Violet stood beside Grey Horse at the river’s edge. Her palms were damp, her stomach tense. “They’ll see me,” she said quietly. “They’ll take me for a captive.”
He did not look at her, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You will tell them what is true.”
She thought of that, of facing men who looked like the world she had left behind and declaring herself part of this one. The idea made her heart pound harder than fear itself.
Ezra shaded his eyes with one hand. “They’re stopping,” he said. “Probably deciding how close to come. My guess, the leader will ride ahead to talk.”
And so he did. One figure broke from the line. A tall man in a sweat-dark uniform approached, hat brim low, his horse a nervous gray. Two others followed at a distance. When the first man reached the opposite bank, he reined in sharply and scanned the camp. His gaze settled on Grey Horse and Violet and stayed there.
“Are you the leader here?” he called out, his voice rough but controlled.
Grey Horse did not move. “I am Grey Horse of the Kiowa.”
“I am Captain Nathan Barlow, United States Army,” the man replied. “We’re investigating a massacre that killed white settlers. We have reason to believe your braves were involved.”
“No,” Grey Horse said simply. “There was no massacre.”
Barlow’s eyes flicked to Violet. “That woman she’s white!”
“She is Violet Carter,” Grey Horse said evenly. “She came to this place from Boston to join a white settler under his false pretenses. He abused her every day and she finally escaped from him when he attacked her, seeking to steal her virtue. We found her near death and revived her. She lives now only because we rescued her from him.”
Barlow straightened in the saddle. “Was she rescued by you … or taken?”
Violet stepped forward before Grey Horse could speak. “I was rescued,” she said, her voice trembling but steadying as she went. “The white men who came to our camp to force me back to Thomas McBride after Grey Horse rescued me from his clutches attacked us, but the Kiowa defended me. The Kiowa did not take me against my will. They saved me.”
The captain’s expression shifted, skepticism fighting against surprise. “You’re telling me you’ve been living here willingly?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling the camp’s eyes upon her. “These people gave me protection when no one else would. You’ll find three of the men who came to abduct me and massacre these people are buried beyond the ridge here. One of them was Thomas McBride the man who promised to treat me kindly and marry me and who instead abused, beat, and tried to rape me.”
“Another one of those who attacked us may still live,” Grey Horse offered. “A man by the name of Cole. We let him leave after the battle, once he was no longer a threat to Violet or to us. Whether he found his horse and returned to his ranch or perished in the wilderness we don’t know.”
Something unreadable passed across Barlow’s face. “If what you say is true, Miss Carter, the matter’s complicated. But we can’t simply ride away. Washington’s orders are clear about Indian engagements in this territory.”
Grey Horse spoke again, voice calm but edged. “Orders do not help the dead, Captain. The ones who attacked us are gone. You can see the graves if you look. Us, you should leave to peace.”
“Peace?” Barlow echoed, half a laugh in his throat. “You think that’s for you to decide?”
Grey Horse’s gaze hardened. “The land decides. The river decides. You only borrow its road.”
The two men faced each other across the water, the wind tugging at their clothes, the silence between them drawn tight as a bowstring. Barlow finally exhaled and addressed Ezra.
“You,” he said. “You’ve been seen trading at Belknap. You speak both tongues. Tell me what game this is.”
Ezra stepped forward, palms out. “No game, Captain. You’re chasing ghosts. The Kiowa here are clean of it. You want truth, you can take my word.”
“Your word,” Barlow said dryly, “won’t hold against the papers on my desk.”
Barlow dismounted and crossed the river carefully, boots splashing through the shallows. The gesture alone made the Kiowa tense; several warriors stepped forward, hands near weapons. Violet’s heart jumped. Grey Horse lifted one hand in a silent order and the warriors froze.
The captain stopped a few feet from Violet, close enough she could smell the leather of his coat and the faint metallic tang of gun oil. He studied her face. “You’re certain you wish to stay here? You understand what you’re saying?”
“I understand,” she said, meeting his gaze. “And I’ve already chosen.”
Barlow’s brows drew together. “Chosen a savage life?”
“Chosen a true and honest life,” she replied quietly. “I won’t go back to the white man’s world.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Barlow turned away sharply, muttering something about Washington’s madness. “We’ll set camp beyond that ridge,” he said to his men. “Until I send word.”
