Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1 (5 page)

Hadn’t she told these people that she would return the person who volunteered back to their tribe at the end of that time, handsomely rewarded?

She had thought, back there in St. Louis, to lure one of the Indians with a trinket or two, a gown, a necklace for the women, money—anything, but something that no one could ignore. It should have been simple.

She had reckoned, however, without any knowledge of the dignity of this tribe, the Piegan or Pikuni band of the Blackfeet: a grave miscalculation on her part.

If only she had been more prepared to offer them something they might consider valuable. But how could she have known this?

Wasn’t that just the problem?
No one
knew the Blackfoot Indians.

It was this fact and this fact alone that made her father’s manuscript so valuable.

Genevieve sighed. It got worse.

She had such a short time in which to work, too. Only today, perhaps tomorrow.

She had tried to convince Mr. Chouteau, the part-owner and captain of the steamship, to stay at Fort Union a little longer. She had argued with him, using every bit of feminine guile that she possessed, but to no avail. He had remained adamant about leaving on his scheduled date.

The river was falling, he’d said. He had to get his steamship, the
Yellow Stone
,
back to St. Louis before the Missouri fell so low that the ship would run aground.

It was not what she wanted to hear.

It meant she had only a few days to accomplish her ends. It also meant that she might be facing failure.

No, she would not allow herself to fail.

“Milady.” Robert materialized at her side, his large frame blocking out the light as he bent down toward her. “Mr. Kenneth McKenzie says the Indians are preparing to leave on a buffalo hunt and will most likely be gone by tomorrow. I have taken the liberty of arranging for the two trappers that you seek to come here to see you.” Robert seemed to hesitate; then, “Milady, might I offer a word of caution?” he asked, though he went on without awaiting her reply. “The two men that you seek are known to be scoundrels. It has also been said of them that they have often been dishonest in their dealings with the trading post here as well as with Indians. It is my opinion that you would do well to—”

“What else am I to do?” Lady Genevieve interrupted, though she spoke quietly. “Robert,” she said, not even looking at him, “you know the dire circumstances of this venture. How can I possibly go back to St. Louis with nothing to show for my journey? And worse, how could I ever face my father again? You know that his condition is even more delicate now. If I were to fail…”

“But, milady, surely there must be another way besides dealing with these trappers.”

Genevieve raised her chin. Focusing her gaze upon Robert, she said, “Name one.”

Robert opened his mouth, but when he didn’t speak, Genevieve once again glanced away.

“You see,” she said, “even you know it is true, though you won’t say it. There is no other way. Mr. Chouteau keeps telling me that the steamship is to leave tomorrow or the next day. I must be on it, and I must have an Indian on board, too. I wish it were different. I truly wish it were. You must know that if I could change things, if I could make them different, I would.” She paused. “I cannot.”

Robert stared at her for a moment before he finally shook his head, but he offered no other advice.

Genevieve said, “I will see the two gentlemen as soon as they arrive. Please ensure, then, that they are shown to me immediately.”

“Yes, milady,” Robert said, rising. He stood up straight, and as Genevieve glanced toward him, she was certain that her trusted bodyguard stared over at
the
Indian, that one Indian man.

But the Indian’s menacing black gaze didn’t acknowledge Robert at all. Not in the least. No, the Indian stared at
her.
Only at her.

Genevieve rose to her feet, averting her eyes from the Indian, although in her peripheral vision she noted every detail of the man. She shook her head, intent to shift her attention away.

And then it happened. Despite herself, she turned her head. Despite herself, she slowly, so very leisurely, lifted her gaze toward his.

Her stomach fell at once, and the two of them stared at one another through the panes of glass for innumerable seconds.

She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. She watched the man as though she wished to memorize his every feature, as though she needed the memory for some time distant, to be brought to mind again and again. And as Genevieve kept the man’s steady gaze, she felt her breathing quicken.

Suddenly he smiled at her, a simple gesture. It should have had no effect on her whatsoever.

But it did, and Genevieve felt herself go limp.

All at once, as though caught in a storm, her senses exploded. Her heartbeat pounded furiously, making her bring her hand up to her chest.

And even as she felt herself beginning to swoon, she wondered why she was reacting so. One would think she had never before caught a man’s smile, had never before seized the attention of one simple man.

She heard Robert calling her name, and she breathed out a silent prayer of thanks for the interruption. She shut her eyes, which proved to be her only means of defense, and, taking as many deep breaths as she could, she tried to steady the beating of her heart.

“Lady Genevieve.” She heard Robert call to her again.

“Yes, Robert, I’ll be right there.” Her voice sounded steady, though she hadn’t been certain that she would be able to speak at all.

She opened her eyes, but she didn’t dare glance at the Indian again. She couldn’t risk meeting his gaze even one more time. And so she turned away from him, walking as swiftly as possible from the spot where she had been so recently seated, her silky gown of lace and chiffon whispering over the crude wooden floor as though it alone protested her departure.

She would never see the man again, never think of him again; of this she was certain. But even as this thought materialized, another one struck her with an even greater force: she fooled herself.

She would think of him, perhaps too often, over and over again, and in the not-too-distant future. She wouldn’t be able to help herself.

She knew it. Truly the Indian was a magnificent specimen of man. Yes, that was the right word. Impressive, splendid.

Utterly, completely and without question magnificent.

“Whatever Indian you convince to return with you will not come to harm in any way because of this, do you understand?”

“By thunder, Genny-girl, ’course we understand.”

Ignoring the trapper’s crude form of address, Lady Genevieve nodded and took a step backward, if only to escape the stench of the two men who stood before her. She said, “You will receive your money only when I am assured that the deed is done, and not before then. Do you have any questions about this?”

Neither man made a sound.

“You are certain you understand what to do?”

“That we do, Genny-girl, that we do.”

Genevieve didn’t like what she heard, didn’t like what she saw and certainly didn’t want to acknowledge what she feared about these men, but she had no other choice than to hire them. None.

For good or for bad, she had committed herself to this.

She raised her chin and, in the haughtiest voice she could muster, said, nodding to her bodyguard who stood at her side, “Robert, my manservant, will be there on the steamship waiting for you. When he tells me that you have met your side of our bargain, then I will pay you—and only then. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,
ma’am.”

“Good then,” she said, and turning away, dismissed the two men, who left unhurriedly, though Genevieve spared them no further attention.

She wished she could put aside her doubts of what she was about to do, and she hoped for the umpteenth time that what she did was the right thing.

She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. It had to be right. It just had to be.

Somehow, in some way, she would make it work. She had to. If she failed, not only would her father face ostracism and ruin, so too would she.

Genevieve let out her breath. If she could only convince herself that her course of action was justified, she might sleep better.

Oh, well.
Squaring back her shoulders, she set about packing up the belongings she had brought with her to Fort Union, preparing to board the
Yellow Stone
for the long journey back to St. Louis. And though the memory of a certain pair of dark, intense eyes haunted her every thought, she chose to ignore it, to ignore them, though at the thought of him, nothing could quite still the rapid fluttering of her heart.

Chapter Two

The Northwest Territory

Aboard the Steamship
Yellow Stone

Mid-June 1832

“Milady, they have an Indian.”

Lady Genevieve grabbed her dressing gown from the foot of her bunk aboard the steamship. “Take me to her, Robert. Is she all right? She isn’t scared, is she? I’ll go and sit with her so that she knows we mean her no harm.”

“Milady, I…I don’t believe that will be necessary. I will attend to the matter—”

“Nonsense!”

“Milady, I—”

He didn’t have a chance to say more. Genevieve had hurriedly wrapped her dressing gown around her, had already opened the door of her compartment and was even now scurrying down the steamship’s companionway.

“Milady, don’t—”

Genevieve didn’t seem to hear him. She had already flung open the other cabin door, had already stepped inside, had already—

He heard her ladyship’s gasp and, casting a quick glance to the heavens, set out after his mistress, if only to protect her. And the Lord knew she would need that protection now.

It was a mistake. It had to be.

It was the only thought that came to mind, and Genevieve gasped, drawing back closer to the cabin door.

This was no Indian maid. This was…

A human growl sounded from the interior of the room.

Genevieve, her hand clutching her throat, jumped backward.

“As you can see, milady.” Robert’s voice sounded from behind her. “It is no Indian maiden here. I will return this man first thing in the morning.”

Genevieve paused, several minutes ticking by as she struggled to find her voice. At last she said, “There is no time. It is the middle of the night, and we both know the
Yellow Stone
sails in no more than a few hours. We… I—”

“What is it you require me to do, milady?”

“I…I don’t know yet, Robert. Leave me for now. I wish to speak to the—”

“Milady, I must protest!”

Genevieve shook her head, the movement causing the locks of her hair to sway and fall downward toward her waist, the mane of it appearing more a cascade of spun copper than human hair.

“Leave me,” she said. “I wish to speak to the Indian alone. But Robert,” she threw a quick glance over her shoulder, “stay by the door, please.”

“Yes, milady. I will remain here. You have only to call if you need me.”

“I know that, Robert. And thank you. Now, leave me with the Indian. I guess he will have to do, don’t you suppose?”

“I don’t suppose anything,” Robert said, taking up a stand just outside the cabin door. “And if you want my opinion—”

“I shall ask for it,” Lady Genevieve said, though in truth, she spared her servant little more of her attention. How could she do otherwise? What lay before her compelled her to move forward into the room, her whole being engulfed by the magnetism she felt inside.

She left the door open, if only for the security of knowing that Robert stood close at hand.

The Indian was tied standing up, his hands held at his sides, his feet bound. The man couldn’t really hurt her. Still…

She stared at the Indian in the darkness of the cabin, her gaze guided only by a small stream of moonlight shining in through the porthole. She tried to scan the man’s features, but it was impossible. He looked more phantom than real being at this moment, the silvery light from outside casting an unearthly glow all around him.

Was he the one?
The thought kept recurring to her as she stood in place, reluctant to move any closer.
Was he the one from the fort, the one who had captured her attention?

It couldn’t be, and yet… Surely fate wouldn’t deal her such a wicked lot as to bring that same man into her presence now. Surely…

She didn’t want to think about it. That Indian at the fort, that man she had seen there, had stirred to life something deep within her, something… She sighed.

She couldn’t quite place it. She didn’t know what had happened back there; she only knew she did not wish to explore such matters now.

Was he the one?

She was almost certain it was so.

She began to pace toward him slowly, one careful step after another, until at last she stood not more than a few feet away from him.