Warrior's Embrace (47 page)

As if he couldn’t see. As if he didn’t
know.

Rage filled him. He panted as he raced down
the hall to her bedroom. Her nightshirt lay across the bed, where
she’d tossed it in her haste. His lips curled back against his
teeth as he snatched the shirt up. It made a small snapping sound
as he stretched it tight. One more tug and it would rip apart.

Clayton closed his eyes, imagining the
satisfaction of tearing her nightshirt to shreds. The smell of Kate
filled his nostrils—the lotion she used to keep her hands soft, the
shampoo that made her hair smell like flowers, the exotic musky
scent that clung to her skin.

He fell to his knees and bent double with
Kate’s nightshirt pressed over his face, moaning like a sick
animal.

Exhausted, he lay on the floor. From
somewhere in the distance came the sounds of the night—an owl
calling someone’s name, a lone wolf howling at the moon, the soft
slapping sound of flesh against flesh. Kate and Eagle tangled
together in sweaty lovemaking.

Uncertain of what was real and what was
imaginary, Clayton finally lifted himself up. Kate would never
know,
must
never know.

o0o

“You’re leaving?” Kate couldn’t believe what
she was hearing. “You can’t leave. The clinic’s not finished, these
people don’t trust me, and—” She’d suddenly run out of reasons, all
of them selfish. “I’ll never make it without you. Never.”

Clayton pushed aside his bowl of cereal, the
decision he’d made the previous night firm in his mind. He longed
to offer a shoulder to cry on, to touch her, but he dared not.

“You’ll be fine, Kate. You and Eagle will
have that clinic finished soon. Once the people see what a
wonderful doctor you are, they’ll flock to you. You’ll have to hire
a guard at the door to keep order.”

“Thank you for those sweet lies.”

She came to him and put her arms around him.
He felt the shock of her touch all the way down to his toes. Thank
God her hips weren’t touching his, or she’d know exactly why he had
to leave. He hoped she didn’t feel him trembling.

“I’ve been selfish to the core,” she said,
walking away. “Of course I’ll be all right. It’s not as if
everybody in this town mistrusts me. I have Deborah ...and
Eagle.”

“Yes. You have friends.” Did his rage show?
His jealousy? His lust?

“I never even asked why you’re going. There’s
nothing wrong, I hope.”

“No. A small family matter. Melissa is giving
a benefit dance for AIDS, and she needs my support.” How easily the
lie came to him. Melissa could plan and execute the liberation of a
small besieged country without his help.

“Will you be back?”

“Of course. This is
our
clinic,
Kate. Yours and mine. I’ll help get it on its feet and running
before I return to my practice in Boston.”

“I wish you would decide to relocate ...you
and Melissa. We’d make a great team, Doc.”

Yes
, he thought. A great team.
Working side by side. Sharing the day-to-day triumphs as well as
the tragedies in a field they both loved.

And at night, sharing the same bed, sleeping
between her thighs with the scent of her filling his nostrils.

He looked at her smiling face. Clearly, she
respected him and enjoyed his company. Was there hope for him,
after all?

“I’ll be back, Kate.” He patted her cheek, so
soft, so fragrant. Surely he was due that much.

She covered his hand. “Thanks, Doc. You’re
like a father to me.”

He kept his tears inside. Tomorrow on the
plane back to Boston would be soon enough to cry.

Signs of approaching fall appeared in Witch
Dance. A herd of antelope began their migration, and the fur of
foxes, rabbits, and coyotes thickened. At night, when the stars
hung low, winds blowing down from the Arbuckle Mountains brought
chills and a promise of snow.

The two people sat huddled in front of the
cabin with the moon a pale sliver in the cold sky and the shadow of
the mountain hiding their faces. Hal and the Great One. Planning
for the future of Witch Dance.

“Tonight,” the Great One said.

“I’m ready.”

“You know what to do?”

Hal nodded. He’d gone over the plans in his
head a dozen times. Nothing could go wrong, for he had the power of
the wolf and the power of the peyote stirring his blood.

“You’ve done well. Because of you, Witch
Dance will soon be free of this tainted influence.” The Great One
put a hand on Hal’s shoulder and he felt ten feet tall. “Go quickly
now.”

“Do you want me to report back to you?”

“No. I’ll know when the deed is done.”

The Great One sat in the doorway of the hut
until Hal disappeared into the night. Then he built a small fire
and sacrificed the fattest and finest portion from a loin of
venison he’d kept inside. The fire flickered over his face as he
danced slowly around it, calling upon the spirits to send down
great things to his people and success for Hal’s mission. His
chants echoed off the walls of the mountains.

And from the distance there came an answer,
the call of the screech owl. The man froze in mid-step. Shivers
tingled along his spine.

The warning of the screech owl. Witches were
about.

He snuffed his fire and went inside his hut.
Then he pulled off his moccasins and left them upside down in the
doorway to ward off the witches.

o0o

Eagle covered Kate with the blanket. She
slept soundly under the stars, with one hand pressed under her
cheek and one knee slightly bent. The delicate skin at the base of
her throat and across the tops of her breasts was still flushed
where he’d kissed her.

Softly he touched her hair, careful not to
wake her. Even that small contact made him want her—the soft, shiny
feel of her hair.

With the bright tendrils clinging to his
fingers and the bright memory of their bodies joined making his
blood sing, Eagle felt the cold winds blowing off the mountains,
the cold winds of good-bye.

“You have bewitched me, Kate,” he whispered
as softly he kissed her hair and pulled the blanket close around
her shoulders.

Kate didn’t stir, even when he mounted his
stallion and raced off into the darkness. Her sleep was peaceful
and deep.

“You’ve made the dreams go away, Eagle,”
she’d told him.

Had it been only two weeks ago? It seemed
like a lifetime, as if he and Kate had been together forever, would
be
together forever.

“What dreams?”

“The ones that have haunted me for
years.”

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

And she had. Leaning against his chest, she’d
told him of her brothers, of the small sailboat they’d taken into
the waters, of the sudden storm and of her desperate search for
them in the unyielding sea.

“I killed them.”

“No. You had nothing to do with it, Kate.
They were weighed on the path and made to be light.”

“I can’t excuse my negligence by saying it
was an act of fate.”

“The days appointed them were finished. There
was nothing you could do to change that.”

Her sleep had been peaceful after that, as it
was now.

A hawk disturbed by his passing rose toward
the night sky, and branches stirred by the wind off the mountains
whispered secrets as he galloped toward the clinic. Summer was
almost over, and the knowledge was heavy upon his heart.

Eagle drew his horse to a halt atop the
hillside. The moon lay upon the clinic like a blessing. There was a
sudden calm, as if even the wind dared not disturb his deep
contemplation.

For weeks now there had been no hostile moves
toward Kate and her work. She was euphoric, thinking the opposition
dead, but Eagle knew better. Whoever was behind the hostilities was
waiting his moment to strike.

Eagle watched with perfect stillness, watched
and absorbed the grandeur of the land around him. There was too
much beauty to mar a single moment of it with impatience.

From the opposite hillside came movement, a
slight figure racing through the darkness as only a Chickasaw
could, light and fleet and soundless. The runner stopped in front
of the door of the clinic, where the moon shone brightest. In his
hand was an ancient sacred musical instrument, and as he plucked
the strings, he began to dance.

Chills raced along Eagle’s spine and prickled
the back of his neck, for he knew the ceremony. It was the
Keetla Ishto Hoollo
, a dance before the holy one designed
to drive away witches.

Suddenly Eagle knew the enemy, knew his power
and his motives, knew him without seeing him. Certainly it was not
the slender boy dancing in the moonlight. He was hardly more than a
child, and not capable of owning such an instrument, let alone
understanding the significance of the dance.

No, the enemy was not the youth; the enemy
was far more deadly. The enemy believed Kate to be a witch, and he
would do everything in his power to stop her.

With the discordant sounds of the instrument
and the muffled beat of moccasins ringing in his ears, Eagle
descended toward the clinic. The young man was so lost in his task
that he never heard Eagle’s approach.

“I know you. You are the son of
Lightfoot.”

The boy dropped his instrument. “What the
devil?”

“No, not the devil. But close.”

Eagle dismounted and caught him around the
back of the neck so swiftly that the boy had no time to run. A box
of matches fell from his pocket.

Eagle ground it under his foot.

“You won’t be needing those.”

“Let go of me, you bastard.” Hal had
absolutely no hope of freeing himself, but he tried anyhow. He
twisted and jerked, knowing that the iron grip of Eagle Mingo would
hold him fast.

“You will take me to the one who commanded
you to do this.”

“It was all my idea.”

“You speak with the
sente
soolish
.”

“And you speak like a savage.”

“The
sente soolish
—the snake’s
tongue.”

The boy spat in the dirt at Eagle’s feet.
“That’s what I think of your damned crazy talk and your damned
white witch woman.”

Hal refused to cringe before the murderous
rage in Eagle’s eyes. Eagle lifted him onto the stallion as if he
were a child. The arm holding him was as hard as a band of steel.
There was no possibility of escape.

“Tell me where he is,” Eagle commanded. Hal
remained stubbornly silent. The band of steel tightened around his
chest. “Tell me.”

“In a cabin ...east, at the foot of the
Arbuckle Mountains.”

As they thundered off into the darkness, Hal
wished he could die. He’d rather be shot down like his mother than
to face the disappointment and wrath of the Great One.

o0o

“I’ve been expecting you.” The Great One
stood outside his hut dressed in full regalia. Streaks of dark
umber and bright vermilion decorated his face, and pouches of
various sizes hung on leather thongs around his neck. In his right
hand he carried a gourd rattle, and in his left, the tail feather
of an eagle. Tools of his trade. “When the screech owl called, I
knew my mission would fail.”

The medicine man’s face was old and lined
with many wrinkles, but his body was erect, and he held himself
proudly.

“I should have known it would be you.” Eagle
dismounted, taking the boy with him.

“Let the boy go home,” the old shaman
said.

“I don’t want to go,” Hal stuck out his chin.
He could still feel the power of the peyote working in his
blood.

The Great One turned a stern face to him. “Go
home. I am the one he seeks. Without me you are nothing.”

As soon as Eagle’s grip loosened, Hal raced
toward home, the rebuke stinging in his ears. Someday he’d show
them. He’d show them all.

The medicine man turned toward his visitor.
He could feel the supremacy of his opponent. It was a strong magic
enhanced by noble visions and unselfish commitment. He was proud
his opponent was worthy.

“The medicine woman has chosen her protector
wisely.”

“She didn’t choose me; I chose her.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe Witch Dance needs
her.”

“They don’t need her; they have me.”

“There is room for both of you. The old ways
and the new should blend with harmony.”

“What does she know of the curative powers of
sarsaparilla and the root of the huckleberry? Can she find the
black locust and the bear-wolf weed?”

“Her medicines are different.”

“I have seen these medicines at the big
hospital in Ada. I spit upon them.” He spat on the ground.

Somewhere in the mountains around them a
bobcat screamed.

“The medicine woman will stay in Witch Dance
with or without your consent.” Eagle waited long enough for the
shaman to absorb the full import of his words. “I will tolerate no
violence against her or her clinic. Nor will the governor.”

“Winston knows?”

“I didn’t think it necessary to tell him. I
believe the three of us can work this out.”

“Three?”

“You and me and the medicine woman.”

“It will be as you say.”

The Great One stood beside his hut and
watched Eagle Mingo leave. Colds winds blew off the mountains, the
winds of change.

The white witch woman was not afraid of him,
even with his face painted.

The old shaman listened to her clear voice
telling how she would cure the sick, and watched while the son of
Mingo stood beside her, daring with his dark eyes that any harm
should come to her. The Great One listened quietly and with
respect, as if he intended to give his full cooperation.

“I want to work with you,” Kate Malone said,
“not against you.”

And then she told of her experience in the
big hospitals of the East and showed her degrees, hanging on the
wall of the clinic that stunk of fresh paint. The shaman kept his
face still. What did any of her credentials matter? She knew
nothing of the
sinti abeka
that sets the stomach out of
order nor the
iyaganaca abeka
that sends the patient out
of his head and falling to the ground. And what could she, the
white woman who spoke with the soft cadences of the South, know of
the burning ghost disease, the
colop anatitci abeka
, that
makes the feet swell and big blisters develop?