“I will never forgive you!” Meadow yelled as she stomped back toward the camp. “If he had found us hiding in the bushes—oh!—I can’t even imagine what would have happened.”
Gentle Water giggled. “You are so funny, Meadow. I saw how you were looking at his—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Meadow interrupted. She covered her ears with her hands. Her mind, however, could not help but recall Black Horse’s well-endowed physique. Just the thought of him caused the strange ache to inch through her body once more. She was drenched in sweat again. Her steps faltered, and her legs started to feel shaky. She hoped she would never see him again, because she knew there would be no way she could look at him without remembering every single detail of his muscular body.
“He’ll be the guest of honor at the ceremony tonight,” Gentle Water said. “Would you like me to braid your hair with leather and feathers?”
“I don’t need my hair braided, because I won’t be there.”
Gentle Water gave her friend a smug glance. There was no chance her friend would intentionally miss the festivities tonight. Their band of Hunkpapa Sioux—led
by the fierce war chief, Sitting Bull—had been camped here in the North-West Territories since early summer. Now, it was the beginning of the fall season, and this was the first celebration since they had fled across the Canadian border from their homelands in the Dakota Territory.
When Black Horse and his small band of Oglala warriors had arrived earlier that day, they had brought with them an abundance of freshly killed buffalo. Meat of any kind was becoming more and more scarce. The buffalo meat, along with the flasks of whiskey the warriors had also brought to the camp, was more than enough reason for a celebration. Since the battle a few months ago at the Greasy Grass River, it seemed the reasons for celebration among the Sioux were growing fewer and fewer.
“Your hair is prettier when you wear it loose, anyway,” Gentle Water said, even though Meadow did not seem interested in pursuing this conversation. “I will brush it with a dry-grass brush until it shines like dancing moonbeams,” she added as she found herself wishing that her dear friend had beautiful straight black hair like the rest of the Sioux women.
It was rare that Gentle Water thought of Meadow’s white heritage, but there were times when she was reminded of how different they really were in appearance. Gentle Water knew that walking side by side, as they were now, only their clothes were similar. The summer sun had lightened Meadow’s hair to a pale golden hue, and the thick tresses fell down her back in heavy waves that were impossible to brush smooth. Her complexion, even suntanned, was also several shades lighter than the skin of anyone else in the tribe.
Meadow’s jade-colored eyes made her even more distinct within the Sioux tribe that she had lived with for the past fifteen years. The vibrant color of her eyes had been the inspiration for her name. Her adoptive
ate ate
, or father, White Buffalo, had thought that looking into her eyes was like looking at the beautiful blades of tall grass in a summer meadow.
“I will come for you when I’ve finished helping my grandmother with preparations for to night,” Gentle Water said as they walked cautiously through the tall pine trees. She noticed that Meadow kept looking back over her shoulder, even as they reached the edge of the encampment. Gentle Water had already pushed their spying escapade to the back of her mind and assumed Meadow’s nervous behavior was due to the unusual location of their new campsite.
The large gathering of Sioux that had recently settled here had created a vast sea of tepees. There were seven tribes that made up the Great Sioux Nation: the Oglala, Brulé, Hunkpapa, Miniconjou, Oohenonpa, Itazipco and Sihasapa. Members of nearly every one of those tribes were camped in this vicinity. It was the usual custom of the Sioux people to camp out on the open plains, where there was less chance of ambush, and this camp in the dense forests of Canada made them wary.
By the time they had arrived back at the village, Meadow was more determined than ever to stay away from tonight’s festivities. Just the thought of seeing Black Horse again made her insides quiver. Surely these abnormal feelings were the beginnings of an illness that she could use as her excuse to avoid the celebration tonight.
Without looking at Gentle Water, Meadow waved good-bye and hurried toward her own tepee. The hide-covered lodge Gentle Water shared with her
kunci unci
—grandmother—was on the opposite side of the encampment. Because they had no husbands to care for them, the husbands of other women looked after Gentle Water and her elderly grandmother, Sings Like Sparrow.
Meadow’s adoptive father was an honored Hunkpapa Sioux medicine man. Their tepee was close to the main circle of lodges. Sitting Bull, the most powerful of all medicine men and the great war chief of the Hunkpapa tribe, was their closest neighbor.
But even the presence of so many Sioux did not make Meadow’s uneasiness fade. She prayed constantly that here in Canada the fighting would cease. They were all so tired of living like hunted animals. Even after their victory over the yellow-haired Custer, they were still constantly on the run from the angry white soldiers. It was rumored that now the Canadians were desperately trying to convince the American government to negotiate with the Sioux to get them to return to the other side of the border, because they did not want them to remain here in Canada.
“Is that you,
mi-cun-ksi
?”
Meadow smiled when she heard her adopted father calling her daughter. Since soldiers had killed his wife, her adoptive mother, Little Squirrel, a little over two years ago, he had become even more devoted to Meadow. The Indian attack that had killed her real family when she was barely two years old was not even a hazy memory. “I have been with Gentle Water,” she said as she entered through the hide flap in the doorway
of their tepee. The cozy interior of the lodge welcomed her, and White Buffalo’s smiling face filled her with a sense of comfort.
“Have you and Gentle Water been off teasing the young men?” White Buffalo asked without looking up from the bowl where he was mixing up some medicinal concoction. “The village is full of them since all the tribes have been gathering here.”
Meadow stifled a gasp as she felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked down at White Buffalo. He concentrated on the mixture of herbs in his bowl. Meadow chuckled nervously when she realized he was only joking. If he really knew what she’d been doing, he probably would be too ashamed to speak to her.
“We’ve been—uh—we went down to the river,” she answered. She had never lied to White Buffalo, and she hoped she would not have to start now.
“It is dangerous, even here in Canada, to go out of the camp alone,” White Buffalo said sternly. “Don’t forget those evil Blackfoot people have followed us up here and are probably lurking about in the forest.” He glanced up and added, “Be careful.”
His tender gaze did not match his gruff voice as he looked up at her. Meadow nodded her head and then turned away quickly. She did not want him to see her embarrassment. It had been stupid for her and Gentle Water to be wandering around in the forest, especially since the Sioux’ most hated enemies, the Blackfoot, had also taken up residence in this part of Canada. Even worse was that they had taken such a terrible risk just so that they could spy on that man—that beauti
ful vision of a perfect man. Stop thinking about it, Meadow told herself. She swallowed hard and wiped away the sweat on her upper lip.
“I will help you,” she said when she felt she was regaining a bit of her composure once again. As she knelt down beside White Buffalo on the soft elk furs that blanketed the floor of the tepee, she noticed he was mixing a simple recipe consisting mostly of crushed yarrow plant. White Buffalo kept his medicinal supplies well stocked, and one corner of their tepee was stacked with pouches containing medicines to treat everything from broken bones to ailing horses.
“I don’t need help,” White Buffalo said. An amused smile curved his mouth.
“I’ll go help Gentle Water and Sings Like Sparrow, then,” Meadow said as she shrugged her shoulders and rose up to her feet. She moved toward the doorway.
“
Mi-cun-ksi
,” he called out. “Are you bothered by something?”
Meadow paused. It always astounded her that he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. She wanted to talk to him about the feelings that had been rushing through her ever since she had been to the river, and she wished she could ask him why the sight of Black Horse’s naked body affected her in such a dramatic way. Even now, her mind continued to cling to the sensuous image of him stripping his clothes from his muscled frame.
“No,” she lied without turning around to face him. A deep sense 0of shame filled her. “I’ll be back soon,” she said as she shoved aside the hide flap and hurried outside again.
White Buffalo stared after her as Meadow exited the tepee. He had noticed the troubled expression on her face, but he assumed it was just because he had once again refused to let her help him. Ever since she had been a small child, she had always offered to help him mix his medicines or to assist him in collecting the herbs and roots he used in his recipes, and he always declined. If he had a son—or even a nephew—White Buffalo would be eager to pass on his vast medical knowledge. But a daughter was different. Soon, she would find a young man who would teach her all that she would ever need to know about life.
White Buffalo knew he was lucky to have had her all to himself for this long. She was seventeen—already several years past the normal age of marrying. Lately, however, the young warriors had been too preoccupied with fighting the whites to take notice of the blossoming females who were overly ripe for marriage. But soon there would be a young brave who would realize that there were more important things in this world than war. When that day arrived, he hoped he would not lose a daughter, but gain a son.
The thought filled White Buffalo with joy, yet at the same time gave him much sorrow. Meadow was all he had left, now that Little Squirrel and their own children were gone, and his greatest worry was that she would decide to leave the tribe entirely. She did have a choice, White Buffalo reminded himself, and someday she might choose to go back to her own people. He hoped that he would not be alive if that day ever came. But, he reminded himself, his beloved Meadow could not be more devoted to the Sioux if she
had been born from his own seed. There was only one thing missing from her life, and if White Buffalo had anything to do with it, she would not be deprived of this necessity much longer. For the first time since she had become a woman, there was a village full of eligible young men. He had a feeling that Meadow would soon meet the man she would spend her life with. White Buffalo smiled. He had a way of knowing these things.
Meadow took a deep breath of fresh air once she was out of the tepee, but it didn’t help. She still felt as if she was going to suffocate. If White Buffalo didn’t need her, perhaps Gentle Water and her grandmother would have a job for her to do. There had to be something that would help to keep her mind off of Black Horse. Tonight—and forever—she’d have to make sure she stayed far away from him, because she was certain she could never look at the man again without wanting to die of humiliation. She scowled down at the dirt as she stomped away from her tepee.
A low chuckle reached her ears, and her heart skipped a beat. Black Horse stood directly in front of her, no more than a foot or two away. He wore only his claw necklace, white breechcloth and tall moccasins. A beaded knife sheath hung at a careless angle from his hip, and his fringed leggings dangled over one of his arms. Little droplets of water dripped from the ebony tips of his braids, forming wet trails down his bare stomach.
Black Horse leveled his gaze at the woman’s face. She was not a half-breed as he had first suspected. She was
wasichu
—white—but obviously not a captive who was kept here against her will. Her pale complexion was streaked with red. He watched as her pink lips parted with a startled gasp and her green eyes grew wide with horror. He had to remind himself of the reasons he had come to Canada. He was here to rest his tired body and renew his spiritual devotion to
Wakan Tanka
, the Sioux god, not to find a woman—especially one with eyes as green as a moss-covered lake that could drown a man in their depths.
Black Horse stared at her for a moment longer as he tried to remember his plan. He let his gaze travel lower, until he had skimmed every inch, every curve, of her firm young body. The effect she was having on him was not going to be easy to hide when he was wearing nothing more than a breechcloth. He had to force himself to assume a nonchalant attitude as he looked into her unusual eyes. It was obvious to him that she was afraid and humiliated, but from the way her gaze kept flitting from his face down to his body, he also guessed that she had been enthralled by the suggestive show he had given her and her companion.
A taunting grin curved his lips. He could just tell her that he had seen her at the river today, but it was much more fun to wait and see how long it would take her to admit to it. He could be patient—sometimes. His eyes raked up and down her body one last time, and then he stalked past her without a single word.
Meadow could not move. In the time Black Horse had looked brazenly into her eyes and scrutinized her entire body, she had experienced a multitude of new emotions; fear had lasted only a second, embarrass
ment just a moment longer. But the desire his presence summoned forth was not so easy to escape. She wanted to flee, but her legs were too weak and shaky.
She turned to watch as he walked casually past the nearby tepees. His bronzed body still glistened with droplets of river water. Her fingertips tingled with a yearning to rub those tiny bits of moisture into his smooth skin and to feel the taut muscles that rippled underneath. But all she could do was stare at him until he disappeared through the narrow doorway of his tepee. Symbols of fierce animals and images of warriors engaged in battles were painted on the sides and were signs that an important man lived in this dwelling.