Lakota Princess (25 page)

No, he could not speak to either of his friends about this. It was his alone to resolve. He would have to draw on whatever
woksape
he possessed.

He only hoped it would be enough.

But of one thing he was certain. He could not yet leave to go home.

And though the thought plagued him, he would not, he could not show it in his manner. He must not yet return home. And not just because whatever trouble that pursued Waste Ho would follow them there. If he returned home now, he would never discover the identity of the enemy. Here, at least, he had the chance. Here, the enemy was close at hand, if only he could discover him.

He allowed himself one deep sigh before stoically setting his features to reveal nothing. Oh, how he longed to see the familiar landscape of home; how he longed to take Waste Ho there.

But it was not to be. At least for now. He would first have to find the danger to her. He would have to seek it out and confront it here.

There was no other way.

Rolling over, Black Bear sighed and cuddled up toward Waste Ho where, taking her into his arms, he fit her soft body to the hard contours of his own. It gave him a momentary feeling of safety, though he didn’t fall back asleep for a long while, his troubled thoughts unwilling to be stilled.

And it was several hours later that Black Bear, still awake, came upon a sudden realization, so sharp, so unexpected, it had him leaping up in bed.

That was it. His vision, the one where he’d known he’d had to become an Englishman if he were to help Waste Ho, Estrela. He’d not had it right.

He didn’t have to
become
an Englishman. No, he had to learn to
think
like an Englishman.

A subtle difference, but very important.

If he were to stalk this enemy and find him, he would have to
understand
the Englishman, learn his habits, his intentions. Wasn’t it what the Indian did on his own land? Wasn’t he taught to think as the animals did?

And so, too, did he need to learn the habits, the aims and purposes of the English.

Black Bear lay back down. It would begin today. He would watch and observe everything. And he would do something he had been taught as a child never to do. He would ask questions. He had to. There was not much time left.

He took Waste Ho once more into his arms and smiled, at last able to fall into an untroubled sleep.

Estrela awakened with a dire need to tell Black Bear something. What was it?

She looked over to him where he still slept and smiled at him. Then, she frowned with doubt.

What had she done?

She was still married, still as deeply bound as she had been before, only now there was a difference.

She was no longer a virgin.

Why? Why had she done it? Why had she told Black Bear she was a virgin?

Surely she had known the results of such knowledge upon him. Surely she should have envisioned that Black Bear would come to her, make love to her.

She frowned. Yes, she’d known and yet she had gone ahead and done it anyway. And if she were truthful with herself, she would admit to having wanted him so much, it hadn’t mattered.

But she wasn’t quite so honest, and so she let herself believe, if only for a moment, that she’d done it because he had angered her. Angered her with his snippy attitude and insulting remarks.

The morals of a sparrow! Indeed!

She sighed.

What was the use? She was fooling no one, least of all herself.

She’d wanted him. It had been that simple. The rest, her anger, his teasing, her defense, were nothing but excuses.

She had wanted him. That simple.

In truth, she had little defense against him, and what bit of it she possessed had been battered down by his needling, his sensuality and her love, her love of him.

But it couldn’t go on. She had to make what had happened between them a one-night incident.

She had given her vow to a friend on his deathbed.

Estrela frowned. Why did it matter so much to her?

Why couldn’t she just take Black Bear and pretend the rest of this didn’t matter? It didn’t really—did it?

She sighed.

It shouldn’t matter and yet it did. Why?

Honor? Trust? Duty?

The Lakota had taught her the value of these virtues, and now one of their own made her question her belief in them.

Estrela moaned and relaxed back into the bed.

These virtues were everything. No matter what she did, she had to live with herself. Yes, the Indians had instilled in her the importance of keeping her word, the value of trust. But there was more to it than just this; it was an ingrained sense of duty that was all her own. A feeling deep inside that her self-worth depended upon her ability to keep faith, to stand by her word, no matter the consequences.

She almost cried. To break her word would be as to break herself.

Could she do it? It was a testimony to the amount of devotion she felt for Black Bear that at this moment she even considered it. It would mean a lessening of herself in her own estimation.

Should she do it?

She gazed at Black Bear as he slept. He looked strangely vulnerable in sleep, and it was more than Estrela could do not to touch him, an action that would assuredly weaken her resolve further, since it would awaken him.

But she reached out a hand anyway, needing to feel his long, dark hair where it lay against the silken sheets of her bed.

She shouldn’t do it. She shouldn’t.

It didn’t matter. She touched a dark strand of his hair anyway, glorying in the sensation of such a simple action. She inhaled the musky scent of him, this early morning, the fragrance enticing and all his own.

She shut her eyes.

She could never remember such intense feeling for another person. Never.

What was she to do?

Black Bear would consider that she was his now. He would not understand her withdrawal. He would resent it and her.

But what choice did she have?

She grimaced. She shouldn’t have done it. Hadn’t she just told him via her story of the Trickster that he should leave—and that he had even agreed? Didn’t she truly think this was best for him?

But Estrela, with a surprising insight, realized that maybe it was this that had caused her to do it. Much as she said she wanted him to leave, much as she encouraged him to do so, she also knew that if he left, so would end her happiness.

But wasn’t that selfish of her? What could she offer him, after all?

An affair?

It would never work, one reason being that Black Bear would never allow it. Another being that she simply couldn’t do it to him.

He deserved more. He deserved a wife who loved him and a family.

Something she couldn’t give him.

Unless…

What if she found Sir Connie? What if he were already married? What if he granted her a divorce?

Yes, and what if he demanded the marriage be consummated?

Estrela caught her breath. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t risk it.

At least living alone was better than living with a man she didn’t love.

Oh, what was she to do?

Her doors still stood open from last night, and a cool breeze filtered inside, calling to her, begging her to come outside.

Perhaps she should.

Perhaps she should go outside for a walk…or for her early-morning ride.

She stared out the doors into the new day, and though it was still dark outside, the pale shades of dawn were beginning to brighten the eastern sky.

Why not?

Why not go for her ride now? Yes, it was a little earlier than her customary morning ride, but what did that matter? Perhaps the exercise would clear her thoughts enough that she might see a solution to her troubles, which now eluded her.

She wouldn’t be missed.

Black Bear still lay asleep, and it would be several hours before Anna would invade Estrela’s rooms, since most ladies in the country did not arise much before eleven o’clock.

Yes, that was it. She would go for a ride.

Her mind made up, Estrela arose silently, and pulling the nightgown over her head, she prepared to go out into the new day.

The view from Edgehill, which was only a short ride from Shelburne Hall, was spectacular.

It was early September, and everywhere around her she sniffed the unmistakable scent of fall, the air crisp with the smell of fallen leaves and cut hay, the haystacks rolled and standing golden in most every field within her vision.

The sky was blue, the fields a mixture of different hues of browns, greens and golds. The hedge in front of her stood heavy with blackberries, and to her right were bright, red rowanberries. The leaves were brown, golden or red depending on the bush, and as Estrela looked out over the land of little rises and valleys, slopes and ridges, she felt alone and suddenly very strange.

She had traversed over the countryside this morning, keeping away from the narrow roads and lanes, passing by small hamlets and sleepy villages, her journey on horseback always onward, seeking escape from her thoughts and, if she were truthful, for a solution.

She sat sidesaddle now, and as she looked out over the landscape, a cold wind suddenly whistled and swept by her, spooking her mount and leaving her with a feeling of being haunted. And Estrela, as she calmed her horse, tried to remember what she had been told of this place, Edgehill, of the battle that had occurred here almost two hundred years ago, but she could remember little about it, except that it had been a civil war between King and Parliament.

It is said of most battlefields that they are haunted, and Estrela realized that this one was no exception. For she felt alone all at once, and yet in company, an odd feeling. And as she continued to gaze out over Edgehill, she thought that she could see the armies, hear the panicked whinnying of horses, the commands from officers yelled about the field, and the moans from the wounded, the dying.

She shook her head to escape the mood and gazed instead at the sky, the deep blue increasing by the moment and wispy clouds beginning to scatter.

It was then that she felt her saddle slip.

Startled, Estrela grabbed for her horse’s neck. The saddle slipped farther, and Estrela realized with horror that her feet were caught in the stirrup.

She tried to ease her feet out, but she slid farther down, and two things happened all at once. Her feet kicked her mount and her arms flailed backward, hitting the horse on the other side.

And her animal, already spooked, leaped forward, Estrela barely astride.

Estrela screamed, gripping the horse around the neck. She held on tightly, too tightly, for the strength it required only exhausted her arms. But she realized that her grip was her only salvation. With her feet trapped, if she let go she would either fall forward to be dragged by the animal, or she would fall under the horse.

Either way, she was doomed.

It was a dire realization. It was also a fact and Estrela, unable to do more than hold on, screamed.

Chapter Sixteen

Black Bear tossed within the confines of the silken sheets.

He dreamed now and he couldn’t awaken himself, so intense was the dream.

Nightingale lay dying, in pain, an object beside her that Black Bear had no way to identify. Small, the thing an earthen mixture of clay, it stood beside her, unrelenting, imposing, filled with…a potion.

And Eagle soared above her, unable to help her, unable to do more than look at her.

She implored him to help and he—

Black Bear awakened, automatically reaching for his weapons.

Something was wrong. Something had awakened him; a voice, the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Something.

He shot out of bed, glancing around, but he saw nothing. No one was here, and yet, he felt a presence in the room.

Spirit. A spirit had awakened him.

What was wrong?

He tied his breechcloth on around him and slid his feet into his moccasins in one swift motion.

He glanced at the bed; no surprise. He’d known she wasn’t there.

Waste Ho was in trouble.

He heard her voice. At that very moment, he heard her screams as though she were right beside him.

He panicked. Somewhere out there, Waste Ho was in trouble—now.

He knew it. He didn’t have to dream it. He didn’t have to picture it. He knew it with utter certainty.

He was Indian. These awarenesses were not something he could ignore.

Her life was in danger and he had to find her—or lose her.

Terror filled him. Terror at the knowledge he carried; terror that he might be too late.

He panicked at first, rushing around the room, trying to think, and it was with tremendous effort that Black Bear forced himself to remember the grandfathers’ teachings.

He must calm himself. He must think clearly. He must track her.

Track her. Where had she gone? Where would she go first thing in the morning? Think like a white man.

Riding.

Waste Ho had gone riding. Again certainty came to him.

Black Bear burst from the room, tearing through the house and blazing out into the stables.

He didn’t ask for a horse, he knew at a glance which animal was the best and, ignoring the groom, he jumped onto it, trotting the horse out into the yard where, picking up Waste Ho’s tracks, he shot the animal across the lawns and fields of Shelburne Hall.

And a thought occurred to him as he tore over the landscape, the enemy stayed within Shelburne Hall.

Both he and the Duke of Colchester had sought to escape all danger by coming into the country.

Instead, they had carried it with them.

Whoever tried to kill Waste Ho knew the movements of the family. And Black Bear, putting into action his decision to think as the English, realized that the enemy came either from the Duke’s own household or the aristocracy itself.

Nowhere they went would be safe from the assassin.

It was a sobering realization.

Waste Ho was clearly out for a leisurely morning ride. And lucky for him, she had avoided the major intersections and paths.