Judith French - Morgan's Woman

Ash smelled smoke before he reached the creek. He thought of leaving Tamsin there and scouting ahead to see what was causing the fire. But if he fastened her to a tree and something happened to him, she'd be helpless. And if he didn't, he doubted she'd be here when he came back.

Reluctantly, he stopped and uncuffed Tamsin, then offered her his hand. "Swing up behind the saddle," he ordered. "Hold on tight. If there's trouble, we may need to ride like there's no tomorrow."

"You don't mean you'd run the horses over this rocky ground?"

"Put your arms around my waist and shut your mouth. If there is someone up ahead, let me do the talking." He cradled his rifle in the crook of one arm and hoped Tamsin's silence meant she'd follow his orders.

As they drew closer to the water, the horses pricked up their ears and broke into a trot. Shiloh picked up his pace in spite of the double load.

A dog began to bark somewhere ahead of them. As Ash and Tamsin rounded a bend, two Indians barred their way.

Ash felt Tamsin stiffen and heard her sharp intake of breath. "Steady," he whispered. "They're Ute, usually friendly to whites."

He raised his right hand, palm open. "Greetings," he called in the Ute tongue. "We come in peace."

The older man, round-faced and unsmiling, answered in stilted English, "How-dy." His graying hair hung in two long braids, and he wore a woolen vest over a plaid shirt, and buckskin leggings. Around his neck gleamed a silver Peace Medal, and his left hand clutched a flintlock musket.

Four horses were tied beneath the trees, two pintos, a black, and a buckskin. A thin black dog with bristly hair and a curly tail dashed out from between their legs. Barking furiously, he rushed at Shiloh.

The younger brave smiled and lowered his rifle. "You and your woman alone?" he asked in the Ute language. He wore traditional leggings and a fringed hunting shirt decorated with geometric embroidery.

Ash nodded. He knew more Cheyenne than Ute. Although he was certain he'd understood what the second man had asked, he was quickly using up his vocabulary. "Just us two."

"Come. Eat." The gray-haired man wearing the Peace Medal motioned to Ash. "You are welcome." He struck his chest lightly. "I am Mountain Calf. This is my sister's son, Wrestler."

"We will accept your hospitality, Mountain Calf," Ash replied. "I am called Ash Morgan, and this is my wife, Tamsin."

"Wife?" Tamsin whispered.

Ash felt Tamsin flinch as he grasped her arm. "Let me help you down. These kind gentlemen have offered us supper."

Alarm showed in Tamsin's eyes as she slid to the ground, but she didn't protest. Ash dismounted and walked toward the Utes. Solemnly, he shook hands with Mountain Calf and then his nephew. The dog continued to bark.

Wrestler pumped Ash's hand up and down vigorously. "A white man who brings his wife comes as a friend." He grinned at Tamsin. "This man has heard that some white women have hair like winter-dried grass, but he has never seen one with fire hair and eyes like spring grass. It will make a good tale when Wrestler returns to his own village. This man hopes that his friends will believe him." He shook his head and laughed. "You must tell them, Uncle."

Mountain Calf put two fingers to his lips and uttered a shrill whistle.

From the trees beyond the stream came an Indian woman carrying an infant strapped to a cradleboard. "My wife," Mountain Calf explained to Ash in the Ute language. "She is called Shadow. She is a good cook. You must taste her broiled venison."

"An Ute who brings his wife comes as a friend," Ash said.

Mountain Calf nodded. "It is so." He spoke sharply to the dog, and the animal crouched on its belly and grew still.

"Do you go west over the mountains into Ute land?" Wrestler asked.

Ash shook his head. "No." He pointed east. "We turn back tomorrow toward the place of the rising sun."

"Good," Mountain Calf observed. "All of my people are not so hospitable to strangers."

"My mother's brother likes white men," Wrestler said. "You need have no fear at his fire."

"An Ute's word is good," Ash replied. "And honest men of any color have much to talk about." He glanced at Tamsin. "The Utes treat their guests with honor."

"But will they steal the horses?"

"Our belongings are safe in a brother's camp," he said, loud enough for both Utes to hear. "As safe as in the Creator's hand."

"Whatever you say, husband ," Tamsin murmured sarcastically.

Wrestler grinned. "Good wife. Ute women not so obedient. Have strong will." He studied Tamsin more intently. "She has power, this woman, and she sits a horse well. A shame she is not Ute."

"A pity," Ash replied.

"Yes," Tamsin agreed. "A pity."

Hours later, she rolled up in her blanket a short distance from the campfire. Ash and the two Ute men were still talking, and the woman, Shadow, was nursing her baby.

Tamsin had found the Indian woman fascinating. She and Shadow shared no common language, but they had managed to communicate. Tamsin had admired Shadow's fringed leather dress and her beautifully fashioned moccasins decorated with dyed porcupine quills. She even played with Shadow's baby, an adorable three-month-old boy with huge, sparkling, ebony-colored eyes.

For the second night, Tamsin found herself tired beyond belief but unable to sleep. She kept thinking of the cougar. If it had crossed the hills, would it follow them to this campsite? Ash had told the Indians about the cat's strange behavior, and they'd assured him that their dog would keep close watch during the night.

"He is a bear dog, that War-et," Wrestler had said. "He is small, but he has the heart of a grizzly."

Shadow had showed Tamsin how to make a soft bed of pine boughs. Using only pantomime, she had explained that the pine needles would keep away insects and snakes. Tamsin was all for that.

But even though her bed was comfortable, Tamsin could not stop her thoughts from racing. Everything that had happened since she'd hit Ash and escaped this morning kept spinning in her head: the mountain lion, the furious dash down the canyon, the beauty of the wilderness, and Ash's fury when he caught up with her.

She ached all over from her fall. Somehow, she hadn't lost her pistol when Ash had landed on top of her. She'd managed to conceal the heavy weapon until she'd unsaddled her horses. Then she'd slipped under Dancer's neck and hid the weapon in one of her bags.

Ash had told the Indians that they were heading east in the morning. He intended to take her back to Sweet-water. She couldn't let that happen, but short of shooting him, she wasn't sure how she could get away.

"Slide over, Mrs. Morgan."

Tamsin's eyes snapped open and her heart skipped a beat. Ash was standing right over her. She had been lost in her own thoughts and hadn't heard his footsteps.

"I said move over, woman."

She pushed herself up on her elbows. By the fire, she could see Wrestler standing, looking in their direction. "What?" she asked. "What do you-" Fear raised goose-flesh on her arms.

Ash pulled off one boot. "I'm coming to bed."

A heavy weight seemed to crush her chest. "With me?"

He removed his other boot and stood them beside his rifle, then tugged at his shirt. "You heard me," he said. "Where else would a man sleep but beside his loving wife?"

"You can't do this!" Tamsin whispered thickly.

"Shut up, woman. It's for your own good." Ash's trousers and socks followed the shirt, leaving him wearing only his hat.

She clutched the blanket against her as Ash neatly folded his clothing and laid it next to his boots. "You cannot sleep here," she insisted.

"You want me to tell Wrestler that you're not my wife? That I lied to him?" Ash balanced his hat on top of his boots. Then he seized the edge of the blanket, jerking it tighter over her breasts to give him room to ease under. "That's better." He lay down beside her and slipped his left arm under her head.