She threw off the cheap, trade-issue blanket and dressed swiftly, not bothering with her stockings or petticoats. And with only chemise and drawers beneath her gown of embroidered muslin, slippers on her feet, and an Indian shawl thrown around her shoulders, she raced from her room, tying her bonnet of rice straw over her hair as she left.
If she could catch him, maybe she could still convince him to stay here. She had to try.
She burst from Mr. Mitchell’s house, into the fort’s courtyard.
No one was about, and her spirits sank. Was she too late?
And then she remembered.
He was Indian.
His journey wouldn’t start from the inside of the fort. He and his friends would be
outside
the garrison, in their own camp.
Which brought about her next problem: the guard. Could she convince the guard to open the gate for her?
Amazingly, she discovered that she could. It took only a few coins from her purse and a flirty smile upon her face.
It was strange, but whatever had been her fear of leaving the fort last night, deserted her. In her haste to find White Eagle, everything else, even her own welfare, faded into insignificance.
A circle of Indian tepees, looking like shimmering mounds of gold in the fragile, early light, attracted her attention, and, raising her skirts, she rushed toward them. If her eyes didn’t deceive her, she could make out the forms of men sitting atop ponies.
“White Eagle,” she called out.
She’d done it; she’d attracted their attention. She only hoped these Indians were part of White Eagle’s party.
“White Eagle.”
A single horseman separated himself from the main crowd gathered there and urged his pony toward her.
“White Eagle,” she screamed his name now.
The pony leapt toward her; she kept running.
It was White Eagle. She could see that now.
“White Eagle,” she called out again, and she began to slow her steps, though the pony kept sprinting toward her.
And then she saw White Eagle lean over, as he came up close to her, his pony still in a full run, and as horse and rider made to pass her, White Eagle caught hold of her around the waist, bringing Katrina up and onto his lap.
The pony had only sprinted a little past her, when White Eagle turned the animal around, and they flew back in the direction of the Indian camp.
She smiled. She had caught White Eagle before he left, this feat amazingly important to her.
He didn’t say a word to her, though, until he had trotted the pony into the Indian encampment.
And immediately, as soon as they entered the circle of tepees, the scents of smoke and horseflesh, of sweet grass and sage, assailed her, though, in truth, these senses remained only dim impressions upon her. She was with White Eagle; it was all that mattered.
“Have you decided,” he asked her, “that you wish to be here when I leave?”
She nodded.
He grinned down at her. “I was uncertain, when I left you, whether I should awaken you or not.” He glanced up and away from her. “I am glad that you have come.”
She sighed. “I have not joined you here to see you go,” she said. “I’m still determined to keep you from leaving. Do you not remember our talk? I promised you that I would argue with you about this at a later time.”
He chuckled. “So you did.”
“I meant what I said.”
He continued to grin at her.
She inquired, “Is this a regular hunting party, or are you going to war?”
“We go to seek your uncle.”
“You are going to war,” she stated.
He inclined his head. “We go to fight. We must. We cannot let our enemies think that we are nothing but a nation of women. A great injury has been done us. We must set it right.”
“And so you go to kill or be killed.”
“I go to find your uncle.”
“But you will be in danger.”
He grimaced. “I will be in danger. But then, are there not many dangerous encounters in life?”
“Not that one actively seeks.”
“I am sorry that you feel this way, and I would give you strength, if I could. But I still must go.” White Eagle suddenly glanced around him.
“I’nakssahkomaapiwa, poohsapoot!”
Immediately a young boy came running to them.
“Nitakkaawa,
my friend,” White Eagle spoke in the Blackfoot dialect, as he dismounted from the pony and threw the buckskin reins to the boy.
“Otoi’tsikatoo ota’s.”
The young boy nodded and glanced up at Katrina.
Immediately she scooted off the animal, taking note that neither White Eagle, nor the boy, gave her a hand to help her.
Not that she had expected any assistance. Though White Eagle had often aided her when they had been alone, he had also explained that many of the chores he did were women’s work and that he could not continue to cater to her when they arrived in the Indian camp.
Still, it irritated her.
“Who was that?” she asked of White Eagle, once she had caught up to him.
When White Eagle turned his gaze upon Katrina, he hesitated for some moments before answering her.
Presently, however, he said, “That was Strikes Two, an orphan. He is a lad from the Crow, who was captured by a raiding party some years ago. He waits upon my family in return for his livelihood and he cares for my ponies. I have also asked him to look after you while I am gone.”
Katrina glanced back at the boy, who was now brushing down the pony.
“Do you leave right away, then?”
“We go as soon as I say that we go. And I leave as soon as I have a kiss from you.”
She laughed, despite herself. She couldn’t help it. And slyly, she said, “Then I might never kiss you.”
He grinned. “You would make me steal it from you?”
“If I remember last night correctly, you didn’t have to steal anything from me, Mr. White Eagle.”
“It is true, and yet, I find I am still unsatisfied.”
Giggling, she brought her face up to his. “Then you will have to stay until you are more fully appeased, my fine warrior.”
“That will most likely take a lifetime.”
“I think so too,” she said.
He laughed.
“I love you, White Eagle.”
“And I love you.” He kissed her. “I must go now. We have already delayed too long in this place.” He drew his fingers over her cheek, pushing back her hair, gazing at her as though she, alone, personified the word, “adoration.” “Wait for me,” he said, kissing her again, and then a third time. “It is not in a warrior’s nature to show emotion in a public place, as I am now to you. Know that I do this to show you my true affection.” He took her hand and placed it upon his heart. “Always,” he said, “will you be here, alive, within my heart.”
And this said, he brought his forehead down to hers.
“White Eagle, I…” She gulped down a wail, and she heard herself say, as though from far away, “Bring back my uncle safe and sound, won’t you?” Sobbing, she threw herself into White Eagle’s arms, then, and she didn’t care that, at a later date, he’d have to explain her actions to his people.
Softly he murmured against her hair, “It has always been my intention to do so.” He drew in his breath, as though he, too, wished to memorize everything about her—her scent, the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin—and he kissed her forehead, her neck, her cheeks, her lips.
With one last look at her, he turned away and left.
She stared at his departing figure for some moments. Why was it so hard to watch him walk away? Truly, she felt as if her heart were breaking.
A tear forged a trail down her cheek, and without herself willing it, a whimper escaped from her throat.
She felt a presence next to her, and, with no warning, a small hand found its way into her own, and she was amazed to look down to find Strikes Two gazing up at her, adoration in his glance.
Somehow the look of the young lad, his apparent sympathy, made her sadness overwhelming and all at once, she cried in earnest.
She watched White Eagle as he jumped onto his mount.
She stared at him as he turned to look at her; she observed him as his glance met hers, that steady gaze of his, the look of affection in it, telling her more than words could have that he loved her.
And then she saw him spinning his pony around and she watched as, giving it a swift kick, he rode out of camp, away from her, and, it seemed, away from their love.
Her tears wouldn’t stop. And she couldn’t help feeling that she was letting him go; she knew it wasn’t really true, and yet, it seemed to be so.
He had shown her the extent of his love for her, despite the others in his tribe who had watched him, and disapproved, of what he did. Had she? Had she shown White Eagle just how much he meant to her?
Yes, she had told him she loved him, but that wasn’t enough, and she knew it.
Earlier, before she had come to know him well, she had talked to him of leaving at some future date. And as before, when she had spoken of such things, he had disagreed with her…and loved her in spite of it.
Watching him leave the camp, she suddenly grew uneasy and unexpectedly, the truth of it all came to her: She would never leave him. She couldn’t. To do so would be as to sever her own heart. For good or for bad, she was tied to this man.
And he didn’t know it. She hadn’t told him.
She shuddered when she remembered how she had, at first, treated White Eagle. Had she shown him in every way, every day, since that time, just how special he was to her now? How much she had changed?
Had she?
She bit her lip. He was putting himself into danger, and there was always the chance that he might not come back. And yet, here she stood, letting the most wonderful man she had ever known slip away from her.
How could she let this happen? How could she have allowed him to get past her?
Well, she determined, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t.
With this thought, like a beam of light suddenly stealing through a black cloud of thunder, there it was, all at once, before her. She knew exactly what she had to do. Why she hadn’t discovered this until now, she didn’t know, but with this sudden knowledge, came a sense of calm and a clarity of decision.
When had this happened to her? When had she begun to feel? To put the welfare of another on an equal footing with that of her own?
She didn’t know. All she knew, all she could think of at present, was
him,
his well-being; and for the first time in her life, she made a decision to act, not for herself or for her own behalf, but for the good of another.
She loved White Eagle; she loved him more than life itself, and she would tell him. Henceforth, if he went into danger, then she decided, so, too, would she. And, by goodness, she vowed to herself, she would keep him safe.
Let someone try to hurt him. They would have
her
to contend with.
She jutted her chin out and, gazing down at Strikes Two, she called up to mind what little she could remember of the Blackfoot language. She had known it once; she would know it again.
Shaking with anticipation, she said,
“Niistonnaan sapaat.”
And Strikes Two, gazing at the departing figures of the riders, replied,
“Soka’piiwa, niistonnaan sapaat.”
That had them both staring at one another in an odd fashion. And slowly, both of them smiled.
Chapter Nineteen
Mount Rising Wolf sat to the west of the travelers, its sharp, rugged form silhouetted against the setting sun, its rays still rising golden below the peaks, although the sky began to show the telltale signs of the pink and orange of an approaching evening.
They traveled north, over the Old North Trail, a path that she had been told had been traveled by countless Indians since “time before mind.”
In true Indian fashion, as soon as Strikes Two had discovered that she wished to follow and to reach the war party, they had started out at once, with little baggage to weigh them down; Strikes Two comforted her in the Blackfoot language, as well as with signs, by telling her that he could provide for her until they caught up with the others.
Katrina continued to be more than a little amazed by the young lad. He couldn’t have been over twelve years of age, but he was wise in ways that she could little understand, and, in temperament, he appeared more mature than many of her “civilized” acquaintances, who had to be more than a decade older than the boy.
She and the youth rode upon ponies, both mounts having been caught and saddled by Strikes Two, the lad explaining by way of gestures that the animals he had chosen belonged to White Eagle.
She glanced toward the ever-darkening sky, wondering if she and Strikes Two would catch up to the others by nightfall. She hoped that they would, since she did not wish to remain in the wilds overnight with only a small boy for protection.
However, it was not to be.
Strikes Two made camp shortly before evening, in a meadow of tall grasses, near a stream that rushed and flowed over rocks and sand. Katrina discovered that the water there, its source originating from mountain streams, tasted cool and refreshing. Dipping her skirt into the water, and using it as one might a bowl, she washed her hands and face before returning to the place where Strikes Two had built a small fire and spread out two buffalo robes upon the ground.