White Fire

Tears spilled from Maureen’s eyes. She gazed up at White Fire for a moment longer, then turned away and slowly closed the door between them.

Strangely empty inside, White Fire stared at the door, then went and uncoiled his reins from the hitching rail.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked up at a second-story window.

His heart almost broke when he saw Michael standing at the window, gazing down at him, his eyes filled no longer with confusion, but with a strange sort of detachment, and . . . resentment just before he was whisked away from the window and Maureen was quickly there, frowning down at White Fire.

White Fire sighed heavily, then swung himself into his saddle and rode away.

It came suddenly to him that if he was to get his son back without a fight, he must find a wife, someone who would willingly be a mother to his Michael. For in anyone’s eyes, it would not be right to wrench a child away from a true family, to live with only a father.

His spirits low, his shoulders slumped, he could not think of any woman who might be willing to have an instant family, especially in this wilderness where men outnumbered women ten to one.

He was filled with a sudden, deep, bitter hopelessness.

Chapter 8

I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,

And yet thou art not there;

I fill my arms with thoughts of thee.

—John Clare

Restless, and angry at her father for having placed a sentry in the corridor outside her bedroom door, Flame paced the floor.

She couldn’t believe that her fa

ther could be this overprotective of her! She had experienced his obsession with her while living in St. Louis, but never had he kept her in her bedroom like a prisoner.

But now that she thought about it, she realized that even when she had attended fancy balls and other social functions in St. Louis, one of his military colleagues had always been close by, trying not to be too obvious as he kept an eye on her.

She wondered now, when she had thought she had been alone, free as a bird while horseback riding, if someone had always been there, close at hand, watching her.

“How could he?” she cried, doubling her hands into tight fists at her sides.

She went to the open French doors that led to a small balcony and stepped gingerly out onto it. She circled her hands around the railing, her gaze settling on a small roof that lay just beneath the balcony, where a trellis had been placed, reaching from the ground to the roof. She was glad that roses were not the first choice of flowers for this trellis. Instead it had lovely wisteria vines that had no thorns to tear at her flesh when she escaped from her prison.

“In time he will know that he can’t hold me back,” she whispered, smiling now that she knew that she would have a way to leave the confines of her room whenever she chose to. Let him lock the door and she would escape and have her fun.

Glad to now have a plan, and badly wanting to explore, she decided that tomorrow would be soon enough since she was tired from the long river voyage. Flame went and plopped down on her bed.

Stretching out on her stomach, she rested her chin in her hands as she slowly looked around her room. Her private quarters were, indeed, grand, even as beautiful as those she had at the family mansion in St. Louis.

Her bedroom was large, giving an open feeling that was enhanced by the sunlight streaming through a number of windows, which were graced by beautiful satin draperies.

A fire was burning leisurely in the bedchamber fireplace, casting a soft, golden glow on the rich paneling of the walls. Ceiling beams and crown molding reinforced the sumptuous feeling, with hardwood floors that shined enough to see her reflection in them. Several silver candelabrums stood on various tables in the room, holding numerous tapers. Her bed, with its iron bedstead, was comfortable with its thick feather mattress. A marble-topped washstand stood beside the bed, a china basin decorated with rosebuds atop it.

She gazed at the chifforobe, anxious to make her father keep his promise to allow her to choose a new wardrobe. She closed her eyes and envisioned the hats she would wear for outings on her horse.

“My horse,” she whispered, jumping from the bed.

She hurried to the balcony and leaned her head out, to look far to the right, where the stables were. She had brought her steed from St. Louis. She hoped it wouldn’t be hard to find it among so many stabled together beneath one roof.

“I shall,” she said, stubbornly lifting her chin.

Then she looked past the wall of the fort. Her gaze searched in the distance from cabin to cabin, wondering in which one she might find the handsome ’breed.