The Guardian (12 page)

Touching him was as natural as breathing. They lay on their sides in a loose embrace as her hands explored his broad chest, finding tiny nipples that shrank and hardened just as her own did when she stroked them. Her fingers traced the long, clean line of his backbone, flanked by steely bands of muscle. They found the hard little diamond shape at the base of his spine and brushed the leather thong that held his loincloth in place, then hesitated.

His thumb stroked a path along her cheek. “Where do want to touch me, Charity? Touch me anyplace you like.”

She felt herself blushing again. Her fingers tugged lightly at the thong. With a deft twist, he released the knot and the loincloth slipped to the buffalo robe.

The heat surged into her face. “Oh…” she murmured.

Capturing her hand, he lifted it to his face and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Don't be afraid,” he whis
pered, moving her hand down along his smooth-muscled belly. “Nothing will hurt you, I—”

He gasped as her fingers closed around him. He was as hard and smooth as polished hickory, cloaked in the softness of a rose petal. She could not get enough of touching him, holding him, hearing his breath quicken when her fingers moved. Bolder now, she explored lower, balancing his hanging weight in her palm. He groaned, lifted her hand away and kissed it again. “Enough for now,” he muttered. “Lie still, Charity.”

Shifting, he leaned above her. His long hair had come unbound. It hung down over his shoulders, the ends of it brushing her breasts. A lightning flash illuminated his body, casting the scars that streaked his golden chest into stark relief. She yearned to know the story behind each and every one of those scars, but there would be no time for that—no long, lovely days and nights together, no years of growing old in each other's company.

She loved this man to the depths of her soul, but she knew better than to speak of love now. Words could not bind him to her. They would only cause more pain when the time came for them to part.

Black Sun bent and kissed her mouth. She pulled him down to her, hungry for all he could give her. His hand eased lower, stroking her belly and gliding down to her moisture-slicked thighs. Sensing what he wanted, she let her legs part. His fingertips explored the hidden folds and hollows to find the swollen center of her
need. She moaned as he caressed her, floating on waves of bursting sensation. She arched against his hand, gasping, needing more, needing all of him.

Breathing deeply, he shifted his body over hers, then paused, lingering above her in the darkness. “The baby—” he rasped, as if suddenly remembering. “Are you healed, Charity?”

“Yes…” she whispered frantically. “Yes!”

He glided into her in one long, smooth thrust. Charity had expected pain, but there was none, just the wonder of their joined bodies and the feel of moving with him, deeper, deeper, until the whole world seemed to shatter into rainbows. Black Sun gasped, shuddered and gathered her close. They lay quietly, holding each other as the storm passed from the canyon, leaving the sky washed clean and swimming with stars.

 

B
LACK
S
UN LAY STILL
until first light, cradling Charity in his arms as she slept. They had come together three times in the night, each joining more tender and poignant than the last. Deliciously spent, she had finally drifted into slumber. But he had remained awake, his senses alert, his thoughts churning.

Destiny, it seemed, had brought them to this place and made them lovers. But they could not depend on the canyon to protect them. Their time of safety was running out. If the
Siksika
discovered them here, they would be trapped, with no escape.

The sooner he got Charity and her baby out of here,
the better. But should they try to slip past the
Siksika
in the darkness, or would it be wiser to wait for the camp to break up and move on? It would be up to him to weigh the risks and make the choice.

Easing his arm out from under her, he sat up. With the storm gone and the new day approaching, there was no time to waste. First he would scout the mouth of the canyon for signs that anyone had entered, even though he wasn't apt to find anything after the storm. Then he would circle the camp to look for his horses and check for fresh hides and meat, to see if the braves had found good hunting. If game was as scarce for them as it had been for him, they'd be more likely to move on.

His loincloth and leggings lay tangled beneath him on the buffalo robe, where they had fallen in the night. He reached for them, then hesitated, looking down at Charity's sleeping face and remembering the sweetness of their loving. Her lips were soft pink in the waxing dawn. The memory of those lips and that warm, willing body triggered a rush of heat to his groin. Even now, he was hard and ready, aching to have her again.

Last night had held a curious magic, as if their bodies had been possessed by spirits other than their own. But this morning, Black Sun was fully himself. He wanted her with a raw need that had nothing to do with dreams or destiny or sacred caves and thunder spirits. He wanted to hold her every night of his life, to fill her with his seed and to cradle their children in his arms, to grow old with her in the wonder of each passing day.

But even now, in the softness of dawn, Black Sun knew that he would lose her.

Even if the dream hadn't told him, he would know the truth from simple, cold reasoning. Charity could no more live as an Arapaho than a fish could live as a bird. And he would not join her people to suffer a life he already knew and despised.

As for this morning… A resigned smile tugged at Black Sun's lips as he heard the baby stirring in her cradleboard. Soon she would be fully awake and squalling for her breakfast. It was just as well that he had not acted on his earlier impulse.

He lingered long enough to brush a stray curl back from Charity's warm, pink cheek. She smiled and sighed at his touch but did not awaken. For the space of a breath he gazed down at her, aching with gratitude for what she had given him. Then, shifting his thoughts to the day ahead, he gathered up his clothing, rose to his feet and walked out onto the ledge.

Last night's rain had drenched the canyon. The aspens sagged under the weight of dripping water, the lower rocks were slick with mud that would flake off in the sun, and the shallow cave was soaked to the top. Lightning had struck an ancient pine on the upper rim of the canyon. The huge tree stood splintered and naked, a pair of ravens perching on one broken limb.

The trail down the cliff was slippery but passable. Black Sun moved with care, scanning the canyon as he descended. Where the canyon widened, the storm had
spread a fan of muddy water. If the camp had been flooded, that might give the
Siksika
reason to leave early.

Cutting up a side slope, he reached a vantage point where he could look down on the camp. His heart sank as he realized the flood had missed the high ground where the lodges stood. Except for some meat racks that had been broken and scattered by the wind, the camp appeared undamaged. But at least he could see no signs that the hunters had brought down game. If meat was scarce here, or if the
Siksika
meant to hunt elsewhere, they might not be staying long.

Except for a few shaggy dogs rummaging for food scraps, the camp was quiet. Along the edge of the trees, Black Sun could see the horses, bunched in a makeshift corral. His own two animals, securely hobbled, were among them. Black Sun weighed the wisdom of taking them now and decided against it. It was nearly daylight and the dogs might bark an alarm. He would plan another, earlier foray tomorrow, after he had scouted out a hiding place.

For now, there was little to be done except to return to Charity and wait. The thought of being with her again lightened his steps as he zigzagged down the slope toward the creek bed, avoiding open ground where the mud would show his tracks. Danger was everywhere now, but the time that remained for them in the refuge above the waterfall would be treated as a precious gift. They would fill the days with good talk and
the nights with tenderness, and he would carry the memory with him forever.

He reached the creek and stepped into the water, leaping from stone to stone to hide his trail. The willows were flattened and coated with mud from the storm. But the sun would soon warm them back to life. By the end of the day, the canyon would be fresh and green and alive with birdcalls.

In the camp, the
Siksika
were beginning to stir. The wind carried sounds to his ears—the wail of a baby, the shrill, scolding voice of an old woman, the yelp of a dog.

Black Sun's foot slipped on a wet stone. Adjusting his balance, he glanced down at the bank where the flooding creek had washed up a scattering of leaves and sticks. That was when he saw it—an object half buried in the mud. Heart racing, he reached down and worked it free.

It was a miniature arrow, no longer than his forearm. Clumsily fashioned, it consisted of little more than a feather tied to the end of a sharpened stick—the sort of toy that would be made by a child who wanted to play at hunting.

A child in the canyon.

A
CHILL CREPT OVER
Charity as Black Sun told her about finding the toy arrow. There was no need for him to explain what it meant. The canyon might be forbidden to the adults in the band, but to an adventurous child it would hold all the allure of a secret playground. And where there was one child, there would be more.

“They'll be back.” Charity watched a thread of mist curl above the waterfall. The morning was sunny, the rocks by the pool warm and pleasant to lie on, and until a moment ago she'd been floating on a tide of happiness. But Black Sun's news had drained the brightness from the day.

He sighed wearily. “Yes, unless their elders stop them, they'll be back. And if they come as far as the falls and find the trail up the cliff, they might not be able to resist climbing it.”

Charity shifted the wriggling Annie from her lap to the cradleboard. In the long days of Black Sun's absence, she had imagined herself charging painted warriors with her spear and forcing them back over the cliff. But she couldn't imagine doing the same thing to a child.

“If the children are small—and they must be, judging from the size of the arrow—they won't be likely to venture this far from the camp.”

“We can't be sure of that,” he said. “And even small children have eyes and ears.”

She met his somber gaze across the distance that separated them, thinking how much she loved him. Last night his loving had transformed her. She would have been content to spend a lifetime sharing this little corner of heaven with him; but, even now, their heaven was becoming a place of danger.

“I'm going back down to do some more scouting,” he said. “Take Annie up to the cave and stay there until I get back. If you hear anything, just stay where you are and keep quiet.”

The knot of worry tightened in Charity's throat. She suppressed the urge to run to his arms for what might be a last embrace. Black Sun was a warrior. The last thing he'd want would be for her to fuss over him. But her eyes clung to him as he disappeared down the path, and she knew she would not take an easy breath until he returned.

The kind of love they'd known last night wasn't meant to last, she told herself. Like other exquisitely perfect things—a flame, a blossom, a rainbow, a sunset—it had been doomed even as it came into being. One way or another, it was bound to end. But please, God, she prayed, not like this, with him simply going off and not coming back, leaving her to imagine the awful things that might have happened to him.

What would she do if he didn't return? The question tormented her, but for Annie's sake she knew she had to have a plan. The safest thing would be to stay where she was and hope the Blackfoot wouldn't come after her. She had food and water, and the weather should be warm for months to come. But sooner or later she would have to start for home, walking with the cradleboard on her back and her provisions in her arms.

Oh, but what was she thinking? Black Sun had been surviving danger all his life. She'd be a fool to worry herself sick over him. He would be back. Surely he would.

Sensing her mother's tension, Annie began to wail. Shushing her frantically, Charity hurried up the ledge to the cave, where the stone walls would muffle the sound.

Although she'd tried every trick she could think of, she had yet to discover the secret of keeping her daughter silent. When Black Sun returned, she would ask him how Indian mothers managed it. But she feared she might already be too late. Teaching an infant not to cry would take time, and with danger closing in around them, time was running out.

 

B
LACK
S
UN MOVED
along the creek bed, his body flowing through the shadows. He was still in the canyon but was so close to the camp that he could smell the stew that simmered over the cookfires. He glided closer, scarcely daring to breathe.

Through the willows he could hear the children's voices, laughing and shrieking their make-believe war whoops. He wanted a look at them, but he would need to be excruciatingly careful. Adults moved in ways that were easy to anticipate, but children were as unpredictable as sparrows. If they had dogs with them, the danger would be doubled.

Edging closer now, he could see them on the far side of the creek. He counted three children, all little boys, even younger than his own son. The tallest among them could be no more than five winters old.

One boy had made a bow from a curved stick and a scrap of sinew. As Black Sun watched, the child shot a crude miniature arrow—a match for the one he'd found earlier—into the bushes. Laughing, the boy raced to find it.

Exhaling through clenched teeth, Black Sun slipped back into the shadows. The boys were too young to be allowed far from camp. But if they were to venture deeper and lose their way, or if some anxious parent were to come looking for them…

He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what could happen. He would rather die than harm a child. But what if these little ones saw something and raised the alarm? The canyon was forbidden, but if the
Siksika
knew that strangers had violated their sacred ground, they would not hesitate to swarm in after the intruders.

Only one thing was certain. He could not wait long
days for the camp to break up and move. He needed to get Charity and her baby out as soon as possible.

A woman's voice shrilled from the edge of the camp, breaking into his thoughts. Black Sun understood enough of the
Siksika
language to surmise that the woman was calling the boys out of the canyon and giving them a hard scolding in the bargain. He heard the childish mutters as the boys left their playground and returned to the cluster of lodges. The scolding faded as he made his way back through the trees. The canyon might be safe for the rest of the day, but from what he knew of small boys, the youngsters would return as soon as their elders' backs were turned.

Still preoccupied, he climbed the slope to his vantage point for a last look at the camp. At first it appeared that little had changed since dawn. Then he noticed that the women were taking down their drying racks and bundling up their scattered household tools. The hunters had not found meat. The band was preparing to move.

Elated, he watched long enough to be sure of what he was seeing. The
Siksika
would most likely spend the night here in their lodges. At dawn the next day, the women would take the lodges down, load the poles, skins and other possessions onto travois, and then the band would trudge off in a long procession, the men riding, the women and children walking, as they followed the migrating buffalo herds.

Tonight he would need to retrieve his horses and
hide them in the foothills. After that, there would be little to do except to keep watch and wait for the
Siksika
to dismantle their camp and leave.

Even the clouds that drifted in over the peaks could not dampen his spirits as he climbed the cliff to the hidden pool. A storm would be welcome. The rain would give him cover while he moved the horses, as well as keep the canyon safe from intruders. It might even give him time to spend in the dark warmth of the cave with Charity in his arms.

The journey ahead would be long, dangerous and miserable. They would be sleeping in the open, living on their meager supplies and whatever they could forage off the land. He was accustomed to such a life, but the hardships would push Charity to the breaking point. By the time they reached safety—
if
they reached safety—she would likely hate him. And maybe that was just as well. It would make their parting easier.

But meanwhile, they had the time that remained to them in this secret canyon. He would do his best to make it a time of tenderness. They would need a few good memories to help them survive the days ahead.

 

C
HARITY WAS NURSING
her baby on the buffalo robe, in the small patch of sunlight that slanted through the cave's entrance. A tall, familiar shadow fell across the floor and she looked up, almost fainting with relief, to see Black Sun watching her.

His warm gaze was like a caress on her bare skin.
Yesterday she would have jerked the buffalo robe over her naked breast. Today she warmed beneath his gaze, knowing that the sight of her was giving him pleasure.

He was, she thought, the most beautiful human being she had ever seen. His golden skin glistened with moisture from the waterfall, and his long hair, hastily bound and blown by the breeze, was like a tangled skein of black silk floss. But it was his face that captured her gaze and held it—the fierce, aquiline bones, the flawlessly chiseled mouth that could be both stern and sensual, the eyes like dark pools with coppery glints that flashed below the surface.

His face was gentle now, the features relaxed, the mouth molded into an easy smile, but worry flickered in the depths of his eyes. He was troubled, she realized, but he was making a show of good spirits for her sake.

“Good news,” he said. “They're getting ready to move the camp. Judging from what I saw, they'll be taking down their lodges and packing up tomorrow morning.”

“And the children? Did you see them?”

He nodded. “Three little boys, right at the mouth of the canyon. They were no taller than this—” He demonstrated their height with his level hand. “Somebody called them home while I was watching and gave them a good scolding into the bargain.”

“So you don't think they're a danger?”

“We'll need to be careful, of course, but with the camp about to move, they shouldn't give us trouble.”

Again she read the worried look in his eyes. She knew him too well not to see it. He was thinking of all the things that could go wrong and doing his best to spare her. She loved him for that, but what she really needed from him was the truth.

Annie had finished nursing and fallen into a doze. Charity slipped the leather shirt back onto her shoulder as Black Sun came inside the cave and walked to the low wall where his supplies were stored. “Among my people, it's customary to give every newborn child a gift,” he said, rummaging in the bundle. “I have something here that I want to give your Annie.”

He reached into the bundle and came up with a small deerskin medicine pouch, no bigger than the span of Annie's little hand. It hung on a soft leather thong. When he laid it on Annie's chest, Charity saw that it was decorated on one side with a sun design, rendered in beadwork so delicate that it made her breath catch.

“This is a treasure, Black Sun,” she protested. “How can we ask you to part with such a beautiful thing?”

“Because I give it with respect,” he said quietly. “If Annie were Arapaho, it would hold her birth cord to remind her of where she came from. But since that's not your custom, I thought you might want to choose something from this canyon—a stone or a flower, or a bird's feather, whatever you think she might like—as a remembrance of her birthplace.”

Because she will never come here again—that was the promise, wasn't it?
The words hung unspoken in the
silence until Charity willed them away. Black Sun meant this to be a happy occasion and she didn't want to spoil it.

“Think well about what you choose,” he said. “Whatever you put in the medicine pouch will be sacred to her. No one else should touch it or look at it. When you close the pouch, hang it from the hood of the cradleboard where she can see it. As long as she keeps it with her, she will never forget who she is and she will never lose her way.”

Charity gazed up at him, struck by something she had failed to notice before now. “Where is your medicine pouch, Black Sun?” she asked. “I've never seen you wear one. Did something happen to it?”

A bitter smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. Sadness and anger smoldered in his eyes. “My white stepfather tore my medicine pouch from around my neck one night and threw it in the fire. My mother tried to save it, but she burned her hand before he knocked her away.” His mouth tightened. “Without it, I've lost my way more times than I can count. And I've spent half my lifetime trying to remember who I am—or who I should be. Let's hope your Annie will have better luck.”

Charity sat speechless as Black Sun's simple story sank in. Since the day of their first meeting, she had struggled to understand the silent rage that smoldered inside him. Even last night, when he'd told her the story of his mother's death, she'd sensed that, for all the
grief and pain, the heart of his anger lay even deeper. Now, at last, she had her answer. Not only had the white man abused Black Sun's mother, he had also taken away the boy's most precious right—the right to grow up as one of his people.

Black Sun had spent his life looking for the man he would have become if he had not been taken away from his tribe. In his solitude he had reached out for her, but no matter how much she loved him, she would never be able to give him what he needed. If she were to try, she would only make his life more painful and confusing.

Was this what he'd been trying to tell her all along? Even last night, as he was making love to her, she'd sensed that he was holding something back. Now, at last, she understood.

She fingered the beautiful pattern on the medicine pouch. “Thank you,” she said. “I'll find something special to put in it before we leave this place.”

He shifted his weight uneasily, like a stallion about to wheel and race away. “I need to go down and watch the canyon until it's safe to move my horses,” he said. “After I've got them hidden, I'll come back here. Stay out of sight as much as you can. We don't want to take any chances.”

“Be careful—” She failed to bite back the words this time. He was going into danger and concern for his safety overshadowed all her other misgivings.

Without speaking, he reached out and brushed a knuckle along her cheek. Then he turned away.

I love you.
She could never speak those words to him out loud, but her heart whispered them as he stepped out onto the path that led down to the waterfall.
Come back to me.