She nodded and, pacing a little forward, came to sit on the edge of the bed. As she passed close by him, First Rider caught a whiff of her enticing, feminine fragrance, and his heart suddenly beat fast within his chest. He tried to swallow, but, again, there was a lump in his throat.
She didn't look up at him or return his gaze, and for this, he was glad. Instead, she looked down, her hair still covering her face. But, he could see a shadow of her lower lip and noted its trembling.
Wondering what had happened to her, he suppressed his male reaction to her and bent down on one knee before her. Leaning forward, he reached up to brush her hair away from her face, noting her hair smelled of fragrant herbs and was silky to the touch. It felt good against his fingers.
He sighed. He hadn't expected to react to her in this completely male way, and, in truth, he was unprepared for it.
Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, he wondered what exactly had happened to her. The note from her father hadn't mentioned it clearly.
Pulling her hair back, he was bringing her mane into a position where he could see her face, when his right hand encountered something sharp. Carefully, he placed her hair out of the way, behind her ear.
He looked down at what had poked him; it was a sharp stick and part of it was lodged in her eye. How had this happened? Had she fallen?
But, then he answered his own question when he pushed back her hair from the other side of her face. Shocked, he couldn't speak, but his surprise was soon replaced by the flamesof rage. Indeed, no good man could have looked at the damage done to her face and not have felt the same as he…and more.
Someone…some man had beaten up this girl, this beautiful, young woman. Not only was there a large circle of red and black around her other stick-free eye, there were other bruises upon both her cheeks and chin, and even her nose looked as though it had only recently healed from a rush of blood.
An uproar exploded within him. Here sat this lovely, young woman with large and angry bruises upon her face. Worse, if he were not good enough or clever enough, taking the object out of her eye might cause her eye to come out, too.
Controlling his fury as best he could, he asked in sign, "Who did this to you? How did this happen?"
She didn't answer, and it was left to First Rider to look up at her father and ask him the same question.
"Her husband, I am afeard, punched me own daughter in the face, then he threw her to the floor," answered Henrik.
Husband? A husband had done this?
"Where is he?" asked First Rider with quick and deliberate hand motions. If the man were still within the fort, he personally would deliver to this "husband" the justice the man rightly deserved.
"He be not here. Afeard he is of me," answered Henrik in English.
"How long ago did he leave?" Again the question was asked with sign.
"The day before this."
"Soka'pii,good,"First Rider said aloud. Then, using sign, he said, "His tracks will be fresh." Still kneeling on one knee in front of the girl, he turned toward her again and signed, "Before we begin, I must pray to Sun, the Creator, and ask Him to heal your wounds. Here, take my hand. We will pray together."
When she slipped her hand into his, her touch caused a bolt, much like a strike of lightning, to pound through him. Worse, he suddenly craved to pull her in close to him and comfort her. Indeed, he practically ached with the need to bring her into his arms and never let her go. One shock upon another struck within him.
However, this was not right; this would not do. Though his feelings for her were honest, what was happening to him was unacceptable because of who he was and what his purpose was in being here with her.
But then, as though to make his physical problem worse, quicker than one could even think it, a picture flitted through his mind, it being an image of him making love to this woman.
He felt the lightning-like strike course through him again, all the way from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and he rocked sideways as he knelt before her.
This wasn't right. He had not been summoned here for this reason. He reminded himself about his relationship with Otahki; she was an honored friend, an almost-sister, and he had come here to help her, not seduce her.
Thinking back, however, he recalled again that four years ago they had shared a moment of spiritual awareness with one another. But, it had been no more than that. Spiritual. Nothing else. Certainly nothing like this had happened.
Taking a deep breath, he forcefully dislodged the image of the two of them in each other's arms from his mind. And, though these thoughts and pictures seemed to happen faster than time itself, it didn't matter. He had, indeed, seen the mental depiction of the two of them together. To pretend it hadn't happened would have been a lie.
Perhaps Old Man's trickster-like spirit was playing havoc with him.
Alarmed at his continued unwelcome reaction to her femininity, he again found it impossible to speak, nor could he move without announcing and clearly illuminating his desire for her. But, he had to talk and he had to proceed with the ceremony. Her hand was still within his own, and not a word of prayer had he yet uttered.
As he gazed into her eyes, which he knew to be a deep, dark blue, he wondered how he could have been unaware of her touch upon him all those years ago. But, back then it hadn't been like this. He had felt nothing except the admiration he might feel toward a girl whom he had thought of as an almost-sister to him.
Still, whatever his reaction was, he had to carry on. And so, since his voice didn't seem to be working, he used his free hand to sign, "Before we begin, we must bring the Creator into the healing to be done, since it is the Creator, only, who heals. We will pray to Sun with my pipe."
