LaceysWay (18 page)

Too soon, the night turned to day and it was time for the
war party to leave. The men who were going on the raid gathered together. Most
of them were armed with bows and arrows. The bows were made of mulberry wood
because it was strong and durable, the arrows were made of cane that grew in
the mountains or along the river bottoms. Some of the men carried spears made
from sotol stalks or brandished war clubs. A few, including Matt, carried
rifles.

A silence fell over the assembled warriors as the medicine
man joined them. Lifting his arms toward Heaven, the aged shaman beseeched the
Apache gods to look with favor on the forthcoming raid. When he finished his
prayer, he handed each warrior a small bag of pollen, and another of herbs.

Abruptly High Yellow Cloud broke away from the other
warriors. Running to his favorite war horse, he vaulted onto the animal’s back
and raised his lance over his head.

“
Aiiieee!
” he shouted. “Let us ride!”

The other warriors ran for their mounts amid cries and
shouts. Matt swung aboard his horse and rode to where Lacey was standing. Like
the other warriors, he wore only a breechclout, knee-high moccasins, and
headband. Leaning over his horse’s neck, he caught Lacey around the waist,
lifted her off her feet, and kissed her soundly.

“Pray for me,” he whispered, and was gone.

Lacey stared after him until he was out of sight, and then
she ran to their lodge. Inside, she dropped to her knees and offered an urgent
prayer to God, begging Him to keep her husband from harm and bring him safely
home.

Never had a day passed so slowly. Her father and Blue Willow
tried to keep her occupied, but time and again her thoughts strayed toward Matt
and the war party. Had they found the Comanches? Had the fighting begun?

Blue Willow told Lacey that she must use only one end of the
fire poker to stir the fire until Matt returned. If she used both ends,
something bad would happen to her husband. Lacey thought such a superstition
was nonsense, yet she was careful to observe it. Why tempt fate? A wife prayed
every morning for four days after her husband left on a raid, Blue Willow
continued, and every time she took a pot of meat from the fire, she was to pray
that he would be successful. Pregnant women were not permitted to handle
weapons, or even step over them, for fear it would cause their owner to shoot
crooked.

Lacey’s father told her that the Indians believed in
inda
ke’ho’ndi
, which meant enemies against power. It was a war power that came
from
nayezgane
, Killer of Monsters. In the beginning, Royce Montana
said, Killer of Monsters went all over the earth seeking out and killing
monsters, and he was the first one to use his power in doing this.

Learning about Apache beliefs helped to pass the time, but
it didn’t keep her from worrying about Matt. She spent a sleepless night. Every
time she closed her eyes, nightmare images filled her mind, images of Matt
lying dead in a pool of blood, images of Matt wounded, killed, scalped alive.

She was up with the dawn. Dressing, she stepped outside and
took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool, fresh air. Slowly the
Indians began to stir from their lodges and the village came to life. Men went
to the river to bathe. Women dressed their children and prepared the morning
meal. The children ran through the village, playing hide and seek.

As the morning turned to afternoon, Lacey’s fears grew with
each passing minute. She was gazing into the distance, praying for Matt’s safe
return, when she saw a warrior pause at the top of a rise some distance from
the village. He reined his horse in a circle and then came thundering down the
hill toward the camp, followed by the rest of a war party.

As the rider drew near, Lacey saw it was High Yellow Cloud,
and she let her gaze sweep past him, her eyes searching the returning warriors
for Matt.

And then, miraculously, he was riding toward her, sweeping
her off her feet and onto the back of his horse. She started to ask if he was
unhurt, but his mouth closed over hers in a fiercely passionate kiss that
assured her he was well indeed. He drew rein at their lodge, kept Lacey into
his arms, dismounted in an agile movement, and carried her into the privacy of
their wickiup.

“I missed you,” he murmured huskily, his lips trailing fire
down the side of her neck to press against the bodice of her tunic.

Lacey felt the heat of his lips all the way down to her
toes, and then he was undressing her, his hands quick and eager, his eyes flame
as his gaze lingered on her silken flesh. He was naked to the waist, and he
shed his breechclout in a fluid movement, then dropped down on their blankets,
drawing Lacey with him.

He made love to her wildly, his blood hot with the need to
possess her. The excitement of battle, the memory of how close he had been to
death, gave him a renewed appreciation for life, a realization of how quickly
it could be snuffed out. He caressed Lacey, his hands and mouth adoring her
beauty.

Lacey responded to Matt’s touch, not knowing what was
driving him, but aware that his need for her at that moment was deeper than
mere physical desire. He was wild yet tender, gentle yet masterful, a stranger and
yet a well-loved friend.

Later, lying in the warmth of his arms, she asked him about
the battle.

“It was short,” Matt replied. “Short and bloody.”

“Did you kill anyone?”

“Yeah.” He spoke the word softly, regretfully.

“Oh.” Lacey stared up at the smokehole, her eyes fixed on
the tiny patch of blue sky. She could not imagine taking a human life, not even
to defend her own. “Were you scared?”

Matt laughed softly, humorlessly. “There was no time to be
scared. We rode hard and caught the Comanche just before nightfall. They were
making camp when we attacked.” Matt shook his head. “They fought like demons,
but we had them outnumbered.”

“They’re all dead?”

“Yeah.” Matt heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his very
soul. He had killed two men in hand-to-hand combat. He hadn’t been afraid at
the time. His blood had been up, his heart pounding with excitement. All around
him, men had been struggling, fighting for their lives, but he hadn’t been
aware of them at the time. His own life had been on the line, and nothing else
had mattered. It was only later, when the battle was over and the ground was
covered with bodies and blood, that he realized how close to death he had been,
realized how close he had come to never seeing Lacey again. The Apache had left
the scene of the slaughter immediately, driving their ponies before them, eager
to flee the vicinity of the newly dead.

“Did you…did you scalp anyone?” Lacey asked tremulously.

“The Chiricahua don’t take scalps,” Matt answered. “They
fear the dead. To take an enemy scalp would be unthinkable.”

“If they took scalps, would you have been able to do it?”

“I don’t think so,” Matt answered with a wry grin. “I don’t
think I’ll ever be Indian enough for that.”

There was a victory dance later that night, with singing and
dancing and many retellings of the raid against the Comanche. High Yellow Cloud
was lavishly praised for his part in the raid, commended for finding and
defeating the enemy, and for bringing all his men safely home.

Red Knife stood before the tribe and lauded Matt for his
courage in battle. The white man had fought like an enraged grizzly, Red Knife
exclaimed proudly, and was therefore worthy of an Indian name.

“In the future,” Red Knife declared, “he shall be known as
Iron Hand.” His speech ended, he took two eagle feathers from his hair and
presented them to Matt.

Lacey shivered as Matt accepted the long white plumes. Each
feather represented a man killed in battle.

The dancing and singing lasted all through the night. High
Yellow Cloud was the hero of the moment and his name was on everyone’s lips. In
addition to recovering the horses that had been stolen by the Comanche, the war
party had returned with the Comanche ponies too, and these were divided among
the men in the tribe, adding to their wealth.

Lacey avoided High Yellow Cloud, but she could not avoid his
eyes. Always he seemed to be watching her, a waiting expression on his swarthy
face. Once, when their eyes met, he grinned at her, nodding, as if to say
Soon
you will be mine
.

It made her flesh crawl and she turned away, her heart
pounding with fear.

In the days that followed, High Yellow Cloud was ever on
Lacey’s mind. No matter where she went, he was there. He never spoke to her,
never approached her, but he was always nearby, waiting. He followed her to the
river when she went after water in the morning, he followed her into the forest
when she went after wood. If she sat outside her lodge, he took a place nearby
so she was sure to see him.

Her nerves grew taut. It was disturbing, having him watching
her all the time, knowing if she went for a walk, he would be there. Even safe
inside her own lodge, she felt that High Yellow Cloud was somehow watching her.
It got so bad, she refused to go to the river or the woods alone, and she began
staying inside the lodge unless it was absolutely necessary for her to be
outside.

She didn’t voice her growing irritation or concern to Matt
for fear he would do something foolish, but she mentioned it to her father.

Royce Montana advised Lacey to stay calm, certain that sooner
or later High Yellow Cloud would stop his silly game of cat-and-mouse and go
about his own business. Lacey admitted she was probably overreacting, but she
couldn’t help it. She was afraid of the warrior, and all the wise counsel in
the world could not change that.

Things came to a head one sunny afternoon. Taking her
courage in hand, Lacey left the wickiup and headed for the river to bathe. No
Apache warrior ever accosted a woman at her bath, and she was certain that even
High Yellow Cloud would not have the nerve to follow her to the place upriver
where the women went to bathe.

With a sigh, Lacey stepped out of her doeskin tunic and
waded into the cool clear water. Closing her eyes, she drifted with the gentle
current. It was good to be alone, to be able to relax and let her mind wander
where it would. The sun was warm on her face, the water cool and refreshing.
Tonight there would be a celebration to honor Crow Hawk’s oldest daughter, who
had recently become a woman in the eyes of the tribe. There would be a feast
and dancing, and Lacey looked forward to dancing with Matt again.

Smiling with anticipation, she quickly washed her face and
hair, soaped and rinsed her body, and started for the riverbank. Then she saw
High Yellow Cloud. He was standing under a tree, her tunic in his hand.

Lacey came to an abrupt halt, her arms crossed over her
breasts, her heart pounding with fear.

High Yellow Cloud smiled at her as he held out her dress.

“Go away,” Lacey said. “You should not be here.”

“I wish to talk to you.”

“No. Go away and leave me alone.”

“Come out,” High Yellow Cloud coaxed. “I will not harm you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Lacey lied. “Now go away and leave
me alone.”

High Yellow Cloud laughed softly. “I am a patient man. Take
your time.”

It was then that Matt appeared on the scene. He took it all
in at a glance: Lacey standing in the water, her arms covering her breasts, her
eyes angry and afraid, High Yellow Cloud standing on the bank, Lacey’s tunic in
his hand, a waiting expression on his face, naked desire in his eyes.

With a cry of rage, Matt lunged at the warrior. Catching him
by surprise, he toppled High Yellow Cloud to the ground, his fists striking the
warrior’s face. High Yellow Cloud recovered quickly, and the two men grappled
wildly for several minutes until High Yellow Cloud slipped out of Matt’s grasp
and reached for his knife.

“Come on, white man,” the Apache taunted. “Feel my blade in
your belly.”

“Coward,” Matt jeered. “I have no weapon.”

The warrior grinned triumphantly. Then, with a wild cry, he
hurled himself at Matt, his knife arm raised to strike. Instinctively Matt
threw his arm up to ward off the blow, and the blade drove into his left arm
just below the elbow. Twisting, Matt wrenched sideways, jerking the knife from
High Yellow Cloud’s hand.

With a grunt, Matt yanked the blade from his arm and whirled
around to face High Yellow Cloud. Now
he
was smiling. “Come on, Injun,”
he taunted. “Feel my blade in
your
belly.”

Lacey held her breath as the two men eyed each other warily.
Would High Yellow Cloud charge, or would he simply wait until Matt grew so weak
from loss of blood that he could no longer fight back?

Matt seemed unaware of the blood dripping from his arm. His
midnight blue eyes were alight with the need for vengeance, his lips pulled
back in a feral snarl as he waited for High Yellow Cloud to make the next move.

Abruptly Matt lowered the knife, and a soft laugh emerged
from his throat. “I knew it,” he said in a mocking tone. “You are a coward.”

A grin of triumph spread across High Yellow Cloud’s face as
he pulled a skinning knife from inside one of the knee-high moccasins he wore.
With the war cry of the people on his lips, he hurled himself at Matt, and the
two men crashed to the earth in a tangle of flailing arms and legs as each
tried to strike a fatal blow.

Heedless of her nudity, Lacey emerged from the river, her
face pale, her eyes clouded with fear as she watched the two men grappling in
the dirt. This would be a fight to the death, she thought helplessly, and Matt
was going to lose.

She screamed with horror as High Yellow Cloud’s blade sliced
into Matt’s right side.

Lacey’s terrified cry echoed in Matt’s ears. He risked a
quick look in her direction, his eyes taking in her nakedness and beauty and
the concern on her face in a single glance. If he lost the fight, his suffering
would be over forever. Lacey would be the real loser.