Wolf Runner (20 page)

“Will you not rest?” Rain Song suggested. “You have come far. I will awaken you when there is any news of my son.”

Cheyenne laid the bowl aside and wearily lay down, resting her head against the soft fur Rain Song had provided. “I am tired,” she said, yawning.

And she slept.

Wolf Runner slid behind a rock formation and then crawled forward on his belly. He could hear the Cheyenne warriors’ voices, and they were arguing among themselves.

“It is not for us to capture the dead chief’s granddaughter—she made the choice to leave our village,” one of them said.

Night Fighter accused them all of cowardice. “Then return to the village and drink your mother’s milk. None of you deserves to ride with me.”

Wolf Runner recognized the warrior he had once fought with, the one who had wounded him. He was the one who was the most vocal against the raid.

“I say this to you all: have I not met Wolf Runner in combat and he survived, although the wound I inflicted on him would have killed a lesser man? And I say further, none here can defeat him.”

“We are now on Blackfoot land, which could be viewed as an act of war. The council will not like our being here—our chief is dead, we have no chief and should return to the village until we have a new leader,” said another.

“Cowards! You have me to lead you. And I believe when the council meets to choose a new chief, they will choose my father or perhaps even me. I have no one here to answer to.”

Wolf Runner had been creeping closer and by now he had heard enough. Placing an arrow in his bow, he stepped out of the shadows, with Satanta at his side.

“Answer to me,” Wolf Runner said, aiming his arrow straight at Night Fighter’s heart. “Say what you will before you die. This is our land, and you were not invited.”

A slow grin curved Night Fighter’s lips. “I hoped I would find you. I have made a promise to myself that I will be the one to end the life of the Blackfoot’s most valiant warrior.” The way he said it was no compliment.

“I am but one of many,” Wolf Runner said, his arrow never wavering, but his glance went to the others. “This is not your fight. But if any one of you dispute that, I will get to you in time.” His gaze slid back to Night Fighter. “What thoughts go through a warrior’s mind when he knows he is about to die?”

Night Fighter licked his dry lips. “Do you kill me without giving me a chance to defend myself?”

“Name your weapon,” he said. “The rest of you throw down your weapons or Night Fighter dies now.”

There were sounds of weapons hitting the ground, and Wolf Runner glanced down at Satanta. “Make sure the others do not join in the fight,” he told the wolf. On cue, Satanta trotted toward the others, his wolf eyes moving over each warrior, quivering as if ready to attack at the slightest movement.

Night Fighter jerked out his knife. “I choose this weapon—I like to get near enough to my enemy to see his fear.”

Before the Cheyenne warrior had a chance to react, Wolf Runner threw down his bow and withdrew his own knife. “Then let it be.”

The other warriors’ eyes widened at the bravery of the Blackfoot who showed no fear despite the fact that the odds were against him. In unison they backed up, eyeing the wolf, and watching two powerful warriors clash.

Muscles strained and bulged, and although it was cold, sweat dampened each fighter’s face.

Night Fighter drew first blood—his knife slashed across Wolf Runner’s face. Wolf Runner did not flinch, but went on the attack. With a quick movement, he slid his leg behind Night Fighter and drove him to the ground. Before anyone knew what had happened, Wolf Runner’s knife found its mark deep in Night Fighter’s chest. He watched his enemy twitch and then become still in death.

Wiping his knife on the dead man’s shirt, he stood and faced the others. “Would any of you like to have a turn?” Wolf Runner asked.

“We do not wish to fight you,” one of them said. “Your cause is just. We are on your land.”

“Then take your fallen warrior and go. He does not deserve to lie on Blackfoot land.” Wolf Runner slid his knife into his belt and picked up his bow and arrow. “This settles an old debt. Let no man from your tribe come to Blackfoot land with vengeance in his heart.”

The others mumbled among themselves, as two of them lifted the fallen Night Fighter. Wolf Runner watched them until they rode out of sight and then he touched his face where Night Fighter had wounded him. It was little more than a scratch.

“Let us go home, Satanta,” he said, walking up the hill and gathering his horse’s reins. “It is over.”

The night passed without Cheyenne waking.

Rain Song stirred restlessly, knowing her son was
facing danger. The part of her that was still white wanted to coddle and protect him, but in the Black-foot culture, that was not allowed. Her husband did not lie beside her this night, and she knew he would be standing by the river, waiting for their son’s return.

Just before sunup she heard riders and rushed outside to find Wolf Runner had come home.

Rain Song waited for him to dismount, then embraced him. “Thank God you are home safely. You have been gone so long I began to worry.”

“I already told my father about the warriors who were following me. I came upon their camp and defeated their leader. I do not think we will be bothered by the Cheyenne again. Our women have been avenged.”

Rain Song nodded, understanding her son had done what was necessary. “It is as it must be.”

Wolf Runner smiled down at her. “It is good to see you, my mother.” He glanced around. “Where are my brother and sister? Is it too early for them to greet me?”

“They have gone with a hunting party and should return in a few days’ time. Sooner if they learn you have returned.”

“How is Cheyenne?” Wolf Runner asked, glancing toward his father’s tipi, where he was certain she slept.

“She was weary and fell asleep early and is still sleeping, as far as I know.”

“Excuse me, Mother,” he said, turning away and moving swiftly toward his father’s lodge.

Wind Warrior appeared beside his wife. “His actions are unexpected. Why does he rush to the woman?”

Rain Song’s brow knitted in worry. “I do not know.
Our son should have gone first to his intended bride, Blue Dawn.”

Wind Warrior stared down at her. “This could mean trouble.”

“It is strange,” she said, looking toward the tipi where Cheyenne slept. “I never saw Blue Dawn as our son’s wife.”

“He has made his pledge to her,” Wind Warrior reminded his wife.

“What if he does not love her? Would you have our son take a woman to be his if he does not love her?”

“I would have our son walk with honor.”

Rain Song was quiet for a moment as she pondered the situation. “What would you have done if you had given your word to another and your heart was mine? Would you have turned away from me, husband?”

He touched her shoulder, his eyes flaming with emotion. “I would have taken you to wife and forgotten about honor.” He gazed at his son, watching him enter the lodge. “But I did not have to make the choice our son will face. There was never any question that you would be mine.”

“Wolf Runner will have choices to make,” Rain Song said, staring at the clouds that were gathering overhead. “It could be that he does not care so much for Cheyenne, and is just worried about her because she had been in his care for so long.”

“Let us hope that is so. But I do not think it is.”

Wolf Runner stood over Cheyenne, watching her sleep. Now that he was home, he could no longer see her every day. He could not touch her, or listen to her laugh.

He had just turned to leave when she whispered his name, and he turned back to her.

“You are safe.”

He stood stiffly before her. “I was never in any danger.”

Cheyenne sat up, brushing stray hair out of her face. “Was it Night Fighter?”

“It was. But you must have no fear that he will ever bother you again.”

“He is dead?”

Wolf Runner nodded.

“I’m not sorry. He was an evil man.”

She could read many emotions in his eyes—he was remembering their last night together, and so was she. She stood slowly, wishing he would take her in his arms, but of course he never would again. He belonged to another woman.

Looking him over carefully, she saw no wounds, merely a long scratch on his cheek. “I’m glad you were not injured.”

He moved to leave. “My mother will see to your comfort and teach you that which you need to know.”

Reaching out to him, she touched his shoulder. “Wolf Runner, will you really take the other woman as your wife?”

Swallowing hard, he looked down at her. He wanted to hold her close. He wanted to take her to his mountain and shut the rest of the world out of their lives. But he could not have what he wanted. “I have not seen her yet. I must go to her now.”

“Wolf Runner…I…wish you happiness.”

His restraint broke and he gathered her in his arms, crushing her against his chest. “Never will a day go by that I will not think of you and wish you were mine. Know that I carry you in my heart, no matter who I am with.”

He released Cheyenne and moved quickly out of
the tipi, standing in the snow, wishing he could return to her. He was sick at heart, and felt as if the world no longer had any meaning.

“My son,” Rain Song said, coming up beside him. “Will you be able to give Cheyenne up?”

“Mother, it is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.” He glanced down at her and saw the sadness in her green eyes. “Do not worry, and tell my father not to be concerned. I will do what duty demands of me.”

Tears gathered in Rain Song’s eyes. Yes, like his father, he would do what was expected of him, but he loved Ivy Gatlin’s granddaughter, and his hurt was his mother’s hurt.

Cheyenne stepped out of the tipi into a chilling wind. Her gaze followed Satanta as he raced across the village, soon to be greeted by five other wolves that circled around him. The animals danced around one another, sniffing and licking, obviously happy to be reunited.

Melancholy struck Cheyenne. Wolf Runner would soon be reunited with the woman who was going to be his. Perhaps he already was. She hugged herself against the wind, now more unhappy than ever—Wolf Runner loved her, but there was no joy in that knowledge. She would have to watch him with the other woman, knowing the woman lay in his arms at night and received his kisses; it would be her body his hands caressed and her that he made love to.

Rain Song approached from another tipi and walked in Cheyenne’s direction. After meeting the mother and father, she could see why Wolf Runner was bound by honor.

“You must be chilled to the bone,” Rain Song told her, opening the tipi flap and sweeping her hand forward. “Sit by the fire while I make you something to eat.”

Woodenly, Cheyenne obeyed, knowing she should not allow Wolf Runner’s mother to wait upon her, but she was too weary to protest. Glancing at the beautiful
white woman, she could not help but make an observation. “You are happy here in the Blackfoot village,” she said. “Do you never miss the life you had before you were brought here?”

Rain Song handed Cheyenne a bowl and sat beside her. “This is where my husband and children are, and I have many friends here as well. My aunt and uncle often visit, and give me all the news of the white world.” She shook her head. “Everything I want is here.”

Cheyenne nodded. “I understand why you feel that way.” She took a bite of something that tasted like mush and found it delicious because it was laced with honey, nuts, and berries. “What will become of me?”

“My husband and I have been talking about that. You will remain here with us until such time as you may want to accept one of our warriors as your husband. If you do not wish to marry, you will erect a tipi of your own and live in peace.”

“That is allowed?”

“If my husband says it is, and he will, if that is what you decide.”

Cheyenne hung her head. “You are kind, and I thank you for it.”

Feeling the young woman’s hurt, Rain Song knew what troubled her—the same thing that troubled her son. These two young people were meant to be together—but because of a pledge of honor, they would be made to suffer the rest of their lives, and that made Rain Song angry.

“Cheyenne, the Blackfoot have a saying that I will try to translate: if the wind blows in the wrong direction, you cannot reach out your hand and turn it in the direction you want it to go—rather go in the direction it blows.”

Raising her head, Cheyenne nodded. “I understand, and I will do what is expected of me.” Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I hesitate to tell you I love your son, and I believe he loves me.”

“I know he does, and it troubles me deeply.” Rain Song was reflective before she spoke again. “This also troubles my husband.”

“Pray do not trouble yourself about anything I’ve said.” Cheyenne forced a smile. “I am happy to be here, and I thank you for taking me into your…tipi. I know now what is expected of me, and I will not disappoint you.”

Rain Song knew her son would be happy with this sweet young woman, but she kept her thoughts to herself. “Let us put that aside for now. For the moment I can do something to help ease you into your new life. How would you like it if I begin teaching you our language?”

This time Cheyenne’s smile was genuine. “I would like that. Wolf Runner taught me a few words, but I can’t put sentences together.”

“Then I will teach you to be fluent in our language. You will need to know what everyone is saying, and be able to speak to others so you can really feel at home.”

Later, when the snowstorm had moved away, Rain Song took Cheyenne about the village and introduced her to other women, translating their words of welcome for Cheyenne.

“They think you are beautiful,” Rain Song told her. “One of them said you would be pretty if your skin was not so white.” Rain Song laughed with humor. “They once said the same thing about me. Now I don’t think they see the color of my skin.”

Cheyenne thought about what Rain Song had said. “It will be a blessing to be in a place where I am known for who I am and not how I look.”

“Then this will be your home.”

Firethorn met Blue Dawn as she came out of her father’s tipi. He stopped before her, shaking his head. “I am sorry you have been so humiliated—it must be hard on you, with all the village knowing of your shame.”

She stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Wolf Runner’s actions. I was stunned that he brought another woman home with him, and to make it worse, she has Cheyenne blood in her.”

“Wolf Runner is home?”

“I know, it is another shame you must bear that he went to the other woman last night and did not first come to you. I am sorry, you must be so humiliated.”

Blue Dawn’s face twisted with rage. “How could he do this to me?”

“There is more,” Firethorn said with seeming reluctance. “He gave her a wolf—and not just any wolf. He gave her Satanta, the alpha of the pack.”

“He gave her a wolf?” Her face was white with rage. “He should have given Satanta to me.”

“I thought you did not like the wolves. I thought they frightened you.”

“Even so, he should have asked me.”

Firethorn tried not to smile—he had never liked Blue Dawn and had never thought she was right for his friend. “If only the word had not spread through the whole village, you might have borne the shame.”

Her eyes widened with anger. “I knew he was not
to be trusted when he left. I made him promise he would have no woman but me.”

Nodding, Firethorn said, “I believe he broke his promise, and everyone else must believe it as well. I only wonder which one of you will be his first wife, and which one will be second.”

Blue Dawn stomped her foot. “I am glad I do not love him or my heart would be broken. I will not have him, and I will accuse him of being false in front of the whole village.”

“That would make him understand your anger.” Firethorn looked sorrowful. “Too bad.”

Firethorn smiled when he turned away. There was no end of trouble he had stirred up today.