Lakota Legacy: Wolf DreamerCowboy Days and Indian NightsSeven Days Read online

  He drained the cup, then left the house in search of the woman.

  He found her where he had expected, lying across her child’s grave. She was asleep, her arms outstretched as if to encompass the child. There were tear tracks on her cheeks.

  Bending, he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. “Rebecca.” He murmured her name, liking the sound of it, the taste of it on his tongue.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. She looked at him a moment, her eyes filled with grief, then buried her face against his shoulder. He felt the warmth of her tears against his skin as he carried her back to the house.

  Inside, he placed her on the bed, then sat down beside her. Her skin was pale. Dirt clung to her arms, her feet, her cheek. Her eyes were swollen and red.

  Leaving her, he went into the kitchen and warmed a pot of water. When the water was hot, he poured it into a bowl and returned to the bedroom. Setting the bowl down, he began to remove her sleeping gown.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “I am going to wash you.”

  She started to protest, then sighed in resignation, as if it didn’t matter what he did to her.

  He removed her gown, washed her gently, found clean cloths to absorb the after fluids of the birth. When he was finished, he put her gown on her again and covered her with a blanket.

  He had to find a way to revive her spirit, but how?

  Returning to the kitchen, he warmed the tea, filled a cup, insisted she drink it.

  She did so reluctantly, then turned on her side and closed her eyes.

  She slept all that day.

  He bathed in the river, found an ax and chopped wood for the fire. The exertion left him breathless and sweating and he sank down on the ground, cursing his weakness. The wound in his side was still tender.

  Stretching out on the ground, he closed his eyes, his mind filling with images of the woman. Since the first time he had seen her, she had never been far from his thoughts. He had carried her image with him wherever he went, held it close when the weight of who he was grew too heavy to bear. Time and again, he had been drawn back to this place, this woman.

  He rested for an hour, then went into the house to check on her. She was still asleep, one hand beneath her cheek. Unable to resist the lure of her soft flesh, he caressed her cheek. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingertips.

  A sob escaped her lips. A tear rolled down her cheek. The sight tore at his heart.

  “Ah, Rebecca,” he murmured, and sitting down on the bed, he drew her into his arms.

  Rocking her gently, he stroked her hair and back, singing to her as he did so. It was an ancient lullaby, handed down from mother to child, a song that spoke of love and hope and the beauty of the human spirit. He sang it in the ancient tongue of his people, hoping it would soothe her even though she could not understand the words.

  Gradually, her sobs lessened and she relaxed against him. He continued to hold her, content to do so. Content to hold her as long as she needed.

  The sun was setting in a blaze of crimson and gold when his stomach growled.

  Rebecca sat up, blinking at him. “You’re hungry.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “I can do it.”

  She shook her head. “No.” Rising, she left the room.

  His arms felt empty, bereft, without her. He listened to her move about the small kitchen. Soon, the scent of venison stew filled the air. His stomach growled again.

  A short time later, she called him into the kitchen. Her eyes widened, and a blush stained her cheeks. He frowned at her, then realized he was still naked.

  She moved past him, her gaze averted. She returned a short time later and handed him a pair of woolen trousers.

  He looked at her askance.

  “They were my husband’s.”

  He nodded, then stepped into the trousers. He was not comfortable in them, and not just because they were a little too snug, a little too short. She offered him a shirt, as well, but he waved it away.

  “Sit down.” She gestured toward a chair, then turned to the stove and filled a bowl with stew. She placed it on the table in front of him. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “You are not eating?”

  “No.”

  “You must eat.”

  She shook her head.

  He stood up, pulled out a chair, and pushed her, very gently, into it. He filled a bowl and set it before her. “Do you want me to feed you?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You want to die,” he said. “But you will not. I will not allow it.”

  She looked up at him through eyes filled with sorrow. “Please, just let me go.” She made a gesture that encompassed the house. “I have nothing left to live for. No reason to go on.”

  He picked up his spoon, scooped up some broth, and offered it to her. “Eat.”

  It was not a request this time.

  She stared up at him, somewhat taken aback by his tone. Their gazes held for several moments, and then she took the spoon from him and began to eat.

  Wolf Dreamer sat down across from her. Lifting his bowl to his lips, he drank the broth, then picked the meat out with his fingers.

  Rebecca finished eating a few minutes later. She carried her bowl to the sink, rinsed it out, then left the room.

  Wolf Dreamer sighed heavily. He had to find a way to make her fight, a reason to make her want to live.

  Rebecca drew the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. She was weary, so weary. Her breasts were heavy with milk. Her arms ached to hold her child. Her heart ached. Her very soul ached.

  She listened to Wolf Dreamer moving about in the other room. As soon as she was sure he was asleep, she would leave the house and find a place to hide, a place where she could be alone. A place to die…

  She blinked and blinked again, surprised to find that it was morning. She bolted upright at the jangle of horse harness, fear running cold through her veins. Soldiers! Had they come looking for their comrades? She should never have kept the horses! They would find the animals in the barn and they would blame her for the deaths of the three men.

  She slid out of bed, grabbed hold of the bedpost as dizziness swept through her. She glanced wildly around the room. She had to hide, but where?

  And then it was too late. Two men wearing the dark-blue uniforms she had come to associate with death and destruction burst into the room, weapons drawn.

  She backed away, her heart pounding with terror, but there was nowhere to run, no place to hide.

  She cringed as one of them grabbed her by the arm, his fingers digging painfully into her skin.

  “Let’s go,” he said gruffly.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Please…” She looked at the second man. “Please?”

  But they didn’t listen, only dragged her outside and lifted her onto the back of a horse. A horse that had belonged to one of the dead men. Resigned to her fate, she offered no resistance as the man tied her hands. She had wanted to die, she thought dully. Soon, her wish would be granted.

  The two men mounted their horses. One of them held her horse’s reins, the other man held the lead ropes of the other two horses. She wondered briefly where the Indian had gone, bade a silent farewell to her loved ones, and then, closing her eyes, she blocked everything from her mind.

  They hadn’t gone far when she heard a high-pitched shriek. Opening her eyes, she saw that the man in front of her had an arrow protruding from his back. Even as she watched, he slid off his horse’s back to land with a dull thud in the dirt. The other man was sprawled facedown on the ground a short distance away.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Wolf Dreamer striding toward her. He carried a bow in one hand. A quiver was slung over his back.

  She looked back at the two men, at the arrows protruding from their flesh.

  A dark abyss rose before her. With a wordless cry, she tumbled into it, reaching for oblivion.
/>   Chapter 5

  Filled with a sense of urgency, he untied her hands, then carried her back into the house. He cradled her to his chest. How light she was! And how good it felt to hold her in his arms. Lowering his head, he breathed in the scent of her, felt his desire stir to life.

  He had never had a woman.

  Filled with a sense of urgency, he carried her back into the house, laid her gently on the bed and covered her with a blanket. They had to leave this place, now.

  Going into the kitchen, he laid his quiver and bow on the table, then packed everything he could carry into a sack. He left the bundle by the front door, then went into the bedroom. He gathered her few articles of clothing, rolled them into a tight bundle, and tied them with a cord he had found in a drawer in the kitchen.

  Leaving the house, he looked over the horses standing in the yard. He picked out a pretty little bay mare for the woman and a big, wild-eyed gray gelding for himself and tethered them to a tree, then unsaddled the rest of the horses and turned them loose.

  Returning to the house, he gathered the sack of food and the woman’s clothing, carried them outside and shoved them into the saddlebags lashed behind the gray’s saddle.

  By the time he finished, the wound in his side was aching, and he was breathing as though he had just run up the side of a mountain.

  Cursing his weakness, he rested in the shade a moment, then went into the house. The woman was awake when he entered the bedroom.

  He held out his hand. “We must leave this place.”

  She shook her head. “Go…go away.”

  “I cannot leave you here alone,” he said patiently. “Other soldiers will come. I cannot kill them all.”

  “No. Go on and leave, if you want to. I must stay here.” A sob caught in her throat. “My baby is here. I cannot leave her.”

  “You cannot stay here alone,” he repeated, his patience growing thin. “If you wish, I will come back for the child when it is safe to do so.”

  She shook her head, her eyes wild. “No, I will not go. I will not!”

  Wolf Dreamer took a deep breath. He was weary in mind and body. His wound ached with renewed ferocity. Steeling himself to withstand whatever resistance she offered, he scooped her into his arms, blankets and all, and carried her outside.

  “No!” She screamed the word, her small fists pummeling his chest and shoulders. “No, no, no!”

  She continued to strike out at him until he lifted her onto the back of the mare and tied her hands to the saddlehorn.

  “Let me go!” she shrieked. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I hate you! Let me go!”

  Turning a deaf ear to the woman’s cries, he eased himself into the saddle and took up the reins. Clucking to the horse, he circled around, picked up the mare’s reins and turned his horse north. He knew a secluded valley, far from here, where the woman would be safe. He would take her there until she was strong enough to travel further.

  And then he would take her home to the People.

  Gradually, the woman’s tears subsided and they rode in silence. Wolf Dreamer let his thoughts drift toward home. How many years had he been gone? Two? Three? He had lost track of the time, aware only of the changing seasons as he roamed the land, yet always drawn back to this place, this woman. Why was he the one who had been cursed? The old shaman had said it was a blessing, but Wolf Dreamer had not seen it as such. Enemy tribes had sought to capture him, wanting him to use his healing power in their behalf. Those of his own tribe had come to him for help. They treated him with honor and respect, but he had seen the fear lurking in the backs of their eyes. He had used his power for healing, but he knew their unspoken fears, knew they were afraid that some day he might turn that power against them.

  Summer Moon Rising had not wanted to share him with the tribe. She had been jealous of the time he spent with the people, afraid of his power, and she had turned her back on him and married his best friend, Elk Chaser. Hurt and angry, his pride wounded, Wolf Dreamer had fled down the mountain, determined never to return. But he would go back now, for Rebecca’s sake. She would be safe there.

  Rebecca rode slumped in the saddle, her head bowed. She was empty inside. Cold. Dead. Dead…like her husband. Her daughter. Fresh tears stung her eyes. Born and buried without a name, without so much as a stone to mark her grave. Such a tiny grave…

  Her grief and pain poured out in a long wordless cry.

  Wolf Dreamer reined his horse to a halt. Dismounting, he untied the woman’s hands. Lifting her from the saddle, he drew her into his arms and held her close, one hand lightly stroking her hair while his mind spoke to hers, not in words, but in thoughts and images. He assured her that her daughter’s spirit was at peace, that her soul had traveled safely along the bright path of the Milky Way to a place of rest and beauty where she would be welcomed by her father and by all those who had gone before.

  He felt peace enfold Rebecca’s heart as his words took shape in her mind.

  She leaned against him, small and warm in his arms, as delicate as a wildflower. A wave of protectiveness swept over him, and he knew in that instant that he would live and die for her if she would let him. But it was too soon to speak of that now. She needed time to grieve, time to heal.

  He closed his eyes and drew in her scent, wondering if she would ever be able to accept him for what he was. They came from different worlds. Could she ever learn to love and trust him?

  Later, concerned for the woman’s health, plagued by the constant ache in his side, Wolf Dreamer drew rein sooner than he would have liked.

  It was late afternoon when he reined his horse to a halt in a shallow draw. Dismounting, he spread one of the woman’s blankets on the ground.

  Rebecca was limp in his arms when he lifted her from the saddle. He carried her to the blanket and she curled up on it. Moments later, she was asleep.

  He covered her with the other blanket, then stripped the saddles and blankets from the horses and tethered the animals to a bush.

  When that was done, he eased down on the ground, his back propped against one of the saddles. He would rest for a few minutes while she slept, and then he would find some wood for a fire…

  Rebecca woke with a start. She glanced around, confused. Where was she? And then she saw the Indian. He lay facedown on the ground, his face turned toward her, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady. Who was he? He frightened her, this strange man with his black hair and his extraordinary golden-brown eyes. Yet there was something about him…something he had done while she was in labor. Somehow, he had taken her pain away. If only he could do that now.

  She pressed her hands to her breasts. They were heavy with milk, a constant reminder of the child she had laid to rest. Tears burned her eyes, tumbled down her cheeks. So much hope, so much pain. Her empty arms yearned to hold her child.

  She had to get away from this man, whoever he was, now, before it was too late. If only she wasn’t so tired, so weak. She glanced at him again. He was still sleeping soundly. She would never get a better chance.

  He knew as soon as he woke that she was gone. Foolish woman, did she think she could survive out there alone? Perhaps, if she had been stronger, but not now, when she was still weak from childbirth. Too weak to even saddle her horse. She must have stood there, on a rock, to mount.

  Rising, he stood with his feet braced apart, his head lifted while he scented the air. South. She had gone south. Foolish woman, he thought again. That was the direction the soldiers had come from. That was where their fort lay.

  With a sigh of exasperation, he vaulted onto his horse’s bare back and set out after her.

  He could have followed her in the dark with his eyes closed. Her scent filled his nostrils, a lure he was powerless to resist. Her helplessness stirred his protective instincts, her quiet beauty beckoned him, the pain in her eyes made him yearn to comfort her. He had never felt this way about a woman before, not even Summer Moon Rising, whom he had once hoped would be his
woman. Now, he was grateful that Summer Moon had refused him. And yet, what made him think Rebecca would be any different, that she would be able to accept him for who and what he was, or that her heart would heal enough to let her love again?

  The horse moved steadily onward through the darkening night, the sound of its passing muffled by the thick grass beneath its hooves. Clouds whispered across the sky; lightning flashed in the distance.

  He shivered in the rising wind as he urged his horse into a lope.

  Rebecca huddled against the side of the tent, her whole body trembling with fear, her gaze fixed on the three men sitting across the way. They were gambling. Gambling to see who would get her first. She had begged them to let her go, to be merciful, but they had only laughed. From time to time, as they passed a bottle between them, they looked over at her, their gestures lewd, their eyes filled with lust.

  She had never been so afraid. Why had she run from Wolf Dreamer? He frightened her, too, but not like this. He had treated her gently, cared for her, comforted her. These men would use her, abuse her and kill her when they were through.

  Tears stung her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. She had wanted death, but not like this.

  She prayed for help, for deliverance. Prayed to die before they defiled her.

  Their laughter sent cold shivers down her spine. The bottle was almost empty now. She trembled uncontrollably. She had been married only a short time before her husband was killed. She had married Gideon to escape the restrictions placed upon her by her father. Her parents had predicted she would regret it, and they had been right, but, being young and rebellious, she had refused to listen. Gideon had been handsome and dashing and filled with the fire of youth. Too late, she realized she had made a mistake, that she had only escaped one taskmaster for another. Her husband had been her first and only lover. She had never found pleasure in the intimate side of marriage, a lack he had assured her was due to her own cold nature. Their lovemaking had always been hurried, a duty rather than a pleasure. It was an act she had barely endured with her husband. She could not imagine suffering through it at the hands of these rough strangers.