Lakota Princess (21 page)

“An eagle?” It was Black Bear who spoke, Black Bear who uncrossed his arms and sat forward. He frowned.

“Yes, an eagle,” she said, sending Black Bear an inquisitive glance. But when he said nothing, merely gazed back at her, she continued her story. “Now Trickster was interested because Eagle just sat there. So Trickster said, ‘Fly.’ ‘I cannot,’ said Eagle, because Eagle’s wing had been hit with an arrow. ‘Then,’ said Trickster, ‘you will surely die, for I will eat you all up.’”

Someone at the table gasped, and Estrela stopped, looking up.

“Pray, continue.”

“Yes, please.”

“Very well,” Estrela said. “Trickster did not realize how smart Eagle was. Trickster had played so many tricks and had fooled so many animals that Trickster grew complacent and so when Eagle said, ‘I am but one bird. I have little meat. But wait. I have many plump children. If you will only help me to that rock over your head and mend my wing, I will let you eat all my children.’”

Here Estrela left off to glance once more about the table. But her audience sat enraptured, and Black Bear remained quiet and so she continued, saying, “Now Trickster thought about all Eagle said. And Trickster was hungry, his hunger making him think unwisely. So he said, ‘I will help you, but you must show me where your children are.’”

“Oh, do go on.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she said, “Eagle was quite a smart character and so he said to Trickster, ‘They are in my nest, way up high, a place you cannot go, but if you will only help me, I will fly to my children and tell them to come down to you.’ And when Trickster said, ‘Fine,’ he forgot to look deeply into Eagle’s eyes. And so he said, ‘But you must give me your word that you will send your children to me.’ And wise, old Eagle agreed.”

She darted a glance to her left and saw that Black Bear had sat back, was watching her with a smug grin on his face, and looked as though he weren’t at this moment teasing her. But Estrela knew him, knew that he scoffed at her silently, and had she not had a point to make, she might have left off right there. But she had more to say and so she continued, “It was then that Trickster helped Eagle to the rock, mended his wing and Eagle flew away to his children. But once Eagle alighted onto his nest, he took his children and, laughing down at Trickster, he flew away, his children and himself safe. But before he flew away, Eagle looked down and said to Trickster, ‘Oh, foolish one. You have tricked many. You have killed many. But you cannot trick me. Don’t you know to never trust an enemy?’” She paused and looked carefully at Black Bear. “And so it was that Trickster, himself,” she finished, “was finally tricked.”

Silence spread about the table at first.

Then, “Oh, that was lovely.”

“And so Indian.”

“My, what entertainment.”

“Do you know more?”

“I’d like to hear about scalping and looting and torture and—”

“Eagle was wise,” Black Bear spoke up from beside her, “to protect what was his in the only way that he could. Do you mean to tell me that Eagle should steal away with all that is his?”

“I—”

“Are you suggesting,” Black Bear asked, “that one should not honor one’s word when the price is too high?”

That had Estrela gasping at him. “No,” she said. “I—”

“Perhaps then,” interrupted Black Bear, “you should know the moral of the story before you tell it.”

“But I thought the story was simply about outsmarting the Trickster.” It was the Duchess of Colchester who spoke.

“Yes,”
said another.

“I thought so, too. Why, bless me, but I thought it was about ensuring the safety of your children.”

Estrela set her lips together and, ignoring the others, glared at Black Bear. “The moral of the story,” she said, “is quite plain to those who have more intelligence than that of a stupid gander. Oh, so sorry, I didn’t mean you,” she said to the others, then stared back at Black Bear. “Eagle is supposed to fly away. Don’t you see? Any animal, when faced with the same situation, would fly away. Once Eagle had mended himself, he had no reason to stay. He should
fly
away
”—she emphasized the words—“while the chance is still upon him. And…” she sprung to her feet, “…the sooner, the better.”

Black Bear laughed, a good, hearty laugh that set Estrela’s temper to boiling all the more.

“But Eagle…me,” he said, himself standing, grinning, “is wise only when he protects those he has vowed to defend first. And then”—his smile turned to a leer—“never mistake him. He
will
fly, but not before he teaches Trickster a lesson. Did Trickster also have the morals of a sparrow? Or was he more like the goose who would give her favors to anyone who would ask?”

“Oh!”

Black Bear smirked, but Estrela, twisting away from the table, didn’t see. She fled from the room as quickly as possible, with only an occasional “oh” echoing down the long, long corridor to prove that she had once sat at the breakfast table.

Black Bear stood and uttered a formal, “Ladies.”

So involved was he in his own thoughts he didn’t hear the Duchess exclaim as he left, “They seem to get so much more out of these stories than we do. Have you noticed this?”

And to the resounding agreement that flowed all about the room, Black Bear took his leave.

Chapter Thirteen

Shelburne Hall’s ballroom could have rivaled one of Almack’s Assembly Rooms—its splendor was so great. Although unlike Almack’s, the Duchess of Colchester imposed little or no rules of behavior upon her guests, which caused the party-goers to sense a certain feeling of freedom.

Laughter and music filled the hall, no one noticing that the polished, hardwood floors gleamed with a deep luster under several coats of beeswax, shining as though cast under a spell from the light overhead where hung at least a dozen crystal and gold-trimmed chandeliers. Likewise no one seemed to note the Grecian statues that stood beside each entrance, nor the elaborately framed eight-foot paintings that guarded each wall. In the paintings, had one observed them, were various pictures of balls, of people dancing, of men and women in each others’ arms. But no one seemed to take much notice of this at all. Attention was focused men upon the women, women upon the men and all, of course, upon the wine.

The orchestra was situated on the minstrel’s gallery at the top of the room, hidden by the balcony on which they sat, only the strains of the musicians’ melodies a reminder of their presence within the room.

At the east end of the ballroom stood floor-to-ceiling windows, each draped with curtains. Interspersed among them were three different sets of doors which, opening inward, led out onto balconies overlooking the lush, carefully manicured gardens of Shelburne Hall.

It was on one of those balconies now that Black Bear stood, facing into the ballroom, pensive, silent, observant.

And he saw everything, from the tight, tight black trousers of the men to the long, white or pale gowns of the ladies, with only the toes of their shoes poking out beneath the flimsy materials of their dresses. Everyone, he observed, wore gloves and the women had adorned themselves in jewelry that gleamed and glittered under the shimmering lights. No beads, no wampum he’d ever seen shone such as this.

He watched as that drink he called spirit water passed from one person to another; he watched as men promenaded the room with their women after each dance; he observed the couples dancing in the middle of the floor. But most of all, he scanned every corner of the room, his gaze inspecting the people, the servants, even the orchestra members above for signs of weapons, of ambush, of possible danger.

He could find none. And while this should have comforted him, it had the opposite effect, Black Bear worried.

Waste Ho seemed to take ho heed of her situation. He looked at her now as she stood inside the room, a circle of men surrounding her.

Someone had shot at her. Twice. Someone had reason to desire her death. Twice. That someone could be here and though Black Bear had memorized the looks of those two men in Hyde Park so many days ago, he had never seen them again. It worried Black Bear. He felt he was no closer to solving the mystery surrounding these attempts upon Estrela’s life than he had been that first day he’d saved her.

He watched her now as she laughed, and a familiar warmth spread through him.

It was good, the way she looked, the way she smiled, standing there in a delicate, practically see-through, white dress. Cut low in front, he had an enticing view of her full bosom before the dress fell away in an angled line almost to the floor. He had noted that the style of dress here concealed little, the flimsy material on the outside of the women’s clothing doing a great deal more than just hinting at what lay beneath.

He continued to gaze at her. Her blond hair was pulled up onto her head in back, while in front she left ringlets of curls adorning her cheeks and falling over her ears, the curls turning to her shoulders. Her mouth, painted delicately, was curved into a smile as she laughed up at the men who circled her; her soft, white gown neatly conformed to her figure. Black Bear, looking at her now, understood why he had risked all to come after her, trouble though she was.

He remembered again the conversation he’d had with her maid and friend, Anna.

The maid hadn’t told him much, only that Waste Ho had made a promise long ago, and that he, Black Bear, should not be “fobbed off” by Waste Ho’s marriage.

He set his lips and narrowed his eyes.

Just what did that mean?

Did the sanctity of marriage mean little here in this foreign land? Was it a common practice to know another intimately? Another besides one’s wife or husband?

Black Bear tilted his chin upward.

It would seem so.

In these past few weeks, since coming to the “country”, Black Bear had received practically every invitation known to man from the fairer sex, whether that woman be married or not.

He had been passed notes, requiring the Duke of Colchester or Black Bear’s own manservant to interpret. Notes of liaison, notes of passion. He had been propositioned; he had been waylaid. He had even come into his chambers to find a woman there—in his bed.

And through it all, Black Bear had steadily ignored them or carefully declined, though it was taking quite an effort to continue to do so. But he had determined that he wanted Waste Ho and if he couldn’t have her, he wanted no one.

Still…

He saw her glance his way and he wondered what she thought. Did she love
him?
If she did, why was she married to another? If she didn’t love
him,
why did she respond to him so completely whenever he held her? And why, he questioned himself, was he holding her when she
was
married? Where was her husband?

He shook his head, and deciding he would get no answers tonight, turned his gaze elsewhere.

The Duchess of Colchester’s shrill laughter reached out to him, and Black Bear found himself smiling. He glanced at the woman, all dressed in bright yellow; he was not in the least surprised to find her two daughters standing neatly behind her, both of them wearing various shades of yellow, too. They reminded him, the three of them, of a mother duck and her two ducklings and he had fallen into the habit of calling her
magaksica,
the Duck, and her two daughters
mahcinca,
the Ducklings. The women seemed thrilled with their new Indian names, not even concerned over their meaning, and Black Bear had found himself more and more amused.

And while he appreciated Lady Colchester’s hospitality and her congenial manner toward him, he was not unaware that she used him—or at least she tried to. But Black Bear was not the sort of man to do others’ bidding and soon a sort of “truce” had been made between him and the esteemed lady—a mutual understanding that Black Bear would do as he saw fit, that the Duchess of Colchester could pretend his ideas were her own and that as long as her plans did not interfere with his own, he would suffer her introductions.

The smile remained on his face as he continued to stare at her. And he realized that the lack of guests to the Colchester estate might likely lie in the fact that the Duchess, good-natured though she was, made others feel uncomfortable. Her prattle tended to bore.

But Black Bear couldn’t complain. The Lady and her two daughters were most kind, and generally, they amused him.

“Ah, there you are.”

Black Bear brought his gaze back and to his left, where, looking through the tall shrubs, he espied the Duke of Colchester, standing on yet another balcony.

But the Duke wasn’t talking to Black Bear, he was speaking to another, whom Black Bear could not see.

Black Bear crouched down. He listened.

“What have you determined?” It was the Duke who spoke.

“Not very much, Your Grace.”

He heard the Duke of Colchester sigh.

“We look for the housekeeper. No one knows where that lady has gone. She might even be dead,” he heard another voice say. “All others are gone or are dead—some very recently.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And how did they die?”

“A knife, Your Grace. A bullet. A sword. The usual.”

“And all recently, you say?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

There was a pause and Black Bear strained forward to hear.

“Jolly inconvenient, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Well, keep at it, I say. There must be someone left from the Earl’s old estate who would remember her. Someone who might remember—what? A manner of address.” Here the Duke paused. “Did they call her ‘Lady’ or did they call her ‘Your Highness?’ Do you see? Such a thing would hint at her heritage. There must be something.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“There, there, now. Just keep looking, keep investigating. Not a word to the others, now.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Jolly good. You may go.”

And as Black Bear looked over to the other balcony, he saw a dim shadow move toward and through the doors.

You may go.
The phrase ran round and round Black Bear’s mind. It was the same one he’d heard Waste Ho utter on many occasions. And what was a manner of address?
Your Highness or Lady?
What did it mean?