Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (37 page)

She stopped, completely still, listening.

Had she really seen them? Was it only her imagination?

She touched her fingers to her lips. No, it had been real. As real as the lingering scent that had been caught in the prairie winds.

She would return to Night Thunder.

She would ask Robert Clark to take her back immediately.

Turning, she paced to the place where she had left her horse, not at all surprised to discover that the man, and the animals, who had accompanied her here had fled.

Curiously, she smiled.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Long Flagpole, as the Indians called it, or Fort Union, stood before her, its walls looking more prison to Rebecca, at the moment, than haven. Horses, enclosed within an unsightly corral, munched on the rich though dry prairie grass, while further away, cows swished their tails and glared at the newcomers.

The manure and sickening sweet smell of the steers suddenly struck Rebecca as they rode past them, and she could barely refrain from holding her nose. Why had she never noticed their unsightly odor before? Or more important, when had she become more accustomed to the stronger scent of the buffalo?

None of the graceful Indian tepees dotted the landscape around the fort at this time of year, either, which would have made a more welcoming homecoming. Rebecca sighed, resigned.

Robert Clark had refused to take her back to the Indian encampment, and Rebecca had needed to comfort herself with the knowledge that if Katrina were still at Fort Union, then White Eagle, Katrina’s husband, would be there, too, and he would take her back to Night Thunder.

It was this thought alone that had given her courage to continue on with their trek.

Fort Union’s gates opened to them at once, without requiring then to announce themselves.

Rebecca rode in with the three men, uncertain of what awaited her. Perhaps because she hadn’t expected much, she was greatly surprised to be met by not only her employer, Katrina, but with Katrina’s husband, White Eagle. Also present were another white woman, a beautiful redheaded white woman, and another Indian whom Rebecca did not recognize. Two elder gentlemen joined the party also, all of them forming a welcoming line. Who were these people? Europeans, and in particular European women, were rare in this part of the country.

No matter, Rebecca sent Katrina a happy smile, and quickly dismounting, the two women embraced one another.

“I have been so worried about you,” said Katrina, Rebecca’s mistress.

As her blond hair curled around her face in neat order, Katrina appeared just as Rebecca remembered her, and Rebecca smiled at this mistress who had long ago become her friend.

“And I am glad to see you, too. Thank you for sending these men to find me.”

“Of course. Come, let me introduce you to my friends.” Katrina, her arm around Rebecca’s waist, led her toward the assembled group. “You know White Eagle, of course.” The Indian man nodded recognition to her. “And this lady here is Lady Genevieve, and her husband, Gray Hawk; her father, Viscount Rohan. Lady Genevieve and her father have come here from England, originally to study the dialects of the Indians.”

Rebecca nodded toward them all. Viscount Rohan took her hand into his and kissed the back of it, causing Rebecca to smile.

Not a single emotion crossed either Indian’s face, though Rebecca, seemingly attuned to the Indian character by now, could sense their puzzlement over the viscount’s strange behavior. A man, stooping over a woman’s hand? Where was the man’s sense of honor?

However, she could little consider such thoughts as Katrina was continuing, “And this gentleman here is my uncle, trader Wellington.”

“How do you do?”

“Pleasured, ma’am, pleasured.” The elder man took her hand into his and kissed it.

Katrina hardly missed a beat as she went on to say, “But come, now, let the men care for your horse and anything else you have brought with you while Genevieve and I escort you into the fort. You must be exhausted.”

Was she? She had become so used to physical activity that she had begun to give her body little thought.

Rebecca went with her friend, though. It would be good to chat with the others for a while, to become accustomed to speaking in English again and to learn about what was happening in the “States,” as the frontiersmen called it, referring to the United States as though it were a foreign country.

Then, once they were all settled, perhaps she would ask Katrina to persuade her husband to accompany her back to the Indian village. Back to her love, Night Thunder.

“Where is Night Thunder?” asked Katrina. “I thought he might have come with you.”

The two women sat in the drawing room of the bourgeois house, sipping tea and coffee.

“Night Thunder is still in his village, I believe,” said Rebecca. “I left in a bit of a hurry.”

“You did?”

Rebecca nodded briefly, glancing away.

“And…?”

“And what?”

“What happened between you and Night Thunder? He did save you from the Assiniboin, did he not?”

“They were Blackfoot Indians that took me—the Blood tribe.”

“Then that must have been easier for him.”

“Or harder.”

For all that Katrina bore the distinctive blond hair, her eyes were quite dark, and they stared into Rebecca’s own now. She asked, “What do you mean?”

Rebecca drew a long breath. “Night Thunder couldn’t be fighting them over me, now, could he? They were from his own tribe.”

Katrina gave her an odd sort of smile. “Then how did he save you?”

“He…well, he married me.”

“He what?”

“No, no, he didn’t really marry me. He only pretended it.”

“Pretended? He lied about it? But he is a medicine man, isn’t he?”

“Not yet,” said Rebecca. “He will be when their current medicine man can no longer function.”

“Goodness,” said Katrina. “I have never heard of such a thing. He must think highly of you to have done this for you.”

Rebecca paused. “I think so.”

“Then what are you doing here without him? Why did you leave in a hurry? He did marry you, in fact, did he not?”

Rebecca cleared her throat and stared away. She said, “Aye, he did, but…”

“But what?”

“He…” Rebecca looked back at Katrina. “He was engaged to marry another, and I thought it best if I were to leave.”

“Hmmm,” said Katrina. “The plot thickens.”

“Doesn’t it?” Rebecca smiled.

“What happened?”

“I left so that he could marry the other woman. Oh, Katrina, it’s all so complicated. I want White Eagle to take me back to Night Thunder’s camp. Do you think you could convince him to do that? And before the snow comes?”

Katrina smiled, a rare, secretive smile. She said, “I think I might be able to do something to…influence him.”

Rebecca grinned. “I bet you can,” and seeing the flush upon Katrina’s face, Rebecca added, “My, but you haven’t said a thing about you and White Eagle. Won’t you tell me what has happened to you? I had heard that you and White Eagle married.”

Katrina nodded.

“And weren’t you hating your uncle, now? If I remember correctly, the last time I saw you, you were intent on having your revenge on him for demanding you come into this country. Has that changed, too?”

Katrina smiled. “Yes,
it seems I misunderstood a lot. But now, as you can see, all is well.”

“Aye,” said Rebecca. “I can see that. All, that is, except Night Thunder…”

Katrina took hold of her hand. “Then we’ll have to take care of that, won’t we? I will talk to White Eagle at once and we will prepare to go.”

“We?”

“You don’t think I’d let you go back into Indian country without me, do you? And my uncle loves that part of the country better than any other. I would assume, too, that Genevieve and her husband will want to go with us; probably, too, her father. We’ll make quite a party, won’t we?”

Rebecca grinned. Two women of the upper class gentry, traveling over the wilderness with their Indian husbands? Rebecca certainly did not want to miss seeing this. She said, “We’ll make quite a sight, at that.”

The two women looked at each other, and at the same time started to giggle as though they were children.

“White Eagle says he will take you to the Indian camp, but that we cannot go until we have a celebration.”

“A celebration? Of what?”

“Of your return, of course.” It was Lady Genevieve speaking, and Rebecca chanced to catch a glimpse of the beautiful lady, so delicately dressed, so very genteel.

It was hard for Rebecca to comprehend that these two women who sat with her were married to Indians…plains Indians. Yet one had only to see the two of them to realize that they were both happy.

That Katrina’s uncle and Lady Genevieve’s father had both sanctioned the marriages probably helped to strengthen the unions, but Rebecca felt sure that both ladies would have followed their hearts, no matter the urgings of their patriarchs.

Rebecca grinned. “Are we to celebrate my return only to have me leave at once?”

“It seems only right to me,” answered Katrina.

“That’s the way I see it, too,” said Genevieve. All three of them were seated outdoors, a blanket thrown over the dry ground. Two days had passed since she had arrived back at the fort. Two days during which Rebecca had been anxiously awaiting word from White Eagle.

“My husband says there are to be special guests at our celebration,” Lady Genevieve said, a note of secrecy in her voice.

But Rebecca cared little. She only wanted to leave with all haste, and hurry back to Night Thunder. “Is that so?”

Lady Genevieve nodded, but Katrina went on, in the same sort of tone that Lady Genevieve had used, “Indians do nothing, you will find, without a great deal of ceremony. It makes living with them all the more interesting…and exciting.”

“Does it?” asked Rebecca. “It is good to see you so happy, Miss Katrina.”

Katrina raised her brows. “Since when do you call me Miss Katrina? I thought we had been all through that.”

“And please do call me Genny,” said Lady Genevieve. “It seems so much of a warmer name, somehow. And it’s so silly, here in the States, to keep the title of Lady, is it not?”

Rebecca smiled. She said, “Genny
does
seem much more a casual name, and it fits in a bit more with the setting here, I do agree.”

“There, now, do you see? Already we’re going to be grand friends, we three.”

All three women grinned.

“There, now that the celebration has been settled, why don’t we start to make plans for the ball?”

Rebecca’s eyes flew wide. “A ball?”

Katrina stared at her. “Of course, a ball, silly. How else did you think we were going to celebrate?”

“I thought we were going to have a small party.”

“Then you thought incorrectly,” said Genevieve. “If we are all to travel to the Indian villages and stay there, then we shall have to say our farewells in proper style, don’t you think? And a proper ball will do it well. Shall we start the preparations?”

Rebecca was more than happy to agree.

Dusk descended upon the land, while gaiety filled the home of the fort’s bourgeois.

Torches had been lit, transforming the entire house into a bright and lively ballroom. Chandeliers from up above dripped wax into a glass circle laid out on the floor, and dancers swayed to the music of a quadrille. Several fiddles had been found plus a guitar and a clavichord. Strange symphony, strange setting, and equally strange dancers. Yet it was satisfying for all that.

Only three white woman had taken to the floor in dance, as they were the only white women in the fort. But there were more women dancing, the rest Indian wives of the employees.

Rebecca stood amazed at how her Indian counterparts had taken to the dance of the quadrille. How they could leap and shuffle, their husbands picking them up and swinging them round and round and high into the air.

They were all chattering, too, and laughing like all young ladies anywhere in the world would do.

Oddly, Rebecca found she missed the drums and the Indian melodies set in a minor key, but she kept that knowledge to herself.

She had just finished a dance with an employee of the fort, but her mind had been only half on what she was doing. She needed time to pull her thoughts together.

She missed Night Thunder. Funny, that here, at last, she was attending a ball thrown in her honor, something she had yearned for all her life, yet all she could do tonight was think about Night Thunder, missing him.

She wished to be on the trail, instead of here, making her way back to him. But Katrina’s husband, White Eagle, had insisted upon the ball. It was all Rebecca could do to pretend to be enjoying herself.

She smiled as yet another young man came up and asked her for the pleasure of a dance. She flicked open the fan in her hand and fanned it back and forth in front of her face furiously.