Proud Wolf's Woman (3 page)

“Why do you think we’re not traveling on?” she asked, leaning down to whisper into her horse’s ear. “Do you wish that I were off your back?”

Her gelding whinnied as though in reply, and the young woman reached down a hand to pat his neck. “Soon, boy, soon. I’m sure we’ll be moving on soon. What I don’t understand,” she said, “is why we aren’t making more progress toward the fort. Or if it is necessary that we stop, why aren’t we dismounting?”

The horse shook his head, and the woman grinned, but only for a moment. She glanced over toward her husband and frowned. He sat gazing steadily about him, his look grim, daunting, while he listened to his second-in-command. She narrowed her eyes.

“Trouble.” She hadn’t known she’d spoken the word aloud until her gelding flickered his ears. “Yes,”
she said, her gaze still fixed on her husband. “There’s bound to be some trouble before we reach the fort.”

She pressed her lips together. No one had said anything to her. No one had to. She’d felt the agitation of the dragoons last night as though their distress were carried to her upon the wind. She’d heard the whispers, the rumors, even the muffled cursing of the men, and it had taken only a few inquires on her part to give her an idea of just why these men were moody, on guard, expectant.

“If they’re attacked, it would only be what they deserved—if the rumors are true,” she said her thoughts aloud, then shook her head. “When did I become so unsympathetic, boy?” she asked the horse as though the animal could give her an answer. “I used to understand these men. I used to understand their prejudice, I even used to agree with it. But that seems so long ago now. And fella”—she patted the horse’s neck—“what am I to do? This is my husband’s command; it’s
his
men who may have committed these crimes. I’m supposed to support him…them, aren’t I?”

The horse snorted while the young woman raised her chin, bringing her face full, into the wind: “It’s just that I don’t know what to do in this situation,” she said, half to herself, half to her gelding. She bent down over the animal. “All of my experiences out here so far do not give me any sort of clear idea of what I should do. The only thing I can do,” she continued, “is to hope that my husband remains, himself, innocent of the crimes that I suspect his men committed. Surely he would have tried to stop them, wouldn’t he?”

The young, dark-haired woman raised her head and, in doing so, choked back a sigh, letting her gaze fall onto this man who was her husband. Her look was potent, as though by this simple action, she could see into his soul as well as endow the man with a strength of character he did not possess.

All at once, without her realizing it, a low moan sounded in her throat, the utterance of it similar to that of a wounded animal. She closed her eyes. She released her pent-up breath as she came face-to-face with a fact: If what she suspected were true, her husband could have restrained his men, and by doing so, could have prevented their present misfortune. But he hadn’t. Why?

Was it because he, too, was guilty of the crimes?

She opened her eyes wide to gaze at the man who was her husband. Was it true, what she suspected? Had he participated in the crimes against the Indians? Surely not, and yet… Even if personally innocent, wasn’t he guilty of the acts of his men by reason of his command?

She grimaced, and the horse beneath her shifted. She reached out a hand to pet the animal again, while she bent again over his head. She whispered, “What am I to do? Do you know, boy? That man is my husband. Am I not sworn to love and understand him despite the harsh bearings of life, despite his mistakes, despite mine? But, dear Lord, if he really did what I suspect…if the rumors are true, his men did more than make a simple mistake. If true, they have committed terrible acts, acts I cannot condone, no matter my marital state.”

She remembered again the mission of these dragoons: a peaceful visit to the Kiowa, one of goodwill and friendship. Where had it gone so wrong?

She had accompanied this troop at the start of their journey, staying with them until they had reached the Colbys’, where she had left them to help with Mr. Colby’s Indian wife. She had only rejoined the dragoons yesterday.

She thought back to what she had observed about this troop of men, and, unwillingly, mental images came to mind that she would have rather forgotten: certain of the men laughing at the misfortune of the “hang around the fort Indians,” throwing those Indians bits of food as though they were no more than animals, antagonizing their leaders with cursing, with degradation of their women, their young girls. And she knew without doubt that these men were not only capable of the rumored crimes, that by the actions of her husband now, these crimes were most likely a reality.

She sat back up in her seat, pondering her predicament. There was danger here, and perhaps deserved danger.

And she knew that it was their plight now that bothered her husband, not remorse, and certainly not the actions of his men.

Unbidden, she heard his voice from out of the past, speaking to her as though that time were now: “
The red man is a savage, an animal of prey,”
he’d said to her. “
And like an animal, a bear or a cougar, we must kill him where we find him. If we don’t, the godless creatures will soon murder us all. Remember this. The red man is a parasite and the sooner he is wiped off the earth, the better for us all.”

The young woman lifted her gaze to the heavens above her, staring at the light blue of the cloudless sky while she attempted to clear her thoughts. A pair of eagles chose that moment to fly overhead, causing the young woman to remember another time, another place, when someone from out of her past had told her a story of the eagle—a bold, adventurous tale. For just a single instant of time she experienced again the feelings she’d had then, the sense of being excited by the fullness of life around her, the affinity life holds for life, an appreciation for all living things, shown to her by someone she had respected…an Indian.

And she knew that despite what her husband said, despite the commonly held attitudes within the fort, she didn’t believe. She did not agree.

She couldn’t.

She shivered, though the sun encompassed and enshrouded her with glowing warmth. She had to stop thinking of these things, of the Indians she had known so long ago. If she didn’t, the conflict in the cultures would confuse her.

She moved in the saddle, the action uncomfortable as her bladder responded to the motion, reminding her she had not yet seen to her body’s needs since arising. She would have to do something about it; she would need a moment of privacy…quite soon.

She cast an uncertain glance at her husband, trying to determine what his response would be if she were to ask him to accompany her to a private spot. Although maybe she should not bother him. Perhaps she should just move out away from the line of men and relieve her natural callings discreetly, if that were possible in this land without a single tree for protection.

She grimaced. No, she would have to ask her husband to accompany her.

She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. “What do you think I should say, boy?” she asked of her gelding again. “How can I ask my husband to help me when, by coming in close to him, I’ll provide a target for his frustration? And though I know he may not be mad at me, I know he’ll take his anger out on me.”

Her gelding didn’t answer and the young woman, shaking her head, gulped down a breath.

She lifted her head. Whatever her fears, it mattered little. Her needs, it would appear, could not wait. She gathered her courage and, urging her gelding forward, focused her gaze on his horse until at last, coming abreast of his mount, the young woman flicked her eyelashes up, a quick smile accompanying the motion; and she looked at Kenneth Wilson, her husband.

That his red, angry glance met her submissive one should have cautioned her to silence. In truth, it did…slightly. But her need was great.

So she gave him her best grin, then, before courage deserted her completely, she asked him what she must, her voice quiet and gentle against the wind. She stared at him and awaited her husband’s reply.

“Damnation, Julia!” Lieutenant Kenneth Wilson jerked his hat off his head and slapped it against his thigh. He glared at her. “Can’t you wait even a moment? Why now and why must I be the one to accompany you? Why do you do these things to me? I wish I’d known what trouble you were going to be to me.”

Julia stared into the harsh countenance of her husband’s face, the man she had married almost five years ago, a man she barely knew today. That he looked more like a child at this moment, his face red and gaunt, did not bode well for her.

She knew it. She shouldn’t have asked him to accompany her. She’d seen his frustration, had realized that if she approached him, he would vent his anger on her. She provided too easy a target for him.

The enemy was not here to fight; she was.

She cleared her throat then in a steady voice said, “It’s a simple request, Kenneth. It won’t take me long.”

He gave her a stormy look before answering, almost shouting, “I should have left you with the Colbys and let you find your own way back to the fort.” When she visibly flinched, he moved forward in his seat, as though closing in for the kill. “Get out of here,” he sneered, his voice raised. “Go on—get—if you have to go!”

Julia turned her head away while Lieutenant Kenneth Wilson’s sunburned face turned even redder under the few censorious stares from his men.

“Damn!” he swore again, and Julia saw him smash his hat back on his head. He grabbed the reins of her mount and with a quick order to his next in command, he galloped away, Julia’s gelding having no choice but to follow. He set a pace much too fast for a lady as he led them toward a small rise in the landscape, and Julia held back the retort she might have said had she not wanted to avoid further wrath.

She satisfied herself with a censorious glare instead.

“What?” he asked as they reached the crest of the hill. “Give me another look like that, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

Julia’s response was only a cool regard, though she felt like flashing back with an equally damaging remark. Stoically, she held her own counsel.

Kenneth had dismounted, she noted, though with his arms over his chest, she realized he had no intention of assisting her.

He sneered. “Well,” he said. “Get down. And hurry. I have no time for you.
You,
who should not even be out here. I don’t know what possessed you to visit the Colbys. My God, the Colby woman is Injun. Should have let her and the red-skinned kids die.”

Julia gasped, though she said nothing. She supposed she should be used to Kenneth’s viewpoint concerning the Indians, but she wasn’t. Every time he insinuated that the Indians were somehow less than people, she cringed. But she no longer argued with him, learning long ago that arguments led too often to verbal and sometimes physical abuse.

So she took a deep breath, the action somehow endowing her with a strength of will, a strength she would need in order to ride out Kenneth’s verbal attack without feeling the need to retaliate.

She supposed she should dismount, but somehow her seating upon her mount, while Kenneth stood on the ground, gave her a slight advantage she would rather not lose, not when Kenneth was in one of these moods.

That he leered at her, voicing the word “Bitch,” shouldn’t have affected her. But it did.

She raised her head. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help continuing on, saying, “The Colbys needed me. And, Kenneth, don’t you remember that we had agreed on this before we left the fort a few weeks ago? You knew then what I was doing, and you had even agreed to bring your troops to the Colbys after your assignment was done at the Kiowa camp. It was
you
who offered to escort me back to the fort. You said even then…”

“Don’t patronize me! Do you think I don’t remember what I said? I have an excellent memory. I don’t need to be told these things again and again and…don’t raise your voice to me!”

“I am not—”

“You are, Julia. You are. And stop your constant prattle. You just talk and talk and talk. You smother me with talk. Well, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of your constant chatter, and I’m sick of you.”

This last was said with so much venom that Julia was reminded for a moment just how much her husband’s poisonous tongue could hurt, a fact she rarely forgot.

What had happened to the man she had married five years ago? She tried to conjure up images of that man: a man given to humor, to duty, a man who had appeared to desire her above all else. And she wondered with a deep sense of regret if this man she had known, this man she had married, had been all mirage, wooing her into believing he was something he was not.

Or was the fault partially hers? Should she have known he had another side to him? She had seen his prejudice, his cruelty on a few occasions before their marriage, but she had never dreamed he might turn that cruelty on her.

Julia debated for a moment as to whether she should raise another defense for herself, although, in truth, she knew it would do her no good. She sighed. This same scene was an all-too-common occurrence of late, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she would ever be able to live with Kenneth without a battle, both verbal and physical. Briefly she shut her eyes, wishing, if only for a moment, that it could be different.

She shivered and, opening her eyes, stared at Kenneth. That he turned on her, that he scoffed, that he cursed at her yet again, shouldn’t bother her.

But Lord help her, it did.

Deciding no good would come from further argument, Julia dismounted without help and, taking the reins of her gelding from Kenneth, she began to lead the animal up and over the slight rise in the hill.

Once there, out of the eyes of the men, of her husband, and using the horse as a sort of shield, she attended to her needs.

It took only a moment, but Julia hesitated before returning to where her husband waited for her. She sensed he was not yet finished with her and she wished to delay the moment of confrontation as long as possible.