Chapter Seven

Strikes First came for Cesca in the morning. Sluggish and drained, she soon remembered why. Her restless night of sleep consisted of recurring nightmares of Marsh dashing across the plains, fleeing from gruesome savages. Her father stood before her, a lock of hair in his hands and a bewildered look on his face.

Strikes First led her from the lodge with Brown Wing hobbling behind them, her gnarled legs doing their best to keep up with the long strides of the Dog Soldier. Mongrels barked as they passed, not yelps of warning, but an acknowledgement they'd been spotted traveling through their territory.

The People watched the small procession and said nothing, but several small children smiled, oblivious to the chatter falling from everyone's lips about the white woman who'd helped her brother escape.

Cesca looked at the sky, a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight. If the cursed Dog Soldiers hadn't entered her life, today she'd be fishing at the river with Marsh or riding one of her father's geldings through a meadow of wildflowers.

Strikes First opened the flap and motioned her inside. She drew a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. Brown Wing shadowed her back. If Cesca hadn't been so terrified, she would have laughed. Her only ally in the world right now was a haggard old woman named after the body part of a sparrow.

"Council lodge," Brown Wing whispered.

Strikes First took his place around the fire while Cesca scanned the crowd for Meko. Choking Wolf flanked the leader of the Dog Soldiers on the left, and a swarthy, mammoth-sized man sat to his right. Cesca detected compassion and pride in Meko's eyes when their gazes met.

She looked at the men who would decide her fate, and next she took in her surroundings. Twice the size of Meko's and Brown Wing's lodges, war shields leaned against the walls, and an impressive assembly of lances and bow cases stuffed with arrows rested nearby. A low-burning fire centered the somber group, sending a cloud of blue smoke skyward. Incense and various pungent herbs wafted around her. She'd have enjoyed the aromas under different circumstances. The interior of the lodge embraced mysticism. Cesca wondered how many prior generations had sat upon the cattail mats and hashed over serious misdeeds.

The tranquil ambience changed. Choking Wolf unfurled his tall frame from the ground and came to his feet, his high-pitched screech grating on her strained nerves. Crooking his neck in her direction, his words bore a deadly tone that didn't bode well for her.

Muted chatter filtered through the lodge, punctuated by loud voices and shouts from the warriors, but Cesca knew only a smattering of Cheyenne words. She looked to Meko again, hoping to glean something from his expression. His face remained passive, his tongue still as the conversation and arguing flowed around him. An eerie stillness settled over the crowd.

Brown Wing leaned in. "Meko ask you about brother."

He rose and faced her. "I gave you a horse, a black mare?"

She nodded.

"You gave your promise you would not try to escape?"

Surprised by her calm tone, she said, "I did."

She wondered briefly if the subtle softening of his eyes resulted from the flickering torchlight or something else. What was it about him that made her want him so? Want him even when her life hung in the balance.

His words pulled her from the tumultuous thoughts. "Did you try to escape?"

She shook her head and glanced to Choking Wolf. Black eyes filled with scorn, and something Cesca thought resembled revenge, scalded her. Marsh had told her how the man hated their kind, and at the moment the pale scalp locks fringing his war shirt solidified her brother's words. She knew the man spoke a smattering of English, had heard him speak it the day they were taken captive. He held fast to his native language now in front of his comrades.

Choking Wolf spoke to Meko and Brown Wing translated. "Choking Wolf say leader of Dog Soldier rule not with brain, but with body part between legs."

Subdued laughter rose among the warriors before their heads turned to stare at her.

Meko's solemn words brought the crowd to immediate silence. "Did you help your brother escape?"

She wanted to look away, couldn't bear the look of disappointment in his eyes.

"Answer me. Did you bring him the mare called Starlight?"

The anger in her chest shattered like broken glass. "Yes! And I'd do it again to save Marsh from this man!"

A hush came to the lodge, and a multitude of tar-pitch eyes fell upon her. Choking Wolf broke into a staccato stream of short words, expletives she imagined. Spitting into the ground, he faced Meko, his voice chilling.

Cesca heard a strangled groan rush from Brown Wing's lips, and when she glanced to Strikes First, his stoic face went pale.

"Choking Wolf want you come with him now." Cesca had never heard such angst in the old woman's voice.

Meko turned to Choking Wolf with a shake of his head, his tense body slipping into a defensive stance. The room spun and a bead of perspiration erupted on Cesca's brow.

With her hand on Cesca's forearm, a triumphant pitch rang in the old woman's voice. "Meko say no. He not give you up."

A rush of air left Cesca's lungs. Another gasp came from Brown Wing when Strikes First stepped between Meko and Choking Wolf, his arms spread to keep them apart. Chaos ensued. Braves jumped to their feet. Angry shouts bounced off the ceiling, reverberated from the walls. Cesca expected this alien race to grab their weapons, draw lines, and settle it with violence.

"What's happening, Brown Wing, why are they shouting?"

Her eyes moist, she choked out the words, "Choking Wolf demand sun torture."

Cesca's knees buckled. She checked herself, glanced to Meko, and waited for the angry voices to still. With raised fist, he faced Choking Wolf, but Strikes First pushed him back to the wall. If she thought it quiet after she lost her temper, nothing compared to the silence that fell across the lodge now. All eyes turned to her, except Meko's. Choking Wolf's sneer turned to a smile, his murderous eyes licking over her head to toe. She shivered from this new level of cruelty. The warriors picked up their weapons and war shields and filed out of the lodge.

Huddled in a corner with Meko, Strikes First's arm still rested on his chest. Neither man would look at her. She glanced to Brown Wing but the woman also avoided her gaze. It was done. Finished. Her death sentence had been decreed.

Strikes First came to her, cupped her elbow and led her from the tipi. Over her shoulder, she caught Meko's eyes. The depth of pain within nearly felled her.

On the way to Brown Wing's lodge, the old woman brushed the tears from her cheeks and Strikes First's stride would have done an injustice to a funeral procession.

"So, I will die?"

"It is for spirits to decide now," Brown Wing whispered. "He'evo'nehe too small to hold much water. Light skin no last three days."

"Three days!" She stopped in mid-flight. "They'll put me under the sun for three days?"

Brown Wing nodded. "Choking Wolf win. Want to scar you for life. No warrior want you."

"Scar me for life? Is he mad? I can't survive under this sun for three days." She prayed they'd dispute her outburst, but neither spoke.

"Meko no give you up," uttered Brown Wing. "Choking Wolf free to choose punishment."

It sounded simple, tit for tat. Bile surged up her throat. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Brown Wing said. "Center of village when sun wake."

Cesca swallowed the lump in her throat.

Strikes First opened the flap of the tipi and then disappeared into the shadows. Cesca dropped to the ground before the fire and stared into the flames. She prayed for strength, prayed she could endure. All eyes in the village would be upon her, and she couldn't cower, couldn't beg for mercy. God, give me strength.

Before retiring for the night, Brown Wing came to her. "Lay down." She pointed to Cesca's bed. "I call forth spirits to help you."

"What's the use? You said even a Dog Soldier might die under a scorching sun for three days."

The woman pointed to the bed again. "I ask, maybe they come."

Cesca complied with her odd request. On her back with her hands resting on her abdomen, she listened to Brown Wing chant while blowing pipe smoke over her prone body.

"Come Great Spirit,

Take thought of little He'evo'nehe,

Let her way lie along the good path.

Spirits hear me; let her be held in your strength."

Lulled into a trance-like state by the repetitious prayer, Cesca heard her own voice repeating the words in her head. A resonant drone wound through the lodge, not from this world but from a time-worn place. Cesca's head grew heavy, yet all desire to lift her neck from the animal pelts fled.

Brown Wing placed her weathered hands on her abdomen, slid them up to her chest, and next touched her face. Raising her head to the stars, the old woman recited a dozen names, spiritual beings, she said, that walked among the Cheyenne at one time.

Cesca's limbs tingled and went numb. A surge of blood pumped through her veins. Fear left her. The spirits Brown Wing had summoned appeared in a blue haze, benevolent entities flooding the lodge with peace. Satisfied with her endeavors, Brown Wing shook her peppered head, hobbled to her bed, and fell into an exhaustive slumber.

Cesca couldn't sleep. She waited for the apparitions to leave the lodge before she rose and collapsed to the ground near the fire. If this would be her last night on earth, she'd remain awake, relive every moment of her life, every moment she could recall.

Her journey began in her childhood. She heard her mother crooning a lullaby; saw her father bouncing her on his knee while singing a favorite tune. 'This is the way the lady rides, and this is the way the gentleman rides, and this is the way the farmer rides.'

She traveled to the day Marsh came into the world, a pink, squirming bundle of love, squealing at the top of his lungs. She saw her mother laid out on the bed, her slender fingers locked together and folded across her chest. Her grandparents wept into the folds of their hankies, their faces drawn and pale gray. Her father was crying too, his lips moving in frantic prayer as he looked toward the ceiling.

Cesca sighed. She wouldn't exchange a single day, not one minute, joy or sorrow, laughter or tears, every moment precious. And now? Oh, God, she couldn't think about tomorrow. She might be dead by nightfall, laid out in a godforsaken land and not a soul to weep over her lifeless body, kiss her goodbye or care if she received a proper burial. She lived among heathens now, a strange lot of copper people who didn't care about her life, would delight in her death.

A noise at the flap of the tipi drew her attention. One glance at Meko and all breath left her body. Despite the heat in the lodge, her teeth chattered. How she wanted him to take her into his arms and claim her. Ruination no longer mattered when one faced death. She watched his face, prayed he'd come for her and her alone.

His low, ragged breath thrilled her, whipped over her frayed nerves like a lightning strike. "Come, little He'evo'nehe."

She rose, walked forward in a surreal trance and took the hand he offered. He led her from the tipi, through the village and stopped in front of his lodge moments later. Inside, he brought her to his bed and pulled her to him with her back snuggled into his chest. His lodge exuded calm and strength. Smoked cherry-bark and the pleasing aroma of herbs reached her from the cook fire. She fought back tears when he wrapped his arms around her and cocooned her in a web of false security.

"I will tell you a story about another young girl, a very brave Cheyenne woman," he whispered. "The white man will one day call it The Battle of the Rosebud, but the People will call it The Fight Where the Girl Saved Her Brother."

"What do you mean 'will one day call it?'" In spite of the serious situation, an alarm blared in her head. "Hasn't she already saved her brother?"

"No, but one day she will."

He could be so strange, brutally savage one minute and agonizingly tender the next. He spoke the white man's tongue with skill, had been well-educated. Like a bridge spanning the ages, he possessed a divine calling seldom found in men. He didn't seem to belong in her world or in the Cheyenne world either, and yet behind her sat a man of flesh and blood.

The strange mystery of the dark warrior made her shiver. How did he know about events that hadn't yet happened? In a state of panic over what would occur when the sun came up, perhaps she'd read too much into the nagging suspicions.

"Buffalo Calf Road Woman, sister to Chief Comes-In-Sight, and wife of Black Coyote was a great warrior who fought beside them in battles."

"What battles?" She had to know the truth. Had the battles already taken place? If her suspicions were correct, if Meko truly came from another time and place, did it mean he'd return one day?

"Do you want to hear the story, little one, or not?" When he stroked the hair at the side of her head, the action brought fresh tears to her eyes.

She sighed and nodded, hoping the legend would take her mind off the black cloud shrouding her.

"In this fight, the Cheyenne woman stood next to her husband, her eyes searching the battlefield for her beloved brother. Comes-In-Sight was surrounded by white soldiers and many Crow scouts."

"The Crow helped the white man?"

"Yes, they turned against their own kind."

"What did the brave woman do?"

"She jumped onto the back of her pony and raced toward her brother. Amazed that she'd come to save him, he stuck his hand out and pulled himself up behind her. Together they raced up the hill to where the chiefs and medicine men watched the battle. The Crow scouts shot their arrows, soldiers fired their guns, but none touched the woman and her brother. Some say the spirit of courage shielded them. The Cheyenne whistled and shouted, and soon even the white men tossed their hats into the air and roared a mighty cheer when she made it to safety. Many who saw her ride of bravery thought she'd counted the biggest coup of all—not in taking life, but in giving it. That is the reason the People call it The Fight Where the Girl Saved Her Brother."

Cesca blew her nose on the rag he handed her. "It's a lovely story." She shifted her body and faced him. "You must tell me what will happen in the morning. Everything."

"If I do, will it change what comes?"

"No, but not knowing is harder to face than the truth."

"You need to know only one thing. If you die, I'll find you again."

Terror seized her. Had he actually said the word die? This could be her last night on earth. Her fingers traced the scar above his eyebrow, if for no other reason than to take her mind from the ordeal awaiting her. "How did you get this?"

"Tomahawk."

She ran her fingers along the scar on his chin. "And this one?"

"Knife wound."

Heat emanated from his body. She didn't know much about wanton desire, but her breasts hardened beneath the doeskin shirt and a slick of wetness formed between her thighs. She could think of nothing but him removing her pants and satisfying this painful throbbing between her legs.

This man of solid muscle and power with his dark, brooding looks had frightened her in the past, but now those traits made her want him in the most shameful way. She longed for him to seize her, force himself upon her. Dear Maman, when had she lost all control of her senses?

Logic and reason left her. She didn't care if he knew how much she needed him. She slid her hand beneath his shirt, her fingers lingering over the raised circles of scar tissue near each breast. The sound of his rapid inhalation pleased her. She searched his face, hoping to read his thoughts, but found only a smoky glaze in his eyes.

Engrossed in the current of passion between them, his words startled her. "You've never lain with a man before?"

She croaked out an answer. "No."

"Then you should stop if you want to keep it that way."

"Tomorrow I could be dead." The strain had left her voice, replaced by a strength she knew she'd find with him.

"You think to taste this fruit before your life is over?"

"And you think I'm using you for—for my own selfish reasons?"

His tongue found her ear, dissolving any wavering thoughts. "I think a woman who is about to face what you must, should have her every wish granted."

Hard and searching, his mouth covered hers. He lifted her without effort and shifted his weight until she lay beneath him. Her breath lodged in her chest when his hands stroked her face and trailed down her throat.

She arched beneath him; her nipples taut with need. He rolled the pants down her hips, lifted her shirt and pulled it over her head. Closing her eyes, she heard him remove his clothing and counted off the seconds. Soon that hard body would cover hers, their bare skin would meet.

She whimpered and then he was there, sliding his hands over her flesh with the skill of a sculptor. His scent intoxicated her, pure male tinged with the heady aromas of pine trees, horseflesh and the earth. Everything about the man oozed wild, including her spiraling feelings for him. Beneath her palm, his heart thundered in perfect sync with hers. How odd, his skin felt warm and cool at the same time. A shiver claimed her when he responded to her touch with a low moan.

Panting, he loomed over her, his left arm holding the weight of his body, his right hand seeking the nub of her sex. Normally shy about her body, she moaned, couldn't dispel the fire in the pit of her belly. Gentle yet demanding, he stroked her, wringing a series of gasps from her lips. In a moment of panic, she drew her legs together.

"You are afraid?" He withdrew his hand. "You wish me to stop?"

The absence of his touch stripped away the remaining doubt. She shook her head and guided his hand back. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

She rubbed against his hand, wanting more. Answering her subtle request, he pushed a finger inside and resumed the masterful rhythm he'd employed moments ago.

Intense rapture tore through her. "Yes, oh, yes."

"You want more, little one?'

The words fell from her lips of their own volition. "More, yes, more."

Another finger joined the first and she shuddered with an intense hunger she longed to quench. Methodically he seduced her and like a fool she moaned against his chest.

Half-dazed and on the brink of an unknown pleasure, she undulated beneath him, her body screaming for release. Soon she'd be begging and pleading like a wanton whore.

His soothing voice came to her on a whisper, Cheyenne words that held no meaning but sent waves of bliss coursing through her. She cried out when he removed his fingers. That distant realm she sought lay just beyond her reach now.

He nudged her legs apart with his knees and she felt a hardness press against her entrance. For a brief moment, panic assailed her again. Her childhood teachings came rushing back in a montage of vignettes. She placed her hand against his chest and tried to push him from her.

"Too late now, little one."

Her breath came in shuddering moans when he entered her. Discomfort seized her, but she bit her lip against the pain and buried her face in his torso. Moments later, a dull ache replaced the pain and subsided with his slow, rhythmic thrusts.

He kissed her wet cheeks. "Do not fight it, body or mind. Let it happen."

His words calmed her, sent her down a path of surrender. She'd wanted him before, but now she craved everything he offered, hungered to return what the dark warrior gave. She rose up to meet him time and again, thrust for thrust. If only time would cease so she could remain in this blissful cradle of heat and consummate desire. Yielding to the building need, she no longer struggled against the tide but embraced it.

The sun shone on her face and the wind rushed through her hair. Onward she spiraled, the white lights exploding behind her eyelids. When her body stiffened and she called out his name, Meko plunged into her hard and deep. A flash of silver rocked through her, and then a low growl came from Meko before he collapsed on top of her.

In the aftermath, he held her close, his ragged breath hot against her ear. Exhausted and mystified over what had passed between them, neither spoke. She held no regret, but rather a haunting emptiness. She'd never lay with him again, feel him inside her.

Remorse for losing what she'd found washed over her. She closed her eyes and yielded to the exhaustion beckoning her.

* * *

Cesca awoke in Brown Wing's lodge and couldn't recall how she'd arrived. The moon shed the last of its pale light as she looked through the hole above her. Dawn rode its cusp. She rose from bed and joined the old woman at the fire. Dark circles ringed Brown Wing's puffy eyes. Her friend's night had passed in haze of worry.

"Do not cry for me, Brown Wing. No matter what. Death comes for us all one day."

"What little boy-girl know about time on earth or old woman's tears?"

Cesca reached across the fire and touched her cheek. "Thank you for being my friend when I have not one in the world."

Brown Wing broke into sobs, her frail, weathered body shaking with the onslaught. "I be there." Her voice hitched with emotion. "You remember."

Cesca stood and helped her to her feet. A drum rolled in the distance, a signal the ceremony had begun.

Strikes First stepped into the tipi. "It is time." He handed her a sleeveless dress made from cured buckskin. "You must wear."

Cesca nodded and he turned to leave, but stopped to face her again. "Must go somewhere else here." He pointed to his head. "Only way you will live."

Her lips trembled. "I'm not sure I know how."

"Will know when time comes. Must not think of hot sun. Think of soaring above clouds where rain is made."

"Heaven, you mean?"

"Your kind call it heaven. My People call it place where spirits live, where rain is made."

His dark eyes passed over her a final time before he ducked out the flap of the tipi.