Lakota Love Song by Baker Madeline

Author:Baker, Madeline [Baker, Madeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Butterfly Kisses Press
Published: 2015-08-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Kaylee paced the floor of her lodge, rehearsing what she would tell Blue Hawk. I'm sorry , she would say. We made a mistake. Please take me home .

It had been a mistake, she thought. She would never belong here. The Lakota believed in many gods; she believed in only one. They believed the rocks and grass and trees were alive. Blue Hawk believed his people could speak to animals. The men took scalps. Would she ever be able to forget the horror of watching the Lakota warriors make their way among the dead soldiers, mutilating the bodies of their enemies, counting coup, taking scalps?

As the minutes passed, she began to wonder what was keeping Blue Hawk. Had he been . . . no! She refused to consider the possibility, yet it remained in the back of her mind.

She was about to go in search of him when he entered the lodge. His hair was windblown, his skin damp with perspiration, splattered with blood, and smeared with the gritty residue of black powder. He smelled strongly of gunsmoke, horse sweat, and the coppery odor of blood.

She hurried toward him and embraced him, relieved that none of the blood seemed to be his, sickened because it meant he had killed others.

"Kay-lee?"

His voice floated over her, through her, tender, gen tle. She looked up into his eyes and felt all her doubts and fears melt away. He was here. He loved her. She loved him. Nothing else mattered, nothing but—

She drew away from him, aware of a stickiness along her inner arm. She looked at the blood, then back at him. A long, shallow furrow cut across his ribs, oozing fresh blood where she had touched it.

"You're hurt!"

He glanced down at his side. "It is not serious." He had forgotten all about it in his need to see her, be with her.

Pushing him down on one of the blankets, she wet a strip of cloth and washed the wound, studying it intently. As he had said, it wasn't serious. But it might have been. It had narrowly missed the still-healing gunshot wound she had tended so carefully. She wrapped a strip of cloth around his middle, then gently washed away all evidence of the battle.

Murmuring his name, she sank into his embrace. Peace flowed through her, a sense of contentment, an assurance that she was where she was meant to be.

His hand stroked her hair, and then he leaned back a little so he could see her face. "You were going to leave me." It was not a question.

"How did you know?"

"I felt it while we were apart. I saw it in your eyes when I came in."

She shook her head. "I was having doubts, that's all."

"And now?"

She rested her cheek against his chest. "I'm where I want to be."

Later, after he had put on a clean breechclout, he told her about the battle. The soldiers had fought bravely, he said, his voice filled with respect.

"When their rifles jammed, they fought with their pistols, and when those were empty, they used their rifles like clubs.

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