Elaine Barbieri (19 page)

“I’m sorry, dear.”

The finality of her father’s tone settled deep inside Miranda. The futility of further protest evident, she left the office without another word.

His world drifting in a haze of weakness and pain, Shadow Walker lay motionless on his sleeping bench. Fragmented memories haunted him: Miranda, mounted solemnly on her horse on the day of the exchange; the glint of a rifle barrel on the wilderness terrain; the realization that the rifle was aimed at Miranda; his mad race to save her—then the impact of the bullet that struck him.

Shadow Walker withheld a pained groan. Rattling Blanket had explained when he awakened later in his lodge that the chaos following the shot had ended in a mutual withdrawal of forces, with Red Shirt escaping to the safety of his Cheyenne brothers, and Miranda being rescued by the horse soldiers.

Safety for Red Shirt. Miranda returned to her people.

Miranda—gone.

The ache within Shadow Walker deepened. Weakness again overwhelming him, he did not realize Two Moons had entered the lodge until her voice penetrated his hazy
musings in a tone that betrayed her anxiety as she whispered to Rattling Blanket, “The flames spoke to me again, Rattling Blanket.”

Rattling Blanket’s efforts to silence Two Moons met with failure as the aged squaw continued, “I saw Spotted Bear in the flames, leaving camp in a jealous rage when our people sorrowed at Shadow Walker’s grave wound. I saw him riding, his wrath unrelenting. I saw him dismount to stalk someone in the semi-darkness. Then, as the flames flared, I saw him rise up to sink his blade—to silence forever the spirit of Dancing Star that lives in the blond one’s heart!”

“No!”

His protest spontaneous, Shadow Walker fought to clear his clouded mind.

Spotted Bear, stalking Miranda …

He struggled to sit up. Ignoring Rattling Blanket’s pleas and the blood that began flowing freely from his wound, he drew himself to his feet and started toward the doorway.

Miranda, in danger …

His world spinning dangerously, Shadow Walker shook off Rattling Blanket’s restraining grip and lurched toward a horse tied up outside the lodge. He gasped with pain as he held the animal fast and attempted to mount.

I must go to her.

Hoisting himself up onto the horse’s back at last,
Shadow Walker turned the animal out of camp. He did not feel the blood streaming down his back. Nor did he see the braves running after him, or hear their calls to halt.

Instead, Shadow Walker heard only a thundering in his ears that preceded the darkness which then consumed him.

Dressed in familiar riding attire, Miranda slipped through the night shadows of the fort. Reaching the stable, she untied her saddled mare, then led the animal toward the rear gate. Pausing, she winced at the sight of Private Higgins lying asleep on the ground there. She hadn’t liked what she had done. With the pretense of apologizing for her behavior when his patrol was assigned to guard her during the chaos after Shadow Walker was shot, she had brought him a cup of tea heavily laced with sleeping powder taken from the infirmary. Intent on her purpose, she had waited until the fellow had drained the cup dry.

Mounting up, Miranda slipped out through the gate, then pulled it closed behind her. A bright, full moon lighting her way, she traveled the familiar trail cautiously until it faded into the shadowed wilderness terrain. She pressed on, using the stars to guide her.

Fatigue and confusion finally overwhelming her as daylight approached, Miranda dismounted for a few minutes’ rest. Shadow Walker’s fallen, bloodied image flashed again before her mind as she sat back wearily against a tree. She knew now that the fear she had glimpsed in Shadow
Walker’s eyes the moment before the bullet had hit him had been fear for
her
welfare. She knew, because she lived with that same fear.

She had tried to explain how she felt to her father, but he had seemed somehow incapable of understanding the depth of her feelings. She hoped she had made it clear to him in the letter she’d left behind that she knew how dear she was to him, because he was as dear to her—but that she could not rest unless she saw Shadow Walker again. She was certain her father would eventually understand and accept what she had written because she knew his greatest wish was for her happiness.

The unrelenting ache within Miranda deepened. She needed to know Shadow Walker was all right. She needed to talk to him. She needed to say the words she had never said before—that she loved him. She needed to tell him she knew now that the differences between them meant little when the love between them was strong. She needed to say those things, and countless others that crowded her heart.

Battling tears, Miranda took a deep breath. She had no illusions about the many obstacles in the way of locating Shadow Walker. White Horse might have moved his camp; and even if he hadn’t, she might not be able to find it. If she did find it, there was no certainty what her reception would be.

She might not survive.

Only one thing was clear. She had to find Shadow Walker. She needed, at least, to try.

Miranda closed her eyes. Exhaustion claiming her, she did not hear the moccasined footsteps approaching. She did not hear them stop beside her. Nor did she hear the knife being drawn from its sheath, or the revealing hiss as it descended swiftly toward her.

Startled awake by the sound of an abrupt, violent scuffle beside her, Miranda jumped to her feet Her sleep-clouded mind at first failed to comprehend the sight of Cheyenne braves struggling to restrain Spotted Bear—until she saw the knife Spotted Bear still clutched in his hand, and abruptly realized that its blade had been meant for her.

Backing up as the struggle between the braves grew more fierce, Miranda gasped as Spotted Bear wrenched himself free and ran off into the shadows. She heard the sound of his mounted escape as the other braves turned toward her.

The Cheyenne camp lay in the warming rays of the rising sun as squaws emerged from their lodges and made their way down to the stream. Smoke trailed upward from the smoke outlets of the lodges as the young braves of the camp walked to the hillside to gather horses turned out to graze the previous night, signaling that the day had truly begun.

Observing it all from a rise in the distance, Miranda took a shaky breath, then turned to the braves mounted beside her. She saw Standing Elk, Crying Crow, and Buffalo Chaser, the braves who had halted Spotted Bear’s knife only inches from her chest. She had listened with throat tight as they told of witnessing Shadow Walker’s collapse when he had attempted to ride out to find her, of listening to Running Elk’s tale and Two Moons’s visions—when they then took up in Shadow Walker’s stead and brought her to the spot where she now stood.

With a solemn nod to her rescuers, Miranda nudged her mount into motion. Her heart pounded when she reached the camp and familiar unsmiling faces turned toward her. She saw hostility and suspicion that stopped many in their tracks. She saw the angry advance toward her that halted abruptly when Rattling Blanket stepped into view.

Addressing Rattling Blanket, Miranda said, “Please let me see him.”

Standing in the entrance to Shadow Walker’s lodge minutes later, Miranda saw Shadow Walker lying on his sleeping bench, his chest wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. His handsome face was pale, but his eyes were clear. He held her fast with his gaze as he waited for her to speak.

Kneeling beside him at last, struggling against deep emotion, Miranda said simply, “I love you, Shadow Walker.”

Shadow Walker’s arms slipped around her then. His lips were warm against her hair as he rasped words of love in return, and Miranda knew—held passionately in the circle of his embrace—that she was home at last.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Although based on actual events and characters in American history,
MIRANDA AND THE WARRIOR
is a fictional story. You won’t find Miranda or Shadow Walker mentioned in the history of the American frontier. The appearance of any of my Cheyenne characters’ names in your history books is purely coincidental, and although you may find some of the forts I mentioned on the map, Fort Walters is also a fictional fort.

The Cheyenne customs and way of life are authentic, however, as are the flavor, spirit, and excitement of the times.

The conquest of the American West was difficult. We continue to learn from mistakes made on both sides of the conflict, but it was also a romantic time in American history that is uniquely our own. It fascinates, stirs the imagination, and leaves a hunger for more in most people. I hope
MIRANDA AND THE WARRIOR
has done that for you.

—Elaine Barbieri

DEAR READER:

So much intrigue swirls around Miranda and Shadow Walker that it’s a wonder their love prevails! But it does, in spite of Spotted Bear and Lieutenant Hill — not to mention Miranda’s temper and Shadow Walker’s stubbornness.

In May McGoldrick’s
TESS AND THE HIGHLANDER
, two sweethearts are very nearly kept apart by other people’s evil intentions as well. When Colin Macpherson washes up on a windswept Scottish isle, he is saved by a mysterious girl living there alone. Colin has always been a bit of a player, with a different girl in every medieval port he passes through, but Tess is different. Colin realizes she means more to him than any lass ever has, but he also discovers her true identity, and that may well keep Tess from him.

Turn the page for an introduction to Tess and her Highlander. …

    
Abby McAden
    
Editor, Avon True Romance

FROM TESS AND THE HIGHLANDER
by May McGoldrick

Tess poked at the corpse with a stick and backed away.

Her unbound auburn hair, already soaked from the driving rain, whipped across her eyes when she leaned in to look closer.

The Highlander appeared to be dead, but she couldn’t be sure. Long blond hair lay matted across his face. She looked at the high leather boots, darkened by the salt water. The man was wearing a torn shirt that once must have been white. A broad expanse of plaid, pinned at one shoulder by a silver brooch, trailed into the tidal pool. From the thick belt that held his kilt in place, a sheathed dirk banged against an exposed thigh.

A dozen seals watched her from the deep water beyond the surf.

With the storm growing increasingly wilder, she stood
indecisively over the body. In all the years she’d been on the island, she’d never seen a human wash up before. Certainly there had been wrecks in the storms that swept in across the open water, and Auld Charlotte and Garth used to find all kinds of things—some valuable and some worthless—cast up on the shores. Never, though, had there been another person—at least, not since the aging husband and wife had found Tess herself eleven years earlier.

Tess pushed aside those thoughts now and crouched beside the man, placing a hand hesitantly on his chest. A faint pounding beneath the shirt was the answer to her prayers … and her fears. She didn’t want anyone intruding on her island and in her life. At the same time, she could not allow a living thing to die when she could save it. Or him.