Wolf Runner (13 page)

Somehow Cheyenne’s relationship with Wolf Runner had changed. She felt shy with him, especially when he watched her, which he often did. Unlike all the other men Cheyenne had known, with the exception of Señor Mendoza, Wolf Runner did not want anything from her.

Not wanting to think about how she had recently become so drawn to him, she examined her boots and scowled at the holes in the soles.

Wolf Runner knelt beside her, raising her foot, and examining the bottom of her boot.

His gaze met hers accusingly. “You should have told me before now that your boots had worn through,” he said, turning the boot over and noticing how small it was. When he glanced back at Cheyenne, he saw her face redden, and he frowned. “Remove your boots and let me see the bottom of your feet,” he said in that voice that made it a command and not a request.

Reluctantly she lifted the hem of her gown past her ankles and removed one boot and then the other. “It is of little matter.”

Wolf Runner’s brow lowered into a scowl when he saw that the bottoms of her feet were bleeding. Gripping her boots, he stood and went to his satchel, where he took out a strip of buckskin, which he placed on a
boulder. Using his knife to trace the leather, he made it a fraction smaller than her boot so it would fit snugly inside. Seeing that the laces were broken he replaced them with thin rawhide strips.

When he returned to Cheyenne, he brought a tin of salve, which he rubbed on the bottom of one foot and then the other. At first she winced in pain, and he must have noticed because he gently massaged both feet. She shivered at the gentleness of his touch.

“Thank you,” she said, putting on her boots and lacing them past her ankles.

“I know you are uneasy because I left you unprotected and the two men came upon you. I do not want you to worry anymore because if I have to leave you, Satanta will guard you.”

“I’m not uneasy.” She raised her gaze to his. “I feel safe when you are nearby.”

Wolf Runner drew in his breath as he stared at Cheyenne’s amber-colored eyes. He suddenly wanted to be the man who would always be responsible for her care and protection.

He was shocked by the new feelings that swamped him. The change in his attitude toward her had happened so suddenly, he had not been aware of it until now. Cheyenne was everything a man would want in his woman; she had beauty of face and of spirit. She had not complained although the journey had been difficult. Cheyenne would be the kind of wife who would go with him to his mountain and glory in the experience.

He was angry with himself for having such thoughts when he was promised to another. Setting his jaw in a hard line, he reminded himself that Cheyenne could be no more to him than the means to get to Night
Fighter. He must take her to her grandfather and be done with her.

There was no place in his life for a half-Indian girl who had been raised as a white woman.

He did not understand her, and he doubted she understood him. But his heart thudded inside him when he thought of lying beside her and holding her in his arms. But Wolf Runner could never hold Cheyenne to him—she was not his.

In an attempt to get his emotions under control, he stared up at the sky, watching a flock of geese migrating before winter set in.

“I will return soon,” he said, moving away from the camp, leaving a puzzled Cheyenne staring after him.

It was midday when they crossed into Montana.

They had only been riding for a short time when Wolf Runner glanced up at the sky, focusing on the dark clouds gathering in the north. He sensed a storm was coming—a bad one—a “blue norther” that always descended without warning.

He found a cliff wall that would help protect them from some of the wind. But he had little time to prepare for the storm that would soon be upon them.

He held his hand up for Cheyenne to stop and he slid off his horse. “Cheyenne, find the rawhide among the supplies and cut it into slender strips to be used for ties.”

Cheyenne dismounted and followed his instructions without plying him with useless questions.

Wolf Runner quickly hacked large pine branches from a tree and threw them in a pile to be used as lodge poles. After eight of the poles were deeply embedded in the soil, he reached for the leather strips
Cheyenne had cut for him. Then Wolf Runner began attaching a long canvas strip to the poles and secured it with the rawhide, his fingers deftly threading the knots.

Since the storm was coming out of the north, Wolf Runner faced the opening to the west. Lastly he drove wooden pegs through the canvas to keep it from flapping in the wind.

He instructed Cheyenne to gather what supplies they would need for warmth and place them inside the lean-to. They had hardly finished their tasks when the frigid wind struck, and struck hard.

It took Cheyenne’s breath away as icy needles of sleet hammered against her face. She turned to ask Wolf Runner what else she could do, and he placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her inside the lean-to.

“I will see to the horses while you remain inside. This is going to be a bad storm and it is hard to tell how long it will last.”

“How will the animals weather such a storm?”

“I will lead the horses to the side of the cliff that is facing away from the wind. They are sturdy and will press together for warmth. They will survive if the temperature does not drop too low. Do not be concerned if I do not return right away. It may take a while to see to the animals’ well-being.”

Cheyenne heard him give an order to the wolf, but she did not understand what he said because he spoke in Blackfoot.

A moment later Satanta entered the lean-to and flopped down beside Cheyenne. Without thinking, she rested her hand on his head. It seemed the wolf audibly sighed with contentment and he laid his head on her lap as he usually did.

Cheyenne heard a new sound—sleet pelting against the canvas and the wind whistling down the gullies with such a force the noise was deafening, sounding almost like a woman screaming. Satanta whined and she stroked his head while her heart constricted. “I know. He’s cold out there and you want to be with him. So do I.”

Suddenly Wolf Runner climbed inside and tossed a fur robe to Cheyenne. “There is not much help for the weather; it must merely be endured.” He glanced down at his wolf and smiled. “You have turned Satanta into a tamed lapdog.”

Cheyenne could not see his face in the darkness of the lean-to, but his voice sounded like he was teasing her. “I might agree had I not seen him attack Ezra. I believe the man would have died of fright if Satanta had not ripped his throat out.”

“You are becoming a vicious little thing. We will make a Cheyenne out of you yet.”

She fell silent, listening to the wind hitting the lean-to, and fearing it would rip their shelter from the stakes at any moment.

“We are fortunate it is this cold,” Wolf Runner said, trying to offer her comfort. “If it were warmer, it would be raining and we would certainly get a good drenching in this wind.”

Her teeth chattering, she pulled the fur about her shoulders. “I have never been this cold,” she said. “Not even when I bathed in that icy creek.”

Moving closer to her, Wolf Runner pulled her into his arms, and she did not object. “You must share mine and Satanta’s warmth.”

For a moment Cheyenne held herself stiff. She felt Wolf Runner’s breath against her cheek and forgot about being cold. It was as if she were melting on the
inside. Her body relaxed, and she sank nearer to Wolf Runner as the deep stirrings of womanhood awoke within her body.

“Do not fear,” he whispered. “I want only to keep you warm and take a little of your warmth for myself.”

“I don’t distrust you, Wolf Runner.” She pressed her face against his shoulder, loving the feel of him close to her. “I can’t imagine now why I ever did.”

It was the first time she had called him by name, and it pleased him mightily. For a long moment neither of them spoke. At last Cheyenne broke the silence with a question. “Will you tell me about your life in the Blackfoot village?”

She fit just right in his arms and he resisted the strong urge to nuzzle her neck. “There is not much to tell. I have a younger brother and sister. My father is the shaman of the tribe, and my mother is its heart. My grandfather, Broken Lance, is the chief, and rules the tribe.” Wolf Runner laughed. “
He
is ruled by my grandmother, Tall Woman.”

“Your mother is the heart of the tribe? What a wonderful tribute.”

“My mother sings like an angel, and everyone wants to hear her song. Her gift has helped the passing of many who were drawing their last breath on this earth.”

“She was brought to your tribe as a child.”

“Yes.”

“Against her will?”

Wolf Runner shifted his weight and brought her closer to him, hearing her soft sigh. “That is right.”

“Will you teach me some Blackfoot words?”

His voice deepened and he found it hard to breathe with her in his arms. “If you would like.” He thought
it might be prudent to concentrate on something other than how right she felt in his arms.

He thought himself a pathetic specimen of his powerful tribe if he could not control his emotions. A strong yearning hit him so he quickly said, “
Ni’t
means one.”

“
Ni’t
. One,” she repeated.

“
Nããsi
. Two.”

She repeated the words.

“
Nioõkska
. Three.”

“What is the word for love?” she asked.

He was quiet for a moment. “There is no word for what you ask.”

“But you feel love—surely you do.”

Again he was quiet while he thought how to answer her. “What we feel cannot be put into one word. It is deep, meaningful, too powerful a feeling to be described in a single word.”

“Oh.”

He untangled his arms from about her. “You need to sleep if you can,” he said, turning his back on her, but still able to feel the heat of her body next to his.

How could she be expected to sleep with him so near? How could a feeling be so powerful there was no word for it?

Her mind in turmoil, she listened to the howling wind and thought of the man who was so near, yet kept himself so closed off from her. She had never known a man with such integrity. He had risked danger to see her placed with her mother’s people. She could not think of anyone else who would have made this journey for her.

But what of the day when he would leave her and she would never look upon his face again?

“
Ni’t
. One,” she said quietly, repeating the numbers he had taught her.

When Wolf Runner heard her, he smiled and turned over, dragging her into his arms. “Cheyenne, the world was not built in one day. You can learn more words tomorrow.”

Grateful to be back in his arms, she nestled her cheek against his shoulder. “I have wasted so many years trying to forget my Indian heritage, when I should have embraced it.”

“Then you will be all the more eager to learn about your Cheyenne culture, not Blackfoot.”

She stiffened. He was reminding her that she had no place in his life.

Outside the small lean-to the weather was fierce, the wind building, the sleet heavy, but inside Cheyenne felt safe, and warm, yearning for something that was just out of reach.

“Sleep,” Wolf Runner whispered, his hand touching her arm so gently it felt like a caress.

Heat seared through Wolf Runner’s body as he held Cheyenne close. He wanted her to belong to him, not just her body, but also her mind and her soul. She was asleep and would never know that he bent his head, his lips touching her forehead and lingering there for a long time. He was filled with the essence of her, and he ached, knowing he had to give her up.

The year he had spent in Washington, there had been many women to share his bed. He knew they sought him out because he was different. And it had not gone against him that his aunt and uncle were close friends with presidents and other high-ranking politicians. Those women were nameless and faceless, and had meant little to him at the time, and even less now. They had thought they were using him, but in truth he had used them, and they never guessed his disdain for them.

But this half-white woman was innocent and had not yet discovered the allures a woman can have over a man. She was young and helpless and she tugged at his heart.

He could not have her.

Had he not promised Blue Dawn he would be faithful to her alone? How could he have been so blind as to pledge himself to her when he knew he had no love for her? How could he have known that he would
meet a golden-eyed woman who would tie him in knots?

Wolf Runner thought of the years he would spend with Blue Dawn—they would pass slowly because she was the wrong woman for him. He knew if he asked his father what he should do, his father would say as he always had, “honor first.” Wolf Runner had bound himself to Blue Dawn and would take her as his wife, although he had nothing of himself to give her. He did not desire her; he never had.

He remembered Blue Dawn’s tears as he prepared to leave for Santa Fe. His promise to her had been made in haste to dry her tears—but it was a promise nonetheless.

He swept his lips across Cheyenne’s cheek, wishing he dared touch his mouth to hers. These stolen moments belonged to him. She must never know when he left her he would be dead inside.

Cheyenne sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer to him. Turning her toward him, he held her head against his chest, running his hand up and down her back, familiarizing himself with the feel of her.

He wanted more—he wanted the taste of her on his lips, he wanted to know all of her body. He wanted to know what she thought and what she felt.

Suddenly he felt something furry come between the two of them and Satanta reared his head.

Wolf Runner was grateful his wolf was reminding him that he must not go so far with Cheyenne that he could not pull back.

Untangling himself from Cheyenne, he gently laid her down and quietly left the lean-to, standing in the storm that raged about him, cooling his passion.

Blue Dawn would be cheated, for he would come to her with only half a heart. As Wolf Runner stood
in the wind and sleet, he contemplated what Blue Dawn would feel if he told her he could not take her for his woman because he wanted Cheyenne. Blue Dawn was kind and gentle and had always looked up to him. He could not humiliate her by choosing Cheyenne for his woman.

His thoughts were in a jumble. What he wanted did not matter. It could be worse if Cheyenne returned his love. Then he would have to weigh her unhappiness against his honor.

Honor must always win.

He did not know if Cheyenne cared for him, but she trusted him. It would destroy her faith in him if she ever learned he had used her to get to her cousin, Night Fighter.

Cold and shivering, Wolf Runner glanced down at Satanta, who was watching him closely with those all-knowing eyes.

“You love her too.”

A blast of icy wind hit as he turned away and trudged to where the horses were sheltered. Laying his hand on his horse’s neck, he tried to clear his mind of tortured thoughts.

He was Blackfoot, a man of nature with ancient blood of warriors in his veins. He could sense the storm would soon play out. Tomorrow they would be able to continue their journey.

As Wolf Runner stood there in the cold, with a stiff wind tearing at his hair, hopelessness coiled inside him. It would have been better for him if he had never known Cheyenne.

And maybe better for her as well.

But, no—if he had never known her he would never have known love, the word he could not give her the meaning of in Blackfoot. A lump formed in his throat
and he tried not to think about the moment when he would ride away and leave Cheyenne with strangers.

Until that day he must hide his feelings and not show how he felt about her by either word or deed.

That would be difficult since he wanted so badly to snatch her in his arms and hold her to his body. He wanted to capture her sweetness and take it with him whenever he left her, so he could remember her in the long years ahead.

He would still want her when he was a man so advanced in age that the passions of youth had passed away.

He could tell her his meaning of love in the Black-foot language meant “torment,” for he felt it in every fiber of his being.

Wolf Runner stiffened his resolve to get to the Cheyenne village as soon as possible. Every passing moment he spent with Cheyenne would be a temptation.

One he did not know if he was strong enough to resist.

Wolf Runner raised his head to the sky and cried out, “Why!”

Satanta stood beside Wolf Runner, raising his head and howling as if he knew what his master was suffering.

Perhaps he did.