She didn't respond. But, he seemed insistent and he repeated the word, pointing again toward her hand. After a while, he asked her, with overly embellished gestures, what her word for this was.
She understood and said simply, "Hand."
He repeated the word. Then, still keeping hold of her hand, he pointed to her arm and said, "Áale."
Again, he asked her for her own word and when she said, "Arm," he smiled at her before repeating, "Arm."
She looked away from him, embarrassed. Why did he have to be so handsome, so manly and so heroic in coming to her aid? She was an engaged woman; she had no right to be admiring this man, regardless of her being alive now because of this man's quick action.
But, he seemed determined to try to communicate to her, and he continued in the same manner until they had finished most of a human being's main body parts. Tears came to her eyes when she at last came to fully understand this man not only didn't intend to harm her, he was trying to help her.
The language lessons continued for a while longer until she had discovered his words for the sky, for trees, for grass and for clouds.
And, when he paused for a moment, she asked, "Why are you being so kind to me? All my life I have been led to believe all Indians hated white people."
But, when he simply shook his head and smiled at her, she felt a little awe-struck by him. She glanced downward and away from him, trying to pretend she wasn't affected by him. But, he was persistent, and he changed his position until he was squatting before her, and then, still holding on to her hand, he rose to his feet, bringing her up with him.
He then walked slowly toward his horse, and she found she was now able to not only remain standing, but she could walk a little, too.
When he stepped up close to his spotted pony, he petted the stallion's neck, and it wasn't long before he invited her to do the same. She did as he asked, and before long, they were both rubbing down his pony, he changing his position until he was on one side of the animal and she was on the other.
Looking up over the pony, she chanced to smile at him, as if to say "thank you," and she noticed her grin had a profound effect on him. He looked back at her, his glance long and steady. But he said not a word.
They continued to rub down his pony until she accidentally touched his hand. She gasped, but she also beheld his instant reaction: he backed up and away from her. It was as though he might have felt the same surge of energy which was, even now, coursing through her body.
No! This couldn't be happening to her! What was this lightning-like feeling sweeping through her?
This was wrong, terribly wrong. She was engaged and he was…well, he was Indian—a world apart from her.
He was still looking away from her when he spoke to her with words she didn't understand. She didn't know how she came to know this, but she realized this extremely masculine man looked suddenly shy.
She smiled at him, knowing he had no way to see her reaction, since he was not looking at her. Yet, within her was a blossoming desire to bring comfort to him. And so she softly said, "Thank you. I will not forget your kindness. I promise you. I will not forget."
His gaze back at her was long and hard, as if he strove to hide the softness she'd witnessed earlier. But he said nothing; he merely indicated her with a simple gesture, then his horse, and, with his hand, he patted the place where he meant to seat her. She understood, and once more, she smiled at him.
She stepped up to the horse, but when she couldn't jump up high enough to climb up on the pony, he helped her into her seat. But, he quickly let her go.
Stepping back, he smiled at her a little and she grinned back. But, instead of the kindness she had come to expect from him, she saw a look of discomfort come over his countenance. Then, he stepped away from her, and, picking up his pony's halter, he calmly trod down the hill, his direction back toward the Pikuni camp.
The incident, short as it had been, had brought this man to her attention, although, even after he had saved her, she had never approached him nor encouraged him. Yet, how could she not think kindly of him? He had, after all, saved her life.
And now, he had come to her defense again. At this present moment she wished she had been a little more curious about him so she might have asked her friend, Amelia, to tell her a little about him. Perhaps when they were back in camp, she might query her friend Amelia about him.
For now, she studied this man more thoroughly, having warmed to her subject. He was young—perhaps in his mid-twenties—and all she could see at present was the back of him. His shoulders were masculine and broad, and his back, being bare due to the heat, was muscular and narrowed into a masculine V-shape down to his waist—a waist which she had earlier seen was devoid of any extra layer of fat. His hair was black, was exceedingly long and one of his front braids was being blown to and fro by the wind. The remaining length of his hair was, at present, hanging down his back, streaming almost to his waist, although now and again it caught on to the quiver upon his back or the arrows within it.
Why isn't he married?
She knew he wasn't claimed by some winsome lass, if only because she was aware of where he'd set up his tepee within the Pikuni camp—it being close to his friends' lodging as well as her own—and there was never a woman awaiting his return.
After his valiant rescue of her all those weeks ago, Sharon had been curious about the woman in her hero's life. And, so wondering, she had looked toward his lodge many times.
What would she look like, this woman who had captured the eye of this heroic man? What would her voice sound like? How would she dress?
But, never had she seen a woman awaiting his return.
She'd not been sure why she was she so interested about the woman her hero might have married. Was it because he had come to her rescue?
Perhaps. But, the reason might well have been due to it being Sharon's first experience with an Indian warrior and she had found him to be the opposite of what she had believed was the character of an American Indian man. He had not abused her; rather, he had shown her kindness and even compassion.
