and old to do his duty any longer.
Stunned, Speckled Fawn had asked why the uncle would want her.
Blue Thunder had told her that his uncle’s mind had begun to leave him. Because he loved the elderly man so much, Blue Thunder did everything possible to make his uncle happy while he still could.
Speckled Fawn had listened, astonished, when Blue Thunder explained that his uncle had said he wanted the white woman to be his wife.
Blue Thunder had assumed from this request that his uncle’s mind was worse than he had thought it was. His illness must be robbing his mind of reason, for why else would he want a white wife, especially one who was many moons younger than he?
No, Blue Thunder had never understood why, but to make his uncle content during these last moons of his life, he had asked Speckled Fawn, whose true name was Kathleen, if she would humor his uncle by marrying him.
Feeling as though that might be the answer to all of her woes, Speckled Fawn had not hesitated to agree to this special request of a man who was loved and admired by so many. She would be kept safe under the wing of these people who loved the old man.
“And so there it is, the story of how I happened to be married to a much older man, an Indian who was once a powerful shaman,” Speckled Fawn said. “We have never consummated our marriage. He just seemed happy to have me as his wife, especially when we were in our blankets. He never fondled me in any way. He was just content that I was there, smelling good like a woman smells, and warming his blankets for him.”
“The story has such sweetness about it,” Shirleen murmured. “I admire you so much for finding the good in your marriage. Do you miss that . . . part of marriage that can bring joy into a woman’s heart, if you are with the right man? You know what I mean.”
Shirleen had always wondered how it would be to make love with a man she loved, not be forced into a sexual confrontation with someone she detested.
“No, I never even thought about such things,” Speckled Fawn said softly. “I had had such a horrible life after my parents died. I wanted nothing more to do with men. I saw this life that was offered me as something you would read in a fairy tale. I have been oh, so very, very happy here, except when I realized that my husband’s mind had finished its journey of slipping away. Now when he looks at me, I’m not sure if he truly sees me. But his smile. Ah, his smile has always warmed my heart, even now, when I am not certain if he is aware of smiling at me.”
“And even after he no longer knew you, these people allowed you to stay as his wife?” Shirleen murmured.
“Yes, I was allowed to stay in the capacity of his wife, because the Assiniboine people knew that my presence continues to bring Dancing Shadow peace even though he has lost his ability to speak, or perhaps even . . . to think rationally,” Speckled Fawn said.
Tears filled her eyes. “But, oh, how he can smile,” she murmured. “I love his smile. It brightens a room. And oh, how I do love . . . and . . . adore him.”
She paused, then said, “It was my husband who gave me the name Speckled Fawn because of the freckles on my face.”
“It is such a pretty name,” Shirleen said, sighing. “Did I tell you that Morning Thunder gave me an Indian name? Tiny Flames. Is it not ever so beautiful?”
“Yes, it is pretty. I assume the color of your hair and your petiteness prompted the name,” Speckled Fawn said, smiling. “I do love it, Shirleen. Would you rather I call you by your Indian name?”
“For now, my given name is probably better,” Shirleen said. “Perhaps later, the other. It all has to do with how things turn out.”
“I sense that you have feelings for Blue Thunder that are very, very special,” Speckled Fawn said, searching Shirleen’s eyes. “You do, don’t you?”
“How could I not?” Shirleen admitted. “I have never met anyone like him before. He is such a kind, generous, and caring man. And . . . so . . . loving.”
“I have seen how he looks at you and treats you,” Speckled Fawn said. “I have not seen that look in his eyes since before his wife died. But there seems to be more sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you than when his wife was still with him.”
“Oh, surely you are wrong,” Shirleen said, stunned that Speckled Fawn would be so open with her.
“I don’t think so,” Speckled Fawn said, then looked more seriously at Shirleen. “I have told you my story. Are you ready to tell me yours? I know about your child, but not your husband. There was a husband, wasn’t there?”
“There was, there is, but I no longer claim him as such,” Shirleen said tightly. “On the day of the massacre, when the renegades came and changed my life forever and robbed me of my beloved daughter, I . . . I . . . was packed and ready to leave my husband. He had gone to the trading post, and I was taking the opportunity to flee while I could. I was just putting the last things in my bags when I heard the first war cry from the renegades.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the travel bag, then looked at Speckled Fawn again. “Most of those clothes you brought me were the ones I had packed,” she murmured “They were stolen by the renegades.”
“You were actually leaving your husband?” Speckled Fawn gasped, her eyes widening. “Why?”
Shirleen lowered her eyes, swallowed hard, then stood up and turned her back to Speckled Fawn.
Shirleen turned and slowly lowered the bodice of her doeskin dress, leaving her scarred back exposed to Speckled Fawn’s stunned eyes.
“My Lord,” Speckled Fawn gasped, aghast at what she saw. “Did that man, your husband, do that to you?”
“Many, many times,” Shirleen said, bringing her bodice back into place.