Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) (2 page)

The only light in the cabin came from the roaring fire. Cillia watched the Indian lift her baby in his arms; she heard the feeble cry. He turned the baby to her, and she saw that she had a son! How proud Holden would have been.

"Please," she whispered weakly, pushing the baby more firmly into his arms, "take my baby . . . do not let him die here with me." Suddenly it became important to her that the child have something that belonged to her. With her last bit of strength, she reached up and unclasped the gold locket she wore about her neck, and with trembling hands, held it out to the Indian. "Please keep this for the child . . . so he will have something of mine."

Two Moons took the gold locket from the woman and watched as her eyes closed and her last breath came out in a soft hiss. Lady Cillia Remington now walked among the spirits!

He glanced down at the infant boy in his arms, doubting the child would survive the night. Two Moons could not have said why, but it suddenly became important to him that this white baby live.

Wrapping the infant in warm robes, the Indian moved to the door. He would take the baby to his village and away from this scene of tragedy. If the Spirit willed it, perhaps he would cheat death at least once this day.

***

Lord Holden Remington gritted his teeth in pain while he dragged himself along the frozen ground. The rag that was tied about his leg was blood soaked. He tried not to look at the protruding bone, or think about the fall over the cliff that had broken his leg. He was half-frozen and near death after having limped for over five miles with a broken leg. He was in agony, and would have given up long ago, but knowing that Cillia needed him gave him the strength to continue against impossible odds.

It was after the midnight hour when he at last reached the cabin. With determination that came from his love for his wife, he pushed himself forward.

A bright moon on the new snow gave the appearance of day, and his heart froze in fear when he saw the moccasin footprints that were deeply imbedded in the snow. Fear for his wife and unborn baby gave him renewed strength. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he hefted himself up and pushed the door open.

It was as cold as a tomb inside the cabin, and it took a moment for Holden's eyes to adjust to the darkness. With the moon streaming through the doorway, he saw his wife lying on the bed, and he knew before he approached Cillia that she was dead!

Wild, unbridled grief took over his thinking, and he eased himself down beside his wife. At first he thought she had been killed by Indians, but a quick examination told him there was no sign of violence. When his hand moved to her stomach, he saw that she had died in childbirth. As his eyes ran frantically over the cabin, he realized the baby was not there.

His mind worked fast, and he realized that the Indian tracks outside the cabin now had a greater significance. The Indian had taken his baby! Holden's mind cleared as he reached for his journal and, with his last bit of strength, began to write. His hand shook so badly that he hoped his writing would be legible. He had to leave this written evidence so his father would begin a search for the baby. Holden felt at peace, knowing his father would not rest until he had located the child.

On this day, the first day of November, in the year of Our Lord, 1833, Cillia died, delivering our child while I was away. It is my belief that the child lives and has been taken by Indians. It is my hope that every effort will be made to find the baby so it can be sent to my father in England. It is my wish that my wife and I be buried in a common grave so we might spend eternity together.

The journal slipped from Holden's hands. There was an ominous rattle in his chest, and he felt numb all over. Ignoring his pain, he lay down beside his beloved Cillia, whom he thought beautiful even in death. Gathering her cold body to him, he waited for death to speed him to her side. Thus the Viscount drew his last breath, making his newborn son the Viscount of Remington!

***

The sun had set in the Arapaho village as the three warriors made their way past the laughing children and welcoming smiles of the tribe.

The war chief’s wife, White Wing, was seated before the fire suckling her newborn infant, when she heard her husband's moccasin footsteps outside the tepee. Two Moons had been away for many days, and she had joyous news to share with him. Two Moons would be so pleased and proud that he had a son! There was much love in Two Moons' lodge, but White Wing and her war chief husband had been childless for many years. The two of them were no longer young, and their happiness had been boundless when they learned they were going to have this child.

The lodge flap was pushed aside, and she watched her husband enter. Elation danced in her dark eyes as he knelt beside her.

"You have a son, my husband," she said with pride.

Two Moons looked on his dark-skinned child with wonder. "The Spirits are good, my wife, for where we once had no sons, we now have two." White Wing noticed for the first time that her husband carried a fur robe. She watched in amazement as he folded it back to reveal a sickly white-skinned baby.

When Two Moons told his wife about the white woman who had died giving birth to the child, White Wing's heart melted and her eyes filled with sadness for the orphan child. She took him in her arms and held him to her breast, where he suckled hungrily.

Her bright eyes sought her husband's. "Can we keep this baby?"

Two Moons nodded. "His mother gave him into my care. I believe it was meant that this baby should come to us. If he lives, we will call him Dakota."

"Yes, Dakota is a good name." She thought of its meaning, "feeling affection for."

Two Moons took his own dark-skinned son in his arms and held him above his head while the child cried loud and lustily. "Our two sons will learn to walk as one. They will grow to manhood together, and bless this lodge twice over."

"If the white child... lives, my husband."

Two Moons' dark eyes saddened when they rested on the sickly Dakota, whose pallor was more yellow than white. He knew it was unlikely that the infant would live past another week. It was a miracle that he had lived this long. "Yes, if he lives," he agreed.

1

June 1839

Levi Gunther adjusted his spyglass and aimed it at the Arapaho Village across the Wind River. He had been watching the village for two days, and had not as yet seen what he was looking for. Levi had been corresponding with Lord Holden's father, the Marquess of Weatherford, for five years. The Marquess had hired him to find his grandchild, and the hunter had dedicated his life to that aim. It wasn't so much the money, although the Marquess was paying him very well. Finding the child, if it was still alive, had become an obsession with him. At times he would get discouraged and want to give up, but he kept going, hoping one day to find the missing child.

He had spent the last five years running down leads, checking out rumors, and chasing shadows. He had been to over fifty Indian villages without succeeding in his quest. Three weeks ago he had come upon a bit of information that had caused him to hope his search was nearing its conclusion. George Murphy, at the Murphy Trading Post, had told him about a white boy who was living with the Arapaho tribe that made their home across the Wind River. Levi's excitement had mounted when Murphy had informed him the boy had green eyes! He remembered vividly Lady Cillia Remington's emerald-green eyes.

Levi watched a large body of Arapaho warriors cross the river. He hunched down behind a tree, praying they wouldn't find his horse that was grazing nearby. After they disappeared from view, he renewed his vigil. He was unfamiliar with this branch of the Arapaho tribe. Murphy had told him that they kept very much to themselves and were not nomads, as were many other Arapaho tribes.

He scanned the village, noting that there were mostly women and children, busily going about their daily tasks. He pushed his spyglass shut, shoved it in his leather satchel, and went in search of his mount. Now was as good a time as any to cross the river. Tying his leather satchel onto the back of his horse, he pulled out a roll of jerky, deciding that if he were going to die today, it would not be on an empty stomach.

With more determination than courage, he mounted his horse and rode down the slope, entering the shallow part of the river. The Arapaho had chosen the perfect place for their village, because the Wind River circled them on two sides, making it impossible for anyone to come upon them from this direction without being seen. Thus, Levi was spotted just as his horse entered the river. Word of his approach spread throughout the village, and when he rode up the riverbank, a dozen warriors were there to greet him, bows drawn, and hostility and suspicion gleaming in their dark eyes.

"I come as a friend," he said, speaking in the tongue of the Arapaho.

"Dismount" one of the warriors ordered, his arrow drawn and aimed at Levi's chest, his dark eyes probing and cold. Levi had always liked to think of himself as a brave man, but at that moment, his body quivered with fear, and he felt a sickening churning in his stomach.

Levi held his arms in the air, crossed his leg over the saddle, and slid to the ground. He felt the sharp point of a spear in his back, and he knew that the Indian would not hesitate to ram it into his body if Levi made one wrong move. "I come in peace," he said past the bile rising in his throat.

It was at that moment that a tall Indian walked toward him. Levi knew this was no ordinary Indian, but one of great importance. He wore three eagle feathers in his gray-laced dark hair. Tall and proud, the man's dark gaze was probing and searching.

"What . . . are you . . . called?" Two Moons said in halting English.

"I am called Levi Gunther," he answered in perfect Arapaho.

Two Moons' dark eyes moved over Levi from head to foot. "I have heard of you. It is said you are a very brave man and have always respected the Indian and our customs. I have also heard it said that you can enter the territory of my brother, the Blackfoot, unmolested."

Levi began to hope he would not die. "I have lived with the Blackfoot and Arapaho and am proud to call all Indians my brother. May I know who you are?" "I am Two Moons, war chief of the Arapaho." Levi nodded. "I have also heard of you, although not in detail. It is said you keep your own counsel." "Why have you come among us, Levi Gunther?" The time of truth had arrived, and Levi hesitated, knowing he could meet his death in earnest when this chief learned of the reason for his intrusion. "I am looking for a white child," he blurted out, deciding he had come this far, he might as well challenge death. "The child would be in its fifth year."

The dark eyes became piercing. "I knew why you had come. I have known for years that you were searching for a white child. You are foolhardy, Levi Gunther, to have come among us alone and uninvited."

Levi tensed and then continued. "I have been searching for this child because there is a grandfather in England who is very powerful and wants his grandchild with him."

"No grandfather, no matter how powerful he is elsewhere, has any power here," Two Moons reminded Levi.

"This is true, but the grandfather is also very wealthy and will give many horses and blankets to those who return his grandchild."

Two Moons stared at the famed hunter, feeling different emotions. It had always been his wish to meet this man who had shown great friendship for the Indian. Levi Gunther was a great hunter, and it was said he was fearless in battle. "If the boy were here, he would not be for sale, no matter how many horses were offered for him."

Levi's eyes narrowed just a fraction. He could feel the turmoil in this man. "I did not say the child was a boy. But if he is here, many horses can mean great prosperity for this tribe," Levi suggested.

Levi was never to know what Two Moons would have replied, for at that moment two young Indian boys came running out of the woods and drew the war chiefs attention. Levi watched the boys come closer, and he sensed Two Moons' anxiety.

Although both boys had black hair, Levi noticed that one of them was lighter-skinned than the other. As they reached Two Moons, the lighter-skinned boy grabbed the Indian's leg and laughed up at him. "I won, Father. I won the race."

Levi stared at the young boy and then into green eyes that were reminiscent of other green eyes —Lady Cillia Remington's! He did not need to be told that this was her son and that his long search was over at last.

The other boy drew Levi's attention as he kicked at the dirt, his face sullen. "I am the fastest, Father. I could have outrun Dakota if he had not had a head start."

Two Moons grasped the arm of each boy and shoved them away, speaking sharply to them. "Go, and bother me no more today."

The young Dakota turned to Levi and looked at him with interest. "Why does this man have hair on his face?" the young boy asked, apparently unafraid of his father's reprimand, leaving Levi to surmise that Two Moons was not a strong disciplinarian with the boys.

"This man has hair on his face because he is a white man," the father explained. He then turned to Levi.

"These are my two sons, Black Otter and Dakota."

Levi knew his life was in real danger now that he had discovered the war chief’s secret. He also realized that Two Moons would never let the boy go. He could see the love and pride in the war chiefs eyes when he looked upon the boy he called Dakota.

Levi's and Two Moons' eyes met and locked, both knowing that the child Levi had searched for stood between them. "Until I decide what to do, Levi Gunther, you will not leave this village. I would not want to shame a man such as yourself by confining you with ropes. Will you give me your word that you will not try to leave the village?"

"You have my word" Levi readily agreed.

Two Moons smiled. "Your word is good, hunter. But" —now he grinned openly — "there will be two guards outside your tepee tonight."

Levi returned his smile. "I accept your hospitality, and I thank you."

The young Dakota had never seen a white man before, though he had heard of them, and he stared at Levi with open curiosity. "Are you really a white man?" he asked.

Levi looked into green eyes made more prominent by the little tanned face. Yes, he thought, those were Lady Cillia's green eyes. He bent down to answer the boy's question. "Yes, I am a white man."

"Your eyes are a funny color."

"Yes, they are blue. Your eyes are most unusual also, Dakota."

The young boy gazed in awe at the ivory-handled knife that stuck out of Levi's sheath. "Can I touch your hunting knife?" he asked with rounded eyes.

"If your father says it is all right, I will give it to you."

"No!" Two Moons growled. "The boy is too young to have such a knife." He pulled Dakota away from Levi. "Go and play with your brother."

"When I am older, I will have such a knife," Dakota declared.

"When you are older, perhaps your father will allow you to have this one," Levi suggested.

"Dakota!" Two Moons said in a warning voice. "Go with your brother at once."

With a last curious glance at Levi, Dakota dashed away and was soon halfway to the river.

"This is the boy I have been searching for," Levi said, glancing up at the war chief. "Can you tell me how he came to be in your care?"

Two Moons stared with pride after Dakota. "I have two fine sons, Levi Gunther. One is the child of my loins, while the other is the child of my heart. One would be foolish to ask a father to give up his son."

Levi nodded. "Pity, because Dakota would have a wonderful life waiting for him in England."

"Will this grandfather love him more than I? Will he fill his belly fuller with food, care more about him when he is ill, or have more pride in him when he succeeds at something? I do not think so. I was with Dakota's white mother when she gave him life. Before she died, she gave him over to my keeping. He is mine, and I will not give him up."

Levi shook his head. "I can see that the boy is happy, but will the others allow him to forget he is white? Will he not be better off with his own kind?"

Two Moons held out his hand for Levi to precede him into the tepee. "We shall talk no more on this. Dakota is my son, and I will never give him up!"

***

London, England

Levi was seated across from Dakota's grandfather feeling uncomfortable and out of place in the elegant salon. The Marquess did little to put the hunter at ease as his gnarled hands tightened on the gold-handled cane. Levi had just informed the Marquess that he had found his grandson alive. Either the man was a good actor or had little feelings for the boy, because the eyes that stared back at Levi were cold and unfeeling.

"I have paid you good money, Levi, why did you not bring my grandson back with you?"

"As I explained, Two Moons looks on Dakota as his own son. He will not give him up."

The Marquess poked his cane at Levi's chest, but stopped short of touching him. "Then you must take my grandson by force. I expect you to use whatever means you deem necessary to obtain his freedom. It is imperative that you bring him to me."

"I am afraid that will be impossible, Marquess. Even with an army of men you couldn't get Dakota away from Two Moons."

The old man shook his head. "Dakota. That is a hell of a name for the next Marquess of Weatherford."

"He may never be the next Marquess. You do not know the Arapaho. No one takes from them unless they are willing to give. You must understand Two Moons is not willing to give Dakota to me or anyone else."

"Is the boy well treated?"

For the first time Levi saw something akin to concern in the old man's eyes. "He is treated with love and respect."

The Marquess's eyes locked with Levi's. "I have heard from reliable sources that you are a good man to deal with, Levi Gunther. I was also told if anyone could obtain my grandson's freedom, it would be you. Did you not say you were on friendly terms with this Two Moons?"

"I don't know that you would exactly call us friends. But I faced the war chief and still live — that in itself in a accomplishment."

"Are you willing to do everything in your power to bring my grandson to me?"

"I am willing to try and convince Two Moons that Dakota has a future here in England. But as I said, I cannot, and will not, take the boy away by force."

The Marquess nodded. "Then stay near him, look over him. If at all possible, teach him English. Tell him about me and the life he has waiting for him here in England. Entice him with promises of wealth and anything he wants."

"I will stay near him if Two Moons allows it. I will teach him English and even teach him to read, but you must understand nothing I could promise the boy would lure him away from a father he loves. Take my word for it, Dakota does love Two Moons as any boy would love his own father. The young boy I met in that Indian village has no conception of wealth. He is happy and content, he thinks like an Indian and even looks like one."

There was dullness in the Marquess's eyes. "I could send a hundred men to bring my grandson to me, but I have a feeling you could do more to gain his freedom than anyone else I could send. Go to him and stay nearby. Keep me informed on his progress."

Levi stood up, knowing the interview was ended. "I will do what I can for Dakota. He is a fine-looking boy, and you can believe that Two Moons will teach him to walk as a man."