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After he reached a place of privacy, where there were tall flowering bushes, Pedro lay Running Fawn on a thick bed of soft grass.
His eyes grew wide with a hungry intent as she lay there waiting for him, her arms extended toward him.
After dropping his breeches to the ground, he mounted her.
Running Fawn closed her eyes, thrilled by his nearness, by his hands, and his kiss, as his mouth covered hers. She lifted her hips to meet his every eager thrust, spiraling heavenward, it seemed, in the euphoria of the moment.
But suddenly the sound of horses’ hooves from somewhere close by drew them apart.
“No,” Running Fawn said, frantically trying to cover herself. “What if it is my father? He is hunting with his friends. They went a different direction, yet perhaps they circled around?”
His heart pounding, Pedro grabbed her by an arm and forced her into a thicker set of bushes, where they could now just barely see the path that led up the mountainside.
Breathlessly, eyes wide, they watched a slow procession of armed men.
Running Fawn was relieved that it was not her father. But what she saw made her insides run cold.
“Do you see how heavily armed they are?” she whispered harshly to Pedro. “And I do not know them. Do you, Pedro? Have you seen them in San Carlos?”
“None are familiar,” he said, trying to focus his alcohol-hazed eyes.
“Only my people make their homes in these mountains,” Running Fawn whispered, shivering from a sudden dread at realizing what these heavily armed men meant.
Surely they were headed for her village.
And they were not going there in peace. Their looks were too solemn—even angry.
She started crawling away through the brush. “I must go and warn my people,” she cried softly.
Pedro panicked. He crawled on all fours after her and grabbed her by an ankle, hauling her to the ground on her stomach.
“No,” he said, his voice a cold warning, “you are not going anywhere. You will place yourself in danger. Also, everyone would then know for certain that you were sneaking around with me. You know what could happen if anyone ever knew for certain about our trysts. You could be exiled from your village. Your people might come for me and hang me.”
Tears splashed from Running Fawn’s eyes. She yanked her ankle free and sat down and sobbed, her face within her hands. “I’m wicked,” she cried. “Oh, so wicked! If I do not go and warn my people, what might happen?”
Seeing her distress, Pedro sat down beside Running Fawn and drew her into his embrace. She cuddled against him as the tears ran in torrents from her eyes.
“You have no choice but not to tell,” he whispered. “You have no choice.”
Running Fawn closed her eyes and tried not to envision what might soon be happening in her village. Even their chief was gone. And many of their warriors.
Too many were there, as helpless as she was at this moment.
“You are doing the right thing for us,” Pedro tried to reassure her. “If we are going to have a future together, this is the only thing that you can do.”
Running Fawn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Perhaps those men mean my people no harm,” she whispered, yet knowing that she was only trying to fool herself into not feeling guilty.
Chapter 17
In a field by the river,
My love and I did stand.
And on my leaning shoulder,
She laid her snow-white hand.
—WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
