The Darkest Heart (41 page)

He nodded.

He’s a romantic, she thought, stunned. She turned away, shaken with that revelation. What else didn’t she know about this man who was her lover, her Apache husband, and the father of her child? “She still should be forced to eat. It’s not right not to try to help her live.”

“We tried that at first. She fought like an animal and had to be tied down. Then her body rejected everything we’d forced down her. She wants to die, Candice, and nothing will hold her back more than temporarily.”

Candice felt tears and hugged herself. Beautiful Luz and handsome Shozkay. It was too awful. At least there were no children. “Jack, how did it happen?”

He took a deep breath and forced his voice to be steady. “They were coming back from a raid south. They ran into troops sent from Fort Buchanan to relieve the besieged at Apache Pass. He was captured and hanged with the others.”

Candice stared at his hard, downturned face. Shozkay was one of the first casualties of this war. She knew now that Jack had even more reason than before to ride with Cochise. He was completely Apache when it came to vengeance. That horrible feeling or hopelessness rose up in her again.

Supper consisted of the stew, made from venison and chunks of vegetables that were similar to potatoes, called
tule
, and wild onions. Datiye also served a dense bread that was sweet and tasted faintly of berries. Jack told her it was made
from a paste of acorns and hackberries. Candice was famished, and even the day’s devastating events didn’t detract from her appetite. She didn’t move to help Datiye clean up, and eventually the woman spoke softly to Jack in Apache and retired into the
gohwah
.

“It’s getting late,” Jack told Candice, rising. “Good night.” His eyes held hers for a second. Candice knew he had been drinking all night from that gourd, which Datiye had constantly refilled, and she knew the substance was alcoholic. She didn’t move. He seemed to want to say more.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he finally said. Then he moved past her and slipped into his bedroll by the side of the
gohwah
.

Candice didn’t want to sleep in the g
ohwah
with Datiye.

But more than that, Jack’s slightly inebriated, woebegone expression pulled at her.

With her decision made, she stood and walked over to Jack, and before he could say a word, she had lain down beside him. On her side, her back to him.

Wisely, he didn’t say a word, didn’t try to touch her.

Candice didn’t think she would ever be able to sleep with his presence—so warm and compelling—just inches from her back. But she did fall asleep—in exhaustion. Once she awoke, however, in the middle of the night, startled by some alien sound. She found that Jack had curved his body around hers, his arm around her waist, his hand splayed protectively over her belly.

Candice awoke the next morning to find Jack gone. She had no idea where he had disappeared to, and would be damned if she’d ask Datiye. Nor would she offer to help the woman who was busy roasting hundreds of stems from the yucca plant.

Luz did not move nor speak, and Candice ate leftover stew and bread, absorbed in her thoughts. She was piqued that Jack had disappeared without a word, and even more irritated that he hadn’t even tried to kiss her last night or this morning. Not that she would let him touch her … but at least he could show some interest.

Datiye finally said, “If you help, it will go twice as fast.”

“Help?” She raised a brow. “I’m not a squaw, Datiye.” And she walked away.

She brought Luz food and tried to get her attention, knowing even as she did so that it was hopeless. After half an hour of futile efforts, she gave up. There was still no sign of Jack. She wandered through the camp.

Everywhere she went, conversation stopped, and men, women, and children stared, then started talking about her. Even though they spoke in Apache, she knew it was her they discussed. She stuck out like a sore thumb. With her hair so yellow gold, it was like walking around waving a flag and asking for attention.

She noticed that some of the squaws were clearly not Apache, but Mexican. The difference was in the shading of their dark skin tone, and in the texture of their hair, their features. Yet they acted just like squaws, clearly belonged to Apache braves, and had half-Apache children at their breasts or running underfoot.

Despite everything, she was interested in all the activity going on around her. It was hard to believe that these people were her enemy. But they were, and Candice didn’t forget it for a second. Since coming to the Territory eleven years ago, she had practically been reared on stories of Apache atrocities, which were a part of life in the Southwest. She had never actually encountered a hostile Apache party until her capture
awhile back, but both her brothers had crossed paths with raiding parties on several occasions over the years. She herself had seen the little boy who had been scalped and shot. Mark wasn’t the only one to have suffered directly with the murder of his fiancée. Almost every neighbor had suffered in some way. She knew ranchers whose stock had been stolen and who had lost hired help in ensuing encounters. She knew men whose partners had been killed, scalped, or staked out. She even knew of children who’d disappeared, never to be seen again. Like Warden’s boy.

War. Shozkay’s death brought it home even more than Jack’s riding away. The New Mexico Territory was in a state of war, and her husband was on the wrong side, and now so was she. What ending could there possibly be for her, Jack, and their child, even if there weren’t Datiye to consider?

Had Jack actually killed white men in battle? She didn’t want even to consider that thought. It was too horrifying, too hopeless. Maybe there was no solution.

“So sad,” someone said. “So lost. Are things that bad, woman?”

Candice started and turned to see Cochise. His countenance was both questioning and sympathetic. She wondered how much she dared to say. His gaze searched and held hers, and she was unable to look away. “Yes,” she finally admitted.

“Let’s walk,” he said, gesturing, and they strolled ahead. “There is a beautiful place up ahead where the water falls over rocks and the sun shines through trees. It is a good place to think, to pray, to talk.” He smiled.

Candice smiled back. Instinctively she trusted this man. “I’m sorry about what happened to your people at Apache Pass,” she said sincerely.

He glanced at her. “An Apache never speaks with a double tongue. The white man always does.” He added, “Except for your man. His tongue is Apache, not white.”

Candice sighed. “Maybe to you,” she said.

Cochise looked at her seriously. “You accuse your husband of lying?”

She lifted her chin. “I do not know if he has lied to me or not,” she said. “But it is more likely than not that he did.”

“He could beat you for your words.”

“I would kill him.”

Cochise smiled. “Your spirit deserves his. Look, we are here.”

He was right, the spot was beautiful. A waterfall careened over a cliff, forming a pool in the basin below, then rushing on down the canyon. Tall pines provided a fragrant canopy, broken by streaks of dazzling sunlight. Above, a bird sang, and a faint breeze eddied Candice’s skirts about her boots.

“Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?”

She hesitated. “Would you help me?”

“It depends on what you ask.”

She sighed. “Is it true that Apache men don’t sleep with pregnant women?”

Cochise was truly startled, then he laughed. “You are angry your husband denies you his attentions?”

She blushed. “No, no. I am white. I do not share what is mine. If Jack has slept with Datiye since we were married …”

“I see.” He studied her. “Apache men do not sleep with pregnant women, no. Not once they know a child’s soul has been born.”

That was a relief, she thought.

“Whatever Niño Salvaje has told you, I would believe. He is a man of great honor. He tells lies to no man, no woman. His word is even good to his enemy. If that is so, it is surely good to the woman who holds his heart.”

She stared at him. “You think I hold his heart?”

“I know so,” he said. “Once we talked long into the night.” Cochise suddenly smiled. “It was some time after I had seen you at Apache Pass with another man.” He scrutinized her.

Candice blushed. “I had no choice.”

“A woman with many husbands is a rare thing,” Cochise said, chuckling.

Candice wisely did not respond.

“Some time later Salvaje shared my
gohwah
. He talked of you. He did not have to say in words what his heart put in his eyes. It was easy to see.”

She took a deep breath. Even if it was true, it wasn’t enough and it didn’t solve anything. “It is still humiliating for me to share my husband with another woman, even if it is in
name only. It is not done.” Her eyes flashed. “I have pride. It makes me want to kill them both!”

Cochise laughed. “It is the Apache way. But, more important, he would lose all face if he did not feed and shelter a woman carrying his child. Whether he chooses to later bed her or not makes no difference. He owes her his care, that is his duty.”

“How do Apaches divorce?”

Cochise became wary. “Why do you wish to know? Will you divorce your husband?”

“I might,” she said, very seriously. “Is it easy for a wife to divorce a man? Or is it usually the other way around?”

“Wives rarely divorce husbands, because there are fewer men. I do not think I should tell you how it is done. This is something for your husband to tell you.”

“But it’s common knowledge to an Apache!”

“And you are not Apache,” he said easily.

Candice knew he had made his mind up and no amount of wheedling would get him to change it. Yet she felt uplifted by their discussion. She was sure now that Jack hadn’t bedded Datiye since their Apache marriage at Shozkay’s camp, and that did mean something. At least he had been faithful to her since then. Except for the time she was with Kincaid. That she would never hold against him, except to feel disappointed that he had been so quick to find solace elsewhere.

Maybe there was hope.

If she could just hang on until this war ended—if it would only end.

When she returned to the
gohwah
, Candice saw that Jack was there. He had brought fresh game, an opossum and two cottontail rabbits, which Datiye was cleaning. He did not look pleased. In fact, he looked at her intently. “Where have you been?”

“With Cochise,” she answered smartly.

Jack’s eyes grew narrow. “Don’t push me,” he warned.

She wondered if he was jealous, and the possibility delighted her. But she hid her smile. “I’m not pushing you. Cochise and I are friends. He is a pleasure to be with. And—he’s honest.”

He strode over to her. “Wives do not keep company with men that are not kin, without their husbands present.”

“Apache wives,” she retorted. “But I’m not Apache.”

“Don’t even think of trying to make me jealous,” he said darkly.

She managed to hide her smile, because he reeked of jealousy, and it served him right. She couldn’t resist. “Cochise wanted to make me his third wife when we met at Apache Pass.” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

His nostrils flared. “That will happen only over my dead body—or would you like to be a third wife? I thought you were having enough trouble being a first one!”

“I share my husband with no other woman,” Candice said. “And you’d better keep that in mind, Jack, if you expect to save this marriage.” The moment she’d said it she wanted to bite her tongue, but he pounced.

“Ah, so you admit it, that we’re married,” he said, smiling.

“I think you’d better focus on the rest of what I said.”

“I heard you, and I’ve already told you, it was one time with Datiye, before we met. I’m not going to bother repeating myself again.” He gave her a long look. “Most women would look the other way and be happy their husband had stayed with them.”

“I am not most women.”

“I fully realize that. Look, Candice, no more games, and don’t even think of flirting with Cochise.”

“I don’t consider this a game,” she flared. “Being abducted, carrying your child, living with the enemy—with another woman pregnant by you? It’s no damn game, Jack!”

He strove for control and found it. “I don’t know how we got on this topic,” he said tightly. “I can’t stop this damn war, but I would if I could. You know the rest of my plans—it’s just a matter of time. Maybe if you try to trust me you’ll see things aren’t so bad—and they could actually get better.”

Candice kept her mouth shut. He would have to work to win her trust, and that was that. He didn’t deserve even that much from her.

“I expect … no, I’m asking you if you would mind helping out around here. There’s plenty to do. Food needs to be prepared, dried for extra rations, buckskins need to be mended, hides tanned. It’s not right that Datiye work to feed four.”

Candice was about to protest, but decided against it. She needed to occupy herself. “I’ll help, but I won’t do anything with her. Just point me in the right direction.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Jack muttered.

She spent the next week doing various chores—including a full day boiling white flowers from the yucca that Datiye had collected on a communal gathering expedition. The flowers were boiled with meat and bones. Some was for immediate consumption, and the rest were dried and stored, as were almost all surplus foodstuffs. Other yucca buds were opened and dried to be used as sweeteners for the herbs Apaches used as tea.

Another gathering expedition went out at the end of the week. The women were on foot; a few braves—including Jack—on horseback, to provide protection if necessary. Extra pack animals accompanied them. Both Datiye and Candice went. The stalks and crown of the mescal plant were gathered on this trip. Candice stayed away from Datiye, and while the other women could not speak her language, they were neither friendly nor rude, making signs when necessary to communicate when she had missed a plant. She actually enjoyed herself. The sun was warm and felt glorious. She relished the feel of using her strong body again, for she had never been one to
be idle. And she was aware of Jack’s eyes almost always on her. Protectively. She actually looked forward to the next gathering expedition, which Jack told her would be for sumac berries, locust tree blossoms, and wild onions in the summer.