Free Black Horse by Veronica Blake Page B

smoke he could see a man walking toward the head of the circle where the chiefs and Superintendent Walsh sat. The man walked tall and straight. Brandon guessed he was young because he still moved with a sense of pride—unlike many of the men he had noticed in the village. When the man stepped out from the veil of smoke, Brandon finally got a clear view. A cold chill whipped through his body as he stared at the young chief. He wore the most magnificent costume Brandon had ever seen. As his gaze traveled down from the huge feathered headdress to the beaded and fringed moccasins the chief wore, his sense of foreboding increased. When Brandon looked back up, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Another icy shiver shook through Brandon. This man was the epitome of the dangerous savage he had always feared.
    “Who is that Indian?” one of the Mounties closest to Brandon asked in a low voice.
    With a shrug, Brandon leaned toward the man on his other side and asked the same question. The inquiry was repeated until it reached the man closest to Walsh. When the name Black Horse was echoed back through the circle, Brandon felt another deep sense of foreboding settle in his chest. He had never heard the name before, but he had the distinct feeling that this man was not just another Indian. There was a dangerous aura about the young chief, a sense of somethingreckless, powerful…and memorable. “He’s the one who brought the buffalo,” whispered Sergeant Rattan. “There was whiskey, too, but they already gulped all that down.”
    “Thank goodness,” Brandon replied. He knew the Indians’ reputation for drinking. If they had arrived while the Indians were still drunk, the Mounties might have received a far less cordial greeting.
    The beating of the drums intensified as all eyes turned toward the opposite side of the fire again. Brandon was eager to get a clear view of the bride, whom he could see moving through the smoky haze. When she stepped up to the chief, Brandon felt his breath catch in his throat. She wore a light-colored buckskin dress that looked as if it had been tanned until it was as soft as melted butter. Beads and long fringe hung from the neckline, and also from the sleeves and the uneven hemline that hung down to the top of her high moccasins. Her hair was braided on both sides of her head with leather thongs that matched her dress, and long white feathers hung from the sides of the beaded headband that encircled her head. She was, Brandon decided in that instant, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen…and she was a white woman!
    For the past couple of weeks Black Horse had allowed himself to engage in the silly courtship games that his people’s tradition insisted he play. He had played love songs on a cedar flute outside Meadow’s tepee and had given White Buffalo some of his best horses as a wedding gift. To Black Horse’s surprise, he had not minded doing any of these things, in spite of WalksTall’s constant teasing. As final preparation for the wedding, Black Horse had undergone the Rite of Purification to cleanse him of all his wrongdoings. When he left the sweat lodge after the rite, he had felt as if he was reborn, and he had been eager to assume his role as Meadow’s husband.
    He watched her walk toward the sacred fire circle where he waited for her with growing anticipation. Although her beauty made his knees weak, and the honor of being the man to take her maidenhood caused his loins to throb with impatience, Black Horse was amazed at how much he was growing to love all the other things about her. Her laughter, even just her smile, made his heart sing, and it was contagious. He had laughed and smiled more in the last couple of weeks than he had for years, and he hoped he could provide his new wife with a life that would make her smile often. Her gentleness and kind nature touched his heart, but Black Horse admired her strength most of all. He had no doubt that she had suffered many