She coughed, clearing her throat.
"What? Who is there?" came a man's voice, speaking English. Was the man a trader? A trader who was having an affair with a young Indian lass?
"It is I, Sharon Wells, who owns this lodge. Who are you? And, what are you doing here in my lodge?"
From across the tepee floor, the man threw back his robe, and the sight of his light-brown hair came into Sharon's focus. Why, the man looked like… It couldn't be, yet it was obviously true: before her sat her fiancé, David.
"Oh, I am glad you are back, Sharon. We've been waiting for you."
We?
Sharon, thrown immediately into disbelief, found it impossible to speak. She tried several times to force her voice to work, but it didn't. And she, who had been so happy only moments before, suddenly plunged into the depths of despair.
"As I said," continued David, "we have been waiting for you."
"We?" Sharon was able at last to push the word through her lips.
"It is I, David, and…" He paused.
Sharon waited, swallowing hard, the action making a slight noise.
David sat up farther, keeping the covering lowered over his male parts, although a beautiful young Indian woman sat up beside him, and she was naked—at least from the waist up.
Suddenly, Sharon felt as though all eyes were upon her. Worse, all her outward attention slammed back onto herself, causing her to feel utterly self-conscious and small.
But, David was talking, and he said, "What luck it is to see you are back. We've been waiting for you. Let me introduce you to my sits-beside-him-woman, Pretty Woman."
Sharon had been in the Pikuni camp long enough to know what a sits-beside-him-woman was. Yet, as though she doubted her knowledge of the phrase, she asked, "What is a sits-beside-him-woman?"
"My first wife, of course. Pretty Woman here is my first wife. But, don't feel as if we haven't been thinking of you and including you in our little family. You will, of course, become my second wife. It is allowed here, you know, in the Blackfeet camp. A man may have as many wives as he wishes. It's all perfectly legal here in the West, don't you know?"
Sharon swallowed hard. She stared across the diameter of the lodge as though she looked into the eyes of a beast instead of the man she was pledged to marry. She couldn't talk, not even to mutter the word "bigamist."
Suddenly, grief overcame her, and she knew she had to leave at once because she was going to cry and pride demanded these two people should not be witness to it.
"Excuse me," she was able to say at last, although her voice shook. And, without another word, she came up to her feet and managed to take the few steps to the entrance without tripping or falling, although she felt as though she might collapse. She even managed to climb over the bottom of the tepee entrance without incident.
Immediately, grief and confusion consumed her, and she felt as though she were spinning. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she looked around the camp, wondering what she should to do now and where she might go to try to come to terms with what she'd only now confronted.
She couldn't go back in there, though the lodge belonged to her. Although there were several people here who would welcome her into their lodge, she didn't want anyone around her at this moment.
No, she wished to be alone because she felt…small and unfit for anyone's company. Her friend Amelia would always be there for her. So would Laylah. But, she couldn't intrude upon either Amelia's or Laylah's hospitality.
Looking up, she saw the fort in the distance, could even hear the music of the fiddles from within its walls. No, Fort McKenzie was no home for her, either.
Glancing even farther into the distance, what she saw there gave her a sense of comfort; she knew at once where she would go. Those bluffs that rose up so tall and white under the moonlight seemed to reach out to her, offering her their protection. Yes, they would welcome her. Besides, both she and David had often climbed those cliffs, so at least she knew her way to several out-of-the-way spots within their tall heights. It was still warm enough outside, so she would need nothing to keep her warm. Yet, contradictorily, this might not be true; sometimes the nights here could be quite cool.
She considered grabbing a blanket from within her own lodge, but immediately decided against it. However, a robe would still be on her pony because she had left it there in her excitement at returning home.
Perhaps the boys hadn't yet started to wash down her mount. And, if not, she would do the task. It would give her something to focus her attention on while she tried to decide what she was going to do now. Perhaps it might also bring some sense to her thoughts.
Walking quickly and with her head down, she set out toward the horse herd, making immediate plans. She would remove the covering from her pony's back; she would wash and rub her mare down, if not done already; and, returning the animal to the care of the boys watching the Pikuni herd, she would reclaim the needed blanket and climb one of the many cliffs that overlooked the fort and the village. She even knew the spot she might choose.
But, she wouldn't cry until she was completely alone. Indeed not; it was a matter of pride.
****
Strikes Fast watched the white woman's lodge, aware—because of his uncanny ability to see into distances and futures—of what this beautiful woman was facing. As though he were in her lodge with her, he felt her shock, her loss, her grief. Had he truly been there with her, he would have held her hand. Moreover, this man she thought she loved would be lying dead, or at least seriously injured.
