A Whisper In The Wind (15 page)

“You’ll have to rest for the next three or four days,” she said, smoothing her skirt down over what was left of her petticoat. “And you’ll be stiff for a week or so, but at least nothing’s broken.”

“We can’t stay here for three or four days.”

“Why not?”

“Think about it.”

He was right. They had no food, no water, no matches for a fire.

“You won’t be able to ride for at least a day or two,” Elayna said, “and even then it’s going to hurt like the very devil.”

“It hurts now.”

“I know, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better. You’ve got some nasty bruises there. They aren’t going to heal overnight.”

Michael nodded glumly. He’d taken a course or two in First Aid. The surface bruises were already black and blue; it would take a day or two for the deeper ones to surface and when they did, he’d be a sight to see.

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Elayna suggested. “I’ll see if I can’t find some berries or something.”

“Take the rifle, just in case.”

Michael watched her walk away, wondering why she had followed him.

He was still puzzling over the question as he drifted to sleep.

Elayna sat beside Michael, watching him sleep. They’d eaten the berries she’d found, and then Michael had fallen asleep again. He was hurting, but it would only be for a few days. She thanked God he hadn’t been hurt worse, and then, unable to hold them back any longer, she let the tears come, releasing all the hurt and confusion of the past few weeks.

She cared for Michael Wolf, cared for him deeply. Why else had she been so concerned for his welfare back at the fort? Why else had she defied Lance, risked her father’s ire and Major Cathcart’s wrath by visiting Michael in the guardhouse? And when he escaped, forcing her to go with him, why hadn’t she hollered for help? One scream would have brought a hundred soldiers to her defense. Michael would not have harmed her. She knew it now. She had known it then.

She cared for Michael Wolf. The realization had hit her like a shaft of lightning when she saw him riding away from her amid a hail of bullets. He could have been killed, and it would have been all her fault.

And yet, admitting she cared solved nothing. He was still an Indian. She was still white. But somehow those differences no longer seemed as important as they once had.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Michael was stiff and sore in every muscle the next day. His entire upper body was black and blue, and his shoulder hurt like sin.

Elayna went looking for more berries but returned empty-handed, and it was then that Michael offered her his knife.

“Go cut some meat from my horse,” he told her.

“I can’t.”

“We’ve got to eat something, and that’s all there is.”

“Raw? I couldn’t.”

“I’ll try and start a fire. And don’t forget to take the rifle.”

Face grim with determination, Elayna mounted her horse and rode down the brush-covered slope to where Michael’s horse lay rotting in the sun. She stared at the fly-blown carcass for several minutes and knew there was no way she could cut into the bloated carcass, let alone eat the meat, raw
or
cooked.

But they had to eat something. Her stomach was growling even now, but more urgent than the need for food was the need for water. Surely there was a stream or a waterhole nearby.

She rode past the dead horse, her gaze sweeping the plains for some sign of water, and then she gave her horse free rein, hoping it would find water, but the mare dropped her head and began cropping the sparse yellow grass.

Discouraged, Elayna was about to turn back when she saw the horsemen. There were two of them. For a moment she feared they were Indians, but as the riders drew closer, she saw they were white.

Miners, Elayna thought, her spirits rising. Perhaps they’d have some food and water to spare.

“Well, hello there, girlie. What’re you doing out here all alone?”

Elayna stared at the man, her relief quickly turning to apprehension. He was big and broad-shouldered, with a long scar across his left cheek. His hair was long and dirty, his buckskins stained with filth.

The second man was reed-thin. His hair was black and greasy, his close-set brown eyes malevolent.

Elayna felt her blood turn cold when she saw the long black scalps hanging from the thin man’s saddlehorn.

“What’s the matter, girlie?” the first man asked with a leer. “Cat got your tongue?”

The second man grinned. “I’ll have her hollerin’ with pleasure, Ed, just you wait.”

“You
wait,” the man called Ed retorted, “you was first the last time.”

“Like hell, I…”

She’d die before she let either man touch her, Elayna thought, and slamming her heels into her horse’s sides, she raced back the way she had come.

With a whoop, the two men gave chase.

Elayna pounded her heels into the mare’s sides, her heart hammering with fear. Only then did she remember the rifle. She vowed she’d use it if she had to, and prayed it wouldn’t be necessary, because she knew she’d never be able to pull the trigger, to take a human life. Not even to save her own.

She was breathless with fear when she reached Michael. Sliding from her horse, she ran toward him.

“They’re coming!” She clutched the rifle to her breast, her chest heaving.

“Who’s coming?” Michael asked, but before Elayna could reply, the two men were there. They pulled their horses to an abrupt halt when they saw Michael.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ed exclaimed. “Looks like we got us another scalp, Clem.”

“And a woman,” Clem mused. “Put the rifle down, honey. We ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

What happened next was forever burned in Elayna’s mind. It happened so fast, and yet it seemed they were all moving in slow motion, she saw everything so clearly.

The man called Ed drew his Colt and aimed it at Michael, who was struggling to his feet while the man called Clem dismounted and started toward her.

But it was Michael who was in danger. Without thinking, she swung the rifle around and squeezed the trigger, a sob rising in her throat as she saw the awful red stain that spread across Ed’s chest before he toppled to the ground.

But the horror was not over. She felt a tug at her side as Michael wrenched his knife from her skirt pocket and hurled it at Clem. It sank to the hilt in the man’s chest and he stood there, staring at the quivering handle, for stretched seconds before he crumpled to the ground at Michael’s feet.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and then, with a low groan, Michael dropped to his knees, his left hand cradling his right arm.

Elayna stared at Michael, and then at the rifle in her hands. She had killed a man. The bile rose hot and thick in her throat and she dropped the rifle and turned away, retching violently.

She had killed a man. She closed her eyes, but the memory was permanently seared in her mind; the weight of the rifle in her hands, the weapon’s recoil as she squeezed the trigger, the sound of the gunshot, the acrid smell of gunsmoke, and the blood…

Michael drew a deep breath, willing the pain in his shoulder to subside as he gained his feet and went to stand beside Elayna. Placing his left arm around her shoulder, he drew her close. “It’s all right.”

“No.” She was crying now, silent tears that burned her eyes but did nothing to ease her guilt.

“You saved my life.”

The words were softly spoken, filled with gratitude. And truth.

She stayed in his arms a long time, content to be held. And then she felt him tremble against her and she remembered that he had been hurt. She thought of the strength needed to throw the knife that had killed Clem, the strain on his bruised shoulder, and a rush of gratitude filled her heart. She had saved Michael’s life, but he had saved her from something far worse than death.

“Sit down,” she urged. “Your shoulder…”

“I’m all right.”

“Please?”

“Later.” He glanced at the dead men. “Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. She helped him mount Ed’s horse, saw the pain darken his eyes as he eased into the saddle. She picked up the rifle, took up the reins of Clem’s horse, and then mounted her own mare and followed Michael down the slope.

They rode for over an hour, heading south toward the Platte. Camp Robinson lay in the opposite direction, and Elayna felt a twinge of regret as they rode further away from her father. She would have liked to see him, if only for a little while, to assure him she was all right. But then she looked at Michael and in her heart she knew she was where she belonged. Lance would tell her father she was alive and well.

She chuckled softly. Her father would never believe she had gone with Michael Wolf willingly this time. Not in a million years.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lance was scowling blackly when he left the major’s office, his ears still ringing with Cathcart’s verbal abuse. He’d been in the Army for ten years, he mused, and served under Cathcart for eight, and this was the worst dressing-down he’d ever received.

Pausing on the porch outside the major’s office, he glanced across the parade ground at the infirmary. He wasn’t looking forward to talking to Elayna’s father about what had happened, but putting it off wasn’t going to make it any easier.

Swearing softly, he walked down the stairs and headed toward the infirmary. Cathcart had given him twelve hours to rest up before he rode out again.

“And don’t come back without those horses,” Cathcart had warned. “And O’Brien’s daughter, too, dammit!”

Lance shook his head ruefully. It had taken him and his men eight days to walk back to the fort. Eight backbreaking days of packing their saddles and gear across miles and miles of sun-baked prairie, each man praying that they wouldn’t run into a Sioux war party.

He found O’Brien in the operating room, filling out a requisition for medical supplies.

“Afternoon, Doc,” Lance said, removing his hat.

Robert O’Brien looked up, his expression hopeful. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank God.” A smile lit the doctor’s face. “Where is she?”

Lance cleared his throat. “Listen, Doc…”

“She’s all right, isn’t she?”

“She’s fine, but…”

“But what? You said she’s all right.”

“She was with that redskin who kidnapped her.”

O’Brien cursed under his breath. “If he laid a hand on her, I’ll kill him!”

“She said he didn’t, ah, didn’t hurt her, but…”

“Never mind,” O’Brien said impatiently. “I’ll let Elayna tell me what happened. Thanks for coming by.”

“Wait, Doc. She’s not here.”

“Not here?”

“Just listen a minute. We caught the redskin and we were on our way home when he escaped. It was late and he overpowered the sentries and drove off our horses. All but one.”

Lance paused, not wanting to believe what he knew to be true. The Indian had left the horse behind for Elayna, hoping she’d follow him.

“Go on,” O’Brien urged.

“Well, there was a lot of confusion and gunfire and before I could stop her, Elayna went riding after that damned Injun.”

“She went after him?” O’Brien shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah. We couldn’t go after her on foot.”

O’Brien stared at Lance. Could it be true? He thought back, remembering how interested Elayna had been in the Indian’s welfare. And she had been in the guardhouse the night the Indian escaped. Had it been planned ahead of time?

“I’m sorry, Doc.”

O’Brien nodded. “Thanks for coming by, Lieutenant.”

Lance settled his hat on his head and started for the door. “We’ll be leaving at first light,” he called over his shoulder.

O’Brien watched the young man leave the room, and then he let out a long sigh. “Bring her back to me, boy,” he murmured softly. “Please, just bring her back to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They found shelter in a stand of tall trees. There was water in a narrow winding stream that was only a few inches deep, but the water was cool and sweet.

The miners’ packs yielded a veritable treasure, an assortment of tinned meat and fruit, cooking utensils, two tin plates and cups, a pair of knives and forks, a sack of coffee and another of tobacco, a dozen potatoes that had started to sprout, several boxes of matches, and three bottles of whiskey. There were also two bedrolls and a couple of blankets.

Once they were settled, Michael took one of the bottles of whiskey, drank half, and then went to sleep.

Elayna gazed at Michael affectionately. The first thing he had done when they arrived was dig a hole in the soft soil beside the stream and bury the scalps that had been hanging from Clem’s saddlehorn. He had handled the scalps reverently as he laid them in the earth, as if they were more than just bits of hair.

He was a remarkable man, she thought, remarkable indeed, but there was work to be done and she wasn’t going to accomplish anything if she stood there admiring him all day, as pleasant as that might be.

It was time to set up house. She gathered stones and made a pit for the fire, sorted through the canned goods, shook out the bedroll that would be hers, wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale sweat and tobacco. She gave it one more good shake, then spread it over a bush in the sun, thinking she would do the same for Michael’s bedroll when he woke up.

Going to the stream, she filled the battered coffee pot with water and filled the canteen that had been tied to Ed’s saddle. Returning to camp, she dumped a handful of ground coffee in the pot and set the pot on a rock while she gathered kindling for a fire.

Then she sat down and observed her handiwork, pleased with what she’d accomplished. The camp was neat, the fire was ready to be lit. The horses were grazing nearby. And Michael was sleeping peacefully. It was what he needed most, rest and more rest.

He was still asleep when the sun went down.

Elayna huddled near the fire, wishing Michael would wake up. There were sounds in the night, rustling in the underbrush. She told herself there was nothing to fear. Wild animals would not approach the fire. Noises could not hurt her.

But she wished Michael would wake up.

To busy herself, she fixed something to eat, drank a cup of coffee, glancing at Michael again and again to see if he was awake, but he slept like the dead.

She ate quickly, then rolled up in her blankets beside Michael. She felt better just being close to him.

In minutes she was asleep.

* * * * *

He woke slowly, his head aching from too much whiskey taken on an empty stomach.

Elayna was asleep beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He wondered again why she had followed him. She had been unhappy with the Cheyenne, so anxious to go home. And then, when she had the chance to go back to her own people, she had run after him instead. Why?

She came awake then, and he saw the answer to his question in her eyes.

He murmured her name, and then he kissed her, slowly, deliberately, and she was kissing him back, her tongue sliding over his lips.

She sat up, facing him as she leaned across his chest, her hair falling around him like a red silk waterfall as she kissed him again, a wave of desire uncurling within her like a leaf unfolding in the sun.

“Oh, Michael,” she murmured, “I’ve been such a fool.” She buried her face in his shoulder, wondering why she hadn’t realized sooner that she loved him. She had been drawn to him from the first, wanting him, and hating herself because of it. He had been kind to her, putting up with her tantrums, ignoring her sour looks, eating the tasteless meals she had prepared for him without complaint. He had offered her a change of clothing so she wouldn’t be so conspicuous, had tried to teach her his language so she could communicate with the other women, and she had scorned his efforts, and in so doing had only made herself more miserable.

Michael took her chin in his hand and lifted her head. “What is it?”

“Oh, Michael, I’ve behaved like a shrew and you’ve been so kind to me. You even offered to take me home, and now you’re hurt and it’s all my fault. Can you ever forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I wish…never mind.”

“What do you wish?”

“That you weren’t hurt.”

“Oh?” he asked, grinning. “Why is that?”

She shook her head, too shy to say the words aloud. But he knew what she wanted. He had always known.

“Soon,” he promised, drawing her down beside him. “Soon.”

They rested in the shelter of the trees for five days while Michael recovered. They were days Elayna cherished, long, lazy days spent getting to know each other better. She told Michael about growing up as an Army brat, moving from post to post. She told him about her mother and how she’d had the “sight”. Elayna knew that most people thought it was nonsense, but Michael believed it was real, a gift from the spirits.

Michael told her about his parents, how his father had become a slave to the white man’s whiskey, how his mother had died of a broken heart soon after his father’s death.

He began to teach her the Cheyenne language. At first she was certain she’d never master his native tongue, but they practiced it for several hours each day, and by the time they were ready to leave, she had learned several words and useful phrases:
pave-eseeva
meant ‘good day’,
e-peva’e
was Cheyenne for ‘It’s good’.
Ne-pevo-mohta-he
translated into ‘How are you?’ And
Na-ho’e-ohtse
meant ‘I’ve come visiting.’

Knowing some everyday Cheyenne gave her a feeling of confidence. Now she would be able to communicate with Michael’s family, at least a little. And she would keep learning and practicing his language until she could speak it fluently.

Seven days after his accident, Michael felt well enough to travel and decided they would start for home the following day.

That last night in the shelter of the trees, Elayna lay next to Michael, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She was aware of his arm around her waist, of his hair brushing against her cheek, of his thigh pressed against her own.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better.”

“Are you sleepy?”

“A little.”

“Oh.”

Michael grinned into the darkness. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason.”

He chuckled softly, knowing what she wanted. It had been hard, not touching her while he waited for his bruises to heal. Being near her every minute of the day, watching her as she prepared their meals, listening to her laughter, it had been hell keeping his hands off her.

“It’s a pretty night, isn’t it?” she said, wishing he could read her mind.

“Elayna.”

She heard the question in his voice and felt her heart begin to pound in anticipation. Of course he knew what she wanted. Hadn’t she seen the longing in his eyes?

“Yes, Michael?” Joy was bubbling inside her. She felt her cheeks grow hot as he turned on his side and gazed into her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Elayna nodded, her heart soaring as he kissed her, lightly at first, his tongue darting out to tickle her lips, dipping playfully, provocatively, into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, welcoming his kisses, his nearness.

His hands were gentle as he removed her chemise, so gentle, and yet she could feel his fingers trembling against her skin, trembling with the same desire that had plagued her for so long.

They undressed each other leisurely, not wanting to rush the moment, wanting to savor each new discovery. And then they were lying in each other’s arms, with nothing but desire between them. Michael kissed her slowly, his lips warm, patiently demanding. His hands slid over her flesh, his touch like a soft flame that heated her blood and made her heart sing. And she was touching him in return, all shyness swept away in the magic of the moment. She gloried in his hard-muscled flesh, and in the harsh rasp of his breathing as her untutored hands brought him pleasure. He was beautiful, she thought, the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Even the ugly scars that crisscrossed his back were beautiful because they were his.

As she would be his, from this night forward.

She murmured his name as his flesh joined with hers, filling her, so that they were no longer two separate entities but one being.

“Nemehotatse,”
Michael murmured, his breath warm and seductive against her ear.

“Nemehotatse,”
Elayna repeated. “What does it mean?”

“I’d have taught it to you long ago if you hadn’t been so stubborn,” Michael replied with a roguish grin. “It means I love you.”

“What a beautiful word,” Elayna said, caressing Michael’s cheek. “How do you say Wolf?”

“Ho-nehe.”

“Nemehotatse, Ho-nehe.”

He smiled into her eyes, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her deeply, fervently, passionately.

And in that kiss was the promise of forever.

Yellow Spotted Wolf was standing outside his lodge when Michael and Elayna rode into the village.

“Ah, cousin,” Yellow Spotted Wolf said, grinning broadly as Michael approached him. “I had a feeling you would not come back alone.”

“Did you?” Michael replied as he dismounted and helped Elayna from her horse.

Yellow Spotted Wolf nodded. “One had only to see the two of you together to know you would not be happy apart.”

“We’ll never be apart again,” Elayna said solemnly. “Never again.”

Elayna took a new interest in village life. She discarded her dress and corset and chemise in favor of a soft doeskin tunic. It was wonderfully comfortable, though she felt almost naked without her corset and chemise. Naked and a little bit wicked to be wearing so little. She put away her shoes and stockings and discovered that Cheyenne moccasins were the most comfortable footwear in all the world. She made an effort to improve her cooking, experimenting with wild herbs and seasoning, asking Hemene for recipes that Michael might like. She kept their lodge tidy so that Michael would not be ashamed of her when his relatives came to visit.

And they came often now, especially Yellow Spotted Wolf. It was easy to see that Michael loved the young man, yet she often had the feeling that he was holding something back, that there was something he wanted to tell Yellow Spotted Wolf and just couldn’t find the words. But when she asked Michael about it, he shook his head and told her she was imagining things.

She made an effort to be friendly with the women, and they began to include her when they went to gather wood or water. They were not savages after all, she discovered, but hardworking wives and mothers who wanted only the best for their husbands and children. They were loving daughters and sisters, loyal friends, and yes, fierce fighters when necessary. Much like women the world over.

Elayna felt a special affection for Soaring Eagle’s wife, Sunflower Woman, who was about the same age as Elayna, and for Yellow Spotted Wolf’s mother, Hemene. Elayna tried to apologize to them for her earlier rude behavior, but they stilled her words with hugs and assured her that they understood and it was forgotten. They were friends now, and that was all that mattered.

Sunflower Woman was one of the most cheerful, pleasant people Elayna had ever known. She never said an unkind word, rarely complained, and had only the highest praise for her husband. She was pregnant and anxious to present Soaring Eagle with a son.

Hemene was the soul of kindness, loved by everyone, old and young alike. New mothers went to her for advice, new brides sought her counsel, children tagged at her heels. She was a fine seamstress, and her handiwork was prized by the other women in the tribe.

Elayna’s days were filled with hard work, and constant exposure to the sun tanned her skin, but she had no complaints and as the days passed, and her love for Michael deepened and increased, she thought less and less of her old home. Michael was her home now. His people were becoming her people.

She smiled as a verse she had learned in Sunday school came to mind. “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God…”

The passage was from the Book of Ruth, she mused, but she had always thought the words sounded more like a woman speaking to her lover than a daughter-in-law speaking to her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, they were beautiful words and captured exactly the feelings of her heart.

She gazed into the distance, wondering when Michael and Yellow Spotted Wolf would return. They had gone hunting early that morning and she was missing Michael more every minute they were gone. She went into the lodge and began to brush her hair, wanting to look her best when he returned.

* * * * *

Michael and Yellow Spotted Wolf were stretched out side by side on a sun-bleached patch of grass near the river a few miles from the village. The hunt had been unsuccessful and they had stopped on the way home for a leisurely swim.