Savage Hero Page 9

Oh, surely he heard the throbbing of her heart.

  Oh, surely he felt the passion that was flowing between them!

  But surely he now also felt a deep rejection.

  She scarcely breathed as she waited for him to speak . . . or to leave.

  Understanding why a white woman might be afraid to show her true feelings for a red man, knowing that in her world it was forbidden, Brave Wolf gazed at Mary Beth for a moment longer, then left the lodge.

  Mary Beth dropped her face into her hands and wept for a man she knew she shouldn’t want; for a son captured by warriors she knew were nothing like Brave Wolf; and for herself. How she missed her husband, even though she had never loved him as a woman should love a husband.

  At this moment, she ached for arms around her, to comfort her, and not just any man’s. She ached for Brave Wolfs!

  “What have I done?” she sobbed, for she feared her rejection might have turned Brave Wolf into her enemy.

  She felt a chill race across her flesh. She looked over her shoulder and saw a robe lying half unrolled on the floor. It looked inviting and warm.

  Without much thought she reached for it. She turned it in her hands, recalling the bear that had frightened her earlier. This fur looked like it might have come from a bear.

  She remembered how Brave Wolf had allowed the bear that crossed their paths to live. But surely bears were killed for their warm pelts. The winters were long and cold in Montana.

  She ran her hand slowly over it, envisioning Brave Wolf wearing the robe. Smiling, she slipped into it, sighing at its warmth and softness.

  She yawned sleepily, stretched her arms above her head, then curled up in the robe by the fire stones that circled the lodge fire. Within moments she had drifted off into the welcome void of sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  We were taught to believe

  that the Great Spirit sees and hears

  everything, and that he never forgets;

  that hereafter he will give every

  man a spirit-home.

  —Chief Joseph

  When Brave Wolf returned to his tepee, he found Mary Beth asleep by the fire. He smiled when he saw her asleep in his bear robe, so cozy and beautiful.

  He stopped and gazed down at her.

  He was touched anew by her loveliness.

  And asleep there was such a quiet beauty about her . . . such a soft innocence.

  Her hair lay around her head like a splash of sun’s glow. Her long, thick lashes rested upon her cheeks like veils. And her lips, parted only slightly, made him long to kiss her.

  Slowly he knelt beside her, so close he could feel her soft breath upon his bare knees. It was hard not to reach out and run a finger across those lips, harder still not to bend low and press his lips to hers.

  But he recalled with much regret how she had denied him a kiss only a short while ago. Yet he was not hurt or angry. He understood her denial, without her even explaining it to him.

  It was because he was of a different culture . . . a different color.

  He was of the people who had taken her husband’s life and stolen her son from her. Would she always see her husband’s death and her son’s abduction when she gazed into Brave Wolf’s eyes, even though he’d had no role in either?

  Or would she one day allow herself to realize that he was of a different breed from those who’d fought upon that battlefield where all white eyes had died, among them her husband?

  Was he fooling himself to believe that a small part of her cared for him, no matter the color of his skin? How could he not believe that, when she gazed at him with the look of a woman who felt desire for a man?

  When she began stirring, Brave Wolf rose quickly to his feet and sat opposite the fire from her. He did not want to alarm her by staying so close, observing her. He must be patient and hope that she would soon let down her guard and allow herself to feel . . . to love. . . .

  Mary Beth yawned, licked her lips, then slowly opened her eyes.

  Just as her eyes caught sight of the fire, and then the walls of the tepee, she was again reminded of where she was, and why.

  David sprang quickly to her mind and just as quickly brought tears to her eyes.

  She wiped away the tears as she slowly rose to a sitting position. And then she saw Brave Wolf sitting so quiet across the fire from her, his gaze upon her.

  In a flash of memory she recalled their last moments together and how she had denied him a kiss. Even worse, she had denied herself the kiss.

  She was filled with pangs of guilt. Surely he hated her now.

  Yet as her eyes held his, she saw no hate, no resentment.

  She saw something akin to adoration and knew without a doubt he had fallen in love with her, just as she had with him.

  She hated this complication. He was Indian. She was white. She hated that word “forbidden.”

  How could something so beautiful be wrong?

  Yet she still felt a twinge of guilt over falling in love with him so quickly and never loving Lloyd at all in that special way.

  And Lloyd was dead for such a short time!

  “Did you get some rest?” Brave Wolf asked, choosing to break the awkward silence.

  He could read people well . . . even women, and knew that she was battling many conflicting emotions.

  He hoped she would soon win the battle and allow herself to love him. Life was short. When one found a true love, one must act, or risk losing it forever.

  “Yes, I feel very much rested,” Mary Beth said, then laughed softly. “I do not even recall falling asleep. It . . . just happened.”

  “These past days have taken a toll on you,” Brave Wolf said thickly. “It is only natural that you would seek the solace of sleep.”

  She ducked her head so that he would not see a resurgence of tears. “Yes, what I have gone through has been terrible,” she murmured. “I do welcome those moments when sleep takes the memories away, if only for a short while.”

  “I have sent many of my warriors out to search for your son,” Brave Wolf said, drawing her eyes quickly to him. “I explained to them that he is a young brave of five winters, and that his hair is how you described it to me . . . the color of wheat. I told them that his eyes are blue like the sky.”

  A slight frown creased his brow. “I must tell you that my warriors’ reaction to that description was what I expected,” he said. “When I told them of the golden hair and blue eyes, they thought of someone else whose hair and eyes were those colors.”

  “Custer,” Mary Beth said, her eyes wavering.

  “Hecitu-yelo, yes, Custer,” he said, lifting a log and sliding it into the flames.

  “Did that truly make a difference?” Mary Beth asked warily.

  “Not after I reminded them that this was a child, not a man with a likeness to Custer,” Brave Wolf said. He sighed. “My warriors are even now searching for your son.”

  “You did not include yourself in the search,” Mary Beth said, searching his eyes. “Why?”

  “I must stay close at hand for my brother in case he takes a turn for the worse,” Brave Wolf said, his voice drawn.

  “Then it is not because of me . . . because you thought I might flee if you were not around to stop me?” Mary Beth asked guardedly.

  “No, it was not because of that,” Brave Wolf said, his eyes now searching hers. “I was gone long enough during my council for you to leave . . . and you did not. You now understand the dangers of being alone, away from my protection. I am glad that you do.”

  “Yes, I do understand, but, Brave Wolf, I wanted to be with those who searched for David,” she said, her voice breaking. “I wanted to be there when my son was rescued, if he is rescued. Surely he is terribly frightened without me. The sooner he sees me, the better it will be for him.”

  “It is not safe for you to accompany my men on this search,” he explained softly. “You see, it might turn into a raiding party, as it was when you were rescued from the renegades. It may be nece
ssary to fight to get your son.”

  “I hope they can get him without a fight,” Mary Beth said, shivering at the thought of her David being put in still more danger.

  “If your son is found, my warriors will do everything within their power to see that he is not harmed,” Brave Wolf said. “Please do not worry. All is being done to save him.”

  “Thank you so much,” Mary Beth said, stifling a sob behind a hand. “You have been so kind to me.”

  “You do not deserve what fate has handed you,” he said. Then he looked toward the entrance flap when a soft voice spoke from outside it. The words spoken were in Crow, so Mary Beth had no idea what the woman was saying.

  “At my request, food has been brought for us,” Brave Wolf said. He rose and went to the entranceway. He held the flap aside as a beautiful young Indian maiden entered. She carried a wooden tray of food. From what Mary Beth could tell, it was a combination of meat, fruit, and bread.

  Dancing Butterfly smiled up at Brave Wolf, then walked past him and without a nod or a hello to Mary Beth, acted as though she wasn’t even there. She set the tray opposite the fire from Mary Beth, then smiled once more at Brave Wolf and left.

  Brave Wolf had seen how Dancing Butterfly had behaved toward Mary Beth and was embarrassed, for both Mary Beth and Dancing Butterfly. His clan’s women were normally kind. But he must remember that none of them had seen a white woman up close, especially one who sat in their chief’s lodge.

  He knew that a keen resentment toward Mary Beth was running rampant among his people. All knew that he would soon bring a woman into his lodge as a wife. He knew that none would want this wife to be white.

  But if he, their chief, did choose a white woman, which he now hoped to do, his people would have no choice but to accept his decision. His word was final in all things.

  “I apologize for Dancing Butterfly’s rudeness,” he said. He took the tray and placed it beside Mary Beth, then sat down with the tray between them.

  “Never has Dancing Butterfly seen a white woman in her chief’s lodge,” he explained. “It is something she does not understand, or like. By not speaking to you or looking at you, she was pretending you are not here.”

  “I’m sorry for the resentments your people feel,” Mary Beth murmured. “I wish things hadn’t happened to cause it, but there are greedy white men who behave toward your people just the same as Dancing Butterfly acted toward me. They do not see your people when they look at them. What they see is what they can steal from them . . . the land, the animals, the streams and rivers.”

  “Hecitu-yelo, as it has been since that first bullet was fired upon my people,” Brave Wolf said sadly.

  “Yet you still seek the peaceful ways with the white community,” Mary Beth marveled. She nodded a silent thank you when he gave her the wooden tray of food. She took a piece of meat from it, then handed the tray back to him. “Will you still be this peaceful if the cavalry comes and . . . and . . . attacks your village?”

  “I seek peace, but I have been appointed as chief to protect my people,” he said, taking a piece of cooked rabbit, then setting the tray between them. “I will do what I must to keep my people free of harm. Under normal circumstances, life for my people is such a simple one. You see, the Crow economy is based on the availability of game and edible foods. Both game and plant foods are abundant in the Crow country. Men are responsible for hunting game, women for curing it. Do you not see how easy it would be for my people to exist as they have for generations if whites would allow us the same existence as our ancestors?”

  Mary Beth took a bite of meat, chewed and swallowed it, then turned her eyes back to Brave Wolf. “I understand what you are saying, but, Brave Wolf, you know that President Grant will be out for blood after what happened at the Battle of the Little Big Horn,” she said guardedly. “Although your clan played no role in the terrible battle, you could be accused of it.”

  “I am friends with the Great White Father in Washington, so he will send an order to all forts here in Montana land not to include my people in his retaliation,” Brave Wolf said.

  Yet in his heart he knew that at a time like this, the President might forget their friendship and see him as no different from any other Indian.

  Brave Wolf would keep sending his prayers to the First Maker that what he feared would not come to pass.

  He bit off a piece of meat and looked again at Mary Beth as she spoke.

  “How did the council go today?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “My warriors listened well to what I had to say about Night Horse, and agreed to what I have done,” Brave Wolf said, looking sad as he gazed into the fire.

  “Perhaps they agreed because he was once loved so much among your people,” Mary Beth said softly. She smiled when that brought Brave Wolf’s eyes back to her. “How could he not have been the sort of man who would be loved? Is he not your brother? Was he not like you in many ways before he chose the wrong life path? You have spoken of how it was between you when you were growing up. You had such devotion to one another. Surely everyone saw and admired the same goodness in Night Horse as in you, his brother.”

  “You are wise to see such a truth, because it was that way,” Brave Wolf said. “Everyone did admire my brother as I admired and loved him.”

  “What happened to make him want a different life from yours when he grew into a man?” Mary Beth asked warily. She was afraid that she might be asking too many questions.

  But it was so good to have this gentle time of camaraderie with Brave Wolf. It helped make her forget how much she wanted him to hold her . . . to kiss her.

  She ached for his touch and was weakening in her defenses. If he came to her even now and held her and again asked her if he could kiss her, she knew that she would not deny him.

  The longer she was with him, the more she doubted she could follow the rules that forbade her from loving him. She had lost so much in her life . . . oh, Lord, she did not want to give up this wonderful man, too.

  “What happened?” Brave Wolf repeated, sighing. “Night Horse saw the power of the white man’s guns. He saw their riches. He saw the chance to have what whites had. Greed, greed for what he should not have wanted—that was why my brother became my enemy, for he is my enemy.”

  Again he sighed. “My brother, the enemy,” he repeated, drawing his fingers through his hair in frustration. “How can . . . that . . . be?”

  “In life there are so many things that make no sense,” Mary Beth said, her voice breaking. “My son. How can he have been taken from me? Where is he?”

  Hearing her sorrow, her frustration, her sadness, Brave Wolf pushed the plate of meat away and moved to Mary Beth’s side.

  Without even considering being rejected again, he wrapped his arms around Mary Beth and brought her close to him.

  Mary Beth melted in his arms. She nestled close.

  “This feels so wonderful,” she murmured. “So right.”

  Brave Wolf’s heart soared at those words. His heart drummed inside him.

  But he didn’t dare spoil the moment by trying to kiss her again.

  He would relish this moment, and hope to go further than a hug soon. For now, it was enough that she allowed his comforting arms around her. He was stunned, when a moment later, she pulled free of him again. Turning her back to him, she had her face in her hands and softly sobbed.

  Believing that her reaction to their embrace had nothing to do with him, yet worrying about it and needing answers, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her. He framed her face between his hands and even more gently lifted it so that their eyes met.

  He didn’t question her with words. His eyes said it all.

  “Please never think that my behavior is because of you,” she said through a blur of tears. “What I said earlier about your embrace feeling so right is truly how I feel, but . . .”

  “But?” he asked softly.

  “I feel so much guilt,” she gulped out
.

  “Guilt over having feelings for me, a red man?”

  “No, oh no, please don’t think that.”

  “Then what causes this guilt?”

  “I cannot stop thinking that if I had not left Kentucky, which is my home, my husband would still be alive,” she said, her voice breaking. “For certain my son would not be in the hands of murderous renegades. I . . . made . . . the wrong decision. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Do you believe, then, that you are making the wrong decision by allowing yourself to love Brave Wolf ?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

  “No, no,” she said, a new guilt grabbing at her . . . guilt over making him feel all the wrong things. “I . . . I . . . do love you. Oh, truly I do. I . . . adore . . . you.”

  She was stunned that she had actually said it . . . that she had told him she loved him.

  She was not a person to be so forward, especially with men.

  She had truly known only one man . . . her husband.

  But she felt such ease while with Brave Wolf, as though she could tell him everything.

  His heart sang to realize his deepest hopes were true, that she did . . . she could . . . love him.

  He had believed she did, but knew that those beliefs could have stemmed from wanting her to love him so badly.

  “You say words that mean so much to me,” Brave Wolf replied. “I love you. I knew that I did almost the moment I saw you.”

  “As did I, although I was afraid to admit it because I didn’t dare trust you,” she murmured.

  “But now you trust enough,” he said, drawing her closer, yet not fully into his arms.

  “Yes, oh, yes,” she said, her heart throbbing, her knees weak with passion.

  “Yet you always pull away from me when we embrace . . . when we are about to kiss,” he said, again searching her eyes.

  “Only because I think I shouldn’t be feeling these things for a man so soon after my husband’s death . . . and when I don’t even know the fate of my son,” she said, swallowing hard. “Now do you understand? Do you?”

  “Yes, now I understand,” he said, then brushed kisses across her lips that made her feel faint with rapture.