Prologue #2
“Sabrina, no!” he commanded, spinning around to face the brave who had accosted her. He spoke loudly and fiercely, gesturing as he did so. The brave returned his angry words.
The brave’s three friends stood stoically listening, awaiting the outcome.
“Sloan! We have to get out of here!” She started for the horse. She had nearly leaped upon it.
She could not do so. He caught her before she could mount the horse. He held her in his arms, close against his chest.
“Sloan, what are you doing?” she whispered desperately. “We have to get out of here!”
He shook his head slowly, sadly.
“Sloan, we can run—”
“Sabrina, there are thousands of Sioux and Cheyenne just beyond that hill over there. Thousands upon thousands. More than I have witnessed together in all my life.”
“Oh, God, Sloan, the more reason we have to run! Sloan, you’ve just saved me from that man, taken me from him. Let’s escape—”
“Sabrina!” he murmured, shushing her. He smiled—ruefully, she thought. The old Sloan, the man who sometimes taunted himself as well as others with both his wit and charm. “I was allowed to save you from him.”
“Allowed?” she repeated, her heart sinking. She’d known that he was no longer trusted by the Sioux. It seemed that her fears concerning him had been well-founded. And still, she fought the truth of their situation. “Allowed? Oh, God, Sloan, please, think, do something, dear God…”
Her voice trailed away as she stared at him. Were they doomed? Was her life over, just when she might have had the chance to begin it again? She moistened her lips. “I can’t die now. Damn you, Sloan, put me down, I—”
“Sweet Jesu, Sabrina, don’t you dare argue with me now!” he warned, his dark eyes blazing.
She hadn’t come to argue with him. She was just suddenly so afraid.
“Sloan, set me down, I—”
“Indeed. Madam…” He turned in a sudden fury, setting her down. And she gasped aloud, staggering back against him, because more Indians on horseback had come. Dozens of them. Their bare chests were painted, and they were wearing various different headdresses.
Prepared for war. So many of them.
“Just a fraction of my friends and family,” he murmured, drawing her close against him so that his chin was just above her forehead and his arms were around her waist in a both defensive and protective gesture.
One of the warriors broke away from the others, riding forward.
“Silver Knife, a lieutenant to Crazy Horse,” Sloan informed her softly.
“Oh, God, Sloan, what exactly is going on?” she asked in sudden horror, nervously trying to writhe free from his grasp.
He pulled her back. “Sabrina, stop it!” he warned quietly.
“The situation here is critical. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you, for though I did my best to ride to your rescue like a knight in shining armor, I am, myself, a prisoner at this moment.
It’s only because one of Hawk’s cousins saw that you were in the party Gray Heron rode to attack that I was allowed to ride after him.
Of course,” he continued with a bitter edge, “what in God’s name you’re doing out here is far more than I can fathom!
If we weren’t in such dire trouble, I’d be tempted to take you over my knee for being so foolish and headstrong. ”
She wanted to reply; she wanted to tell him so many things. Of course, as he could so easily do, he had managed to infuriate her. So she wanted to stamp on his foot, but more than that, she wanted just a few precious moments to talk.
She wasn’t going to get those moments now.
The Indian Sloan had called Silver Knife began speaking with Sloan. Sloan nodded agreement, then lifted Sabrina atop the lathered horse he had raced across the plain to reach her. He quickly leaped up behind her.
They were instantly flanked by other Indians. “Where are we going?” Sabrina asked Sloan.
“Back to the camp.”
It was just beyond the hill. The Indian encampment along a river seemed to stretch forever. Children played; women worked. Cooking fires burned, skins were stretched out for drying, and game hung from poles, ready to be skinned, cooked, and eaten.
But what alarmed her was the number of warriors she saw. Thousands of them, and all painted. All decked out for war.
They drew to a halt in the center of the camp, in front of a small tipi. Sloan leaped down from the horse and reached up for Sabrina. She set her hands on his shoulders and slid down before him. “You have to go in there,” he told her.
“Alone?” she asked, and tried not to tremble.
“I’ll be with you when the matter has been decided.”
“What matter?” she asked.
He offered her a casual shrug. “Gray Heron is not one of our band. He thinks that I should have been killed instead of taken prisoner, and he insists that because he found you, he has a right to you.”
Sabrina gasped, glad that he was with her then for her knees were giving out on her.
“Stand up straight. Trust in me for once, my love. Will you do that, please?”
She found her strength, met his eyes, and nodded. “Oh, God, how long—”
“Matters will be settled quickly,” he assured her.
“They know that Custer is out there somewhere, looking for them. They are looking for him as well. I’ll be with you soon.
Dammit, Sabrina, I’ve never seen you back down from anything in your life.
You’ve sure as hell never backed down with me.
Show those claws of yours. I’m well aware that you have them. ”
She pushed away from him and walked into the tipi.
There she collapsed. She fell to her knees upon a blanket in the rear of the tipi and buried her face in her hands. What had she done? What was happening now with Sloan? How had he been taken himself, and, oh, God, what would happen next?
Seconds seemed endless; minutes lasted forever.
She managed to rise, and from there, she began to pace.
Twilight faded to night, and she sat again in the darkness of the tipi, waiting.
Outside, in the center of this grouping of tipis, a fire burned.
Through the flap opening of the tipi, she stared out.
The flickering flames rose in colors that resembled the evening’s sunset.
Yellows and golds crackled. Reds and crimsons blazed like the blood that soaked the landscape.
And there would be so much more to come.
So much more. Oh, God, she hadn’t known there were so many Indians in all the world.
Fear took root within her again.
They had killed Sloan. They would kill her.
Then she saw him, shoulders bathed by the colors of the flame, muscles rippling. He walked as tall as he rode. He had bled for both Sioux and White men, but he had bowed down to neither.
He did not come alone, she saw. Two Indians dogged his trail. Yet when he slipped into the tipi, they waited outside.
She sprang to her feet, racing the few steps to him.
Now he drew her to him very hard, and the savagery of his passionate kiss was tempered by a strange, wild sweetness.
Protest now would not matter; she was his wife.
He held her fiercely, hungrily, heedless of whatever anger might have lain between them before.
She had so much to say; it seemed that he required no explanations.
Her apologies, under such circumstances, would seem inane.
Yet, oh, God, the way he held her, the feel of his arms, ruthless now in the urgency of his kiss. As if this might be the last…
“Sloan, dear God, what’s happening?” she whispered when he released her at last.
He kissed her again, deeply, his fingertips playing over her face, his hands cupping her breasts.
“Sloan?”
“Would you fight me?” he queried softly. And even in the darkness, she felt his eyes, felt them burning into her, and she wondered what lay within his heart.
“What? No—”
“Ah, not here, not now! Not with all the Sioux Nation about to go to war.”
“No, I would not fight you!” she cried in return.
“Pity, for we have no time!” he murmured dryly.
“No time? Sloan, please!”
He sighed. “This whole matter is quite an annoyance to the chiefs here, you see. The Sioux have been pushed very hard, and they are making a stand. Your party was attacked because the Sioux do not want their position betrayed before the fighting starts. Anyway, Gray Heron is adamant about having you, so it seems that I have to fight him for the privilege of keeping you as my wife.”
“My God, Sloan, no!”
“Such faith!”
“He’ll try to kill you—”
“Yes, well, that will be the point.”
“Sloan, dear God, please, don’t die, please, don’t die!”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised lightly. “Listen to me, Sabrina. Whatever happens now, you’re safe for the time being.
Warriors don’t—” he hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders.
“They don’t copulate before battle. God knows exactly when this battle will take place, but it will be terrible.
Sioux braves believe that being with a woman will make them unpure for the fighting.
In the event that something happens to me, you’ll have time to get someone to take you to Crazy Horse.
He’ll be honor-bound to protect you because of our friendship in the past.”
“Sloan, stop, dear God, please—”
His fingers tightened upon her shoulders. “What the hell are you doing out here anyway?” he demanded furiously. “I told you never to leave the fort without me again. I warned you—”
“I came to find you!” she protested desperately. “I came to find you because a Crow spy told a soldier at the fort that you were no longer safe from the Sioux, that they would kill you if they felt threatened. You weren’t trusted going back and forth between two worlds. I had to find you—”
“Why?” he demanded bluntly.
She wanted to tell him. She had wanted to tell him so badly! But she hadn’t imagined it would be like this, both of them in such terrible danger, and Sloan so angry with her, his tone so hard and blunt.
“Why?” he repeated, and again she felt his eyes despite the darkness, felt the tension of his muscles, the heat and strength of his body.
“We’d both know you were lying if you were to tell me there haven’t been a good half-dozen times in the past year when you wouldn’t have gladly seen me as a pincushion for Sioux arrows. ”
“Sloan, I was trying to tell you—”
He pulled away suddenly, and she realized that his escort had come for him. The two braves set to guard him were slipping into the tipi, coming to his side.
“It seems that I have to leave, my love. If I do return, I promise, I’ll be expecting to hear a great deal from you.”
If he returned…
One of the braves took his arm, but he shook him off. He drew Sabrina to him one last time; the force of his kiss bruised her lips, yet infused her with warmth and longing.
She could hear drums beating in the night. A war cry sounded, then another.
Sloan released her at last. He took her hand, bowed over it, lightly breathed a kiss against her fingers. “Until we meet again, my love,” he murmured.
And he turned and walked away.
“Sloan!” she cried, racing out after him.
He turned, startled, then frowned as he saw the tears on her cheeks.
She flung herself against his chest, breathing in his scent, trying to cherish the last of his warmth as she spoke quickly.
“You can’t die! Another reason why I came to find you is because I didn’t expect you to be gone when I woke up the morning after…
after…when I woke up that morning. I’d waited because I wanted to be really sure.
I wanted to be past what the midwife told me was the dangerous time.
I didn’t want to disappoint you again after everything. I—”
His fingers moved her hair back from her forehead. He tilted her chin upward. His eyes seemed ebony in the firelight, and his touch was fraught with tension.
“What are you saying, Sabrina?”
“You can’t die. We’re expecting a child again, Sloan.”
A high-pitched, keening war cry suddenly seemed to shatter the night. One of the braves came to Sloan, saying something, taking him by the arm. Sloan didn’t protest; he didn’t even seem to notice. He stared down at Sabrina. But the second brave came around her, pulling her away from Sloan.
Sloan said something sharply to the man in the Sioux language, and he released Sabrina. She started to run to Sloan again, refusing to accept the fact that he would be taken away.
The brave stopped her. He didn’t hurt her; he just held her.
Sloan kept staring back at her.
“Really?” he queried softly, at last.
“Yes.”
“You’re quite certain.”
She nodded. “That’s why…I waited so long to tell you.”
“When?”
“The baby will arrive in late November.”
“Well,” he murmured, “I should definitely be back by then. Go back to the tipi, Sabrina. For God’s sake, keep yourself safe!” He shook off the brave who held him and turned away, walking toward the fire.
And going toward the blaze, he again became a black silhouette, now framed by the bloodred flames of the night rather than the crimson streaks of the setting sun.
“Sloan!” she cried.
He paused, then turned slowly.
“My love, I will be back,” he vowed.
And when he moved again, it was around the flames, and it seemed that he had been swallowed by the fire.
“He will be back!” she whispered to herself. “He’ll be back!” she told the brave who propelled her toward the tipi opening before leaving her.
She sat again, staring out at the night, at the fire, trying to still her thundering heart, trying to keep from screaming out her fear.
But crackling flames in the firelit night seemed to mock and taunt her.
She stared at the flames, rising in their brilliant streaks of fire, and she found herself fiercely praying over and over again that Sloan would, indeed, be back.
And she admitted to herself that she didn’t think she could bear to live without him.
She was deeply, hopelessly in love with him.
Still staring at the flames, she began to wonder just when she had begun falling in love with him.
Perhaps the night at the fort when Lieutenant Jenkins had behaved so atrociously.
Perhaps when she had lost the baby.
It had begun even before that.
How odd it seemed now that she hadn’t known how deeply she would come to love him when she had married him.
But that was long ago. Another lifetime, so it seemed. Yet perhaps the only lifetime they would have.
And so…
Left with only her fear as a companion, she traced the time back.
And remembered.