White Eagle's Touch (10 page)

“Miss Wellington.” The prince seemed to ignore the antics of her fiancé and nodded toward her, while Karl Bodmer bowed.

All three men held half-empty glasses in their hands, and the marquess’s two friends, having restored the man to his feet, stood behind him with wine bottles poised. The two men were ever ready, it would seem, to fulfill a request for more wine.

“Drink, m’dear?”

“No, thank you.”

“Damn good brew, I must say,” the marquess commented, then gasped, hiccupping. “Pardon my language, m’dear.”

Katrina smiled and nodded. “I have come to speak with you, my lord.”

“Have you now? Jolly good, I should say, what? Do you want to see me alone, or do you approve a crowd?” The marquess smirked, as though he laughed at some private joke.

“Alone, I should think.”

“Very well, m’dear.” He held out his arm to her. “Let us adjourn then, outside, to the night; but pray, I might ask you, do not choose to
fight.
Ah, do you see?” He smiled at her. “It rhymes…night and fight? I must say,” he tittered, and sent a satisfied look over his shoulder to his two friends.

Katrina sent a glance heavenward.

Not that she censured the man’s behavior. Normally she found no complaint with the marquess, but she was in no mood for it this night. Not when she was worried about her future; not when she was more than aware of a foreign presence in the room, watching her.

She hadn’t seen the Indian since that day, a week ago, when he had kissed her. She had debated all through the week as to whether she should tell anyone what the Indian had done, finally settling upon keeping the knowledge to herself.

Lord knows what would happen to the man if it were to be found out that he…that she had allowed…

The marquess’s two friends chose that moment to make ridiculous, agreeable noises, all in awe of the marquess’s undoubtedly brilliant oratory, and it was almost more than she could do to smile and pretend enchantment.

It seemed to her that these two friends of the marquess were, in character, more mousey than manly, and she wondered why the marquess continued to entertain them.

But when even the prince snickered, seemingly taken with the marquess’s unsurpassingly clever wit, she decided to do nothing more than turn her back on them all, agitated though she was. To the marquess, she said over her shoulder, “M’lord, now, if you please? I would like to speak with you alone.”

“M’dear? Ah, yes, certainly, pardon.” And with the flare of his arm and the swish of his suit coat and tails, the marquess caught her hand, almost stumbling upon her in his stupor. Yet still, he managed to stand up straight, thanks to his cane, and at last he was able to accompany her out into the beautiful brilliance of a northwestern summer night.

And if the stars shone more brightly than on other, previous evenings, she was certain the marquess hadn’t noticed.

Not at all.

“Then you are not intending to travel with Prince Maximilian?” Katrina asked the marquess, her face averted from him.

“Of course not, m’dear. But I have a note here that I have written and will send to your uncle.”

Katrina hid her shock well, an easy thing to do. The marquess, clearly more interested in his snuff box, wasn’t even looking at her, though his state of intoxication thwarted his efforts. In sooth, he kept bringing the box up toward him, only to miss his nose, thereby sniffing no more than fresh, night air.

She sighed. At any other time she would have found the entire affair humorous, but not tonight. Tonight she was too upset, too overwrought.

The prince was due to sail tomorrow, and she hadn’t yet told anyone that she planned to be on that boat. After a moment, she said, “A note? You intend to do nothing more than send my uncle a note? But, m’lord, my uncle has requested that
you
travel to see him.”

“Nonsense, I say.” The marquess pinched one of his nostrils and tried again to take a whiff from his box. He missed. “Do not fret, m’dear, I am sure once your uncle receives word from me, he will make haste to come here. After all,” the marquess proclaimed, “it is almost the same as a royal summons. Besides, if I were to go, I might likely be eaten alive by the savages, don’t you know? My word, but that rhymed.”

Katrina groaned. “I see,” she said. She drew away from her fiancé and strolled to a far corner of the veranda. “But, my lord,” she said, turning around to face him, “do you have the finances to stay here throughout the summer?”

“What? What was that, you say? Did I mention only myself, m’dear? How positively pedantic of me. Oh, do forgive me, won’t you? You shall stay, too, of course, and that will take care of that. After all, it was not one of
my
conditions of our betrothal that I come to this place. Wasn’t it you who said we would find your dowry here? Now, if I had asked you, it would only be right that I pay for the services…”

Katrina scowled. “I think you should go to Fort McKenzie, my lord.”

“Me? Whatever for? Not when I can stay here in comfort and simply send a note to your uncle.

Rather rude, I say, isn’t it, him asking me to go there and all?”

Katrina hesitated a moment. “I should probably tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I am intending to go there, my lord.”

“Yes, m’dear, and I… What?”

“It is something I have been considering for some time. I wish to get this business behind us so that we can start our…our married life. It is evident to me that my uncle is delaying. It is my intent, therefore, to go to him and get this settled immediately. It is, after all, my inheritance and dowry. It is my right to go there.”

“Nonsense, m’dear. I really must insist that you reconsider this.”

Katrina shook her head. “I am quite decided.”

“Are you, now?” The marquess brought his feet together and tried to raise himself up to his full height. The effect, however, was lost by his stagger. “Excuse me, m’dear, but I must tell you that I simply forbid you to go. Isn’t proper, now, is it? Not at all. And I can’t think of any reason why you would want to—”

“I intend to go, nevertheless, proper or not, and I think that you should consider traveling there with me.”

“Me?”

“Yes, my lord. You have come all this way to procure my dowry. My uncle has it. Doesn’t it make sense, then, to make the journey there to receive it?”

“Not at all, m’dear. Not at all. It would be a monstrous mistake, quite. Monstrous, indeed.”

“I disagree.”

“Yes,” said the marquess, “I can see that. Are you always this disagreeable, my dear?”

“I fear that I can be, my lord.”

“I was afraid of that.” The marquess tried to square his shoulders. “Pity that. I’m quite afraid I will have to do something about this stubborn streak of yours after we are married, my dear. Can’t have you thinking for yourself, now, can we? Imagine that, a woman who believes she can make independent decisions. It’s simply not done, my dear, not done at all. Why, I would be laughed right out of the country, I would. Laughed at, I say.”

“But, my lord—”

“Here, here, now, girl, enough of that. I forbid you to go. And that’s the end of that. Now, I must insist that we return to the party. Take my arm, there’s a good girl.”

“But, my lord, I have more to say, to tell you, and I—”

“No more,” the marquess pointed to his arm. “Take it, I say.”

Katrina hesitated, but when the marquess continued to point toward his arm, she raised her hand to place it upon his arm, and then held back.

“Excuse me, my lord, but I would like to stay outside for a while. It is most stifling hot inside, and the air out here is fresh and cool. Mayhap I would like to take a stroll in the garden. Would you care to accompany me?”

The marquess stumbled. “What was that, m’dear? A garden? You can’t possibly mean that mosquito-infested plot Mr. McKenzie keeps out back of his home?”

“That was the one, my lord.”

“I say, do you enjoy being bitten?”

“Not at all, my lord, it is only that—”

“Not tonight, m’dear, not tonight. Now come along,” he extended his arm yet again.

“No,” Katrina said, dropping her hand to her side, “you go on. There is a glass of wine awaiting you just inside, while I…I wish to stay here, if only for a moment more.”

The marquess bowed as grandly as possible. “As you wish, m’dear. As you wish. But remember this, we stay here on the morrow.” And with this said, the marquess turned, and Katrina watched as he made his way back inside the home of the bourgeois, albeit unsteadily.

She would go, she determined. The only problem remaining was how to obtain the marquess’s agreement to accompany her.

But the marquess had been drunk. Perhaps tomorrow morning might find him more agreeable.

She hoped it would be so.

Drumbeats and chanting sounded off from far below her.

Katrina stood at the railing of the promenade which skirted the northeastern bastion of the fort. Somehow, in her stroll through the courtyard, she had made her way to this spot which stood high above the prairie.

She looked down into the Indian village which was alive with apparent dancing and feasting, and she was struck by the difference between what she was seeing here, and the party which she had just left.

Somehow, this one seemed…better.

There were children down there, for one thing; something that was conspicuously missing within the fort. There was happy laughter, too; not the drunken sort of merriment which she had witnessed earlier tonight.

But there was more to it than that. In her melancholy mood, something about the Indian camp intrigued her and she felt…pulled toward it.

Not that she would do anything about it…those people down there were savage, primitive, and yet…

She could almost feel the happiness that abounded in the camp, and it occurred to her that this emotion was as foreign to her as the people were themselves. The Indians clearly exhibited a sense of lightheartedness that she would have been hard-pressed to find within her own world. These people seemed carefree…insouciant.

Had she ever felt that way?

She couldn’t recall a time.

Yet something was happening to her tonight, some feeling, some emotion had been sparked and set to life within her.

Lord knows, she couldn’t have explained it, had anyone asked. All she knew was that she had to be a part of that scene down there somehow, even if it were only from atop her perch on the bastion.

Perhaps it was because she was so worried, so upset. Perhaps the drumbeat and the singing were acting as a balm for her overwrought senses. Perhaps.

Whatever it was, it was frightening, the change that was taking place within her. But she could not deny that something was happening to her, something…different.

And truly, she should have been appalled by the savagery of those performances, the primitive steps, the simple costumes, the whooping and hollering of the men and women. Yet, she wasn’t.

If she were to be truthful with herself, she would admit that she was enchanted by what she saw.

But she wasn’t quite so honest. And so she merely watched and listened.

Low-pitched voices sang to the beat of a drum while scantily dressed figures danced around a fire.

People stood on the outskirts of the circle of dancers, and she could hear the buzz of talking, see the figures of women, of children swaying to the beat; she could feel their joy.

Had he gone back down there?

She didn’t know where that thought had come from. She shook her head, as though to clear it. She had to stop thinking of the man. Actually, she had to stop acting like she was now.

Still, she didn’t move away.

She listened to the voices. The music reached out to her. Perhaps if she went down there, she might forget about her troubles.

Mayhap, if she could put her worries behind her for a moment, she might be able to think more clearly later.

It seemed possible, if only remotely.

But she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t go there. They were Indian. She was white. And somehow, the two paths just didn’t meet.

She swayed forward, though, against the rail.

She could smell the smoky scent of the fire, the tantalizing aromas of cooking stews and meats, and that drink she had heard had only been recently introduced to the Indians—coffee.

The night sky was dark, starlit only, the moon yet to rise, but still the colors of the dancers’ regalia, the yellows and whites, the blues and reds, were all so clearly defined in the firelight for her, it might as well have been day.

Did he feel her watching them?

She continued to gaze downward, into the village. The structure of the Indian lodges, their tepees, looked soft and inviting to her, compared to the hard walls of the bourgeois’ abode; the Indian lodges gave off a colorful glow against the background of the night. She wanted to feel the texture of those lodges and she found her hand actually moving out toward the scene.