Page 34

A few days later, Stands Strong found himself lying belly down upon one of the highest points surrounding Grass Woman Springs, his duty being to keep a constant vigil in order to ensure the safety of them all. Luckily, the spring grasses provided a cushion against the hard ground of this high prairie, for he dared not stand up nor even sit up as he cast a glance in every direction, looking for signs of a war party.

He had instructed George to do much the same as he, but George's position was from a different rise in the land and his attention was centered in an opposite direction.

It was a day-and-night watch they were forced to keep, and between Stands Strong, George and First Rider, they managed to keep a constant guard. Stands Strong's plan was to remain as invisible as possible to any wandering war party and, if necessary, to act as a decoy away from the springs, thus allowing the man Henrik to use the healing waters to recover, if a recovery were even possible.

Stands Strong let his mind wander a little while yet keeping his attention on the environment. True to his word, he was avoiding ótsipi Matsowá'p, meaning Brings Beauty, or simply Matsowá'p, meaning Beauty in the Blackfeet tongue. And, he thought she was doing the same with him. It was hard to remain away from her, however, when he desired to be with her constantly. But, he could think of no other solution for them. Truly, their worlds did not meet, and perhaps they never would. And so, more times than not, he found himself staying away from their encampment at the sulfur springs.

It was odd to think how similar his relationship with Matsowá'p was to his liaison with Good Shield Woman, the woman he had once asked to be his wife. Good Shield Woman, too, had let her devotion to her father be the reason to marry another. Stands Strong had truly loved Good Shield Woman, and she had loved him in return and had admitted she would have accepted his proposal but for her devotion to her father and the rest of her family.

Was it only a year ago when Good Shield Woman had made her choice? At the time, Stands Strong had thought he might never repair the damage to his heart. But, over time, and upon seeing how happy she was with her new husband, Stands Strong had at last put the loss behind him.

Could he do the same with Matsowá'p? Of course he could and he would. After all, he and Matsowá'p had only known one another for a short time. It should be easy to stay away from her and to let her go as soon as he had guided her to meet with her cousin.

Yet, it wasn't easy to stop thinking about her and wishing it could be different. Since his first encounter with her, she had weaved a place into his heart and into his mind until she was now almost always in his thoughts. Indeed, she was even invading his dreams, allowing him to recall again the softness of her skin, the luxurious taste of her and the enticing aroma of her femininity.

But, this alone wasn't the full extent of his problem with her; she was being helped by other forces. Niitá'p, indeed, he felt as if the spirits were pushing him toward her also, since Windmaker, himself, brought her delicate and particular scent to him within the gusts and drafts of the prairie winds. And, at such times, Stands Strong begged Windmaker to have pity on him and stop reminding him of her.

But, it was not to be. The very force of nature seemed to conspire against him. Was he wrong, or did Windmaker know some wisdom he, being a mere mortal, didn't? After all, why else would the power of nature try to persuade him to make love to Matsowá'p?

He already knew she would fall into his arms. And, perhaps it was this remembrance which was the most maddening.

Still, he wondered if Windmaker were aiding the Creator in testing his fortitude. Was this merely an ordeal to determine if he would really keep his scruples and remain aloof from her, especially when every impulse within him begged him to give in to her and make love to her?

Perhaps. But, it little mattered. He would keep his honor, yes, but he would also not watch her walk away from him without mustering a fight to keep her. But, his weapons to do this were not the same as the armaments of lance or gun. Instead, his offense was simply to tease her, to cause her to laugh and to touch her now and again, inviting her to become accustomed to him—at least he would do these actions if he felt himself up to the challenge of controlling his impulses. But, there was another factor in a relationship between a man and a woman, and if a man were wise, it was one he would never forget: that element being kindness. Many were the times when Stands Strong had watched his almost-father win, without really winning, an argument, simply by acts of kindness. The truth was no one had really 'won' the argument. Instead, his almost-father and -mother had both merely agreed on taking a different path.

Niitá'p, as the wise men had always known, it takes a strong man to be kind, especially when a man's first instinct is to simply conquer.

áa, he would fight for her, but he would not force her against her will to marry him, which was really the problem. He knew he could easily kiss her and caress her and beckon her to fall into his arms. But, because of his lack of control over his own passion, he dared not do it.

After all, it was only a few days ago when he had almost lost control and made love to her and, had he done it, it would have sealed their pact, a deed he knew was wrong. But, contrarily, he wasn't certain he would ever win her, especially when duty to her family and its memory haunted her.

Would she, in the end, decide the same as had Good Shield Woman?

Enough! With a force of will, he forced himself to think of something else, and he set his attention back to where it should have been—on the environment, as well as on the others in Matsowá'p's family.

From the start, he had noticed Liliann was almost always to be found with her father, barely leaving the man for longer than the time it took to eat or to attend to personal matters. Because Henrik still lay within the springs and because the girl stood continually at her father's side, her dress was always wet and burdensome. Stands Strong's friend First Rider had apparently noticed this and so had taken pity on her. Only yesterday, Stands Strong had observed Liliann now wore an extra pair of First Rider's leggings as well as his shirt, both having been cut down to fit her.

Recalling this, Stands Strong smiled, since he had done the same for Matsowá'p. He sighed, his attention once again taken up by Matsowá'p. She was not happy with him at present because he had required her to take over Liliann's duty in caring for the baby.

Of course, Matsowá'p had objected to the task since she had wished to take a shift as lookout. But, Stands Strong had been adamant in denying her the duty.

"Why?" she had asked him a few days earlier.

"Because," he had answered, "your almost-sister, Liliann, is needed to stay at her father's side. Or would you rather I watch your baby sister in your place?"

Her response had been to frown at him, but in the end she had relented. Indeed, she'd had no choice.

Besides, if he had allowed her to take a turn at standing guard, it would have added another worry to his many problems. For one, it would have required Matsowá'p to be alone in a world she didn't know or understand. For another, she wasn't yet skilled in scouting, and certainly she had no knowledge of Plains Indian warfare. After all, what would she do if a war party were to come upon her unaware?

He didn't wish to think about it. Indeed, he would remain firm in disallowing her to stand watch. But, George was another matter. Though he was much younger than his sister, he was still a man, and he certainly considered himself to be the man of the family. And, having instructed George carefully in what he was to do, Stands Strong took some comfort in seeing that George was keen and alert to doing his duty, young though he was. Truth be told, the circumstance of George's family had caused the boy to set aside his boyhood ways as he took on more and more of the duties usually restricted to men. But, George was not alone in this endeavor; so, too, was Matsowá'p.

Matsowá'p. Beautiful Matsowá'p. Stands Strong's mind went back to their mutual scouting expedition only a few days ago. Their careful watch had found no indication of a war party, allowing them to return to the others without incident. Then, informing the others of the spring's safety, they had all worked on the task of taking down their temporary encampment.

It had been a short journey to the springs, the man Henrik having been placed upon a bed within the wagon. This had allowed one man to lead the procession across the prairie while another pulled up the rear, guarding it from behind. One of the three men had been needed to stay with the wagon so as to defend it; this man had been George. Matsowá'p had taken over the steering of the wagon, while Liliann and the babe had been settled in next to Henrik in the wagon.

They had traveled at night since there was no timber or other cover to hide their movements over the prairie, and they had delayed going anywhere until the moon had risen up into the dark sky…around midnight.

Once at the springs, they had set up a camp within a patch of willow trees and had been ensconced there since. They were not far away, however, from Fort Benton. But, none of them were in a rush to go there. Rather, they had all agreed to allow as much time as possible for Henrik to recover, knowing this was needed if he were to live.

Stands Strong heard a sound and looked down toward where it had originated, seeing First Rider climbing up to this rise above the prairie.

As soon as his friend was level with him and had come down to rest upon his belly beside him, Stands Strong asked, "How is the man?"

"He has only awakened once. But, he is breathing more easily now."

"Soka'pi, good," said Stands Strong. "Has dripping the healing water onto his lips aided him?"

"Perhaps," answered First Rider. "But, he is weak, and I begin to fear he may not recover."

Stands Strong nodded, then said, "The injury to his leg will heal whether the bullet is removed or not, but the damage done from the slug lodged in his breastbone may not heal without taking it out. We might consider moving along to the fort because it is said the white man has ways of taking bullets from a man without killing him. Although, I fear the journey to the white man's fort might cause the man's death. Have you tried your touch upon him to see if the bullet might be drawn out using your special medicine?"

"I have not," answered First Rider. "I fear his daughter will not leave his side and, as you know, I cannot perform the task while she is near."

Stands Strong nodded, his brows drawn together in a frown. "This is to be understood, and it is good we answered her plea to help her father. Still, if you cannot perform the medicine power you have, he might not live. Perhaps I should ask Matsowá'p to speak with her almost-sister and try to persuade the girl to let you be alone with him. All our people know you have the healing touch, and I think you should at least be given the chance to try to extract the bullet without the need to use the white man's butchery. If, even after your ministering to him, he remains as he is, do you agree we should take him to the white people at Fort Benton?"

"áa, I, too, agree with all you have said."

"Soka'pi. Then, I will try to speak to Matsowá'p yet this night." Stands Strong sat up, ready to give the watch over to First Rider, but before he left, Stands Strong said, "I have not seen nor heard an enemy. But, be on your guard, my friend."

"I will. However, before you go into camp, I would ask if you might try to work your own medicine upon the ill man?"

Stands Strong did not reply. Instead, he frowned. Then he said, "As you know, I am no longer the owner of the medicine I once thought was to be mine."

"I do not know this," said First Rider. "Once a man has been given his medicine by his animal helper, it is his to use."

"You speak truth, my friend, and it would be so if my animal helper, the white bear, had given me her power. But, she did not. There were no ceremonies given to me, no special songs she taught me, nor did she share any of her bear medicine with me. And, as you know, my shadow never found her in the spirit world despite my going on several quests to find my medicine. She aided me once when I was little, but she has never come to me again. Nor has any other animal answered my plea to become my helper."

First Rider didn't speak for several moments. After a time, he said, "And yet, you have great medicine. I see it in you; I feel it is there within you."

"You honor me, my friend," responded Stands Strong. "Perhaps what you see or feel in me is the medicine I should have gained from my father, who was the inheritor of the medicine ways from his father before him, and so on. There is a long line of medicine men in my Lakota family so old no one knows who was the first to bring it into our bloodline. But, whatever should have been passed along to me was not. And so, I have set aside my desire to be welcomed into the same profession as my father.

"However, there is hope," Stands Strong went on to say. "Perhaps one day, my son—if I sire one—will be the possessor of this, my Lakota inheritance. But, as for my own quest to become a medicine man, I have put it aside. The duty of scouting is, for me, a happy and worthy obligation. It is enough."

"And, you are the best scout we have."

Stands Strong nodded, then before he crawled down the bluff, he said, "Be on your guard. There may yet be an enemy war party close to us, and one who is looking for a fight with the Pikuni."

"áa, I will do so."

****

It wasn't until the next evening when First Rider considered he might try to remove the bullet from the man Henrik. But first, he would have to take the man's young daughter in hand and locate her elsewhere. Stands Strong had, indeed, asked Matsowá'p to speak with her friend.

Yet, the girl continued to remain where she was.

Glancing briefly at the girl, First Rider hesitated to approach her. He already knew from experience that she didn't speak the sign language, nor did she understand the Pikuni tongue. And, his own knowledge of English was poor, at best.

Returning his regard back to the girl's father, First Rider observed the man hadn't moved since early morning. Grass Woman Springs was shallow at this time of year, which had allowed them to lay the man Henrik down with most of his body in the water while his head rested upon the pool's grassy shoreline. A few days earlier, First Rider had placed his own buffalo robe beneath the white man's head to aid in his comfort.

But, the young girl needed to leave him to his work, and, because of her, First Rider had not been able to use his medicine upon the man. Yet, respecting her rights, he hadn't approached her to try to communicate, fearing it might be an impossible task. Yet, the time was now when he needed to test his medicine and see if he could remove the bullet from the man without the need of poking him or letting the white man cut him open. He would try to speak to the girl.

To this end, he found himself wading into the small pool, and, coming up behind the yellow-haired girl and tapping her lightly on the shoulder, he tried to communicate by means of sign language what he required of her.

But, she didn't understand, and she merely shook her head, a sign First Rider had seen the white man was fond of when he meant to say no.

However, since First Rider required the girl to give up her vigil for a while, he tried to communicate once more, his hand motions a little slower. He had to bring her to understand she must leave and allow him to work his skills as a medicine man upon her father. The young girl, however, merely shrugged her shoulders.

He smiled at her and tried to communicate with her in a different way, adding a little of the English language he knew, and as he signed, he said, "I…medicine man. Bullet…out…must…come. You…leave. Medicine man…try…heal."

"I cannot leave me own father," she murmured softly. "How do I know thee will not try to kill him?"

It took First Rider a little time to understand her words, but at last he did, and he said, "He…live. Not…kill. Try…heal."

She began to cry. Again she shook her head.

However, First Rider didn't give up, at least not yet. He offered his hand to the girl, palm up. When she didn't take it, he slowly took her hand and placed it in his own. Then, looking down into her eyes, he said, "Must…try…bullet…to get. You"—he pointed with his finger to a place close to the springs, yet far enough away so he might do his work—"there…sit. You…watch."

She bit her lip. "Thou will not cut him open?"

"I…not," First Rider answered. Still holding her hand, he said, "Here, come. I…take you…good…sitting…place."

She nodded.

At last, gaining her agreement, First Rider helped her up onto the edge of the springs and, patting her hand, again grinned at her. He said, "No…talk…no…come…between. Watch…only."

Again she nodded.

And, seeing it, First Rider turned back toward the girl's father.

****

Since First Rider had returned from his duty to stand guard the previous night, he had been praying to Sun, the Creator, having taken on the duty as a medicine man because the white man's daughter had begged him to save her father's life.

As First Rider prayed, he offered up the smoke from the sacred pipe and asked for the Creator's help, begging Sun, the Creator, to have pity upon him, as well as upon the man Henrik. Once his prayers were done, he left his best eagle's feather as a gift for the Creator. Indeed, First Rider had personally beaded the feather's hollow shaft, and it was an item he treasured. It was now given to and belonged to the Creator.

Though he had only attained the age of twenty and three snows, First Rider had long been known to be a healer to his people. Even as a child he had possessed the "power."

It was said he had attained this healing touch from the Big People. He had been told by his mother and his almost-father, Chief Chases-the-enemy, about how, when only three winters in age, he had been taken by a Big Person and had been in company with her for many moons before his almost-father and his mother had been able to rescue him.

Because the Big People—in particular, the women of this tribe—were sacred to the Creator, these people had long been recognized as being endowed with a power to heal. So, all the chiefs of his tribe, as well as the older medicine men, had assumed the Big Person, a female, had somehow given some of her power to him.

First Rider didn't remember. He only knew it was he who, even as a child, had often been called upon by the medicine men to heal others when all else had failed. He had so far in his young life been successful and thus had garnered a reputation for himself as a medicine man. And, although he had the "gift" of being able to take objects from within a person's body, he rarely used the skill. It wasn't usually required of him to call it into practice. And, indeed, he wasn't certain exactly how he was able to do it.

But, the man Henrik required he use this faculty tonight because the bullet was lodged into the man's breastbone, thus it was situated too close to his heart, and if not removed, the man would likely die. This, First Rider knew, having set his hands upon the man to "see" the wound in the white man's body.

However, First Rider wished the girl would go away instead of remaining where she was at the shoreline, so that he could work upon the man without an audience. Indeed, he might fail, and if he did, her father, Henrik, would eventually die from the wound.

If they took the man Henrik to Fort Benton, the white men there would surely seek to cut Henrik open in order to remove the bullet. But, First Rider was certain that if done, this man, because of his weakness, would perish under the knife.

Although First Rider made it a practice to not attend to an injured person while another looked on, and though he wished it were different, this one time he would allow the girl to remain. Upon touching the white girl's hand, he had become convinced she not only would not interfere, but she would aid him in some way, though he was uncertain how she might bring this about.

And so he began. Beating his sacred drum, he sang the medicine song given to him in his long ago past…most likely the source of it being the female from the tribe of Big People. Again he didn't remember. He only knew the song had come to him upon his first attempt to heal another.

It was different from other Pikuni songs. Its rhythm was similar to the regular beat of other medicine men's songs, but this chant was particularly different and strange. The notes, though in rhythm, were misaligned, were high and then low, and even the words First Rider used he didn't understand. He only knew whatever they meant, they were sacred.

He sang and he sang, always beating his drum. The song went on and on until, at last, he felt ready to try to remove the bullet, and he stopped his song. But, upon ceasing his song, he heard it still, and it was then when he realized someone else had been singing along with him, only at a higher pitch.

It is the girl, still vocalizing the medicine song.

Glancing up at her, he smiled, then waded to the shoreline where she sat. Facing her, he took up the rhythm again and beat his drum as his voice joined hers, amazed to hear the girl reciting the strange words to the song, also.

His attention was so caught up in the need to heal this man, he didn't stop to wonder how this young, white girl knew these strange words well enough to sing them with him. He only considered how her voice, added to his, aided him in healing the man.

Then, without fanfare or any warning at all, he felt his shadow, his very being, touch hers. There it was. For a moment set out of time, he understood her, and he knew she understood him. Indeed, he could see clearly how alike they were to each other.

Does she know she could be a healer?

At last, they both stopped their chanting, and they gazed at one another, neither acknowledging nor saying any words at all. And, had he the means to speak her language, he would have told her how precious her help had been this night. As it was, he gave his drum and mallet to her, saying only, "Safe…keep…them…for me."

It was an honor he was bestowing upon her, but he didn't know how to convey the meaning of what he'd said, and so he merely smiled at her.

When she nodded, he gave her another grin, then turned around and waded through the water back to the white man. He began his song once again, hearing her sacred echo of it, and then he placed his hand palm down over the injury, but not touching it, and, using a circular and pulling motion, he sang and he sang to Sun, the Creator.

Because his eyes were closed, he didn't see how it happened; he only knew what had taken place because the object jumped suddenly up into his palm as though it were attracted there. Quickly, he placed his fingers around the bullet, and, in relief, he sighed. Then, bringing up his hand, he spread his palm open.

There it sat: the bullet. It was bloody and black, as would be expected, but it was now in his palm, not within the white man's body.

But, the wound was now openly bleeding, and, taking handfuls of the healing water, First Rider let the water take away the "evil spirit" of the bullet, as well as the "bad wishes" of the one who had shot the man, Henrik.

Turning slightly around, First Rider motioned to the girl to come forward. She did so, and as soon as she had come in close to him, he asked, "Strip…of…skin…deer. Need…now. You…can get?"

"I will try. Could thee use my petticoat as a bandage instead?" she asked, raising her skirt slightly to show him.

He shook his head. Only now did he see she wasn't wearing his shirt and leggings. "Skin…only." He was about to turn back toward the white man when a thought occurred to him, and, stretching out his arm toward the girl, he opened his palm and showed her the bullet.

"Yes, sir," she said. "I saw what thee did. It was as if thy palm pulled up the bullet." And, then she cried.

Reaching out, First Rider caught hold of her hand and, turning his palm upside down, let the bullet fall into her hand. He said, "You…keep. You…helped. Good…omen…this. You keep."

"I will," she said, her lips shaking as she spoke. "I will get thee a skin of the deer, also. Thank thee." And, then she cried again and was gone.

First Rider watched the young girl as she stood up to her feet and sprinted toward the only other woman in camp—Matsowá'p. Because he knew Matsowá'p was wise in many ways, he felt assured he would soon have the skin he required to help stop the flow of blood.

She was a pretty girl, this daughter of the white man, and someday, he thought, she might make some man a good wife. He, however, did not include himself in the role. He was already in love with the beautiful daughter of Chief Flying Hawk.

Turning back to the white man, First Rider continued his vigil to cleanse the wound, and, using pressure, he brought the two sides of the wound closer and closer together. And, all the while, he sang the healing songs, the ones he had heard so long ago.

****

"What do you mean, your people are on the move to come here?" asked Czanna of Stands Strong.

"Did you not see the scout on the hill waving his blanket?"

"Ah…no, I did not," she answered him. "There was a scout, other than you or my brother, on a hill?"

"áa, over there"—he pointed—"and he was waving his blanket, telling me our people are on their way to Fort Benton to engage in trade. A fireboat is expected there in less than a few movements of the sun, bringing many new trade items to the people. My people are, perhaps, two, maybe three suns south of us."

"He said all of this with his blanket?"

"He did."

"Oh" was her only response. But, after a moment, she asked, "By 'sun,' I assume you mean a day?"

"áa, I do."

"And, by 'fireboat' you must be talking about a steamship?"

"áa."

"So, I will be meeting your people after all." She paused for a moment in thought. "I must remember to thank the good Lord about your having the wisdom to not enter into our treaty yet. Otherwise, I fear I would be inclined to take the same steamboat away from here, and then, I fear, all I have been charged to do here would be lost. I bow again to your good sense."

He smiled at her. "I know my people, and I know this, my country. Were I in your own country, you would be wise, while I would be unknowing."

"Yes, perhaps, though I doubt it." She sighed. "You are wise in so many ways I do not understand. Even if we were in my country, I think you would still be sensible and aware of many aspects about the environment that would have escaped my notice. And, this is another reason why I seek to have your alliance."

His response to her words was to merely smile at her.

They were standing a little away from the band of willow trees where two different shelters had been erected—one for the men and one for the women. At present, they were both looking out upon the beauty of the sunrise, where the sun's rays were shooting up their vibrant morning colors, there in the east. In admiration, they both became silent. Although the sun had yet to peek up from behind the horizon of numerous hills, already the sky was afire with the different hues of red and pink, as well as various shades of blue and orange, while the steel gray of the sky overhead was surrendering to the light, icy blue of an early morning sky.

"How did this other scout know you were here?" asked Czanna quietly. "Until only a moment ago, we were both concealed within the shelter of the willow trees."

"Your man Henrik, as well as his daughter and my friend, First Rider, are clearly visible. First Rider, with only a few signs, told the scout what is happening here."

"And so, First Rider also saw the scout?"

"Of course. He, too, is a good scout, though he is more well-known as a medicine man amongst my people. Within a few days, three other medicine men will join us here to help us with the further healing of your man's wounds."

"He is not my man."

"I know," was Stands Strong's response as he turned in full toward her. "Perhaps I should call him your father's man? I have not done so because I have not wished to bring sadness back to your mind."

Tears stung Czanna's eyes, reminding her of the thousands of reasons why she was falling so deeply in love with this man. Not only was he more virile than any man she had ever known—being broad in the shoulder, as well as strong and muscular in all the right places—Stands Strong also possessed a kind heart. How could she not love him?

A cry sounded from within their shelter, nestled as it was deeply within the cluster of willows, and Czanna looked back toward the trees. She said, "I believe my sister has awakened, and I must go to her before she cries out too loudly. Are you staying in camp for breakfast this morning? Or are you bound to return to your post?"

"I will be here for our first meal. Our people, pushing onward toward us, will give us the safety we require to build a good fire. We might, I think, have some good, real food, since I am certain the scout will tell my own and First Rider's families where our present location is. Between them all, they will wish to hunt and bring us fresh game so we might all eat some good, real Pikuni food."

"Oh," she muttered. "What do you mean by 'real Pikuni food'?"

"Fresh game, a deer or elk meat, perhaps. Its ribs roasted over an open fire is the best food I ever tasted. No longer will we be required to eat only the dried meat we have in store. We shall have some real food instead."

"Yes, it will be a pleasant change. And so, you think your mother and father, as well as First Rider's family, might join us?"

"áa, they will. My almost-mother worries about me when I am not in camp, and so I am certain both she and my almost-father will join us here. My almost-brothers and -sisters will come, too, unless called elsewhere. First Rider's parents will do the same, since they, too, worry about him. From now until we reach the fort, we will be under the protection of my people."

"Oh, this is good, I suppose, although I am not certain I am anxious to meet your family."

He laughed. "You will love them and they, you. Do not worry. My almost-mother will dote on you, since she is white, too. I fear she might ask you many questions, though. Prepare yourself to talk a great deal."

Although Czanna wasn't certain she was happy at the prospect of meeting the members of his family, another cry and loud shouts from within their tiny shelter had her glancing back in the direction of the willow trees.

Returning her regard back to Stands Strong, she said, "Please, before I go and see to my sister's needs, I must bid you to tell me if you think your family will be inclined to believe you and I… I mean to say… Will they think we are…? What I am trying to say, or to ask, is do you think they might believe we are…lovers? Am I in danger?"

He smiled at her. "They will see the truth at once. Fear not, they will know we are not lovers. If it were so, there would be three small lodges pitched within the thicket of willow trees, not two… Although…"

She jerked her head up to stare at him and asked, "What do you mean, 'although'?"

Again, screams from within the little group of willows caught Czanna's attention, and she said, "I must go. Please, I beg you, do not give them any reason for them to think we are… Oh, also, before I go, let me ask you if there is anything I should prepare for your family?"

Reaching up his right hand, Stands Strong drew his fingers through the locks of her hair, causing Czanna to sigh in response and causing him to groan in turn, the sound low and much too masculine; unfortunately for her, it stirred a passionate reaction to him from deep within her heart.

After a while, he said, "You need do nothing. It is they who will bring gifts. Now, I must go and alert George so he may join us here for the first meal of the day."

As though he were reluctant to do so, he dropped his hand. He said, "Go now to your sister and see if you can quiet her."

"Yes, yes, of course I will."

But, Czanna's mind wasn't eased at all when, before she turned away, Stands Strong's index finger came up to tap his nose. And, when his parting words were, "Besides, I will never tell them how you have begged me to make love to you," Czanna's breath caught in her throat.

"But, I never begged…"

It was pointless to continue, especially because there might be other ears in the camp to hear, and since she would be required to raise her voice to be heard by him. Stands Strong was already striding away from her, his gait fast and his laughter on the air.

Oh dear. What if his family comes to discover what I have asked of this man? Will they demand I submit to the ultimate disfigurement?

Please, dear Lord, help me.