Page 20 of The Last Warrior

At last, gaining control over herself, she voiced, “You wish to help me?” Her words trembled on her lips.

“If it is within my power.”

She took in a shaky breath, then sent him a look which might have been mocking, if not for the sadness in her countenance. “Perhaps I should take you up on your joke, and…” Her face cleared suddenly, then she frowned at him, looking as though she might be seeing him for the first time.

“Joke? You mean, to marry me?”

“Yes, this is what I meant. Do you think your wife would object?” Through her tears, her gaze turned sarcastic yet grief-strained, all at the same time.

It was his turn to frown at her. “My wife?”

“Yes. The wife who is supposed to tame me?”

“Hau.” He smiled slightly. “Now I recall.”

“How convenient of you to forget this particular aspect of your life.”

“Convenient, perhaps, but unnecessary. I am not married. Alas, I fear there would be no one but myself to…tame you.”

She paused. “But if I recall correctly, you said a man had to be married to be with the show.”

“An Indian man has to be married,” he corrected.

“You are Indian.”

“So I am. I hope you can keep a secret, for this is something I have not told the Long-haired Show Man.”

“The Long-haired Show Man? Who is it you are speaking of?”

“Buffalo Bill,” he supplied.

“Oh, I see.” A taunting smile hovered over her lips. “Well, I suppose now you will have to marry me…and not simply to save my honor.”

“Ece? And why is that?”

“Because in the white man’s world, a woman is not able to say anything bad about her husband. We call it testifying. She cannot tell his secrets in public.”

“Eya, I understand.” He paused, then keeping the conversation in the same vein as she, he continued, “There is nothing else we can do, then. I will have to make you my bride, provided you are not already married to the one who did this to you.”

“I am not.”

He nodded. He had guessed as much.

“Well, good.” Her lips quivered with her effort to speak. “I’m glad this is settled. When shall the deed be done?”

“You do not jest with me?”

She regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Slowly, as if she could scarcely credit her own decision, she said, “No. I do not jest. I will marry you.”

His brows came together as he took a step forward. He was intrigued by this woman, greatly intrigued. But more than this, he wanted to take her in his arms this very minute. He wanted to wash away the shadows that hovered over her, if only for a little while.

However, in such situations as this—being alone with a woman—someone had to think clearly, and it appeared at this time and place, he was to be that person. “Let us discuss this in a greater way. We must consider other situations which might arise because of us being married.”

“Other situations?” Her voice shook.

The desire to comfort her, to take her in his arms and hold her until her tears dried, was almost more than he could suppress. But he had to tell her; she needed to know. “We are no longer across the water in England. You are white. I am not. In this country, a marriage between us is not allowed.”

She set back her shoulders. “That’s not true. And besides, I am not from this country.”