As White Thunder stepped away from the large rock where he had recited his morning prayer, he felt a cold touch upon his shoulder. There was no one there, and no reason to turn around, save one. It was Wild Mint.
He smiled. Wild Mint was here with him. Hadn’t she avowed that she would be—at least until his task was completed?
Alas, so heinous had the crime been against her, he understood that she could not, she must not, pass into the realm of the Sky People, even though a ceremony had been performed to release her. Not until true justice had been served, regardless of how long that took, would she be able to travel into the next realm of existence.
On a brighter note, he was happy she was here with him. Her touch was always welcome; it was her way of reassuring him that she was here, on his side, keeping him firmly grounded in his purpose.
But he did wonder: Was it her voice or was it the wind that whispered to him?
“Do not forget your duty.”
“Never!” he cried.
Oh, to hold her in his arms again, to hear her laughter, to touch her, to make love to her.
But no sooner had these thoughts begun, when, unbidden, the image of another woman filled his vision. She was delicate, with a small bone structure and a shortish stature, a woman who would probably come no higher than his shoulders were she to stand upright. With natural ringlets of blond hair and deep, trusting blue eyes, she had managed to become a part of his musings.
The English woman. What was he to do with her?
His life held no place for her, though he admitted that if he were free to woo her, he might try to persuade her into his arms. He might even attempt to coax her into his life. In truth, the mere idea of wedding her and bedding her encouraged such instant changes to his body that his mind spun with the possibilities. It was a shock. He’d thought such cravings were long dead within him.
Staring down, he was not happy to witness the effects mere thoughts about her had on him. Indeed, he realized that although his body’s reaction affirmed that he was still a healthy male, this state was a complication he could ill afford.
White Thunder sighed. Were cold-water swims, taken during any part of the day, to become a regular habit with him?
He hoped it would not be. Unfortunately for him, he feared many a cold bath might lurk in his future. For days and days now, he had held her in his arms as he’d nursed her and fed her and coaxed life back into her. And if he were honest, he would admit to experiencing more than one moment when he had wished she were his.
But even then, his body hadn’t reacted like this.
What would it feel like, he wondered, to experience her surrender? If he were to kiss her, what would she taste like? If he were to enfold her body within his in a most natural and elemental way, what would be her response?
But even as he fantasized, he knew it could never be. For these last fifteen years he had lived with a mission—which was as yet unfulfilled. He had also lived his life as though there would never be another woman but Wild Mint for him.
Perhaps it was true. Maybe there never would be someone to take that hallowed spot.
But maybe there was still love to be found in this ofttimes broken-hearted world. Mayhap if he reached out …
No. It could not be. Not with a woman who was English.
Still, he was not dead. Not yet. Perhaps when he reached his village again, he might look to see if there were a pleasing face who might wish to spend her life with him.
But not until his duty to Wild Mint was fulfilled. He must never forget.
Pivoting, he retraced his steps toward the Lake-That-Turns-to-Rapids, astonished that even now, with nothing but the mere thought of the English woman, his body was still firm, alert, ready …
A few days turned into a week. Aided by a diet of nourishing soups and fresh meat, Sarah’s strength gradually improved until she was able to sit up on her own.
As the need for sleep became less and she was awake more often, one of the first details Sarah noted was that White Thunder was frequently gone from the early hours of the morning ’til dusk. At first she had done little more than sleep while he was away from her, but as she grew better physically, she began to realize that she desired his company.
Certainly Mr. Thunder took pains to ensure her comfort before he left and when he returned, but Sarah was becoming aware that she had an emotional need for the company of others. She desired conversation; she wanted to laugh and to exchange confidences. Indeed, she needed a friend.
She had even broached the subject with White Thunder once, and he had listened very intently to her. But in the end, nothing had changed between them, and she was beginning to wonder what it was that an Indian gentlemen did all day.
She was not left long in pondering the puzzle. Every day he returned to the cave with some form of nourishment. Often he brought a deer or other meat to the cave. Other times, he returned with his bags crammed full of wild vegetables, berries and fruit.
Sarah helped him sort through the vegetables from the comfort of her bed whenever she could. However, that was often strained due to her inability to walk about freely. Although her strength was returning, she had yet to take any of her weight upon her feet.
She could crawl, however. That first day when she had discovered her hands and knees as a means of movement had been a joy. The first deed she had accomplished—after dressing herself in at least her chemise, corset and underskirt—was to crawl to the fire and prepare herself a drink.
That had been several days ago, and it had become an everyday habit. However, she still refrained from dressing herself fully, since crawling wreaked havoc on one’s clothes. Thus she would save her open gown for the day when she returned to her people.
But who were her people? Sarah dropped her head into her hands as if the action might cause the memories to return. Straining her mind, as she was doing now more times than not, brought about nothing but a headache.
She heard a rummaging in the corner; raising her head, she saw that it was Miss Squirrel, an animal that had taken an interest in the goings on in the cave. Miss Squirrel had become a daily visitor and Sarah had taken to talking to it, if only to ease her need for conversation.
“Well, there you are,” she said to it. “You know that you could come even closer to me and I would feed you without trying to make a soup out of you.”
The squirrel looked at her as if to say, “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true,” Sarah ventured. “You’ve become my friend and I wouldn’t make a meal out of a friend.”
The squirrel picked up a plum, which Sarah had deliberately left in a corner of the cave, and the animal stared back at Sarah as it began to munch.
“It’s good, isn’t it? ”
When the squirrel didn’t answer, Sarah sighed, and said, “Do you know that seven days have passed since I awoke here, and still I can’t remember my name or who I am or where I come from? ”
The squirrel chomped happily on the plum, staring at Sarah as though it truly were her friend and would listen to her troubles.
“Nor can I recall why I am here, or why I was in the woods, or if I were with someone or alone. But if I were alone, how had I come to be there? ”
The squirrel threw down the plum and looked up at her as though it might answer. But instead of speaking, it picked up one of the berries that Sarah had also left, and it began to chew on it.
“And what am I to do about Mr. Thunder? ”
The squirrel stared at her as though to say it had no idea what she was talking about.
“Who is he? Can I trust him? I certainly want to. Without him, I am doubtful that I would now be alive. So of course I want to like him. He is alien to me, though I must admit that I find him handsome. Do you know, Miss Squirrel, that if you promise to keep a secret, I’ll tell you that I find my gaze drawn to the look of the man’s chest more times than I ought.” Sarah smiled. “Indeed so much is this so, that had I the cloth, I would make the man a shirt simply to keep myself from wondering what it would be like if …” She paused. “Well, never mind.”
The squirrel finished the berries and picked up another plum.
“Dear Miss Squirrel,” Sarah said, “speaking of Mr. Thunder, I do believe that I have come to the decision that he is trustworthy. He certainly is kind, and is helpful to me. Nor does he offer criticism as a means to ‘assist’ me. He is the utmost in decorum and gentlemanlike behavior. Pray, I fear that from a woman’s perspective, her heart might be in danger with this man, for these qualities are said to be rare, indeed.”
The squirrel shifted its head to the side, as if to get a better image of this person who spoke to it, and Sarah went on to say, “But there are problems, of course. He’s Indian. I’m not. But this I can understand and appreciate. What I don’t comprehend is why he appears to be … cold toward me. There are times when I fear he must be made of snow and I of fire, for he is always cautious when he touches me, even when he must do so in order to help me.”
The squirrel sat down on her haunches, looking for all the world like she were more than a little interested in the conversation. She even offered some advice, chattering to Sarah in squirrel.
“What was that you said? ” Sarah asked. “That perhaps I make more of this than I should because he is the only human being in my vicinity? Maybe you’re right, because it does seem to me that he is faithful to the image of his deceased wife, to a fault. Indeed, I am left with the impression that Mr. Thunder might never be unfettered of his former wife’s hold over him until … well, I little know until what. Perhaps he might never be free of her influence over him a’tall.
“But this speculation could be the frivolous wonderings of a feminine mind. After all, I am in a position where he—and you, of course—are my whole world. I know more about him than I know of myself.
“I have wondered: What if I am married? I could be.”
“Do you speak to a ghost? ”
Sarah jumped and her heartbeat leaped into her throat. She turned quickly toward the cave’s entrance.
In a moment, however, the racing of her heart settled back to its normal pace. “Oh, Mr. Thunder,” she said, “I didn’t hear you enter. I’m afraid you startled me.” She placed her hand on her chest, not for theatrics, but because she had been truly startled. “I fear that you so rarely return before evening that I had let down my guard. I was not expecting you.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “It was not my intention to startle you. I heard talking and was wondering if someone had come to visit.”
“And so someone has,” Sarah replied. “’Tis Miss Squirrel, who visits with me most every day. However, she is no longer here. I fear she ran away when you entered.”
“As well she should,” he commented. “I might take it into my mind to have her for a meal.”
“Oh, no,” replied Sarah at once. “I specifically told her that she is my friend and that I would not eat her.”
White Thunder crossed the room to the fireplace, where Sarah was reposing. She still held a shell full of pine-needle tea at her side, but he seemed not to notice. He said, “Then I shall not place an arrow in Miss Squirrel’s side.” He knelt down on one knee beside Sarah. “Usually when I return, you are asleep, but I see that you have managed to make your way to the fire.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“This is good,” he said. “Did you walk? ”
“No,” replied Sarah. “I am still crawling. I fear my legs will not hold me yet.”
“Still, you are gaining back your strength and soon you will be walking about. I have been thinking about what we might do when you do come to remember your former life. And I concluded that it would be best that I should take you back to your family, who will be happy to know that you are still alive, I think.”
Sarah bit her lip. “And if I don’t remember anything? ’Tis hard for me, for I recall nothing.”
White Thunder placed a hand on her shoulder, and said, “You will remember. Be at your ease. It will come.”
Sarah gazed toward his hand, where it lay so close to her breast. He meant it as comfort. She said, “And if my memory doesn’t return? ”
“Then I will take you to my home, where you will be welcomed as a guest until a new home can be found for you. My mother will be happy to have you.”
And you? Would you be happy to have me?
She wanted to ask the question, but knew she dare not. Not only was she uncertain of him, she was also uncertain of herself.
“I have brought you something,” he said.
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Have you, now? ”
“It is not much.” He presented her with a stick. But to call it such was to do it a disservice. Indeed, it was a work of art, for the rod had been carefully carved into the shape of a cane. “It is to aid you in walking. You must try to stand and take a few steps every day, I think, for it may require some time for your leg muscles to remember again that their duty is to take you from one place to another.”