Her Cheyenne Warrior (Harlequin Historical) Page 11

  “Why?”

  Betty’s lifted brow said more than words.

  Anger zipped through Lorna. “I have done nothing for him not to trust me. Good heavens, he gave me my gun back.”

  “He did?” Betty asked with astonishment.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “When?”

  When didn’t matter. Her gun was in her pocket and would never leave her person again. Lorna increased her speed, marching toward Black Horse’s teepee.

  The structure was on the ground by the time they arrived, parts of it already loaded on a travois. She’d read this was how the Indian tribes traveled. Loading all they owned on a simple structure made of poles and leather ropes and tied behind a horse, they traversed the plains like nomads with no homes, no permanent place to call their own.

  Black Horse was nowhere in sight. The tall young man who had been instructed to stay close to her shrugged his shoulders when she asked him where his leader was. He not only ignored her when she told him to go away, but stayed at her heels while she looked for Black Horse.

  Before long, the entire camp was broken down and ready to travel. The long line was much like a wagon train, except there were no wagons, other than their two. Lorna insisted upon driving one, and Tillie took control of the other. Betty sat next to Lorna, and an Indian woman accompanied Tillie, grinning at the prospect. Meg was riding a sleek red roan horse, and she looked happier upon the animal than she’d ever looked driving a wagon.

  If she had been able to locate Black Horse, Lorna would have protested. He, however, seemed to have disappeared, and she understood being left behind would not be beneficial.

  Much like last night, when everyone left the tent without being commanded, the train of people began to move with no audible or visual signal. She couldn’t see the beginning; it had already disappeared over a knoll, and the end was far behind their two wagons. Betty pointed out the dozens of horses ahead of them were all Black Horse’s. Several pulled travois, loaded with the makings of a teepee or household belongings, and others had huge packs strapped over their backs. Women walked beside some of the horses, keeping them in line, and others road upon them. A large number of horses simply followed along as well-mannered dogs would their owners. She’d never seen anything like that. Or like the dogs here. They ran alongside the line with young children chasing and playing tag with them, and at times, jumping on their backs to ride a distance. Who would ever have imagined that? Riding atop a dog! Yet these animals didn’t seem to mind, nor did the children.

  They were headed west. She knew that by how the sun shone on her back, much like it had each morning since she’d left Missouri. As long as that continued, she wouldn’t protest. As it was, there was no one to protest to. Even Betty had climbed off the wagon in order to walk among some of her newfound friends.

  Again, like the wagon train that had left Missouri, there were riders that paced from the front of the line to the back, asking how people were getting along. Of course they didn’t ask her, but they spoke with Stands Tall, who rode next to her wagon on a black-and-white horse.

  As the sun rose higher, so did the heat, and Lorna pulled her habit over her head to protect it from the penetrating blaze. The material was hot, but saved her head from pounding and her face from burning.

  Unlike the other wagon train she’d been a part of, this one didn’t stop for a noon meal. They just kept moving westward, nibbling on bits of food they carried with them. Betty had returned to the wagon in order to share some meat and more of the dried berries Lorna had eaten for breakfast.

  “We’ll stop by midafternoon,” Betty said.

  Lorna didn’t ask how Betty knew that. Nor did she ask if the other woman knew where Black Horse was; that would only irritate her further. He had been kind last night, understanding, and by giving her back her gun, she had assumed that meant he trusted her. But the appearance of Stands Tall said otherwise. There wasn’t even any solace in the fact he hadn’t made One Who Heals her watchdog.

  That was fine. He didn’t need to trust her. She didn’t need to trust him, either. He had no way of knowing what had gone through her mind last night, of how terrified she’d been to be alone with him in his tent. Had no way of knowing that last night had been an exact year from the only time she’d been alone with a man in such a setting. No one knew about how Douglas had followed her to her room after the last of her partygoers had left, or how he had forced himself upon her. Well, one other person knew. Her mother. Who had claimed Douglas wasn’t to blame. That Lorna had encouraged him.

  Douglas’s cruel treatment had hurt, had left her feeling ugly, dirty and violated, but her mother’s blame, her lack of belief, had been crushing. Shattered into a million pieces, Lorna had left later that night, with nothing more than she could carry. She highly doubted either her mother or Douglas cared. They would, though, once she got to California and claimed the secret fortune her father had amassed, unbeknownst to anyone except Elliot Chadwick and his brother, William, whom she’d met back in New York.

  Her father had been the only person she’d ever trusted, and that was how it would remain.

  The heat was taking its toll on the mules and Lorna was about to pull out of the long line of travelers to let them rest when one of the riders, the same one that Betty said was a camp crier, rode past them shouting a long length of words.

  Within a short distance, a camp was already taking shape. Those at the beginning of their long line of travelers were well into the process of unloading their horses and setting up their homes. This was all done by the women, and Lorna discovered she was expected to help. She had every intention of doing her fair share, just as she had all along, but not knowing what she was supposed to do made it difficult. She turned to Betty for instruction.

  “Because Black Horse doesn’t have a wife, the women he supports take down, transport and set up his lodge,” Betty said. “And because you are now sharing that lodge, it will become your responsibility to help.”

  “I don’t know how to do any of that,” Lorna said. “And I don’t want to. We can stay in our wagon like before.”

  Betty shook her head. “That wouldn’t be safe. There are other bands traveling with Black Horse’s band for the hunt, and some of them might believe we are free for the taking if we are alone in our wagons at night.”

  The explanation was in line with what Black Horse had said the previous night, but to Lorna, accepting responsibility to assist with his or any lodge gave an impression their time here was permanent. It wasn’t.

  “Little One has agreed to show you everything you need to know,” Betty said. “And to help until you can manage it on your own.”

  “I will never be able to manage it on my own,” Lorna said, “because we won’t be here that long.”

  “We traveled more miles today than we would have on our own,” Betty said.

  “But the tribe won’t go all the way to California,” Lorna pointed out.

  Betty had never been one to argue, but the pinch on her lips said she might now. She didn’t have the chance because Little One waved them both over to a travois. Lorna considered objecting, but knew it would get her nowhere, other than perhaps tied up again. This time by the old crone who stood nearby, glaring at her.

  Lorna would never say it was easy work, but with so many hands, the laborious tasks were not the burden they might otherwise have been. Within hours the camp was set up identically to the one they’d left that morning. Circles inside circles—which actually were family circles that intertwined, just as the families who lived in them were intertwined by blood and by marriage. She also discovered each lodge flap was to face the east, as did the entire village, in order to draw power and wisdom from Father Sun. The placement of the teepees, or the reasons behind it, didn’t interest her as much as getting the task done. However, as soon as Black Horse’s lodge was complete, and all his possessions neatly set about inside, everyone moved on to the next lodge, and she was once again expected to help. A
nd with the next one, and the next.

  Once all the teepees were reconstructed and the horses led away by young boys, the women began building fires and cooking. Lorna’s stomach clenched on the idea she might also be expected to provide Black Horse with meals. He would starve. She’d never accomplished those tasks when a full kitchen was laid before her, and would fail miserably with nothing but an open fire.

  Too hot and tired for a cooking lesson, Lorna sought out Meg. They both had pulled the habits off their heads while laboring with the long poles, and Lorna was once again reminded how much Meg looked like Little One when her black hair was fully exposed. Tossing the thought aside, Lorna said, “You know I don’t know how to cook. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Yes, I do,” Meg answered with a grin. “Little One says others will provide Black Horse his meals, as always.”

  Lorna recalled the conversation last night, about how Black Horse provided others with the food they ate and considered pointing out that the least the others could do was continue to cook it for him.

  “Thank you, Lorna,” Meg said, disrupting other thoughts. “I know this isn’t what you expected, what you want, but thank you for agreeing to it. I didn’t realize how hard of a decision it would be for Carolyn, or for me.” Meg shrugged. “Thank you for not arguing and for making the best of the situation. And thank you for...well, just thank you.”

  An uneasy sensation welled in Lorna’s stomach. Before this trip, she couldn’t recall anyone ever thanking her with such genuine emotion. Sure, friends had offered their appreciation for gifts and such, and Tillie and Betty gushed their thanks of saving their lives—as they put it—but no one had ever thanked her the way Meg just had. Not with sincerity shimmering in their eyes.

  Lorna had to clear her throat. “You’re welcome.” Uncomfortable, and not liking it, she spun about. “I’ll go gather firewood.”

  Chapter Nine

  The buffalo were still far away, but their trail was easy to follow. It was Black Horse’s duty to lead the way and to find a spot to settle for the night. When they got close to the herd, the village might stay in one place many days, but until then, it would only be for one moon.

  Worry hung heavy with him all day. Although he trusted Stands Tall to watch over Poeso, she might not. Never one to question his decisions, for they were always made with considerable thought, he was reconsidering whether he should have given the gun back to her. He would have to punish her if she used the gun against Stands Tall, or anyone else.

  Black Horse rode into the camp faster than usual, and the stares that brought about made him slow Horse to a walk. He raised a hand, signaling all was well, and slowly made his way to his lodge, grateful all seemed peaceful. He had never found it difficult to be a leader as well as a man, but this day his mind was more on Poeso than on the buffalo hunt. Had Maheo sent her as a test, or perhaps as a punishment for not agreeing to battle the white men as so many others had wanted?

  The sun was still in the sky and the camp was complete, fires burned and food cooked, except near his lodge. He did miss that. Having Hopping Rabbit preparing his meals and warming his bed at night.

  He forced that thought to leave him, but could not stop from scanning the area for Poeso. His heart thudded when she was nowhere to be seen. Not among the women of his family, or by her wagons that had once again been placed near the outskirts of the camp. He urged Horse forward, pretending to be inspecting the village until chatter near the water drew his attention.

  Her black dress didn’t make her stand out as much as her mass of curls. Near his herd of horses, Black Horse dropped to the ground and turned Horse over to a young boy, and then walked toward the river. Two of her friends were there, too. All three in the water.

  A smile made his lips twitch. Perhaps he should call her water woman after all.

  Several young girls were with the women, scooping up fish and tossing them onto the bank. They greeted him as he approached, telling him the water was good, full of fish. He answered positively, but he was not looking at the fish. Standing in the knee-high water, Poeso was laughing, and the sound entered him. Made his chest full.

  She tried to catch fish, and kept missing, but that only made her laugh harder. When she turned, as if just realizing others had stopped fishing, her laughter stopped.

  That saddened him. So did the way her eyes stopped shining.

  Black Horse walked into the water and told the young girls to keep fishing. The two other women moved away as he walked closer, but Poeso stayed, watching him. She was mad; her eyes told him that.

  The young girls scooped out fish again, and her friends joined them farther upstream. Poeso crossed her arms over her chest. Water dripped from her sleeves and the ends of her curls.

  “I know you can’t answer me in front of others,” she said. “Or won’t. But I don’t appreciate having a watch guard. I thought you trusted me. I have my gun. I don’t need a—”

  “I promised my protection,” he said. “Stands Tall gives that when I not near.”

  She frowned.

  He bent to put his hands in the water. “Stand quiet,” he said. “Like this.”

  “What?”

  “Stand quiet to catch fish.”

  “I—” She closed her mouth, and shrugged. “I tried that.”

  He planted his heels in the sandy bottom and bent his knees. “Like this.”

  A twinkle returned to her eyes as she copied his action. “I’ve been standing like that,” she said, “but they swim away before getting close enough to catch.”

  “Your dress scares them,” he said, watching how it floated around her legs. “Hold it quiet.”

  “How? I need my hands to catch the fish.”

  He moved behind her and crouched over her back in order to pull her skirt tight. She shivered. “You are safe,” he whispered. “Stand quiet and wait for the fish.”

  Fish soon swam closer to investigate what was in their water. Feeling her twitching, getting ready to move, he cautioned, “Wait...”

  When a fish darted closer he lifted her skirt, scooping the fish out of the water with the material. She squealed and laughed, and tried to catch the fish squirming about in her skirt.

  After several tries, she managed to get hold of it, and held it up. “I caught one!” she shouted to her friends. “I caught one!”

  The others shouted back, acknowledging her abilities. He had stepped away from her and she spun around, still holding the fish. “I’ve never caught a fish before,” she said. “Never went fishing.”

  “Then, put it back,” he said.

  “Put it back? Why?”

  “So it can make more fish for you to catch.”

  “What if I don’t catch more?”

  “You will. Now you know how.”

  She looked at the fish before glancing back up at him. A smile grew on her lips until her eyes danced in the sunlight. Nodding, she agreed, “I do. I will.” Gently, she lowered the fish into the water and let it glide out of her hands. Once again looking up at him, she said, “Thank you.”

  He nodded and watched as she turned around, bent her knees and held her skirt tight like he had shown her. She was smart and soon scooped another fish out of the water. Her laughter filled the air like birds singing with each fish she caught.

  “You have many fish, Poeso.” He had stood nearby, but had not helped again. He had stayed because he liked watching her. Liked seeing her joy.

  She glanced up the river, to where the others had been. They were now gone.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “What am I going to do with them?”

  “Eat them.”

  “I don’t know how to cook them,” she said. “I don’t know how to cook anything.”

  He had never heard of such a thing. “Did your mother not teach you?”

  She let go of her dress and walked toward the bank. “My mother doesn’t know how to cook,” she said. “That is why she had servants.”

  “Servants?�
��

  “Others to cook for her, clean for her, drive her around.” She shrugged. “They do everything. And if they don’t, she fires them.”

  “Fires them? She burns them?”

  She finished wringing the water out of her skirt before looking up. “Not fires like that, fires also means to make them leave. So they don’t work for her any longer.”

  He nodded, though it didn’t really make sense to him. The white man’s ways were hard to understand. Black Horse found a stick, hooked each fish lying on the bank through the gills and handed the stick to her. “Little One teach you how to cook.”

  She carried the stick by both ends as they walked toward the village. “I don’t want to learn.”

  “Then, how will you feed your husband and children?” Last night, upon understanding she had been hurt, he wondered if it had been by her husband, and wanted to know where that man was. Why he was not taking care of her.

  “I don’t have a husband or children. Never have and never will.”

  Her words were spoken fast and hard. He chose not to question why. “How will you feed yourself?”

  “I’ll hire servants when I get to California.”

  “So you will be like your mother,” he said.

  She stopped and the look on her face was thoughtful, but slowly turned angry.

  “No,” she said. “I will not be like my mother.”

  Black Horse did not follow when she started walking again. He recognized a mad woman when he saw one, and right now, she was madder than when he had tied her to his lodge. She would be no danger to anyone else, though, and that lifted his spirit.

  The next time he saw her was in his lodge, where many had gathered to eat. Anger no longer lived in her eyes, and he nodded before sitting down next to her. One Who Heals sat on his other side, and as the food was passed around, she told him Poeso had wasted many fish trying to cook them. He ignored the scorn in the older woman’s words, and in how she called Poeso Woman Who Sleeps in Black Horse’s Lodge. Others had called her that today—warriors from the other bands, they also asked how long the white women would travel with them.