Despite the terrible circumstances that had brought them together, she found herself rejoicing.
Yes, even though High Hawk understood that she was with child, and knew who the father was, he had not turned away from her. She knew now that she was much more to this handsome warrior than his captive. She was not just a woman he had brought home to his people as some sort of trophy.
She knew now that he loved her, as she loved him.
She savored his embrace, for who was to say what tomorrow would bring to either of them?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sleeping Wolf had been up all night mourning his beloved father. Now he sat before his morning fire, his eyes swollen from crying, his heart feeling empty at the loss of his ahte.
He still could not believe that someone had callously murdered Rising Moon. He had been shot more than once in the belly, and when his father had found the strength and willpower to wheel his horse around and ride away from the ambushers, the man called Mole had shot him in the back.
It was incredible that his ahte had lived as long as he had, but being the strong-willed man he was, he had pretended to be dead while Mole and his men kicked his body to see if he was alive.
“I cannot stand thinking about it any longer,” Sleeping Wolf whispered to himself as tears again rushed from his swollen, bloodshot eyes.
No. He could not stand to just sit there any longer, burying himself deeper and deeper in grief. He had to do something to avenge his father!
And although he knew it was practically impossible for him to ride a horse, he knew what he had to do.
For once, he would prove to everyone that he was not the weak man they all thought him.
Ho, he was determined to do something that would make him look strong and vital to his people. He would prove that he was worthy of having been born into a family such as his.
Sleeping Wolf groaned as he pushed himself up from the rush mats upon which he had been sitting. He was already dressed in a fringed buckskin shirt and leggings.
His waist-length black hair was held back with a beaded headband that his mother had made just for him. She had used beads that he had picked out, most of which were bright in color.
He groaned as he dragged himself to his small cache of weapons. All of them had been gifts from his ahte, even though he knew this son could never leave the village on a horse, to use them for the hunt, or for the defense of their people.
They were just symbols. Possessing these weapons made Sleeping Wolf at least look like the warrior he could never be.
His jaw tight, he sheathed his sharp knife to the right side of his waist, where it would be easier to grab once he found that horrible man called Mole. He had never seen the man. But his description was all that Sleeping Wolf needed in order to find and kill him. He was a man with many moles on his face; Sleeping Wolf had heard they were sickening to look at.
“I will find you and kill you. You will regret the day you downed my father and so many valiant Pawnee warriors,” Sleeping Wolf whispered, grabbing up his favorite rifle from those his father had placed there for him.
He struggled as he filled the chamber with bullets, then smiled when he had accomplished the feat. It was hard for him to do anything except eat and sleep.
His right hand gripping the rifle, Sleeping Wolf turned and walked as determinedly as possible toward his entrance flap. It was too early in the morning for anyone to be up and about, especially since the people of the village had mourned their losses long into the night. He had sat by the huge outdoor fire with them, but being so weary and tired, he had returned to his lodge before anyone else.
He had not slept, only listened to the wailing and crying as the drums beat out a steady rhythm into the night. He had never spent such a mournful night as last night. And he would make certain Mole would not be responsible for any more nights like this. By nightfall, he would be dead.
Stepping outside, where the sun was just barely creeping up over the horizon, sending its beautifully colored sprays of pink and orange across the land, Sleeping Wolf stopped to look around him and to listen.
Everything was still.
Even the trees stood with not a leaf stirring.
And then he heard a soft wailing sound coming from Two Stars’s lodge.
His mother was still in the shaman’s tepee, at her husband’s side. Sleeping Wolf was sure she had not slept at all last night either.
He could imagine her there now, preparing her husband for burial. Everything she did would be imbued with the loving care and dedication of a wife.
“Ina, Ina,” he whispered to himself, wishing there was some way for him to go and comfort her.
But he knew there was not one person on this earth who could take away her sorrow.