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“Where will this lead?” she wondered, throwing herself on the bed.
She pummeled her fists on the mattress, cursing the day she had decided to come to Fort Henry. She had not achieved anything but a sentence worse than death, marrying Colonel Downing.
Chapter Twenty-three
If ever those shalt love
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me.
—Shakespeare
Brave Wolf took some dried elk jerky from the parfleche bag he kept on his horse, then reached into his other travel bag and touched his new medicine. He gazed heavenward and said a soft prayer to the First Maker. Then he sat down on the bluff, where he was protected from view by a stand of brush.
When Brave Wolf had first arrived in the late afternoon yesterday, he had secured his steed back from the bluff in the shade of a cottonwood tree, then had taken his knife and cut through the leaves and limbs of the brush just enough to give him a clear view of the fort down below, yet not enough to reveal his presence there.
He felt great relief knowing that Mary Beth was safe and alive at the fort. He had seen her step from the large cabin in the center of the courtyard to get a breath of fresh air.
He had not seen any signs of a young white brave at the fort, which he thought he would if David was there; it was not normal for a child his age to stay cooped up inside.
He assumed the pony soldiers had had no more success at finding David than Brave Wolf’s warriors.
His hair still wet from a morning dip in a nearby stream, Brave Wolf got comfortable on a blanket that he had spread there yesterday for his comfort. He sat directly before the open space in the brush and yanked a big piece of jerky off with his teeth.
His eyes darted from here to there as he saw much activity down below in the fort.
It was morning. The pony soldiers were apparently doing their daily chores.
But he wasn’t there to look at soldiers. He wanted to see Mary Beth again. He wanted to go and get her and take her home with him. He wanted to tell her how much he needed to feel the throb of her throat against his lips as he kissed her there. In the naked dark of night he wanted to feel her smooth, sweet skin and warm breasts with his hands. . . .
His thoughts stilled and his eyes widened when he saw Mary Beth step from the colonel’s cabin, followed by the colonel himself. His gaze raked over Mary Beth. She no longer wore the doeskin dress. She was dressed in white woman’s attire.
She looked beautiful today with her hair hanging long and loose in the sun, the soft breeze making it ripple down her back. The dress she wore was one that seemed to be made of a much lighter fabric than doeskin. The breeze caused the full skirt to flutter around her legs, revealing her slender ankles.
His pulse raced when he saw where Mary Beth and the colonel were headed. The horse corral!
When they stopped at the corral, Brave Wolf’s heart skipped an anxious beat at the possibility that Mary Beth might soon be riding out of the fort.
He searched among the steeds with his eyes and soon found the sorrel he had given to Mary Beth. It was already saddled.
He watched as Mary Beth
went to the dark sorrel and slowly ran her hands over its withers. His eyes narrowed when the colonel placed his hands at Mary Beth’s waist and lifted her into the saddle.
Brave Wolf pushed the limbs of the brush farther apart so that he could get a better look. The colonel mounted another steed, then rode with Mary Beth through the gate that had been opened for them.
Curious about where the colonel might be taking Mary Beth, Brave Wolf yanked his blanket off the ground, stuffed it in the travel bag, then leapt into his saddle and began making his way down the steep slope of land.
When he reached level ground, he made his way through a thick stand of cottonwood trees that blocked his view of Mary Beth and the colonel. He was moving blindly now through the trees, not sure if he was going in the right direction. He wanted to get free of the trees so that he could look in all directions and follow Mary Beth and the colonel.
When he heard Mary Beth’s voice, his heart skipped a beat and he stopped quickly. He dismounted and tethered his horse’s reins to a tree, then crept stealthily onward on foot, his rifle clutched hard in his right hand.
Chapter Twenty-four
A woman’s whole life
is a history of the affections.
—Washington Irving
