“You put white sage on the tomb?”
“I—I what?” she stammered. Instinctively she gathered up the blanket to hide her nakedness. Cutter, on the other hand, sat facing the Indian, as naked as the day he was born. Elizabeth doubted he spared it so much as a thought. He appeared so calm, and it seemed incredible that he could remain so utterly composed when she herself was suppressing a bloodcurdling scream. Clutching her end of the blanket to her bosom protectively, she inched her way to Cutter’s back, taking refuge there.
“He wants to know about the sage,” Cutter repeated brusquely, without turning. “Did you put it there?”
A thousand tortures visited Elizabeth’s mind, every horrible tale she’d ever heard in reference to the Indians—ridiculous as they may have seemed when she’d first heard them. They cut out tongues, shaved scalps, kidnapped women and children, stole away their souls!
“Oh, God have mercy—not on purpose, Cutter!” Her fingers dug into his bare shoulders as the Indian gave her a skeptical look. “I swear it! I really meant no harm!” she declared to the Indian, panicking. “I—I just gathered a handful of blossoms without thinking!” His expression didn’t soften. “I—I didn’t know!” she insisted.
Cutter sighed impatiently, shaking his head. “Lizbeth.”
“What!”
“Shut up.” The command was no less convincing for the soft way it was spoken. Nor was it unkind. His cockeyed smile returned as he turned to speak to the Indian in his own tongue. The Indian nodded once, and responded briskly, then grinned broadly as Cutter added something, more. Suddenly the Indian burst out laughing, and stood to walk away.
“What did you say to him?” Elizabeth demanded at once.
“Nothing you care to know,” Cutter told her honestly, giving her a quick once-over. Satisfied that all her choice parts were well covered, he turned again to watch the Indian mount up and listen to his bantering with the others. At once all three burst out laughing, and glanced again at Elizabeth, all of them nodding appreciatively.
Cutter smiled, sharing a rare moment with his mother’s people—not his mother’s tribe, but it didn’t matter. The connection was still there. He watched their easy camaraderie with a mixture of envy and pride—felt their unspoken grief for their friend. Not one of them looked back to the travois where the dead man lay, but their body movement told Cutter that they were more than aware of him, and their voices were subdued, as though in deference to his eternal sleep. Even their laughter held a note of sorrow.
As they turned away, Elizabeth started to see the crudely constructed cradle hitched up behind the riderless horse. A dark form lay there unmoving, swaddled in rags, and her heart wrenched painfully. She clasped the blanket more tightly to her bosom. It was the dead Indian, she knew without being told.
They’d come to claim him.
“You did them an honor,” Cutter told her. “The white sage purifies. By placing it upon the tomb, you have kept the wicked shades at bay until they could prepare him for his journey toSeano.” His gaze held hers briefly, then skittered back to the Indians. “They separated in the storm.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and then his eyes, glittering strangely, returned to meet hers. “They know you tried to save him, when you didn’t have to.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. She could sense the profound emotion bottled so deeply within him. Though she felt compelled to, she didn’t look away. “Seano?” she asked huskily, her voice sounding strange.
“The place of the dead,” Cutter replied softly. “Those who die follow the Hanging Road above toHeammawihio.”
Not about to attempt a pronunciation of that one, Elizabeth nodded. Shuddering, she watched as Cutter threw his head back and scanned the heavens, reminding her of a lone wolf baying at the moon. And the moon—she couldn’t help but follow his gaze upward—it was so big in the sky tonight, yet appeared so solitary. Like Cutter. Bigger than life, yet despite his infuriating nonchalance, there was an inherent loneliness about him that struck at her heart. “Hanging Road?” she asked in a whisper.
“The Milky Way,” Cutter clarified with another quick glance her way.
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, and she nodded. “Oh.” In silence they watched the trio make their way to the bluff, their horses picking their way expertly in the darkness. “And where are they taking him now?”
“Home,” Cutter answered gruffly. “They’re taking him home.” And a part of him grieved over that place he’d never know. That he’d never known.
“Did they explain how it was that he was wounded?” Elizabeth ventured again.
“No.” Cutter’s eyes never shifted, though by now the trio was no longer visible through the blackness. “Didn’t ask.”
“Well, what did they say?” Recalling their strange words, the length of their conversation, she was dying of curiosity over them.
As Cutter turned to her, the shadows disappeared from his eyes. He grinned slowly, his teeth gleaming white in the night. “He wanted to know why you spoke so sharply in their presence—did you hate them for the color of their skin?”
“Of course not!” She choked on her shock. “W-What did you tell them?” To her mind, it was certainly nothing to grin about!
Cutter chuckled. “I told them no—that you didn’t.” His glittering eyes gave him away.
“That’s not all you told them,” she accused him, slapping at the back of his head wrathfully. “What else, Mr. McKenzie?”
“Damn, woman, if you ain’t heavy-handed!” he said. And then he held out his hands to ward her off. “I told them you always spoke so sharply,” he said quickly, “and that you made love like a yellow-eyed she-wolf... and that if they didn’t believe me, they could check out the mile-long marks on my back—stings like the devil!”
Gasping with outrage, Elizabeth mustered enough indignity to smack Cutter again, this time a bit harder. He caught her wrist effortlessly. “You didn’t!” she protested breathlessly, her face heating fiercely. A reluctant smile trembled on her lips.
Cutter’s shoulders began to quake, and then he laughed outright.
