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“Father, I want to marry White Fire,” Flame blurted out. Then she took a step away from her father when she saw how her words had seemed like a slap across his face.
Weaving, as though he might faint, he grabbed a chair and steadied himself. Then his face flooded with color. His eyes narrowed. His breathing was a low, sharp hiss.
“Never,” he growled out.
He turned to leave, but Flame ran to him and grabbed him by an arm. She forced him around to look at her.
“I am going to marry him,” she said, her voice quavering from emotion. “Please give us your blessing. Moments ago you said—”
“To hell with what I said moments ago,” Colonel Russell said darkly. “To hell with White Fire! I forbid you to marry him. Do you hear? Forbid!”
“Forbid?” Flame said, her hands at her throat. “You truly think you can forbid me anything? Never! I didn’t want to go behind your back and marry him! I wanted to show you the respect most daughters owe their fathers by telling you of our plans. Now I see that I was wrong to tell you anything. I was wrong to be tricked into thinking that you care.”
She shuddered. “To think that only moments ago I was in your arms as though I belonged there,” she cried. “I don’t! And never shall I hug you again!”
Colonel Russell stepped closer to her. He spoke into her face. “Don’t you be foolish enough to think that I will ever allow you to marry that damn ’breed,” he hissed out. “Don’t you know that Indians, all Indians, are a menace and should be killed?”
Paling, seeing her father’s hatred for Indians, Flame stared at him for a moment, then ran past him.
She ignored his shouts as she ran down the stairs. She cared not that she was dressed in an expensive gown as she ran to the stables and saddled her horse.
The moon high overhead, she rode from the wide gates of the fort, the soldiers shouting at her to stop.
Chapter 21
Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One more word more thy heart beloved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
After his tiring day, White Fire sat down on the edge of his bed to remove his moccasins. He stood up again with a start when he heard a knock on his front door. Wondering who might be at his home this late, he lifted an eyebrow.
He doubted it would be Flame. Surely she knew better than to leave the safety of the fort this late at night, after darkness had fallen over the land like a black shroud.
Then who else? he wondered as he left his bedroom and walked toward the front door.
When he reached the door, never trusting anyone who might come this time of night, even with a polite knock, he grabbed his rifle. “Who’s there?” he called out.
“It is I, Red Buffalo. I have come with a message for you from Chief Gray Feather.”
Knowing Red Buffalo, with whom he had been friends when he had lived with the Chippewa, and no longer feeling a threat, White Fire set his rifle aside. Then he swung the door open.
He placed a hand of friendship on Red Buffalo’s shoulder. “It is good to see you, my friend,” he said. He dropped his hand away and stepped aside. “Would you want to come inside and give me the message by lamplight?”
“Moonlight is ample enough,” Red Buffalo said, not offering any smile of friendship, or hand clasp.
“All right, then tell me what you have come to say to me, Red Buffalo,” White Fire said, his spine stiffening at the warrior’s cold attitude, which was unusual for this man who was known for his humor and lighthearted manner.
“Your woman was abducted tonight as she rode alone in the forest. She is being held captive at my village,” Red Buffalo said guardedly, the moon sheening his copper face and revealing his eyes which narrowed as he spoke. “Your woman is being held for ransom.”
“What . . . ?” White Fire gasped out, taking an unsteady step away from Red Buffalo. “What do you mean by saying that she is a captive and that she is being held for ransom?”
“My chief says that if you will come to his village and promise to marry Song Sparrow, then Flame will be set free,” Red Buffalo said blandly. “If not, the woman with the flaming-red hair will not see another sunrise.”
