White Dusk (3 page)

“Are you hurt?” she asked. She reached out to take the woman by the arm and help her up.

Startled, the woman pulled back and tried to scoot away. “No! You must not touch me!” She cried out as a sharp rock cut her palm. Small Bird frowned. The backs of the woman’s hands were scarred, and she gave a hiss of pain.

Small Bird couldn’t help her own escaping gasp of horror. While one half of the woman’s face was a study in perfection, the other had been ravaged by scars and was grotesquely misshapen. The woman rolled, using her hands to hide her face.

Lone Warrior stumbled back.
“Anog-lte,”
he whispered.

Frozen in place, Small Bird stared down at the woman. All background noise faded. A sick feeling crept through her.

All of her people dreaded the spirit of the Double-Faced Woman. She was very cunning, and she loved to frighten women who were with child to give them pains. She lured hunters away with her beautiful face, then frightened them senseless with her horrid half. And worst of all, if a woman dreamed of
Anog-lte,
she became a Double-Woman Dreamer—ugly and scarred and a curse her self.

Lone Warrior pulled Small Bird away. “We must go. Now.”

Realizing she was still gaping at the cowering
Anog-lte,
Small Bird slowly rose. As she did, her gaze fell on the woman’s leg. Long scars and puckered skin marred the shapely limb.

Suddenly Small Bird knew who this was. “Willow Song,” she murmured, staring down at Swift Foot’s cousin. Everyone knew of the terrible injuries the girl had suffered the day her mother had been clubbed to death, how she herself had been close to death for many months. But Small Bird had believed the stories of her mutilation to be gross exaggeration. It seemed they weren’t. She reached down to offer comfort and reassurance to the woman.

Lone Warrior gripped her harder, stopping her gesture. “Do not touch her. You will be cursed.”

Small Bird shook him off. “No,” she said softly. “This is Willow Song, cousin to Swift Foot.” She glanced up at her brother and saw the understanding dawning in his eyes.

Small Bird called out in a gentle voice, “Willow Song?”

“Please leave,” the young woman said, her voice muffled by her hands.

“No. I am not afraid.” And she wasn’t. This was not a Double-Woman Dreamer. Willow Song had received her injuries and scars in the same attack in which Swift Foot had saved Small Bird’s life.

Compassion urged her to wrap her arms around the young woman. “Come, Willow Song. We will help you up.” When Lone Warrior continued to stand and stare at the distraught woman, Small Bird glared at him. He didn’t notice. His gaze remained on Willow Song, who’d hesitantly lowered one hand. The other remained to shield her scarred face.

Small Bird helped Willow Song to her feet.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

To Small Bird’s surprise, Willow Song’s voice reflected the beauty of her perfect profile; it was soft, melodious and clear. Lone Warrior’s gaze remained fixed on Swift Foot’s cousin as if he were in a trance.

Kicking a large stone, she aimed it at his shin. He yelped, then glared at her. She motioned with her eyes for him to come to Willow Song’s other side. “We will help you to your tipi,” she suggested. Her voice brooked no argument—from either Willow Song or her brother.

Lone Warrior looked ill at ease, and Willow Song looked frightened as the brave approached her mutilated and ugly side.

“No!” Her voice rose. “Do not touch me.”

“What is going on here?”

Small Bird and Lone Warrior whirled. Kills Many Crows, Willow Song’s brother, approached at a run.

Lone Warrior stepped forward and quickly explained all that had happened.

Kills Many Crows narrowed his eyes. “The behavior of those boys is unacceptable.”

“Agreed. I will deal with them,” Lone Warrior promised.

Kills Many Crows slashed at the air with his hand. “No. Our
chief
shall deal with them.” The two braves glared at each another.

Willow Song reached out for her brother and clung to his arm. “They did not know,” she said softly.

“It is no excuse,” Kills Many Crows said.

Small Bird stepped forward. Behind Willow Song’s brother, she noticed several women gathering. “You are right. There is no excuse. We were about to help your sister to her tipi.”

Stepping in front of his sibling as if to protect her, Kills Many Crows scooped the young woman into his arms. “You and your people have done enough.”

Stung by the man’s insult, Small Bird fell back as Kills Many Crows strode past her. The crowd of collecting women scattered. Some ducked their heads, some ran, and others slunk off.

Lone Warrior glanced down at his sister with troubled eyes. “Do you need further proof of what your future with Swift Foot holds? His enemies do not care who they harm, but harm they shall. Think upon that.” With that final shot, he stalked off.

Alone in the morning sunshine, Small Bird shivered. She was very much afraid that he was right. If the talks of peace failed, the Miniconjou would not hesitate to kill or maim her. She too might end up scarred like Willow Song.

Needing suddenly to be around her people to keep her worried thoughts at bay, Small Bird turned to leave. She froze when Swift Foot stepped out of the shadows.

“Your brother has no faith in his new chief,” he said mockingly.

Swift Foot had heard most of the conversation between his soon-to-be wife and her brother, and it upset him. While he cared little what Small Bird personally thought, he could not allow any member of his tribe to doubt his abilities. Their faith in him made him an effective leader. His people accepted his abilities without question—and while there were less than a dozen warriors, young or old, in Small Bird’s tribe, Swift Foot knew it didn’t take much resentment or dissension to weaken or split a group. Regardless of how anyone felt, he was chief. And he’d earned the role by deed, sacrifice and hard work.

Expecting Small Bird to appear uneasy at being caught discussing the wisdom of their coming marriage, Swift Foot was surprised when she boldly held his gaze. Her eyes were the color of fresh-churned earth, and wide, large and innocent as those of a newborn fawn. They gave him no apology. Which was irritating. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared down at her.

Since her tribe’s arrival more than a week ago, he’d endured the doubt of her people in silence. The two tribes were to join as one—as decreed by their two councils. But not all embraced the idea. His youth alone caused many to question his capability. And the lifelong war between him and his enemy made many doubt the wisdom of becoming embroiled.

Small Bird broke the tense silence between them. “It is no secret that your enemy hunts you. Many have died in the past.” The proud tilt to the woman’s head and shoulders dared him to deny what she said.

He tipped his head slightly, too, acknowledging the truth in her words. “It is a battle I seek to end, one my father began before my birth and one I will put to right before I die.” The selfishness of Runs with Wind, who’d chosen to marry the white captive he loved instead of the woman he’d promised to wed, had shaped Swift Foot’s future. Like the man who’d sired him, Swift Foot had been ordered to marry a woman chosen for him by the council. And like his father, Swift Foot yearned to marry a white woman with hair of the sun. But unlike his father, Swift Foot had not given in to the needs of his heart. He’d put his people first. At great cost to his own happiness.

“My brother, along with many others, believes you are too young to lead so many.” Small Bird watched him carefully.

Narrowing his eyes, Swift Foot answered, “If there is doubt regarding my ability to lead, then why did your elders agree to join tribes with me? Why did you agree to marry me?”

Small Bird’s gaze slid from his. “Some choices are made despite knowing the risks.” She moved away from him.

Shifting sideways in order to watch her, Swift Foot searched her words and tone for bitterness or resentment. He found none. Yet in his own mind and heart, those two emotions swelled, growing daily, crushing the man within.

“You could have said no. My uncle would have accepted your refusal,” he pursued. Then he could have married the woman of his heart, not his uncle’s choice.

No,
a small voice inside him declared.
Your uncle would have found another for you to wed.

That, Swift Foot knew to be true. His future had been decided the moment his uncle decided to step down as chief. Before even. It came as no surprise to him, or to anyone else, that the council would choose him to succeed his uncle. Since the age of seven, he had been groomed for the position. But the honor came with a price: he had to take a wife of the council’s choosing.

He hadn’t hesitated in agreeing. Nothing was more important than restoring his family’s honor and ensuring the safety of his people.

Until Emily—the white beauty who had captured his heart.

Over the summer, he’d learned the power of love, come to understand what had made his father risk everything, including his life, for a woman. Yet for Swift Foot, love had changed nothing. He had still returned here to marry.

Small Bird’s soft voice drew him back from his dark thoughts. “It is an honor to marry a man held in such high esteem throughout our land.”

“Honor, or lack of such, is why this marriage will take place.” Fearing she’d see the anger and resentment within him, Swift Foot kept his gaze focused on a nearby group of youths practicing their skills with wooden knives. What was done was done. Except in his heart, hope still breathed through him, a small, living being struggling to survive. From the corner of his eye, he saw Small Bird turn to watch the boys.

“If you overheard the conversation I had with my brother, then you know I believe our joining must be. Do you not also believe that?” He heard genuine puzzlement in her voice.

“No.”
A twinge in his gut accompanied the harshness of his voice. He heard her swift, sharp intake of air at his brutal honesty. Guilt rapped him smartly on the shoulder. It did no good to voice his true feelings on the matter of this marriage. But it was too late, had been before he’d even met Emily. His life had been set on its course the minute his uncle had decided to groom him to be the next chief.

Small Bird walked around to face him. “How can you not believe that our lives are meant to be joined as one? Our futures were decided the day you saved my life.”

Wishing he hadn’t stopped to talk to Small Bird, Swift Foot smiled without humor. “I have saved the lives of many. Should I take to wife every female I’ve helped?” If only it worked like that. Save a life. Marry. He thought of Emily, of how he’d saved her and lost his heart in the sweetness of her smile and the braveness of her spirit. But a future had not been possible between them.

Staring over Small Bird’s shoulder so he didn’t have to see the hurt in her eyes, he saw only a bleak, empty future. He felt hollow inside and could not see how his shared past with Small Bird meant that their future was tied together. If life was that simple, he’d never have fallen in love with another woman—especially a white one.

Small Bird swung her hands behind her back. Her chin went up, and her eyes flashed. “Was not the day you saved my life the one that led to your becoming the great warrior you are now? Or have you forgotten that day?”

Swift Foot lifted a brow. Forget the day he’d become a warrior? The fear that had lodged in his throat when he’d seen the enemy riding down a small, innocent child?

Never. That day had set him upon his path to becoming everything he was: a man who’d somehow restore honor to his tribe, a man who’d never allow the enemy to kill another helpless member of his people. He kept at bay the terror and grief that day had produced.

His voice hardened. “I have not forgotten.”

“Neither have I,” Small Bird replied, hands on her hips. “You linked our lives when you acted with the courage of a warrior. It is right that we marry and join together to find a way to end this war between the Hunkpapa and Miniconjou. If you do not believe this to be so, then you are not so wise as I had hoped.” She hugged her arms to her chest and turned her back on him.

He’d hurt her, something he’d not intended. Now he realized he’d been looking to pick a fight when he’d approached her, maybe to learn she truly didn’t want the marriage. Swift Foot opened his mouth to apologize, but the gentle sway of her long, blue-black hair, and the way it brushed against the rounded curve of her buttocks, stopped him.

Small Bird was a petite woman with narrow shoulders and a tiny waist. With her back to him, her shoulders drawn in, she looked fragile. He couldn’t help but compare her to Emily—who hadn’t been much taller but was more generous in the curves of her body.

The two women were very different. One was of the gentlest dawn, the other the darkness of night. One held the rich brown of the earth in her eyes, the other the clear blue of the sky. Small Bird’s hair was of blackest night, while Emily’s was moon and stars. One had loved him and been willing to give up all she knew for him; this other, by her own admission, felt bound by duty. Duty that bound him to her as well.

The difference between him and Small Bird was that she accepted that duty.

Clenching his jaw, Swift Foot slid his fingers up his arm and over the band of rabbit fur circling his biceps. Then his fingers trailed down to his bare chest where a rabbit’s foot, dyed red, hung from a narrow strip of leather. Next they went to the narrow pouch that hung below. He gripped it tightly between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the thin strand of braided hair inside. He didn’t need to take it out. All he had to do was look up into the sun to know its color. To be reminded of Emily.

“You are troubled.”

Small Bird’s soft voice jerked him out of his reverie. She stared up at him, a frown on her face. Then she cocked her head to the side. “No. You are sad.”

Her pronouncement hung between them.

Longing to lash out, to destroy the truth of her words, he took a step back, angry with himself for allowing her to see more than he’d intended. He fought the urge to run. Far and fast. Away. Anywhere that he would not have to look upon this woman who’d soon be a daily reminder of the woman he’d lost, this woman who’d soon be his wife.