Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (27 page)

Rebecca sighed.

What a mess. The both loved Night Thunder; they both wanted him as a husband. Rebecca frowned since, much to her chagrin, she discovered that she could not hate the other woman, not anymore. Nor did she want to be the cause of pain to the Indian girl.

Yet if she were to remain here with Night Thunder, as his wife, would she not be the cause of unmerited and unwanted heartache?

It all seemed so complex.

Inhaling deeply and sending the other woman a sad, yet quick smile, Rebecca rose to her feet. She had to get away, if only for a little while. Padding swiftly to the tepee’s entrance, Rebecca pulled back the flap and, stooping over, took her leave.

Chapter Eighteen

Drums beat out a steady rhythm. Bodies swayed to the pulse and throb of the tom-toms, while singers chanted the verse of a song hundreds of years old. Some of the dancers squatted down low, as though following on the trail of an animal; some jumped up madly, imitating their experiences on the warpath; others, older and wiser, merely kept step to the rhythm of the intoxicating beat.

The warriors had dressed in their Sun Dance best. And anyone, newcomer or old, would have stood impressed. Here were hues of white, red, and black; blue and yellow; white and blue, on this one’s regalia, on that one’s. Brightly painted beads and shells flashed under the sun, while jingles and bells, tied around feet and arms or dangling from the waist, clattered and jangled in time to the beat. Feet pounded upon the solid earth. Owl and eagle feathers fell from hair, from spears, from clothing, and from bows and arrows. And in the center of it all burned a fire, shooting out a shower of sparks into the audience, filling the lungs of spectators and dancers alike with its smoky, sooty fragrance.

Even Sun appeared to have paused in his endless arc across the sky, in honor of the celebration.

Around and around the circle the dancers sprang and leaped, their antics creating a haze of color for those who stood off to the side, watching the festivities on this hot and lazy autumn day.

Night Thunder relaxed on the sidelines, observing, without really seeing the celebration of the Dog Society dancers. He was distracted, watching Blue Raven Woman and Rebecca…

Haiya,
his Rebecca. This was the first dance his wife had attended. He knew. If only because he watched for her.

He would not go to her, however. It was not his place to do so, even though she bore the distinction of being his wife. Here, in camp, when under the eyes of the villagers, men kept with the men; women with the women. But it didn’t prevent heated looks from passing from one group to the other.

Night Thunder felt his heart swell as he caught sight of Rebecca looking at him. Did she desire him as he did her?

He nodded to her in acknowledgement, and saw her quickly look away.

Still his heart surged. Under Blue Raven Woman’s guidance, no doubt, Rebecca had dressed in the style of his people. Her golden hair had been parted and carefully braided at each side of her face, held there with beaded shell hair bows, while smooth pink shells dangled in a buckskin “chain” around her neck. Her dress, and even her moccasins, had been dyed blue all over and were patterned with porcupine quills and trade beads of white, blue, and red, their design resembling the first budding of the wild rose.

She looked beautiful and…content?

Was it possible? Was his Rebecca at last beginning to feel at home in his village? Did he stand a chance of influencing her to stay?

He grimaced.

What good would it do him if he could, and she did? It would change nothing. He would still be obligated to marry Blue Raven Woman, and when he did, Rebecca would leave him, no matter where they lived, no matter how comfortable she became here. He knew it. He must try to accept it.

It was an interesting thing to note. Whereas another might have felt justified in attempting to change his wife to suit him, not so this Indian. He was a man of honor, a man of strong belief, and he would hold dear Rebecca’s convictions even if they differed from his own. After all, weren’t all men, and all women, for that matter, free to believe as they chose? It was not his place to pass judgment on the opinions of another. It was his duty to protect all within his tribe, no matter their beliefs or practice.

He glanced away, his heart tormented.

He had many problems, not the least of which that he had yet to seek out Blue Raven Woman’s father and make arrangements for his second marriage. His second marriage.

Custom dictated that he should have done this as soon as he had come into camp, but he had been avoiding it. What would he say to the man who had thought his daughter would become a sits-beside-him wife? Not that Night Thunder would of necessity have to explain himself; it was only that Night Thunder didn’t know
what
to say.

And if he were to be truthful with the elder man, he would have to admit that he was seeking a way to avoid the marriage altogether. How could he say this to Blue Raven Woman’s father?

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have feeling for Blue Raven Woman. Night Thunder would always admire her. But it went no further than that. His feelings toward her were more brotherly than husbandly.

Haiya,
it was true. Blue Raven Woman could have easily been his sister.

“She is beautiful,” someone whispered from behind him, speaking in a language as old as time itself.

Night Thunder stiffened. He had heard that voice only once before…the shadow of the dead.

“Go to her.”

Night Thunder clenched his teeth in irritation. What did these spirits want from him? Why did they follow him? Did they not know that he could do little to help them?

With slight impatience, Night Thunder asked, without the use of words, “Why come you here, speaking to me?”

“Why should I not?” answered the voice. A long pause followed and then, again, “She is beautiful.”

“
Tahkaa,
who?” Night Thunder didn’t say the words aloud, he thought them.

“
Ohkiimaan,
your wife,” the voice whispered again.

Night Thunder didn’t look behind him, nor did he glance to the right or left to see if anyone else had heard the strange words. He knew no one else could hear, had long ago accepted that few people could commune with the dead. What did these shadows want from him? he wondered again.

He asked, still in thought only, “
Tsak,
which wife is it that you speak of?”

“Know you which one,” whispered the voice. “Go to her, she, to whom you are married, for I tell you this with good intent in my heart, she will be your only wife.”

“
Haiya,
that is not true, old man,” Night Thunder conveyed silently. It was not an easy thing to do, communing with the spirits, for they imparted fear and dread as well as knowledge. However, forgetting for the moment that he seldom enjoyed speaking with the dead, he added, “Do you know of my vow to Blue Raven Woman?”

“
Aa,
yes.”

“Then, shadow, know that I am the next medicine man for my tribe. Know too that I must always put the good of the tribe before myself, before all earthly desires, even my own.”

“Have I asked you not to do so?”

“Perhaps you have,” Night Thunder thought, “perhaps not. But know, shadow, that I am committed to Blue Raven Woman my pledge.”

“Your pledge?”

“My father’s pledge to her father. But that does not matter. I care not who made the compact. It is already done. And it is my duty to fulfill the honor of my father’s word.”

“Is it?”

“You know something else I should do that is as honorable?”

“I might.”

Night Thunder snorted. “Tell me of it, then, so that I too might understand.”

With little hesitation, the shadow declared, “Love your wife.”

“I do.”

“Love her alone, for she will never be comfortable with another in her household.”

“You think I do not know that? You think I am so deaf that I cannot hear? But if I do as you ask, if I put my honor aside as a thing to be ignored, if I refuse to acknowledge Blue Raven Woman as my next wife, you know that I would be as the liar who cannot keep his word, and I would never be able to serve my people in the manner in which Sun has directed me. I would have failed my people. I would have failed myself. You know these things, shadow?”

“
Aa,
yes.”

“And so knowing, how can you ask me to go to one wife and ignore the other?”

“Only the one wife, now, you have.”

“
Aa,
yes, but soon I must take the other. And when I do, I will return Rebecca to her people, for I know that she would be unhappy, then. Do not speak to me any more of this. You know that I must do this. You know, too, that my desires, my own happiness, are nothing to be considered in this matter.” Night Thunder was glad that he spoke in thought only, for his throat felt choked with an emotion too closely resembling grief, and he did not want to acknowledge it. He continued, still strictly in ideas alone, “I must keep the honor of my father, of my tribe.”

“
Saa,
no, not yet. You must wait.”

“I cannot,” he returned, although he paused. Perhaps it was because the shadow’s idea so closely mirrored his own desire. Or perhaps it was because he was anxious to grasp onto something, anything, that would delay his having to take Rebecca back to the fort. He became curious, and he asked, “
Mao’k,
why? Why must I wait?”

“Some things you will discover on your own,” said the spirit. “Come I here not to change you or the path of your life. Come I here to guide you.”

Even in contemplation Night Thunder felt his frustration build up within him, and he thought, though none too gently, “Why do you haunt me?”

“Why think you?”

“What is it you want from me? Can you not see that I am not yet the medicine man of my people? I have not called upon your spirit that you should follow me and talk to me.”

“And does a person always choose his conversations with the dead?”

The truth of the question, its delicate knowledge, stilled Night Thunder and he fell silent in reflection.

The apparition continued, “But look you there at the one who would have been your wife.”

Night Thunder looked toward Blue Raven Woman.

“See you not where her eyes travel?”

Blue Raven Woman spoke to Rebecca. That was all.

But then, quickly, so fast that Night Thunder almost missed it, Blue Raven Woman shot a glance over toward…Night Thunder stared around the circle.

Who?

His scrutiny took in that one, a young man whose eyes were trained on…Rebecca. Night Thunder’s chin jutted out and his gut twisted before he realized that it wasn’t Rebecca the young brave watched…it was Blue Raven Woman.

What was going on there?

“They are in love. Good it is to see.”

“Blue Raven Woman and Singing Bull?”

“
Aa,
yes,” said the spirit, “she will make him a good wife if she were free.”

“But she and I—”

“Parents, they make mistakes. Both your hearts belong elsewhere. Find you another way. It is right. Your wife could never permit your heart to be given to another. And you are both needed for your people. Find you another way.”

“But the vow of my father, hers…”

“Think you that your people want you to be a slave?”

“Slave?”

“Is it not a slave who is committed to a promise which will hurt a great many people? Be you a slave?”

“
Saa
,” Night Thunder hissed under his breath.

“Old ways must fall away for the new. And I tell you, from here on, until Wind no longer blows and Sun no longer rises, you are freed from a vow that never from your lips was given.”

Night Thunder stood for several heart-stopping moments as motionless as if he were an animal, hounded and hunted by wolves. For so long had Night Thunder been committed to this vow, it took some time for the old man’s words to settle in. Night Thunder was greatly baffled. At length, however, the old man’s words began to have effect upon him. Still, he could not completely accept what for so long, had been a way of life.

“By what right do you break the vow?”

“By right of your father.”

“My father?”

No answer came back to Night Thunder. Also, he could perceive no ethereal presence behind him, and he swung around to try to catch a glimpse of this one who kept haunting him. But the shadow that was the old man had gone. Nothing remained.

He didn’t care.

Tender hope gave his heart strength, and enthusiasm soared within him. He swung back to face the dancers once more.

Did he dare to believe he could have Rebecca as his only wife?

Saa
, no, he cautioned himself against becoming too zealous. His father had once told him…wait. His father had long been in the spiritual world…

All of a sudden, a mental image came to Night Thunder, a memory of his father as he had been before he had died, his father attempting to speak, to advise his son of something. Was it possible that his father had unfinished business? Was his father, even now, trying to send a message to his son, trying to communicate in the only way he could, what he had been unable to articulate in the flesh?