Chapter 6 #3
“Hau.” He smiled slightly. “Now I recall.”
“How convenient of you to forget this particular aspect of your life.”
“Convenient, perhaps, but unnecessary. I am not married. Alas, I fear there would be no one but myself to…tame you.”
She paused. “But if I recall correctly, you said a man had to be married to be with the show.”
“An Indian man has to be married,” he corrected.
“You are Indian.”
“So I am. I hope you can keep a secret, for this is something I have not told the Long-haired Show Man.”
“The Long-haired Show Man? Who is it you are speaking of?”
“Buffalo Bill,” he supplied.
“Oh, I see.” A taunting smile hovered over her lips. “Well, I suppose now you will have to marry me…and not simply to save my honor.”
“Ece? And why is that?”
“Because in the white man’s world, a woman is not able to say anything bad about her husband. We call it testifying. She cannot tell his secrets in public.”
“Eya, I understand.” He paused, then keeping the conversation in the same vein as she, he continued, “There is nothing else we can do, then. I will have to make you my bride, provided you are not already married to the one who did this to you.”
“I am not.”
He nodded. He had guessed as much.
“Well, good.” Her lips quivered with her effort to speak. “I’m glad this is settled. When shall the deed be done?”
“You do not jest with me?”
She regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Slowly, as if she could scarcely credit her own decision, she said, “No. I do not jest. I will marry you.”
His brows came together as he took a step forward. He was intrigued by this woman, greatly intrigued. But more than this, he wanted to take her in his arms this very minute. He wanted to wash away the shadows that hovered over her, if only for a little while.
However, in such situations as this—being alone with a woman—someone had to think clearly, and it appeared at this time and place, he was to be that person. “Let us discuss this in a greater way. We must consider other situations which might arise because of us being married.”
“Other situations?” Her voice shook.
The desire to comfort her, to take her in his arms and hold her until her tears dried, was almost more than he could suppress. But he had to tell her; she needed to know. “We are no longer across the water in England. You are white. I am not. In this country, a marriage between us is not allowed.”
She set back her shoulders. “That’s not true. And besides, I am not from this country.”
“There is also this fact: we know little of each other. We have not grown up with one another. How do you know you can depend on me to be a good husband? How do I know you will make me a good wife?”
“Yes, yes. You are right. It is awkward, and we should think about this in greater detail. There are so many problems, and I must—” She spun away from him and stepped slowly to a far corner of the room.
He followed her, coming up behind her. “But know this: If you need a husband for your baby, as well as for you, I will be this for you, since it is best to bring a child into the world as part of a family. To not do so might haunt the young life you carry for all of his or her existence. Tell me, how many months along are you?”
“A few. Perhaps four.” Her voice caught on a sob.
“The babe will not look like me,” he said, the observation meant to lighten her mood.
“Does it matter?”
“Hiya.”
“What does the word, hiya word mean?”
“It means no, it does not matter to me. If you truly mean to accept—”
“I have said so already: I accept.”
“Li’la tanyan, very well. When shall we commit this act?”
“Tonight.” She looked at him defiantly.
He swallowed. “Very well. We will marry tonight.” To his surprise, with the utterance, every male instinct within him gained life. He became aware of her, truly aware of her—of her beauty, her scent, her sensuality.
Moments ago, he had wanted only to comfort one so beautiful, but now he could think of nothing more than taking her into his arms and imprinting himself upon her.
Intending to put his thoughts into action, he took the steps necessary to close the distance between them.
“Shall we seal the arrangement with a kiss?”
“A kiss?” The contempt in her voice was unmistakable. Was it contempt for him?
He was not left long wondering, however, as she said, “I think it is a kiss which has served this trouble upon me. Perhaps in the future I shall avoid kisses in any form from any person.”
“Hau, I can understand you would think this to be so. Yet still I would like one, if you are willing.”
She raised her chin. “Willing? Mayhap it would be wise if I tell you that I do what I do out of desperation. Therefore, you should be apprised of the fact I may never voluntarily kiss you.”
“Hau. This is to be regretted.” In a most typical American Indian gesture, he jerked his chin swiftly to the left. “This will be a strange marriage, I fear.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It will indeed be a strange marriage.”
Before the last word left her lips, he bent toward her and pressed a kiss upon her mouth.