? What if, what if, what if, her warring mind taunted her. She had not been free since her parents died when whe was fifteen. After that monstrous day, her life had been in one turmoil after another. Besides, Bright Arrow was no longer the man to whom she had given her pledge of love and loyalty…
They journeyed for six days without trouble. Game and wild vegetables were plentiful along the way, so they enjoyed good and nourishing meals. Twice they encountered a few hunters with whom the men conversed and smoked pipes around a campfire, and she played the dutiful wife, serving them and keeping silent.
One meal had nearly erupted into a verbal battle between her and Bright Arrow. She had been exhausted. The braves had arrived while they were consuming their meal, and Rebecca had wanted the men to prepare their own supper while she turned in for the night. Bright Arrow had scowled at her, then insisted she behave as a proper Indian wife. It was the custom to offer food to visitors in one’s camp, and he did not wish to be embarrassed before the Wahpeton warriors. Facing the alternatives of cooking and serving a meal or creating a wider rift between them by refusing, Rebecca fumed with resentment but carried out his wishes.
In the beginning, Windrider had kept his distance from Rebecca; she, in turn, had tried to keep her eyes and thoughts from him. Bright Arrow had seemed oblivious to everything except trudging along the tiresome trail. And he had neglected to thank Rebecca for her courtesy and work.
It was apparent to all by the second day that Rebecca was in better physical shape than Bright Arrow. He was winded after an hour’s steady pace, and became more fatigued as the day progressed. At night he slept deeply. Sweat would glisten and drip off his flaccid body from his exertions and the heat. From the way he massaged himself at each rest stop and each night, his companions could tell that his body ached all over. It became a common occurrence to see a grimace or scowl upon his flushed face. Yet she knew his body would be forced to respond to this daily exercise, and she was grateful for the hardships.
By the seventh day, a routine pattern had been set. They ate a light meal at sunrise, then walked until noon. They halted for another light meal and a short rest or nap. They walked until sunset, then made camp for the night. It was Windrider who helped Rebecca gather wood and prepare their meals, except when visitors were present. Even though it was uncommon for a warrior to do such tasks, he explained that he realized she was as weary as the men. Still, his kind actions did not encourage Bright Arrow to help her. The two men took turns caring for the horse, and when they halted for the day, Rebecca suspected that Bright Arrow spent time playing with the girls just to conceal his excessive fatigue and to avoid helping her. In subtle ways, Windrider never missed an opportunity to reveal the
dissimilarities between himself and Bright Arrow.
The children traveled exceedingly well, riding on the travois much of the time. Bursting with energy and excitement, the two older girls pleaded to be allowed to walk occasionally with their father or mother, which exhausted them so that they slept well and gave Bright Arrow the relief of a slower pace from time to time. When they camped near water, the girls splashed around with their father or hunted frogs along the bank.
Several times Windrider offered to carry Tashina for Rebecca, but she would smile and decline, for Tashina was light in weight and a mellow child. Often Rebecca feared she showed favoritism toward Tashina. Even at such a young age, Tashina was a beautiful and sweet child who possessed a resemblance to Princess Shalee. Her flesh was a softer bronze than that of her two sisters. Her large and expressive eyes were sherry brown with green flecks, and her features were delicate, set in perfect balance. Tashina would be a stunning woman.
At night, the girls slept together on one large buffalo mat in the center of the group. The three adults were situated around their mat as if to form a protective triangle. One night, Rebecca almost laughed aloud as she surveyed their positions. She was between the men, with the children between all of them. To one side of her was the fascinating and valiant Windrider. To her other side was the snoring, devitalized Bright Arrow. She warned herself to stop making comparisons between the two men, but it was impossible. They made it impossible!
Bright Arrow had disallowed any time for intimacy. He had not shown any ardor before the others, nor even tried to steal a kiss or a hug. She had ceased her attempts at affection after the second day, for he had seemed annoyed by her tender overtures, as if he lacked passion. His entire demeanor seemed to convey a “don’t bother me” attitude. He was so tired and distracted that he rarely smiled at her, almost behaving as if she didn’t exist—or, worse yet, as if she were his white slave once more!
She couldn’t understand his aloof behavior. The closer they moved to the Indian camp, the further he withdrew from her. Were his mind and emotions consumed by what he would face there? Was he so blatantly singleminded and inflexible? Not once had he attempted a romantic overture or suggested they sneak off to make love. The two times she had tried to knead his aching muscles, he had shrugged away from her relaxing massage. The night she had secretly hinted at an intimate meeting in the forest, he had frowned at her as if she had implied something forbidden!
Bright Arrow hardly spoke with her, except to give orders of some kind. It was time to go, or it was time to stop. It was time to eat, or time to sleep. It was time to put the children to bed, or time to wake them to leave. It was load the travois, or it was unpack it. It was gather more wood, or it was fetch more water. It was serve me more food, or it was put out the fire. It was—no matter how weary you are—wait on my friends. It was everything—everything but time and attention for them! It was infuriating and depressing! It was frustrating and damaging! And it was just what Windrider wanted and needed…
Had Bright Arrow gotten over his panic of almost losing her to death, Rebecca wondered, or over his guilt and shame at endangering his family? He had been about to make love to her that day before the injured Windrider had appeared. Was he reluctant to expose his ardent feelings before another man? He didn’t have to flaunt his love and passion, but he certainly didn’t have to treat her so coldly! she fumed. She would be content with a romantic walk or a sincere conversation, or just a light kiss or comforting embrace! In her bewildered and emotionally weakened state, Rebecca desperately needed a show of love and consideration.
Wasn’t he aware of the ever-increasing distance between them, this estrangement which he had created and was feeding? she silently puzzled. Didn’t he sense her confusion and anguish? What about that last morning in the cabin? He had been so provocative, so tender, so strong, so romantic? Once on the trail homeward, he had become… frigid—that was the most accurate description. Was he unknowingly preparing her for a show of indifference in the Indian camp, possibly a total break from him? Had he already decided to betray and desert her if he had to, and was he feeling guilty and defensive? It was mid-July, and he had not made love to her since early spring…
On the eighth day, they stopped to camp at dusk, as usual. The terrain had been rough and the weather humid. Rebecca was exhausted, her clothes damp from perspiration. Wisps of hair clung to her face and neck, her cheeks were flushed and her breathing ragged. Her body had depleted most of its energy, and all she wanted to do was cook the evening meal, put the girls to bed, splash off in the cool stream, and collapse on her sleeping mat. Devilish Fate would not allow it. Some mischievous force seemed determined to darken her love and respect for Bright Arrow and to increase her susceptibility to the intrepid Cheyenne warrior.
Ever wily and astute, Windrider was cognizant of her fatigued state and eager to take advantage of the situation. He quickly gathered wood while Bright Arrow and Rebecca unloaded the travois. Bright Arrow headed for the stream to tend the horse as Rebecca futilely attempted to settle the children so she could carry out her chores. Full of nervous energy, the girls raced here and there. Rebecca called them back to sit on the buffalo mat, but the moment she turned her back to collect some necessary items, they were running off once more. Rebecca couldn’t watch the active children and concentrate on completing her other tasks. Seeking Bright Arrow’s assistance, she glanced around, only to find him refreshing his hot and sore feet in the tepid stream. When she noticed the fire which Windrider had prepared and lit for her and saw him fetching fresh water from the stream, fury assailed her.
She inhaled deeply to calm her agitated senses. She called to Bright Arrow for help with their girls. He irritably told her to bring them over to play near him in the stream, She nearly bit her tongue to keep from screaming curses at him. When he declared his hunger and suggested she hurry with the evening meal, she was sorely tempted to throw every item in her quivering grip at him!
The girls hopped on Bright Arrow like three small field mice boldly pouncing on a torn cat. As he frolicked with the children, he paid her no further attention. Her gaze narrowed and her teeth clenched painfully as she glared at Bright Arrow. Suddenly Windrider blocked her vision with his manly physique. He handed her the water bag and smiled sympathetically. When he said he would prepare the sleeping mats so they might retire early, tears of gratitude threatened to spill forth from her eyes.
She stood helplessly as her gaze appreciatively mapped his features. It traveled to his full, inviting lips to absorb his smile. It moved to the indentation in his chin, which reminded her of a tiny ravine between two solid boulders. It examined his prominent cheekbones and sturdy jawline, and traced his straight nose. Then her gaze slowly drifted along his brows and lashes, which were thick and sooty. It danced over his ebony hair of shiny braids. It seemed to her that his body could belong to a copper-skinned god. He was irresistibly handsome, dangerously tempting. Her gaze fastened on his watchful one and searched it for some explanation to her wanton feelings. “Whatever would I do without you?” she stated impulsively.
His strong hands covered hers on the water bag. It required all of his willpower to master his urgent desire for her, to prevent himself from losing sight of reality. That realization astonished and vexed him, for it was not in his scheme. He knew he must be very careful in his dealings with her. He must not offend or alarm her. He must not allow her to suspect his motive. And love was his motive—a love she could never understand, a love and respect for his life-long friend, Bright Arrow. He must make her feel guilty about ruining his friend. He must discourage her where Bright Arrow was concerned, and instead make her turn toward him. He knew he had to set his trap for her carefully in order to free Bright Arrow from this magic force in white skin. What better way than by proving betrayal and evil?
As surely as the snows blanketed the sacred Black Hills in winter, she was turning to him and away from Bright Arrow. By yielding to another man, she would dishonor hersel
f and betray her husband. Once she was unmasked before Bright Arrow, her hold over him would be broken forever! He realized that his impending success was more Bright Arrow’s fault than his own clever plotting; yet he had not expected her to affect him so powerfully! He would have to be cautious of her magic!
He wondered if she realized what her tantalizing gaze was doing to him, and instantly decided that she must know how she bewitched men. How could she appear so innocent, so pure, so honest, so trusting? As he battled to conceal her forbidden effect on him, he remarked, “Perhaps his mind is trapped by worry. He faces much hardship in a few moons. He fears the other warriors will mock him. He fears he will not find himself again. He fears to learn the choices which are ahead. Do not be touched by his cruel words and deeds. He does not see how he hurts you.” Windrider excused Bright Arrow’s behavior in a tone which implied he was being kind.
His touch was so reassuring, so comforting, so disturbing. She looked at the contact of their hands but didn’t break it. She replied, “A real man should fear nothing. You’re never afraid of anything or anyone. You’re never too weary or distracted to be kind. He’s selfish and mean, Windrider. There’s no reason for him to act this way. He hasn’t faced this exile alone. What if the others do tease him? Words can’t kill a man. There are times I don’t think I know him anymore, Windrider. He can be so cold and hateful. Sometimes I don’t even like him!” she blurted out before thinking. Yet she didn’t retract her words.
Their talk was edging onto precarious ground, for Windrider felt it was too soon to inspire a confrontation between Rebecca and Bright Arrow. He cautiously suggested, “We must finish the chores. You are weary and need rest.”
She smiled, then laughed. “You’re right. Thank you, Windrider.” Slipping her hands from his, she knelt beside the fire to cook the meal.
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