White Eagle's Touch (21 page)

The marquess…she had done quite a bit of thinking about him, about their engagement, after she had returned to her room last night, and she had finally decided that she needed to speak with the man.

It was better to be truthful, she had decided, than to try to live her life with a lie. Better she tell the marquess now that she did not love him than after several years of marriage.

She could see the wisdom of what White Eagle had told her. If she did not act now, she could cause problems in the future, for herself, for others.

It wasn’t that she had changed her mind about the Indian way of life or about this land. After all, she had grown up accustomed to luxury, where every whim or desire had been hers. She couldn’t just transplant herself elsewhere, away from all she had known, and expect to be happy. Nor could she expect White Eagle to do so.

Checkmate.

Yet, she had decided she must speak with the marquess. It was the only way to be fair to herself, to him.

And so she had tried to seek out the marquess several times this day, only to be repelled by him. The marquess had too many other things to do, it would seem, than to spend any time speaking to her.

And in some ways she was glad to be able to put the business aside for the moment, so distasteful did it seem.

“What do you mean that you think I should not have brought my dogs?”

Katrina glanced up to survey the marquess and the area around her. Their party—the four Indians, the marquess, his hounds and his men, along with Katrina and her maid—had set forth from the fort shortly before the noonday meal, and they had been journeying in a westerly direction all afternoon.

They had stopped to set up camp less than an hour ago, but it was becoming obvious to Katrina that neither the marquess, nor his two men, were accustomed to so much activity.

Katrina studied the marquess’s men for a moment with dubious humor. That these men were supposed to be setting up their camp, that they were failing miserably, was beginning to take on the aspects of a comedy, and she found herself suppressing a grin.

“My good man,” the marquess was continuing, “I came here to hunt, and hunt I shall do. Now.” The marquess, clearly upset, brushed aside one of his men as though he were of no account. When next the marquess spoke, he addressed White Eagle, who sat on the ground carving an arrowhead. The marquess had come to stand directly in front of the Indian, the tips of his boots landing only inches away from White Eagle’s hands. White Eagle, however, didn’t acknowledge the marquess even as the Englishman said in a loud, bellowing voice, “Now, Indian, what is all this nonsense I hear about savages and dogs?”

White Eagle continued working over the arrowhead, not even glancing upward toward where the Englishman stood. And without so much as a pause in his work, White Eagle asked, “Nonsense?”

“Yes”—the marquess waved a hanky in the air, while he maneuvered one hand onto his hip—“something about how Indians love their dogs. One of my men was simply going on and on about it. Do tell, won’t you? What is all this commotion about?”

White Eagle shrugged and, still without looking up, he said, “Indians love their dogs…”

“There, see.” The marquess waved his hanky at one of the men.

“Taste good.”

The marquess became quiet, suddenly quiet, and it might well have been Sunday and this a house of worship so hushed did it become. And for some moments, the marquess seemed incapable of any speech at all. But at length, the Englishman appeared to take some stock of himself, although his mouth remained open and his hanky fell to the ground. “Taste good?”

White Eagle nodded and rubbed his tummy. “Mmmmm…”

The marquess backed away, one hand to his chest, the other to his forehead. He said, “Surely you don’t mean to tell me that you heathens eat innocent animals, do you? You wouldn’t… You couldn’t…”

“You eat dog and see. Taste good.”

“My good man, I say…I simply won’t have this. I—”

“My lord, is something the matter?” Katrina had come to stand behind the marquess.

But the marquess seemed incapable of saying another word.

Holding on to his belly, the Marquess of Leicester rushed from the encampment and hurried to a nearby creek, where the Englishman proceeded to lose the contents of his stomach.

Katrina stared after the marquess for some moments before she glanced down at White Eagle. “What did you say to him?”

White Eagle didn’t look up at her. And when he spoke, all he said was, “I only discussed dinner with your fiancé. That is all.” With this, White Eagle rose to his feet where he stood, towering over her.

She asked, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

She paused. “Actually, I overheard what was said. Do Indians really eat dogs?”

White Eagle shrugged. “The Crees do, as do the Lakota and the Gros Ventres.”

She made a face.

“It is an honoring ceremony and a sacred feast.”

She shuddered. “Well, I don’t care for it.”

And he grinned. “Nor do I, nor any of my people. We do not eat the dog. He is our friend.”

“Then why did you tell him—”

“If he was not smart enough to learn all that he could about the people he was to travel with, rather than running his dogs all over the prairie…” White Eagle shrugged, “…then he is not worthy enough for consideration.”

“But White Eagle…”

“Why do you defend this man who has not shown you any care?”

“Because he…” She stopped. Why was she? Because of his title? Because proper English etiquette demanded that she do so? Somehow all of this faded in importance out here.

She changed the subject. “Tell me, White Eagle,” she said, “if you do not believe the dog should be treated so badly, why do you allow your Indian neighbors to…to…?”

“To what? To eat the dog? Do you think I should tell another man how to live?”

“Well…yes.”

“Sooner I would try to lasso the wind.”

She gave him a look.

He crossed his hands over his chest, straightened to his full height, and stared down at her. “A man, if he is to be of any use to his tribe, must be free to think and to do as he pleases so long as he does not harm his friends or the tribe. A tribe needs all of its men able to act quickly, independent of one another. How can that be brought about when one constantly questions the thoughts and actions of another? Better it is to respect the beliefs and practices of another as long as they bring no great harm. Only in this way can a man be made wise.”

Silence. She didn’t know what to say. After a while, however, she remarked, “I…I guess I never stopped to…” She glanced up at him quickly. “Tell me, do all Indians believe as you do?”

He shrugged. “I can only speak for myself. But I can tell you this, it is well-known amongst my people that if one wants to make a good man, a man who is a defender of his tribe, one must treat him well, too.”

“I…I suppose that makes sense.”

He smiled.
“Aa,
yes. And if it is true, tell me then, why the white man makes other men slaves? What does he intend for those people?”

“I…”

“You do not have to answer.” He lifted up his gaze then to glance around him. “Have you yet decided,” he asked, “what you are going to do about this Englishman?”

“I… Yes, I have decided I will be truthful with him.”

White Eagle nodded. “This is always a good decision. So you are going to tell him you can no longer be engaged to him?”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“Is that not the truth?”

“I don’t know, White Eagle. I thought I would just simply tell him that I do not love him, that I never have, and let him decide what to do.”

“And you think this will matter to him, that you do not love him?”

“I don’t know. It may, it may not. At any rate, he will know the way I feel, and if he decides he still wishes to marry me, then I am obligated to continue the engagement.”

“You are not.”

“I am. I gave the man my word of honor. What else do I have if I do not have my pride?”

“Happiness,” he answered, and Katrina straightened back her shoulders, so greatly did that simple statement disturb her.

He took one step closer to her, and there was a look in his eye which was clearly erotic as he remarked, “Should I remind you of how happy you could be if you made another decision?”

“White Eagle, please.”

He smiled, while his hand gently rose to stroke a wayward curl, the light in his eye clearly teasing.

But she didn’t see it. She swiped his hand away, although her body rebelliously swayed in closer to him.

And he said, “Know this, Shines Like Moonlight, there is one decision I cannot make for you, and that is whether you remain engaged to this man. You must not leave this choice to the Englishman, for he will not break his hold on you, so much does he wish your money, I think.”

“Then what am I to do? I have given him my word.”

He stared at her for some moments before he finally said, “Perhaps you will need some help. I will have to think on this.”

“I don’t need your help, I…”

But she spoke to no one, for White Eagle had already turned away from her, leaving Katrina to watch him while he paced down toward the marquess’s friends, where the two men still tried to set up a tent.

Those men looked so strange, she thought, in this setting, their usually immaculate clothing torn and hanging about them in tatters as they attempted to set up camp, one man holding several stakes and looking puzzled, while the other studied a rope in his hand.

Truly, it did appear that unless White Eagle and his friends guided these men, the marquess and his servants would have nowhere to sleep this night.

But Katrina spared them little more thought. In truth, she winced slightly as she watched White Eagle saunter away. She should not have burdened him with her problems.

She sighed. She would seek out the marquess again soon, and she would tell him all she needed to say.

It only remained to be seen how the marquess would react, what he would do.

She hoped it would be favorable.

She stared at White Eagle from across the fading embers of a peaceful fire. With no liquor to be had or party to attend, the Englishmen had abandoned their usual nightly habits of staying awake until the wee hours of the morning and were now sleeping soundly.

But she remained awake, she and White Eagle.

She peered at him now, uncertain if he were aware of her scrutiny. She couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone so handsome or desirable, and, despite where she was and with whom, not to mention the scandal that would follow, she wished White Eagle would hold her in his arms.

Oh, how she longed for that.

But it could not be. Certainly not now, and she wasn’t even sure she could permit such an association in the future.

After all, where would a romance with White Eagle lead, even if her fiancé agreed to break off their engagement? She could not envision herself as an Indian, nor could she visualize White Eagle as…a dandy. Where would they live? What would they do? How would they survive?

Still, here beneath the light of a million stars and a radiant moon, here, within the glow of a dying fire, she could not deny that the man looked so…sexual, so intent, so desirable.

Was it her imagination, or did his chest seem broader than any other man’s of her acquaintance? His muscles harder? His male nipples, darker, more appealing than she’d ever thought possible. She wanted so much to touch them…him. And she wondered how his bare skin would feel beneath the feel of her fingers, and how it would taste…

Her thoughts were erotic, all out of proportion, and she felt herself grow impatient, plus…something else was happening to her, some tingling sensation, a wetness…down there at the junction of her legs. She felt a yearning, a need…

She sighed and brought her glance up to White Eagle’s face. His cheekbones were high, as she had noted before, on numerous occasions; his eyes were as dark as the blackened sky above them, and his foreign appearance of chest, hoop necklace and beaded hair ornaments was fast becoming a familiar and beautiful sight to her.

He looked so different from any man she had ever known and yet he also appeared more masculine.

And she realized for the first time that it wasn’t his appearance alone which pulled her to him, there was a quality about him—perhaps a sense of strength, of unwavering loyalty—that made her want to draw in more closely toward him.

She sighed. In truth, an affinity for this entire place was beginning to take hold within her, a circumstance she had never fathomed would happen. Yet, as she brought her gaze up to look at the starlit sky overhead, she felt as though a part of her reached out toward it.

What was happening to her? What was it about this wild country that gently seeped under one’s skin? What was it that made a person feel…more alive?

She took a deep breath, and at once, the nightly scents of grass and smoky fire enveloped her. The constant winds had lessened to soft breezes, and off in the distance a wolf howled, the sound reminding her, not of anything frightening, but rather of the song of a lover.