This Fierce Splendor

by Iris Johansen

  He watched her with amusement mixed with irritation. He might as well have been a eunuch for all the self-consciousness she was displaying in his presence. “I’m glad you’re being sensible. Some women would be nervous about being out here alone with me. Some women wouldn’t believe I’d keep my promise.”

  “Then they’d be very stupid,” she said calmly. “Good heavens, you were shot today. You’re exhausted and in pain.”

  But he wasn’t dead, he wanted to tell her. And he was beginning to think that he’d have to be dead not to want her. His shoulder wasn’t the only part of his anatomy that was throbbing.

  What was he thinking? He should be glad she wasn’t afraid of him. He had made a promise that was going to be difficult enough to keep.

  He lay down and drew the blanket over him, deliberately turning his back on the slim figure across the fire. He didn’t bother to take off his gunbelt. He would stay until Elspeth was asleep and then he would creep out of camp to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

  Torres. Clever, bold, deadly. Dominic knew that breed of man well. There had been many like Torres stalking him in the last ten years. Yet perhaps Ramon Torres could be the most dangerous of all. He had displayed great patience and his twisted, dark whimsy in putting Elspeth into his bed last night struck a chill through him. The thought of Torres handling Elspeth while she was unconscious and helpless made him sick with terror and fury, but it was the patience of the man that frightened Dominic the most. The knowledge that there was someone out there waiting, someone who would wait forever, if need be, for him to become careless. Waiting for him to fall asleep when he should remain awake, to relax when he should have remained alert, to take that one drink too many that would slow his speed.

  But that would not happen tonight. Tonight there would be no carelessness, and, if Torres was out there, the bastard would just have to bide his time.

  “Move over, Star.”

  It was Joshua’s voice and it brought Rising Star from the depths of sleep to joyous awakening. She turned over, her arms going out to him. Her hands ran lovingly over his face, her fingers reading the lines of weariness and exploring the rough stubble on his lean cheeks in the darkness of the bedchamber. “Joshua.” She nestled closer.

  His hands settled on her shoulders, holding her away from him. “Don’t come any closer. I smell of dust and sweat and I’m too damn tired to wash up right now.”

  “I don’t care.” It had been four long days, and now he was home. She wanted to light the lamp and look at him, see him smile at her. “I want to hold you.” She took his left hand from her shoulder and lifted it to her lips to press her lips to his palm. “Did you find Torres?”

  “No, he was damn clever about hiding his tracks. We’ve been searching those blasted hills, running around in circles, ever since we left Killara.” There was frustration as well as anger in Joshua’s voice. “Patrick finally found signs where he might have doubled back toward Killara. Da thinks he may be on Dom’s trail again.”

  “You have given up?”

  Joshua jerked his hand away from her lips. “Don’t be silly. Of course not, we’re going to change horses and set out again in the morning. We’ll get him.”

  “I only thought—”

  “Go to sleep. We’re both too tired for thinking right now.” He was silent a moment before he said haltingly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be sharp with you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You are tired. I should not have questioned you until you’d had a chance to rest.”

  “For God’s sake, it does matter.” His tone was ragged. “Will you stop being so damn kind? I hurt you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t speak again, but she could feel the tenseness and pain emanating from his rigid body next to her own. She wanted to reach out and try to stroke the pain away but he would not let her get close enough. The barrier between them was too high to scale. They had to find a way to overcome that barrier, she thought desperately. They had to find a way to end their pain. But there was a way, she realized with relief. The child. “The baby moved much today,” she said softly. “I took a long walk this afternoon and thought about the child and how he will love it here at Killara. I could see you teaching him to ride, putting him on his first pony, just as you did Patrick. It will be such a fine time when—” She broke off. He hadn’t moved, but she could feel his withdrawal like a cold wind howling between them. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, there’s something wrong.” Her hand went to his cheek and hovered there, afraid to touch him. “Tell me.”

  “I was just wondering if the child wouldn’t be happier spending some time each year with your people,” he muttered. “Like Silver.”

  The wind was no longer cold but icy, freezing her with its scourging bitterness. “Like Silver?”

  “Not all the time, naturally, but …” He trailed off. “I thought it might be easier.”

  Like Silver. The words reverberated within her like a gong that had been struck by a giant hammer, sending out waves of shimmering pain, “Easier for who?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to answer.

  She sat up in bed and swung her feet to the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to see your face.” She lit the lamp on the bedside table.

  “For God’s sake, it’s the middle of the night. We don’t have to talk about this now. It’s just something to think about.”

  “Yes, it’s something to think about.” She stood up and turned to face him. “You do not want the child.” It was a statement not a question.

  His gaze slid away from her. “I didn’t say that.”

  “A man does not send his child away from him if he desires it.” She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to impart warmth to melt the ice surrounding her. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “I do want the child. It’s only that there are—”

  “Do not lie to me.” Her words flicked like a whiplash. “For once let there be truth between us.”

  “I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Only because there have been no words spoken.” She could hear the harshness of her voice, as if it were someone else speaking. “Silver said there was no closeness between us, and I told her it was not the truth. I said you loved me.”

  “I do love you.”

  “And I told her you would love your child,” she whispered. “How I wanted you to love our child. I thought if I could give you a child you could love, then you would forgive me.”

  He slowly raised himself on one elbow, the sheet falling to his waist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Forgive you for what?”

  “For not being white.” She pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown to reveal the golden olive of her forearm. “For being Indian. For having the same blood as the people who killed your brothers. I cannot help what I am.”

  “I never said I wanted you to change,” he said hoarsely.

  “But you do not want a half-breed baby.”

  “I’ll get used to it.”

  Pain writhed within her. “As you got used to having an Indian wife?” Her enormous dark eyes were glittering with tears. “I think not, Joshua.”

  “Star …” The pain, raw and naked, showed in his face. “It’s not that I want to hurt you. I keep remembering …”

  “Do you think I don’t know this?” She smiled bitterly. “I feel your guilt every time you touch me. It was not my hand that struck down Rory and Boyd. I will no longer bear the responsibility for their deaths.” She went to the bureau and opened the bottom drawer. “I have tried to be white for you, Joshua, but I cannot promise you a proper white Delaney baby. What if he has brown skin and dark eyes like mine? Will you hold him guilty too?” She pulled out a pale fawn-colored leather tunic, calico skirt, and moccasins. She had not worn these garments in over ten years and many times she had considered giving them to Silver. She pulled the nightgown
over her head, threw it aside, and began to dress. “I don’t think I could bear that, Joshua.”

  “I’ll try to do better.” He was pale beneath his tan. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, not you or the baby.”

  “Would you make sure Malvina and Shamus treated him like a true Delaney? Would you love him and teach him as a father should? Would you fight for him?” She shook her head. “Somehow I don’t think so.” She pulled on her moccasins and turned toward the door. “You do not fight for me.”

  “You never asked me to fight for you.”

  She whirled to face him. “I have pride. I should not have had to ask. Do you think I would not have fought for you if you’d been a stranger in my people’s village? You were too full of your own guilt and hurt to feel mine.” She drew a deep, quivering breath. “Why? I could feel your pain as my own. A thousand times I wanted to reach out and comfort you as if you were my child instead of my husband. Were you too much white man, too much Delaney, to want to do the same for me?”

  He swallowed and she could see the glitter of his eyes in the lamplight. “I love you, Star.”

  “I know you love me but it is not enough. Once I thought it was, but now I know there must be something else. You cannot love my body or my soul and hate what created both.” She opened the door. “You cannot hate the Indian in me without hating me.”

  He threw the sheet aside and sat up. “It’s after midnight. Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “I am leaving here.”

  “Dammit, you’re with child. You can’t just ride out.”

  “Why not?” Her lips twisted bitterly. “I’m no fine elegant lady, remember? We primitive savages ride until the moment of birth and then go into the bushes to squat and have our child. Then we get back on our ponies and ride until the sun has set. We have no fancy sense of delicacy as your white women do.”

  “For God’s sake, Star, we can work this out,” he said thickly. “Don’t go back to your village.”

  “I have given enough. I will not see my son live the life Silver does.” She stood there looking at him. She wished she could hate him. It would be so much easier than loving him like this. Would she never be able to look at Joshua without remembering the happiness of those first sunlit months? “Good-bye, Joshua,” she said softly. “I’m sorry you cannot give me what I give you.” She turned and the door closed behind her.

  She had made camp and was fixing her evening meal the next night, when she heard a horse approaching. Joshua? She couldn’t smother the flame of hope that sprang into her being or extinguish the wrenching disappontment when she recognized the man who rode into the circle of the campfire.

  “Hello, Patrick,” she said quietly. “Would you like something to eat? I have beans and bacon.”

  He shook his head as he dismounted. “I’m not hungry. I’ll have some coffee though.” He led his horse down to the creek and quickly unsaddled and tethered him before toting his saddle and blanket back to the campfire. He took the tin cup she handed him and settled cross-legged before the fire beside her.

  He said nothing for a long time, just stared into the fire. “This is crazy, you know. Come home, Rising Star.”

  She shook her head. “Killara is not home to me.”

  “Then what is, for heaven’s sake?” he asked with barely leashed violence. “You’ve lived with us for fourteen years. You’re part of the family.”

  “You aren’t blind enough to believe that. I thought perhaps it might be different one day but …” She shrugged. “What did Joshua tell you?”

  “That you were upset about something and had gone back to your village. He said he’d let you have some time to think and then go after you in a few weeks.” His hand tightened on the cup. “I told him he was a fool to let you go.”

  “He had no choice.”

  There was another silence.

  “Why?” Patrick asked.

  She didn’t look away from the fire. “Joshua doesn’t want a half-breed baby.”

  Patrick began to curse. “Christ, he didn’t tell you that?”

  “Not until I forced the words.” She smiled sadly.

  Patrick reached out an impulsive hand to comfort her. He stopped and his hand fell to his side. “You must have misunderstood. Josh wouldn’t say something that would hurt you like that.”

  “I didn’t misunderstand. And you’re right, Joshua didn’t want to hurt me. He is not a cruel man. He could not help himself.” She lifted the cup to her lips. “He cannot change the way he feels. I think he’s been trying for a long time to give me what I need. He cannot do it.” Her voice became husky. “Perhaps none of us can really change. I tried to become white, and instead I became nothing.”

  “Don’t talk crazy,” Patrick said roughly.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s true, there is an old saying among my people: If you run headlong toward the sun, the spirits will steal your soul’s shadow. I rushed blindly toward what I wanted on the horizon and now I cast no shadow, neither as an Indian nor a white.”

  “Rising Star, I—” He didn’t speak for a minute. “You’re not going back to your village, are you?”

  “I didn’t tell Joshua I was returning to my village.” Her lips twisted. “Though I suppose it was natural for him to assume I would. He thinks of me as an Indian and an Indian belongs with others of her kind.”

  “But you’re not going back to your family?”

  “There is nothing for me there either. I have gone too far and not far enough.”

  “Then where?”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “Kantalan.”

  He had half-known that would be her answer. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Many reasons, I guess. White Buffalo once told me that my life was already laid out for me and there was nothing I could do to change it. Perhaps I want to prove him wrong. Or perhaps I want to find the treasure so that my child will not have to depend on the Delaneys to have a good life.” She looked down into the dark depths of her cup. “Or perhaps I want to see if I can find my shadow again.”

  He swallowed. God, he was hurting. “Dominic and Elspeth are four days ahead of you. You’re not going to be able to catch up with them.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I will see them in Kantalan.”

  “You’re with child, the trip will be hard on you.”

  “I’m healthy.” She took another sip of coffee. “And, if the trip is hard, then I will not be able to think. I don’t want to think right now.”

  He gazed at her helplessly. She sat there, cool and remote as a sparkling fountain. And Rising Star was never cool, dammit.

  He threw the rest of his coffee into the logs. The flames hissed, sputtered, and then leapt high. “So we go to Kantalan.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “We?”

  “I’m going too.” He stood up and began spreading his blankets. “I want my share of that treasure. Yes, sir, I’m going to be as rich as bejeezus. I’ll wear one of those silk vests and have a gold timepiece with an emerald watchfob. All the ladies will be trying to marry me for my money, but I’ll take my time about picking and choosing. Maybe I’ll find myself one of those fancy princesses or an Oriental dancing girl.”

  “Patrick, you’re going because you don’t want me to go alone.”

  He took off his gunbelt and laid it beside his saddle. “Why should you say that? I like money as well as the next man.” He sat down and pulled off his boots. “And I think I could make quite a splash if I was rich as a nabob.”

  She smiled. “I don’t doubt that you could.”

  “Then quit trying to cheat me out of my share of the treasure.” He stretched out and nestled his head on the leather saddle. “There will be plenty to go around.”

  “What about Torres?” she asked quietly. “Won’t Shamus need you to help track him?”

  “Nope.” He pulled the blanket over him. “Torres wasn’t trying to hide his sign when he doubled back. He probably thinks he’s lost us. A blind ma
n could read his trail now.”

  “Your grandfather still won’t like you doing this.”

  “Too damn bad.”

  “Joshua won’t—”

  “Let Josh find his own treasure,” Patrick interrupted. “Now, hush and go to sleep.” He closed his eyes. “I’m tired of talking. I want to go to sleep and dream of princesses and Oriental dancing girls.”

  Tenderness pierced the ice surrounding Rising Star as she gazed at him. The firelight had softened the hardness of his face and reminded her how very young he was. Patrick was emerald watchfobs, and Oriental dancing girls, firecrackers, and practical jokes. He was also sensitivity, gallantry, and a loyalty that was as warm as the fire she was gazing into now. Perhaps she would have a son like Patrick. Patrick was a Delaney, too, and it would be wonderful to bring up a son with those qualities.

  “Go to sleep.” Patrick didn’t open his eyes.

  She set her cup down, and lay down, pulling her blanket over her. “Sleep well, Patrick.”

  He didn’t answer. Perhaps he was already on the verge of sleep. She found herself relaxing, the tension gripping her gradually ebbing away. She was no longer alone. The knowledge spread warmth through the desolation enfolding her. Patrick was going to Kantalan with her.

  Four.

  The realization suddenly jarred her from drowsiness. Four will walk the streets of Kantalan. Dominic, Elspeth, herself, and now Patrick. One by one they had been pulled by the invisible threads of circumstance until they were set upon the path to Kantalan. Whites would call it coincidence, White Buffalo had called it destiny. Which was the true view?

  The embers of warmth she had been feeling cooled and a shiver ran through her. “Patrick?”

  “Yes.” His voice was wide awake. “Do you need something?”

  “What would you do if I told you I wasn’t going to let you come with me?”

  “I’d follow you.”

  The threads tightened, brightened, almost revealing themselves to the naked eye. Destiny.