Rising to her feet, Skyraven tended the fire
,
then took a look outside the cave to be sure everything was quiet. The sky was clear with not even a sign of a cloud. Only white puffs of smoke
, the village fires,
disturbed the perfection of th
e darkness.
She should go back, she thought
,
but somehow the day's excitement had finally caught up with her. She was much too weary to make the journey just now. She would rest just a short while and then she would return. Yes, just a short while..... Her eyelids were h
eavy and her body was weary. Lying down beside John Hanlen, she closed her eyes, and was soon fast asleep.
.
Chapter Seven
The wind moaned like a woman in pain, sweeping through the cave, joining John Hanlen's groans as he thrashed in the midst of a nightmare. The eerie harmony awakened Skyraven from her sleep and she opened her eyes. The white man! A poignant compassion possessed her as she turned her head towards the man who lay beside h
er. He had endured
great suffering
, more to the soul than to his body. Seeing one's companions struck down so cruelly must have been a painful experience, she
thought, one that might
lay hidden while one was awake but came back to haunt a man in the depth of sleep. Her grandfather had witnessed such things and told her about them, for
it was at those times he had need of his most potent rituals.
"No.....! Leave him be." The soldier
seemed
to be struggling with his attackers again. "He's little more than a lad. Do
n't! Oh, God! Not that....."
"Hush." As he moaned in his sleep
,
she reached out to him, her hand soothing his tortured murmurings. "You are safe here. It is just the wind." Her voice, whispering in the darkness
,
seemed to soothe him
,
for he quieted. The soft rumble of his bre
athing told her he was asleep.
For a long time it was peaceful, only the sound of the wind disturbing the night. It was as if for just a little while they were the only two beings in the world. She relaxed and listened to the sound of the breath of life coming in and out o
f his lungs and felt at peace.
Skyraven peered out of the cave and tried to judge the night cycle by the position of the stars. The stars were important to the Indians. It was by their movements that they judged the changing of the seasons, how soon the morning would send its glow to the horizon. From the stars they took their directions when they were forced by circumstances to travel at night. One particular cluster fascinated Skyraven
,
and it was to these stars she cast her eyes now. There were stories of how those stars came to be. Lone Wolf in his pride proclai
med the story that they were seven
warriors who danced so fast they swirled up into the sky and remained there dancing forever
,
but Skyraven
preferred
the story her grandfather told her that they were seven beautiful sisters, the daughters of the sun and moon. By those stars she could see that it wa
s late.
I should return......
In truth she had dozed off for much longer than she had intended. She couldn't take the chance of being missed
, and yet she couldn't leave--n
ot yet! She soothed her trepidation by telling herself that the village would be asleep.
Her
village! Somehow it seemed suddenly remote and alien to her
,
as if it were here an
d not there that she belonged.
I am inviting danger
, she thought.
These feelings stirring in my breast for the golden-haired man must be stilled.
She was risking he grandfather's anger by being aw
ay from her tent. If her absence was
noticed by the women of the village who kept an eye on the unmarried maidens
,
how was she to explain that she had been absent all night? Would she tell them that she had been communicating with the voice of the wind? Walking about the camp? Could she tell such a falsehood to her grandfather? No. Lies were the whiteman's invention. Until the white eyes had come to the land there had been no word for liar in the Indian tong
ue.
She didn't
even want to think about it for s
he could not have done differently. The white soldier had needed her and she had answered that need. Now a fierce feeling of protectiveness surged in her heart. With a sigh she sank back down on the buffalo robe and nestled into the crook of his arm. She cou
ld feel the warmth of his
breath on her neck, ruffling her hair, his strength beside her and experienced a tingling sensation down the whole length of her spine. She could hear her heart beating so loud that she was certain it would wake him. S
oon,
the warmth of him, the whisper of the wind
,
relaxed her as she closed her heavy-lidded eyes
,and she slept once more.
Dreams assailed her
,
and she tossed and turned fitfully during the night.
When she awoke, snuggled close against the white man, she remembered the dream.
John Hanlen was the great
“
golden man
” in the legends of her people, and she the
sky maiden
--t
he sun and the sky, who had fallen so much in love that they could not be
separated
. They had wanted to remain together and thu
s the Great S
pirit had lifted the golden man up to be with his beloved. It had been decreed by the spirit
s that it would always be so. Would such a thing happen to her? Would the spirits intervene and bring forth a happy ending?
Sleepily she rubbed her eyes, stretched
her slim arms above her head, yawned
,
then sat up to take a look at the man the spirit
s had delivered into her care, j
ust as they had the sun into the sky's embrace. It was then she knew
, without a doubt the potency of her feelings
. Somewhere between the darkness and the dawn she had fallen irrevocably under the spell of this white
soldier called John Hanlen.
She
studied his face carefully, looking down at his sleeping face and tousled golden hair
, glad that she had been able to spend the night with the handsome white
man. Surely she would not have had a wink of sleep had she not
,
for she would have been besieged with thoughts of him and would have worried. But now
,
upon awakening
,
there were only happy thoughts. She sighed as she remembered his strong arms around her and the feel of his warm lips upon her own. The very thought of being here so close to him ca
used her a great deal of joy.
It was her favorite time of day that she spoke of to her grandfather a
s the "golden hour," t
hat time between dark and light. The moon had fled across the sky with the
swiftness
that surprised her. When she was with her soldier the precious moments moved much too quickly, but now she knew beyond a doubt that she could not linger here in the cave with him much longer or she would take the chance that
her secret would be discovered. Even so, she couldn’t leave. Not yet.
"If only....."
she whispered, wanting to
tell him of her feelings but
not able to
bring herself to say the words. He might not feel the same way about her.
What if she was wrong about her thoughts?
A frown creased her brow as she thought of how the white
men looked at Indian girls
--f
it to warm their beds but not quite suitable for wives. She would not be any man's "squaw woman". For just a moment her happiness was spoiled. What if John Hanlen did not share in her dreams for the future? What if his heart had no
t been likewise touched by the Great S
pirit
?
How do you feel about me, John Hanlen
, she wondered? Swiftly their moments together ran through her mind as she tried to reason it out. Oh, he had kissed her and she had responded
,
but he hadn't told her that he wanted her for his own
. Oh, if only he would
she sighed.
What would she do
? She could only wonder.
Rising to her feet,
started
a small fire inside the gave. She looked into the flames, deep in concentration as she debated about her feelings
towards John Hanlen. Her
feelings welled up inside her. She wanted him to be with her, wanted him to be part of her life. To share her dreams, know her joys. Was it possible? She felt that hope surge with
in
her. When she turned around to look at him again, she found that he was awake. His clear blue eyes drew her to him in an almost hypnotic way. Skyraven's eyes met his stea
dily.
"So you are not a dream. You are real. I thought I was just imagining...."
"No, I am not part of your dreams, John Hanlen. I am real." Shyly she smiled, then bending down
,
she reached out her hand as i
f to give proof. He clasped the offering
hand tightly. Once again she was encompassed by a comforting warmth. It seemed as if nothing existed beyond this magi
cal circle of their closeness.
"Very real and very beautiful." He was thoroughly captivated,
just as he had been last night. Her large, almond-shaped blue eyes focused on his face without guile. She was as fresh and soothing as the morning air. "Utterly lovely
,
"
he said.
His compliments
and intense scrutiny suddenly made her nervous. “Are you
hungry, John
Hanlen
?" She asked qu
ickly, shyly averting his
gaze lest he guess
her
thoughts
.
"I can gather some fruit and berries and
be back in no time at all."
John didn't want her to go. She was such a beau
ty and such pleasant company, and s
omehow she soothed his loneliness, like a balm to his soul. Her big blue eyes fascinated him. They were so
expressive
and told him that she
,
too
,
held tender feelings. What he really wanted was to gather her into his arms again and make love to her
,
but he d
idn't say so. He said only, "W
ell yes, I guess I could use
a little something to eat."
Pulling her hand away, she left the cave and soon returned with a bag full of wild raspberries and some buffalo jerky she
had taken from her saddlebag.
"There now
, that didn't take
long did it? " She smiled sweetly as she held the food out to him. " I picked the berries, the jerky was left over from that I brought
last night."
"Anything would taste good.
" Perhaps his hunger was a
sign that he was healing. Longing for the touch of her hand again, he reclaimed it, pullin
g her down to sit beside him. A
s they ate he asked her several questions, wanting to know all about her. He was as hungry for information about this lovely woman as he was for food. "You told me your father was a white man
,
"
he began
"Yes...."
John was not surprised to learn that her father was of his kind. He had suspected that she was part white because of her pale olive skin and blue eyes. Even so
,
her face had
the high cheek bones and
just enough roundness to it to speak of
her Indian heritage. T
he blending of Indian and white h
ad created an exotic beauty.
"He promised to return for my mother, but he never did." Even now
,
that th
ought was strangely painful.
"Then he was a fool! Seeing you now I pity hi
m for all that he has missed."
"You do?" His soft voice mesmerized her. The blue eyes s
taring into hers were sincere.
“The greatest blessing a man has is to watch as his child grows up. From sprout to blossom, my mother used to say.” He traced the line of her profile from forehead to chin with a smile. “I’ll bet you were pretty right from the moment you were born. You sure are now.”
“I never felt that I was.” She
remembered Whispering Wind. “There were some who taunted me for having whilte man’s blood.”
"They did?" He was taken by surprise. He'd heard of being condemned as a "half
-
breed" by the whites
,
but never for being half-
white
. It gave him a different perspective on the matter. "Was your childhood a happy one, Skyra
ven?" he found himself asking.
"Oh yes! My g
randfather was the best
of men. He made me all sorts of wonderful playthings and let me go with him when he collected his herbs and magical weeds, teaching me just the right ones to choose." She thrust back her shoulders in pride. "Now it is my duty to gather his roots and leaves and berries. And soon I learned that having white blood was not quite as bad as I had first supposed. In time I relished being just a little different from the others
. It gave me my own identity."