Chapter 4 #3
“Yes. I can see, given your understanding of the situation, how you might reason that you now…ah…own me.”
“Waste.”
“What does that word mean?”
“Good. It is good.”
“Ah… But, Mr. Coyote, I am English, I am not Indian and am not subject to your rules. To my knowledge, the English are not a people to be bought and sold in an Indian game of chance. Besides, this is America—many people come here to be free, free to live their lives as they see fit.”
He didn’t respond.
“And if this be the case, that we are free,” she continued, “then you don’t really own me and—”
“But you are not in your own country. You are in my country, and here, if we are to travel together, we must be married. It is to be regretted that this is difficult for you to accept, but I will try to make it as easy for you as I can until I can take you to the traders. Once there, we will part, and you will once again be as free as the wind.”
Marietta swung her head around sharply. “But how do I know you will make it easy for me?”
“You will have to trust me.”
“Really? How do I know I can trust you?” She turned slightly so that she could watch him as she spoke.
“I don’t know you. I don’t even remember how I came to be here.
How am I supposed to believe you? For all I know, you might have stolen me from Jacques LaCroix.
It certainly seems to be a custom in this country. ”
“I did not steal you.”
She was not prepared to give quarter. “Or you might have actually encouraged LaCroix to drug me so you could cart me away without my screaming or alerting anyone to what you were doing.”
He said nothing to this, simply tightened his arm around her and drew her back against him.
“Well?” she asked after a while, wiggling around in his arms. “What do you have to say to that?”
She felt him shrug. “You are free to believe what you will.”
“But—”
“However,” he cut her off, “your observation is poor, if you think this.”
“And I might think it.”
He seemed to pay no attention to her as he continued. “If I meant to capture you, you would be tied and gagged. Do you see that you are not?”
“Immaterial.”
“I would have also taken you to my sleeping robes by now.”
“Your what?”
“A captured woman, and particularly a pretty one, is never left with her virginity—if she had it before her capture.”
Had he called her pretty? The compliment caused a warmth to stir within Marietta, enough so she didn’t quite catch the rest of what he’d spoken. However, too soon the entire meaning of his words penetrated. “You mean you… A woman who is captured… Mr. Coyote, did you…?”
“To you? I have not. Because you are now under my protection, I have not taken that which is considered mine to take.”
“And…and… Do you…? I mean…is it…? Will you?” She didn’t look at him.
“A wife has many rights,” said Grey Coyote. “Among them is the license to name her time and place, as well as her prerogative to say no. And a man should try to abide by what she decides.”
“Oh, I see. But a captured woman has no rights?”
“None.”
“Ah. And a man should try to abide by what his wife says?”
“Hiya, not necessarily. But it is a good idea if a man likes to have peace in his home, and he generally does.”
“Fair enough. Then I order you to take me to St. Louis.”
“Hiya.”
“What does that word, hiya, mean?”
“To the Assiniboine, it means no.”
“Assiniboine. You are an Assiniboine Indian?”
She felt him nod. She wished she had spent more time learning about these American Indian tribes.
“Sir, you tell me I am your wife.”
“Hau.”
“And does a wife have any influence on where she and her husband travel?”
He was silent.
“Well?”
“It is the man who decides where the family goes, and when.”
“But the woman must have some influence.”
“Sometimes she does.”
“Well, Mr. Coyote, tell me,” said Marietta. “What must I do to influence you to take me to the village of St. Louis?”
He didn’t respond.
“Sir?”
At last he roused himself and said, “There is nothing you can do. My mind is already set as to where we will go.”
She turned toward him, and in doing so, her breasts brushed against him, sending a shot of excitement up her spine.
She ignored it, certain it was only their unusual situation that caused it.
“Surely there is something I could do to sway you to my plight. You see, a trader’s post is far away from where I need to go, and I have some urgency to return to St. Louis. ”
Again, he remained still.
Whether she should or not, she plundered on. “If you would like gold, I could pay you, as I had paid Mr. LaCroix.”
“Humph!” He snorted. “I have no need of the white man’s gold.”
She turned her face outward, toward the environment. “Mr. Coyote,” she said, speaking as though she consulted the wind. “I am desperate to gain the village of St. Louis. There must be something you desire from me. Something I could give you if you will only take me to that place.”
She heard, or perhaps she felt, his low groan. But all he said was, “Perhaps there is one duty you could perform for me.”
“Oh?” she countered, hope rising within her. “What is it?”
It took him a while to answer. “You could perform your wifely duties for me.”