wisdom has always been correct in such matters. Who am I to question the name you give her? The mighty spirits you work with know better. I am sorry.”
Throwing back one robe, Wolf rose slowly to his full height of six feet three inches. Deer Woman was small-boned, like a bird. And just as fragile emotionally, in his opinion. “Sleep with Dawn Sky in your arms. She won’t wake until Father Sun comes up. Then, take her over to Dove That Flies to be fed.”
Joy bubbled within Deer Woman as she looked up at Wolf’s harsh features. A smile of gratitude crossed her lips. “I will serve you well, Black Wolf. Soon you will see how good a mother and caretaker I am for you and yours.”
Disgruntled, and having no choice in the matter, Wolf went over to Cante Tinza to check on her one last time before going to sleep. “I am grateful for your help, but do not place any more importance than that to it,” he warned her darkly.
Drawing Dawn Sky’s cradleboard down beside where she would lie, Deer Woman nodded. She watched as Wolf’s set features melted with an undeniable concern as he crouched over the red-haired wasicun. Her heart ached because she saw Black Wolf’s gentle manner as he leaned over and touched the woman’s damp, wrinkled brow with a cloth. If only he would touch her in such a way. Sighing softly, Deer Woman lay down and closed her eyes so that she would not have to watch. Instead, she cuddled the cradleboard next to her, in which the baby slept soundly. Tomorrow was another day, a new day. One that brought promise that she could show Black Wolf how indispensable she was to his life.
* * *
The same soft, haunting chant began again in Serena’s head. Time had no meaning as she struggled upward, longing to hold on to each low note that the man sang. Each tone swept through her like a gentle wind, evoking and releasing emotions. Fighting as never before, Serena concentrated on opening and closing each of her fingers. As she did, her body became heavier and heavier until she felt as if it weighed hundreds of pounds.
The chant continued, interspersed with the gurgling sound of what could only be a tiny baby. Serena felt the pain leave her head as she heard the baby’s cooing and the deep, quiet laughter of a man nearby. Was she dreaming? Men did not sing like this. Men did not laugh. It must be some wild fabrication of her own, she thought, focusing now on opening her eyes. In her heart, Serena mused, she must have made up this man and his haunting voice that played her like an Irish harp. The baby was easily explained: she loved children. Especially the little ones.
Wolf laughed again, watching Dawn Sky’s dark brown eyes widen upon him. He sat cross-legged on the buffalo robe, holding his niece above him, smiling into her delighted features. Another day had slipped by quickly, and Father Sun had set hours ago. Deer Woman had excused herself earlier to wash some clothes down at the river, so he’d taken the opportunity to play with his niece.
With a monumental effort, Serena dragged open her eyes. At first, all she could see was a gray fog. Eventually, her eyesight began to clear and she realized it was dark except for the flickering of a small fire nearby. Weakly, she ran her hand against the buffalo robe, perplexed as to where she was. Visions of the river and miners struck her, and she winced with inward pain. Fear overtook her. Fear of men—of what they were capable of doing to her.
The sound of a man singing quieted the raging terror she felt within herself. Looking up, Serena saw huge tanned skins supported on long, thick poles, coming to an apex far above where she lay. Where was she? Forcing her head to move to the left, she focused her eyes.
An array of emotions battered Serena in those seconds after her gaze halted on him. It was a man, an Indian, she guessed, sitting across the way holding a small baby of the same skin color. Her eyes widened as she watched the dancing flickers of firelight bathe his large copper body. His face, despite its harsh lines and grooves, was filled with kindness. A smile eased those hard features as the baby cooed.
There was so much power waiting in coiled anticipation within the man. Serena sensed it, and tasted the fear of what he was capable of doing to her. The fact that he was naked with the exception of a breechclout frightened her. His shoulders were broad and capable, his chest powerful and his arms tightly muscled. The flatness of his belly, narrowness of his hips and muscularity of his thighs brought added terror to Serena. She’d never seen a man of such terrible beauty in her life. Kingston was flabby and weak in comparison. Her dread grew. Who was he? Was he Sioux? Serena, never having seen a Sioux, could only go on Lucinda’s description of their red color and their dress.
Her head pounded in agony. She tried to lift her hand, finding herself incredibly weak. Sweet Mary, how was she going to get out of this? Had Indians found her after she attacked the miners? They must have. A ragged sigh escaped Serena’s lips.
Wolf’s sharpened hearing heard the sigh. Could it be? Was Cante Tinza finally becoming conscious? Fighting back his sudden elation, Wolf turned his head, hoping against hope. It was then that he felt as if someone had knocked the air from his chest. Emerald eyes framed with thick red lashes stared back at him. His lips parted as he drowned in them in those sweet seconds afterward. Never had he seen such green and glorious eyes, so wide and filled with such intelligence.
Something was wrong. Wolf’s arms tightened momentarily around the baby in reaction. Plumbing the depths of those eyes, he felt her pain—her revulsion and fear. Yet, before he saw the shadow drown out all he’d fathomed, he’d seen her vulnerability, her gentleness. Holding on to that knowledge, Wolf carefully placed his niece back into the cradleboard and covered her up.
Serena gasped as she watched the man uncoil like a huge wild animal from where he sat. Desperation filled her, and she struggled to rise.
“No…“ Wolf cautioned, holding out his hand to her. His English was poor at best, having been taught by traders who used to visit the village when he was much younger. From halfway across the floor of the tepee, he could see the revulsion come to Cante Tinza’s eyes. “No harm…I mean you no harm. Understand?”
He was coming to get her. Memories of Kingston flashed before Serena’s eyes. One moment the face of this man stared at her, the next, the leering sneer of Kingston’s. Heart leaping to a rapid pound, throat constricted with a scream, Serena tried with all her will to move. It was impossible!
“No!” she cried, her voice cracking with weakness.
Panic struck Wolf. He watched the woman try to escape—to no avail. She was too weak from nearly a week with very little water and virtually no food. Her mewing plea shattered his heart and he crouched down on his heels, watching her. The language barrier was frustrating. Holding up both his hands in a sign of friendship, he waited to see if she would stop trying to escape.
“Friend,” he pleaded, “friend, do not hurt self.”
“You,” Serena shrieked, hysterical, “get away from me! I hate you! I hate you!”
Stunned by her screams, Wolf got up. He turned his back to her, stalking over to his pallet and his niece, where he sat down. What had he expected? She was wasicun and, therefore, hated all Indians. Angry, he glared at her as she struggled without reason. Sweat stood out on the woman’s face, her eyes large and filled with unadulterated hatred.
Why was he so stung by her denial of him? Wolf sat there, trying to digest his reaction. What was it about this red-haired one that tugged at his heart, making it feel more alive and more anguished than ever before? Her face was contorted with many emotions, and each one of them struck Wolf full force. Tasting bile in his mouth, he turned away, staring into the darkness of the tepee. Who did this woman think she was, anyway? Did red hair make her unreasonable? Couldn’t she see that he’d doctored her wounds, made her as comfortable as possible and given her shelter? What kind of rudeness pervaded women with red hair? Obviously, she was spoiled and deserved some stern measures. He’d tried to converse with her, to tell her that she was a friend, not an enemy—and certainly not a slave.
Disgusted, Wolf jerked his head up, glaring across the way at Cante Tinza. He laughed harshly at himself for giving her such a name. This kind of behavior wasn’t becoming to someone who carried such an honored name. Perhaps Little Swallow and Evening Star were wrong about her. In the heat of