White Dusk (20 page)

“My wife. Tell me you are unharmed,” Swift Foot said. He cradled her close, his lips on her hair, his hands sliding over her arms, searching for injuries.

“I am fine.” She tried to lick her lips. “Lone Warrior—” Her voice broke off.

“What about him?”

“He is here. He saved us.”

Swift Foot glanced around, just then realizing it was Willow Song who stood nearby. It had been her voice that had stopped the killing. With a sick feeling, he realized just how close to total destruction they’d all come. In the short time it had taken Small Bird to climb up, he and Hawk Eyes could have decimated each other’s tribes.

“Where is Lone Warrior?” he asked his cousin. She’d again covered her head. Below, the warriors of Hawk Eyes stared in horrified fascination.

“He comes.” She pointed.

All eyes turned to the north: there a warrior struggled out from a narrow gap where the earth had split, and formed a hidden trail.

Small Bird covered her mouth with her hands and cried out. “He’s safe!” She tried to rise.

“We will see to him,” Swift Foot promised. Down below, several warriors had already ridden off to collect him.

In his arms, his wife leaned closer. She licked dry lips, and he realized he had no water to offer her.

“Here.”

Glancing up at the strange voice, Swift Foot saw one of the enemy. The man had obviously climbed up behind his chief, and now he held out a water pouch.

Swift Foot took it and gave his thanks. Then he offered the skin to Small Bird. She drank greedily.

“Not too much,” he warned. Closing his eyes, Swift Foot realized that he’d nearly lost this woman. Tears sprang to his eyes. Unashamed, he let them fall. Suddenly, in this respect, control didn’t seem to matter. “I nearly lost you,” he said. He bent to kiss her temple. “I love you, Small Bird.”

“I know,” she whispered. But he had never seen her look so content. “I am sorry I left camp,” she added a moment later.

“You should be, wife.” Swift Foot’s voice shook as he once more considered what might have happened.

“It was Moon Fire and Many Horns—” she explained, breaking off to cough.

“Do not talk.” Swift Foot stood.

Sighing, his wife tried to obey. “Thirsty. I’m so thirsty and tired.”

“And I’m hungry,” came the voice of Golden Eagle behind her.

Looking around, everyone laughed—nervous laughter, but laughter all the same.

“My son will be all right,” Hawk Eyes said, his voice thick with emotion.

Swift Foot felt his wife’s arms wrap around his neck. “I think we all will be all right,” she said. And he had a feeling she knew how to achieve peace between the two tribes.

Small Bird stared at the two chiefs. “Well? Is that not a good solution?” They’d been here for four days, and each had summoned his entire tribe. They were all now camped out on the plain. An uneasy truce had been reached between Swift Foot and Hawk Eyes in order for each party to care for their loved ones. Now they were speaking of peace—and they were nearing an answer.

Hawk Eyes sat across from Small Bird, his son sleeping beside him. The poor child refused to leave his father’s side. Wind Dancer and three elders, along with Lone Warrior, sat between the two chiefs. Warriors from both tribes were gathered around, watching the talks warily.

Realizing that neither man had answered, Small Bird leaned forward. “Joining the two tribes by marriage will
end this war.
” Her tone brooked no argument. She looked to Wind Dancer for support, for the two chiefs still said nothing.

The medicine man spoke. “War started when such a vow was broken. Peace will be restored by righting the wrongs of the past.”

Hawk Eyes finally nodded. He glanced over at Small Bird, some small admiration sparkling in his golden eyes. He addressed Swift Foot. “Your wife is as clever as she is brave. She tells us the simple solution, something we should have done long ago: we shall merge our families as they were once meant to be.”

Swift Foot nodded at the sleeping boy. “You have a son. He is brave. I pledge my eldest daughter to him. And if we are not blessed with a daughter, then my son will marry your firstborn girl.”

Hawk Eyes nodded as he stroked his son’s hair. “It is time to put the past behind us, to look to the future. I agree to join our families.”

Wind Dancer stood and returned with a ceremonial pipe. He lit it, then offered it to the spirits before passing it to Hawk Eyes. Once it was given to both chiefs and each council member, the shaman proclaimed the marriage promise binding. Peace had been restored.

A cheer rose around them. Swift Foot stared at Small Bird, his eyes filled with both admiration and worry. “I think it is time for my wife to return to her tipi to rest.”

“Your wife is fine,” Small Bird said. For, truthfully, she didn’t want to be alone. Her husband had a duty to see to yet—the bodies of Moon Fire and Many Horns had yet to be dealt with—and she wanted to be at his side.

“Then let us eat,” Swift Foot said, standing up and taking his wife’s arm. A feast had been set up in the warm autumn evening. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. Women laughed and men talked. A group of boys ran to Golden Eagle and coaxed him away to play.

“If you insist on staying up,” Swift Foot whispered, “then you will stay by my side.” He sounded pleased.

Small Bird smiled. “I have no problem obeying your order, my husband.” Still weak from her ordeal, she was content to eat and observe. Dancers had already formed lines, and this celebration would last long into the night. She sat.

Lone Warrior reclined across from her and Swift Foot. He had wide bandages wrapped around one upper arm, a deep gash in his shoulder that stopped him from using his other arm, and two deep cuts in his thighs. He’d fought Many Horns to the death.

Then Small Bird thought of Moon Fire, her cousin. Rather than face her people after her treacherous actions, she’d jumped off a cliff and fallen to her death.

Despite all that had happened, the knowledge that her cousin had killed herself saddened her. But deep down, she knew that Moon Fire had chosen her own destiny. She’d done wrong, and now perhaps she’d atoned.

Shoving away the sad thoughts, Small Bird met her brother’s twinkling eyes. “Married life seems to agree with you, Lone Warrior,” she said.

The big man grinned and accepted a bowl of steaming meat from Willow Song. He pulled his new wife down beside him and held the bowl between them. “As it does with you, my sister.”

The siblings smiled at each other. Small Bird glanced over at Willow Song. Half of her face was as perfect and heavenly as her voice. And the other half, the half nearly everyone else had found so repulsive, was now hidden beneath a beautiful mask of feathers.

The mask, made by Small Bird and blessed by Wind Dancer, was the perfect solution. Her bravery had not been enough for the tribes to entirely accept Willow Song. The woman’s voice had prevented the two clans from killing each other, but the tribes had both insisted she keep her face covered whenever she was in public.

Shuddering, Small Bird sighed. She’d wished for a more open-armed acceptance of her new cousin, but she supposed the tribes would grow to accept Willow Song as she herself did. Thinking of the girl’s courage, Small Bird recalled those frightful moments when she’d clung to the steep slope of the ravine with Golden Eagle’s small arms wrapped around her neck. She’d been unable to call down to let her husband know she was safe. Any distraction on her part might have sent her and the child tumbling. Finishing that climb, knowing that at any minute the two groups of warriors might attack and kill each other, had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. And Willow Song had forestalled that violence. The others saw that, and they would accept her more as time went on.

Leaning back against her willow backrest. Small Bird felt happiness seep into her. The warmth of the fire, the rumble of her husband’s voice, the singing, laughter and sounds of peace, lulled her into a light slumber.

When Swift Foot scooped her up sometime later and declared it was time for her to retire, she didn’t protest. Nuzzling her face into the warmth of his shoulder, Small Bird wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. If her husband thought he could just put her to bed, then leave and return to the feasting, he was mistaken. She wasn’t
that
tired.

Glancing up into the sky, seeing streaks of dusk racing across it, she sighed. Soon the stars would come out and light up the night like clouds of fireflies.

Inside their tipi, Swift Foot lowered her gently to their bed of furs. Small Bird kept her arms wrapped around his neck, refusing to let him go.

“We have guests, wife,” he said. But desire turned his brown eyes into twin pools of dark honey: sweet, enveloping and irresistible.

“Our guests will not miss you, my husband. Not as much as I will.”

Sliding his length alongside her, Swift Foot stared down into her face. “Then I will stay for as long as you need me.”

Grinning, Small Bird pulled his head to hers. “Then you will be here long, my husband, for I will need you for the rest my life.”

“As I need you, wife. As I need you.”

His sharp eyes scanned the flat-topped buttes where patches of scraggly brush clung tenuously to the vertical sides. Deep ravines of sandstone, shale and clay reflected the bright sunshine.

The hot wind carried him effortlessly over miles of golden prairie, rocky formations, hills and valleys. Waves of heat blurred the land. Nothing moved. Patiently he scanned the many tributaries snaking away from the river. Most were dry, the nearby vegetation brown and brittle—but here and there, gullies of dark green contrasted flatly with the bleached earth.

Tendrils of smoke rising from the far side of a large outcropping of mounded rocks drew his attention. Yellow pine fought for life in the inhospitable soil there, adding color. Dipping one wing, the eagle followed the wide prairie that wrapped around the rocky formation like hands cupping a delicate flower.

Down below, Small Bird felt the eagle’s shadow glide over her. Glancing up, she smiled softly. Once, she’d believed the presence of an eagle to be a bad omen. Things were different now. Perfect.

Another shadow slid over her, blocking the heat of
Wi.
She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, a man as powerful as
Wambli.

“You have returned,” she said. She jumped to her feet. He caught her in his arms. Small Bird buried her face in the warm slope of his neck. He’d only been gone for a week, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Did you miss me?” He claimed her mouth before she could answer.

Breathless when he released her, Small Bird giggled. “Perhaps not as much as you’ve missed me.”

His gaze lingered on her face. His fingers swept over each side and slid into her hair. He pulled her back to him. This time he nuzzled the soft hollow of her throat. “I plan on showing my wife just how much I missed her. Starting now. And tonight. And tomorrow. We will make up for the time I was gone.”

Small Bird laughed gently. “Husband, if we were to make up all the time we miss when you hunt, we would not eat or sleep.”

“You do not hear me complaining.” Swift Foot’s tongue began a light tickling across her collarbone and up the side of her neck.

“No, I would not mind, either. However, our son would be most displeased.”

Reluctantly, Swift Foot pulled away. “I am most eager to share my wife’s mat again. It has been far too long.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Small Bird relished the brief flicker of repressed need that crossed her husband’s features. She loved him so much, and had missed the intimate sharing of their bodies as well. Lowering her gaze, she couldn’t help but notice how much Swift Foot wanted her.

“I do not lie when I say I have missed you, my wife.” Reaching out, he took hold of Small Bird’s hand and began walking.

“How is my son?” Pride filled his voice and shone from his eyes.

“He complains as much as his father,” Small Bird said. She loved walking with her husband. Just the two of them, moving as one with hands twined and shoulders brushing close.

“Waiting does that to a man,” he answered wryly.

Stopping, Small Bird took Swift Foot’s other hand in hers and stared up into his loving eyes. Hunger rose from deep within her. “You don’t have to wait anymore. You’re back. We don’t have to wait anymore,” she whispered.

Swift Foot’s gaze slid to her mouth, then back to her eyes, his own gaze as hungry for her as she was for him. “You are sure you don’t want to go back to the tipi, wait for privacy?” he asked, his hands lifting to frame her face.

Small Bird leaned into him. “I am sure.”

Sighing, Swift Foot drew her close. “It would have been hard to wait for dark, my wife.”

Grinning, she slid her body close to his, her hips sweeping over the bulging front of his breechclout. “I know. For me, too. But my mother is tending our son. He will be fine until we return.”

Grinning, Swift Foot swung her up into his arms.

“We shall go and watch the sun set.”

“I would like that.” She loved this man so much, she couldn’t imagine life without him.

“And after, we can catch a star or two.” Swift Foot followed the twisting stream away from camp, leading her quickly.

Snuggling close, Small Bird laughed. “I like stars,” she whispered. “The more the better.”

Torn between security and love; conflicted by passion and a thirst for revenge; choosing independence or succumbing to the lure of an all-consuming love. Don’t miss these additional titles from Susan Edward’s
White
Series, available now.

White Dawn (Book 1 of 12)

White Shadows (Book 3 of 12)

White Wind (Book 4 of 12)

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