Savage Hero (7 page)

She was angry at herself for letting down her guard for even one minute. She saw danger in allowing him to think that she was softening in her feelings toward him.

She could not, she would not, give in to him and his soft voice and alluring eyes.

If he thought that he was winning her over, might he not then go further and try to seduce her?

The thought did not altogether sicken her, for he was not a man who would make a woman feel disgusted at the thought of his taking her into his arms and kissing her.

Suddenly she realized where her thoughts had now gone. She was angry that he had this effect on her.

“All that you have said is a lie,” she declared venomously. “Please take yourself and your lies elsewhere. I tire of hearing you.”

Absolutely stunned by her attitude, after he had opened himself up so much to her, Brave Wolf rose quickly to his feet.

“You choose not to believe me, and that is alright,” he said softly. “At the moment you are not my concern. It is my mother whose face I see in my mind's eye and inside my heart. It is for her that I travel far from my village. Not you. Only by chance did I find you . . . and save your life. It is up to you whether or not you ever believe that.”

He gave her another lengthy gaze, glanced over the fire at his warriors, who had heard her insulting him again, then walked away. He went to his horse and rubbed it down with his hands.

This woman. Surely she was talking out of anger and hurt.

He just could not believe that such a lovely person normally had such a spiteful, hurtful tongue.

Mary Beth gazed at Brave Wolf as he tended to his horse. What he had said about his mother did seem true enough, for he had mentioned her more than once.

Despite her best efforts, she was beginning to see him in a different light. A man who put his mother before other things, even his own best interests and health, was surely a good man with a good heart.

Yet . . . he was an Indian. She knew too much about them, and the hate they felt for whites, ever to allow herself to trust one.

Even a man who made her pulse race when his eyes met hers, stirring flames within her that no other man had ever caused.

It was that sort of feeling that she had never known with Lloyd. Strange that it was a red-skinned man who aroused such feelings now.

She had to fight those feelings with every fiber of her being! She did not want to feel anything but loathing for this man and those who rode with him!

She was still too afraid to trust Brave Wolf.

“Brave Wolf,” she whispered to herself.

Even his name made her feel something she had never felt before for a man: desire.

For man, as for flower and beast,
and bird, the supreme triumph is to
be most vividly, most perfectly, alive.

—D. H. Lawrence

The blowing night winds in the pines moaned low outside the cave. The campfire gave off a strange whistling sound.

Chilled to the bone, Night Horse trembled beneath his blanket as he sat as close to the fire as he could get. Although he had been in the cave during the rain, it had not kept out the cold dampness that blew through the entrance.

The fire and the lone blanket were just not enough to warm Night Horse any longer. His skin was clammy cold, yet he knew by the stars that seemed to be exploding inside his skull, and by
the pounding of his temples, that he had a fever.

His cough was deep. He could even hear a rattling in his lungs with each breath he took.

He was very, very ill, and he had begun to think of death. He was afraid of dying.

For the past three months, the faces of the dead on the battlefield had haunted him day and night. The blood, the stench of it, seemed to cling to him even though he had washed himself repeatedly in a nearby creek, defying the cold air and water just to get himself clean.

Those baths, the cold nights, the dampness of the cave, were taking their toll on Night Horse. He knew that it wasn't wise to stay in the cave any longer, but he had nowhere else to go.

“I do not want to die alone!” he suddenly cried, tears falling from his eyes as he again thought of his beloved mother and how it would feel to have her comforting arms around him.

In his mind's eye he saw his mother sitting contentedly beside her lodge fire on a cold, blustery winter night. It was during the winter months that his mother softened the autumn elk hides by chewing the tough skins, wetting them with her mouth.

In the summertime, he and Brave Wolf always took their mother hives of succulent honey.

When he and Brave Wolf had gotten old enough to hunt, they had proudly brought home meat for their mother, some of which she roasted, while the rest was hung on the lodge poles.

If he was with his mother and brother when he took his last breath, oh, surely he would leave this
earth with a happier heart. If his mother and brother were there loving him, it could only mean that they both had forgiven him of all that he had done against his Crow people.

“Yes, I must find my way home,” he whispered as he shakily pushed himself up from the rocky floor.

He had made a decision. He
did
want to go home. He wanted to die among his people. He wanted their forgiveness before he died, especially his mother's and brother's.

He was filled with such shame at his decision to leave his village to ally himself with whites.

But he had felt so important while working as a white man's scout, especially when he had become one of General Custer's most trusted scouts.

Now he wondered why he had felt that way, when deep down inside he knew even then that it was wrong to be with the white soldiers, leading them where he knew they would take advantage of his own people. He had known of the pony soldiers' atrocities against many tribes, even that women and children had died.

He had forced those facts from his mind and had ridden proud and tall in the saddle alongside Yellow Hair, pointing the way here and there, expecting many rewards for his alliance with such an important man.

“Brave Heart. . . .” he said as he went to the cave entrance. There was still a fine mist hanging in the air.

He stepped out into it and pulled the blanket
over his head as he stared up at the moon that was just coming into view as clouds slid away from it.

He had badly wanted the special title of Brave Heart for being one of Custer's main scouts.

Had Custer lived through the battle, had he been victorious over those he fought, Night Horse
would
have been honored with such a title, for he was one of those scouts who advised Custer and rode with him into the center of the battle.

“But now he is dead,” he choked out. “All of those who rode with me and General Custer are dead. I . . . alone . . . survived.”

He gazed into the heavens. “Why?” he cried. “What is the purpose of my survival? Is it only because You want me to suffer these memories that weigh down my heart? Take me, First Maker. Let me die. But please, first let me reach my home. I do want to see my mother's face one last time. I do want to hear my brother tell me that he can find it in his heart to forgive me.”

Sobbing, he prayed again . . . asking that he be accepted among his people again, so that he would have a proper burial among them.

Then, hanging his head, with barely any life left in his step, he saddled his stolen horse, managed to pull himself into the saddle, and started making his way down the steep incline of the mountain.

He reached deep inside himself for the strength to get to his home.

“
Ina
. . . brother . . . I am coming,” he whispered.

He clung tightly to the reins as he coughed so hard he felt something tearing at his lungs.

“
A-i-i-i
, I . . . am . . . dying,” he whispered. “I know I am!”

O for life of Sensations
rather than thoughts!

—Keats

The smell of something cooking over the campfire and the bickering of bluejays from somewhere close by in the trees awakened Mary Beth. The growling of her stomach reminded her of how long it had been since she had eaten. She could not imagine anything smelling as good as what she was now smelling.

She raised herself up on an elbow and looked slowly around. The blanket which had covered her fell down to rest around her waist.

It was a crisp dawn. Mary Beth saw the deep shadows of early morning and a hint of pink along
the horizon which meant that the sun was ready to rise and warm the world.

She could hardly believe that Brave Wolf had stayed in their makeshift camp the rest of the night instead of pushing onward.

When she had fallen asleep, oh, so bone weary from the long ride, and dispirited from her horrible experiences, she had expected to be awakened as quickly as she had fallen asleep and made to mount the horse again.

Her eyes met now with Brave Wolf's as he stood over the campfire, his muscled body seeming to tense when he saw that she was awake. She was not sure why seeing her awake should make him tense.

A part of her was afraid of his reaction. What if he had plans for her today that were worse than those experiences she had already survived?

She firmed her jaw and rose quickly to her feet, gazing all the while into Brave Wolf's midnight-dark eyes.

She ran her fingers down the front of her dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. Although it was now dry, the dress still clung to her body.

Brave Wolf returned her gaze steadily. Even with her hair in such disarray and with her dress wrinkled, she was still beautiful.

Because she was such a lovely woman, and white, it would not be wise to travel openly with her during daylight hours. Renegades would want her for themselves, and white pony soldiers would conclude that she was a captive. He doubted that they
would ask questions first. They would shoot to kill his men and rescue the woman.

If she was wearing something besides her dress, perhaps she would not be so noticeable.

Without much further thought, he went to his travel bag and took one of his buckskin outfits from it.

Of course he knew that his clothes were much too big for this tiny woman; some adjustments would have to be made.

Mary Beth inhaled the scent of food again, and she noticed that the warriors were preparing their animals for travel. That had to mean they had already eaten. Was she not to be offered food for herself?

She was so hungry, she longed to take whatever was left of the food, but she waited to be told that she could. She didn't want to do anything hasty which might cause Brave Wolf to tie her up again as they traveled onward. Since he'd left her untied through the night, surely he would trust her during the day when he would be awake and could see her every movement.

Her gaze turned to Brave Wolf as he came back toward her carrying what looked like buckskin attire. When he held the clothing out to her, she raised her eyebrows quizzically.

“Go and change into these clothes,” Brave Wolf said. “Bring your dress back to me. I shall place it in my travel bag. I will return it to you when we arrive at my village.”

“When
we
arrive at your village?” Mary Beth
gasped out. “Are you saying I will have to go with you? I thought you were going to escort me to Fort Henry. Why would I have to go with you to your village?”

“When I find my brother, I must return him to my village as quickly as possible so that my mother will know that he is alive and well,” Brave Wolf said. “Then I will escort you to a fort. Only then.”

“That could take days,” Mary Beth said, tears springing up in her eyes. “I so badly want to be among my own people.”

She still had not told him about David. She was wondering if that had been a good decision. If she did tell him about her lost son, surely he would sympathize with her and listen to reason.

Yet, no. She saw his determination to continue onward to find his brother. She would wait for another time to tell him about her son.

Again she admired him for being so dutiful to his mother, yet Mary Beth had her own rights. Brave Wolf's decision to keep her with him was wrong. If he would let her go today, while it was daylight, she could travel far before it got dark.

Perhaps she could even reach the fort. She knew it was not far from where the wagon train had been attacked.

But could she truly find her way to the fort alone? Something told her that wasn't a wise move to make, for this was not safe country for a lone female traveler.

“I have wasted much valuable time by allowing you to sleep,” Brave Wolf said, his jaw tight. “I am
wasting time even now as I wait for you to do as you are told. Go. Change into these clothes. I will put some of the food in a bag for you to eat as we travel. I do not have time for you to sit and have a leisurely meal.”

“Ha! Leisurely?” Mary Beth said, yanking the clothes from him. “Nothing about this experience with you is leisurely.”

Then she recalled that she had been allowed to sleep and regretted being sarcastic when she saw the hurt in his eyes.

It seemed strange that this man could have any feelings for her, yet she knew that he did.

When she said something hurtful to him, he did not react angrily. Instead, he looked as though he was stung by her anger and sarcasm.

Was it possible that he cared for her? The fact that he had allowed her to sleep was proof he did.

“Why must I change?” she asked. She gazed at the clothes, then unrolled the breeches and grimaced when she saw how large they were. She gave Brave Wolf a perplexed look. “Why, I shall be swallowed whole by these clothes.”

“I will help you adjust them to a smaller size,” he said, relieved that at least she had seemed to accept the necessity of changing her clothes.

“Oh, alright,” Mary Beth said, then turned and stomped away toward a thick stand of trees, where she could have some privacy to change her clothes, and attend to other matters that needed to be done out of sight of the warriors.