White Flame (12 page)

Her elder brother was much too serious. She knew him well, knew that he denied himself even the simplest of needs in his quest to put duty first. This woman would teach him much about himself. She also sensed that Emma wasn’t what she appeared to be, that she, too, would
change and find herself.

Emma moaned in her sleep.
“Renny—”
The name fell from her lips.

Responding to the desperation in Emma’s voice, the edges of Star’s sight blurred, grayed as a vision took hold. She whimpered, protested. Too many. Too fast. But tonight she was just too tired and spent emotionally to fight them. She closed her eyes and braced herself for more nightmarish revelations of the future.

But this one was different, new, fresh. In her mind’s eye, she saw a young girl running across the prairie. She was fast, her legs a blur as she ran in wild abandon. She had red hair, darker, like the burning embers in a fire. As Star watched, the child cried out in glee.

Star smiled and relaxed and absorbed the images and the colors of emotion. The girl was playing with other children—Indian children—her laughter rang out as they all collapsed onto their backs to watch soft white clouds scroll across the blue sky. The appearance of her brother surprised her until she saw him take the child up onto horseback and ride off with her.

Then the vision cleared, bringing with it a sense of peace. Star moved around the fire and tucked the fur around Emma’s shoulders, grateful to know that soon, the two sisters would be reunited. “Shhh,” she whispered, “your sister is safe.” As if she heard the words in her sleep, Emma calmed.

Outside, ignoring the storm, Tanagila paced furiously in the dark, her long black hair whipping side to side. No one, especially some white woman, would take Striking Thunder from her. At fifteen winters, she was now a woman and was determined to take her sister’s place as Striking Thunder’s second wife. Her brother, Waho, four winters older, had told her why the woman was here, as bait, but that didn’t reassure Tanagila. She had only to look upon Striking Thunder’s mother to know the dangers of a white woman’s presence in their village. Striking Thunder could decide to follow in his father’s path.

“What is wrong, Tanagila?”

The deep, husky voice startled her from her thoughts. She spun around to see a warrior of medium height and build step from the shadows.

Tatankaota, whose name meant “many buffalos,” approached, moving on silent feet. “Why do you wander alone in the dark? It is not safe to be out here.”

Tanagila’s heart sped up but she didn’t make much of it. He’d just startled her, that was all. His gaze roamed over her and it pleased her to know he wanted her for his wife. He was one of the most handsome warriors in their village with his strong jaw, high cheekbones and long hawkish nose.

Tatankaota had already made several offers to her father for her, more than any other warrior, but even before her sister was murdered, Tanagila had held hopes of becoming Striking Thunder’s second wife. Oftentimes, sisters of the first wife were secured to help the first wife with the many chores and give her companionship when the warriors were out hunting, or warring.

“You were not at your tipi when I came to speak to you.” He lifted his arm to reveal his blanket.

Tanagila eyed the blanket and frowned. “I am not in the mood to talk this night. I have much to think about.” In reality, she did not want to encourage him. At first, the attention she’d received from him since becoming a woman had pleased her. But his persistence was driving her other suitors away.

Tatankaota squared his shoulders. “I made another offer for you this night.”

Frowning, Tanagila chewed her lower lip. Her father was urging her to marry, and
Tatankaota, five winters her senior, seemed the most persistent. “I do not wish to marry. I’ve told my father this.”

The warrior, far from being discouraged, grinned. “I’ve waited long for you, Tanagila. I will wait until you are ready.” He looked pleased with himself. “Do you not want to know my offer?”

Curious but refusing to show it, she shrugged. “It matters not. I won’t marry you or any other warrior.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Even our chief?” His voice dipped, showing the first hint that he wasn’t as calm or patient as he pretended.

Her gaze snapped to his. “That is not your concern, Tatankaota.”

His confident grin reappeared. “Ah, but it is. You will marry me and only me. I’ve offered six horses and six buffalo hides as well as some of the white man’s tobacco that your father loves. He stepped forward, shook out his blanket and wrapped it around her damp shoulders. Drawing her close, he brushed her lips with his.

Tanagila’s head fell back before she realized what she was doing. His lips touched the pulsing hollow at her throat then trailed up the taut skin to her jaw.

“I won’t—” His mouth stopped her flow of words when he claimed her lips in a kiss that lasted no longer than a heartbeat.

“It is not thoughts of our chief that stir your blood,
kechuwa, Tanagila,
my darling hummingbird, who tries to flit from flower to flower.” Lifting his head, he ran a finger down the gentle slope of her nose. “Think upon my offer. Don’t keep me waiting long. We are wasting needless time. I want you.”

Watching him disappear into the darkness, Tanagila felt torn and confused by his actions. Realizing he’d done this to her purposely, she narrowed her gaze, angry at his underhanded methods. She vowed not to have anything to do with Tatankaota, and she’d ask her father to reject his very generous offer.

The sound of a hushed childish voice lured Emma from a deep sleep. She smiled. Renny, habitually up before the sun, always bounded into her sister’s bedroom to wake her. “Go ’way, Renny,” she moaned, “it’s much too early.” After going so long on so little sleep, she longed to remain abed the rest of the day.

Renny!
Emma bolted upright, eyes blurred and heart pounding. “Renny?” she called, glancing around the circular enclosure. It took a few minutes to orient herself, and remember. When her eyes focused, she spotted two children, a young girl and boy, watching her solemnly from the open flap of the tipi. Both had straight black hair. Her back slumped. No Renny.

Emma closed her eyes against the sting of tears and dropped her forehead onto her knees, willing herself to be strong. A soft touch to her shoulder made her glance up warily. A young girl, around Renny’s age, stood in front of her, staring down at her with compassion. The expression reminded her of the way Star Dreamer had looked at her the night before, so she assumed this girl was her daughter and the boy her son. Looking into those dark eyes that were watching her so intently, Emma had the strangest feeling this child knew how she felt. Not wanting to frighten the girl, Emma forced a smile. “What is your name?”

There was no answer. The boy, around five, shouted something then ran outside while the girl moved to a pallet next to Emma’s and sat. Wondering what she should do, Emma stood, remembering first to check her torn bodice and adjust it. Her gaze fell upon the beautiful dress Star Dreamer had offered her last night. She regretted not accepting it; her own dress was soiled beyond repair and wouldn’t last much longer.

Using her fingers, she attempted unsuccessfully to untangle her long tresses. Once again, the girl came to her and this time, she held out a comb. Nodding in thanks, Emma took it and ran it through her hair. Feeling only slightly better, she went to stand in the open flap. Her stomach fluttered with nervous anxiety. What was expected of her? She had no idea what to do next.

Once again, her silent watcher came to her rescue by pushing past her and taking her hand to lead her out into the bitterly cold morning. Emma shivered as the air seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, reminding her that winter was fast approaching. Their destination was the river. At the water’s edge, Emma spotted a small clump of bushes. Grateful for the privacy, she ducked behind them and relieved herself, using her skirts as a shield. After, she knelt on the wet bank and splashed water over her face, then rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands and arms.

“You may bathe if you like.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder at Star Dreamer, who stood next to her daughter. At a softly spoken word from her mother, the child left. Turning her attention back to the water, Emma longed to scrub her body clean of the grime that clung to her, but wasn’t about to strip out in the open or enter that cold water. She’d catch her death for sure—if she didn’t drown. The river wasn’t large but it moved quickly and looked to be deep in the center. She shook her head.

“Too cold. I’m fine.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Striking Thunder approaching.

Overhearing her refusal to bathe, he frowned. “My people bathe each day. You will join them each morning.” He stopped next to his sister.

Emma noted both he and his sister had straight shiny black hair and eyes the color of richly turned earth. She tilted her chin. “I won’t bathe in water so cold. I’ll catch my death for sure.” Lifting a brow, she added, “And you surely wouldn’t want that.”

Striking Thunder lifted a brow in warning, then pointed to her dress as he addressed his sister in their guttural language. Whatever Star Dreamer replied, it made Striking Thunder’s
brows lower in displeasure. He folded his arms across his chest “You were given clean garments last night, were you not?”

Emma’s hands fluttered to her chest, self-conscious of the state of her dress but pride dictated that she remain firm to keep what little independence she had. “I prefer to wear my own clothes.”

Black brows shot up. Striking Thunder strode forward until only a few feet separated them. “Were you not warned to do as you are told?”

Emma glanced away.

He forced her to look at him by tipping her chin up with one finger. “You will bathe, then change into the clothing given to you. And when
Wi
shows her face once again, you will rise with the others and bathe.”

A long-buried rebellion within Emma rose to the surface. She was tired of taking orders, of being told what to do, first by a father who’d destroyed her carefree childhood, and now some savage intent on killing that father. Well, she wouldn’t do it. Emma stood her ground.

“I won’t bathe in the river.”

Without taking his eyes off Emma, Striking Thunder said something to his sister. Star Dreamer hurried away.

Striking Thunder advanced until he stood toe to toe with Emma. With compressed lips, he reached out and turned her around so that she faced the water. Before Emma had a chance to wonder what he was going to do, she heard the rending of cloth seconds before she felt the icy brush of air on her back, from neck to the base of her spine. Screeching in shock, she held the dress to her breasts and rounded on him but he swept an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. To her horror, he waded toward the middle of the stream.

Emma panicked and grabbed on to Striking Thunder’s shoulders, but he dumped her into the water. She gasped at the shock of the cold water, barely having time to close her mouth before the water closed over her head. She flailed her arms and kicked. Strong hands hauled her up. Coughing and choking, she clung to Striking Thunder. He thumped her on the back, then carried her toward the shallows. Releasing her, he stared down at her. “You will also learn to swim.”

Too furious to consider her words, Emma smacked the surface of the water and shouted, “Go to He—”

“Careful, Emma. Do not push me.”

A soft voice from the bank drew their attention. Star Dreamer, along with her daughter, stood behind Striking Thunder. He held out his hand. Star Dreamer tossed him a bar of soap. He handed it to Emma. “You will give me the dress.”

Seeing no point in further refusal, especially as he’d destroyed the dress completely, and her teeth were starting to clatter, Emma ducked down until the water rose higher than her chest and slid out of her clothing. Hating the look of triumph on his face, she wadded the ruined cloth into a ball then threw it at him. Striking Thunder caught it and left without another word.

An hour later, Emma had to admit she felt better. Not only was she clean, with her hair in two neat plaits, but she was warmer. The dress Star Dreamer had given her had long sleeves and, beneath the long skirt, she wore a pair of fur-lined leggings. On her feet, she wore lined moccasins. When her new mistress called her, she obeyed. After all, it wasn’t Star Dreamer’s fault her brother was a hateful, arrogant bastard.

Thus began her first day among a tribe of savages.

From her place beside the smoldering cook-fire, White Wind stopped grinding pine nuts for their
midday meal and watched the white girl follow her daughter across the camp to where several buffalo skins were pegged to the ground. She wasn’t sure how she felt at the sight of a captive woman among them. Their
tiyospaye,
or clan, never took captives.

One pale braid fell across her shoulder. She stared at it. More white than yellow, it reminded her that though she’d lived as an Indian for more than twenty-eight years, she, too, was part white and had once been brought to her husband’s tribe against her will as a young woman.

Fondly recalling her first meeting with the golden warrior she’d married, White Wind chuckled softly. The night she’d run away from her loathsome guardian, Golden Eagle had followed her and refused to allow her to continue on her own, alone in the wilderness. Instead, he’d promised protection against her stepfather, and to help locate her true father if she stayed with him. She had stayed, not knowing he was to wed at the end of that summer to a woman of his father’s choosing.

Her eyes misted over as she recalled that summer long past. Life had been good, she mused. She had four wonderful children and a new daughter-in-law, her son Wolf’s new bride. And soon, she’d have more grandbabies. But even those happy thoughts couldn’t erase the worry when she caught her elder son, Striking Thunder, watching the white woman he’d brought to their village. She knew the details and didn’t like the situation, not one bit.

Warm hands closed over her shoulders. “Do not interfere, my wife.”

White Wind glanced at her husband. “What our son plans is wrong.”

“Our son is chief. He will do what is right.”

Tilting her chin in a manner that let him know she wasn’t going to be put off, White Wind stood. “Yes, my husband. Striking Thunder will do what is right—or deal with his mother.” With that, she stalked away.

Golden Eagle glanced skyward and implored the spirits to watch over his family. For the most part, his wife had adapted to the Indian ways, except with regard to family. She tolerated no distance between her and her sons, nor did she hold to the belief that a son fell to the jurisdiction of the father and other male role models. If he or either of their sons did something to displease or disappoint her, she made it very clear and as a rule, the males in his family quickly conceded to her wishes. It was a vast source of amusement to the rest of the tribe.

He was joined by their youngest daughter, White Dove, who sat beside him around the warm fire. In her hands, she held a half-dozen dried and straight shafts for making arrows. Arrows. He shook his head. His daughter’s skill in making and shooting them was as good as any of the male warriors in his tribe. Pride filled him. How could she not be, with her aunts instructing her?

Again, his family had broken tradition. Both his sister Winona, and his wife’s sister Wild-Flower, had been raised in an unorthodox manner—and both had encouraged Dove to master skills boys learned, whenever they visited. He sat a bit straighter. Of course he, too, took pride in Dove’s natural ability. She’d learned from the best—him.

“Mother is angry.”

Golden Eagle met his daughter’s sparkling hazel eyes with a lift of his brow. “Angry is not what I’d use to describe your mother’s feelings on this subject.”

Dove grinned. “I’d hate to be my brother right now.” She pointed at White Wind and Striking Thunder.

Golden Eagle spotted his wife and son arguing. He stood. “We need meat for the evening meal.”

Standing as well, Dove lifted a brow in perfect imitation of her father. “Coward.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Golden Eagle vowed to stay away for the rest of the day. He eyed Dove. “You coming or staying?”

Grinning, Dove followed him into their tipi and fetched her quiver of arrows and bow. “I’m no fool.”

Striking Thunder watched Emma. Kneeling on the cold ground, she rubbed the cooked brains of the buffalo into a hide stretched between wooden pegs. He was somewhat surprised to see her dipping her hands into the mixture that would make the hide supple. He’d have expected her to refuse, finding it much too disgusting as most white women would have.

The white woman worked well and wasn’t giving Star trouble; he had no reason to stand watching her. He had work to do—warrior’s work—yet when he forced his feet into motion, they led him closer to the woman. Near her, Star and Morning Moon removed flesh and hair from another hide. Their last hunt had been successful. He drew in a deep breath, reminded that he’d also lost his wife and others had lost their loved ones during that outing. He put his grief aside to be dealt with later.

Emma stood and stretched, drawing his gaze to her figure. The buckskin dress, belted around her waist with a strip of leather, revealed a figure with nicely rounded hips, full breasts, long legs and nicely shaped calves. Most Indian women were shorter, but on Emma, the added inches enhanced her feminine form.

She turned, as if sensing his presence. Their gazes clashed. With a look of dislike, she stepped around to the other side of the hide, pointedly ignoring him. Unable to allow the challenge to go unheeded, he followed and stood close. She worked the white paste into the hide, ignoring him.

He should have been pleased, but the fact that thoughts of her kept him from his business irritated him. Her hands shook, belying her appearance of calm, and when she clumsily spilled some of the precious mixture, he felt better. She wasn’t unaware of him, either.

Finally, she turned to him. “Must you stand there? It’s cold and I wish to finish so I can wash my hands of this…this icky stuff.” She rubbed her fingers together.

Striking Thunder pointed to the spilled patch of white soaking into the earth. “Each animal has only enough brains to tan itself. Be careful not waste it.”

Emma’s jaw dropped as she turned her hands over and stared at them. “What did you say?”

Striking Thunder indicated her grayish-white hands. “Brains. We use the animal’s brains to soften its skin. They are precious and are not to be wasted.”

Seeing the color fleeing her face, Striking Thunder raised an eyebrow, amused. “My sister did not tell you what it is you are using?”

“N-no. She didn’t,” she whispered. Lifting her gaze to his, her eyes suddenly rolled back in her head.

When her body crumpled, he reached out and caught her. All feelings of triumph fled at her reaction. Yes, he’d wanted to shock her, wipe that haughty look from her face, but not make her faint. Now what?

His mother shoved past him. Her furious bright blue eyes glared at him. “Fetch water.”

Striking Thunder did as he was bid. In minutes, Emma came to. Her hands had been washed clean of the brain-and-sage mixture. Sitting, she took several deep breaths then burst into tears. In over his head with a weeping female, he took a step back, but at the look White Wind sent him, he stopped. Star Dreamer rushed over, and when she learned what had happened, sent him a look that he knew well. She led Emma away, leaving mother and son alone.

White Wind stood. “I will speak to you, my son.” She walked away from the gathered crowd.