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Mariah did not like this decision of William Joseph’s—to make camp where the Indian village had just been vacated. It did not seem right, as though they were trespassing on hallowed ground.
But having no heart to argue, she dismounted and helped make camp while some of the men went in search of food.
After they had eaten and she was finally alone snug in her bedroll, she found that sleep would not come for her. Although it had been a full day and night since she had slept, her mind kept wandering to Echohawk, and where he might be.
Loving him so much, she felt guilty for being a part of the search for him, but if it would lead her to her father, and if it would clear her beloved’s name . . .
Mariah tossed and turned in her bedroll for a while longer, then decided that no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t going to be able to go to sleep.
She rose on an elbow and looked into the distance, recalling the burial grounds where Echohawk’s father lay. Something compelled her to slip out of the bedroll, draw a blanket snugly around her shoulders, and sneak from camp. She led her horse a short distance from the campsite, then mounted it and rode away. She was not sure why, but she had to go to the burial grounds.
Chapter 20
Kiss the tears from her eyes,
you’ll find the rose the sweeter for the dew.
—Webster
Fog pressed in on Mariah as she rode beside the river, the early-morning sun peering through in shadowy orange sprays. She turned her horse in another direction and rode briskly across a wide stretch of meadow, the dew on the knee-high grass sparkling like tiny diamonds.
Mariah’s heart began to race when she saw ahead the butte to which she had gone with Echohawk not long ago to visit his father’s gravesite.
As the day grew brighter with sunlight and she came closer to the butte, something else made her almost go limp with joy.
Blaze!
Blaze at the foot of the butte!
Her gaze darted upward, now able to make out a man standing at the edge of the butte, watching her approach.
“Echohawk!” Mariah marveled, not understanding how she had been drawn there, yet clearly for this purpose!
She took one long lingering look, seeing that today he was dressed in only a brief breechclout, the wind fluttering it against his muscled thighs. She swallowed hard, lost in desire, admiring his stance of a noble leader.
And his leadership was being threatened.
She looked to the heavens and silently mouthed a prayer: Oh, God, let me help him. Please prove to me that I have been wrong to doubt him! Please let him be innocent!
A soft breeze brushed against her face, a caress, and she shivered, believing that somehow she had just been given an answer from the Almighty.
And at that moment she suddenly felt a gentle peace wash over her.
Smiling, sending a silent thank-you to the heavens, she nudged her heels more deeply into the flanks of her horse and rode hurriedly on, soon losing sight of Echohawk as she drew rein beside Blaze in the shadows of the butte.
Her pulse racing, she quickly dismounted. As she turned to climb the steep terrain, she found that it was not necessary.
Echohawk was there.
He had come to her. . . .
“No-din,” he said, momentarily standing before her, his eyes heavy with doubt.
But when she moved into his arms and hugged him, all doubts were erased and he embraced her long and hard.
“Echohawk,” Mariah said, clinging, her cheek against his powerful bare chest. “Oh, Echohawk, I’ve been so worried about you. Thank God you are all right.”
Echohawk embraced her for a moment longer, then eased her away from him, holding her at arm’s length. “You came,” he said thickly. “All night long I summoned you here. It was with the Great Spirit’s blessing that you came.”
