grandson?” Shannon asked, stunned.
“And my son,” Singing Rain claimed, stepping forward. Maternal pride brought a softness to her voice and a special brightness to her eyes.
“Answer Grandfather’s question, Shannon,” Blade prodded. He spoke in low urgent tones that demanded total submission to his will.
Shannon hesitated a brief instant before responding. “Blade does not lie, I am his woman.” She nearly choked on the words.
“She lies!” Mad Wolf blasted, increasing his grip on Shannon’s arm. “I watched the wagon train for many suns, and not once did Swift Blade share a mat with Little Firebird. She travels with another man, his mate and their papoose. She sleeps alone each night.” He slanted Blade a fulminating look. “Do you truly believe a virile man like Swift Blade would allow his woman to sleep alone?”
“You do not understand the white man’s ways,” Blade replied, unperturbed. “Little Firebird is my woman, but if her people suspected they would despise and shun her. White women do not bed halfbreeds.”
Mad Wolf looked confused and Blade used his confusion to press on. “I will take Little Firebird back to her people.” With determined force he claimed Shannon’s arm from Mad Wolf’s grasp.
Mad Wolf exploded in angry frustration. “No! Little Firebird is mine. Together we will produce strong sons.”
“Perhaps she is already carrying mine,” Blade hinted.
The two men appeared ready to tear each other apart—and would have if Yellow Dog hadn’t interceded.
“Cease! The council of elders will decide who will claim Little Firebird. Mad Wolf must adhere to tribal law as long as he remains in our village. It is the same with you, Swift Blade. No man is above our law.”
The Sioux nation was divided into several independent bands, united under no central government. They rarely united, even in war, though they spoke the same language and had the same usages and superstitions. Each band was divided into villages; each village ruled by a chief who was honored and respected only so long as his personal qualities commanded respect and fear. Sometimes the chiefs authority was absolute, and often a council of elders influenced his decisions. Because this decision involved his grandson, Yellow Dog wisely elected to call a council meeting to help him reach a fair conclusion. It was due to his just judgment, courage, and sense of fairness that the aging chief still ruled his village. Among the Sioux, who wandered incessantly winter and summer, he was well loved and obeyed by all, but for men like Mad Wolf who sought to usurp his power.
“Take Little Firebird to your tipi, my daughter,” Yellow Dog directed. Singing Rain moved to obey. “The council will decide this issue when they meet tomorrow.”
Singing Rain took Shannon gently by the arm. “Come.”
“Where are you taking me?” Shannon asked, aiming a silent plea in Blade’s direction.
“Go with Singing Rain, Shannon,” Blade encouraged. “My mother will see that no harm comes to you while your fate is being decided by the council.”
“There is nothing to decide,” Shannon vowed staunchly. “I want to leave.”
“It’s not that simple,” Blade tried to explain.
“The council will decide in my favor,” Mad Wolf loudly proclaimed. His arrogant tone and smug confidence left a bad taste in Blade’s mouth. “You cannot claim a woman you have never bedded.” Mad Wolf pressed on. “I am the one who will lie between her white thighs and pillow my head on her soft breast.”
Whirling on his heel, he stomped away.
Mad Woir’s audacious words brought a sputter of outrage from Blade’s lips. He was well aware that the decision could go in Mad Wolf’s favor if Shannon was asked point-blank whether Blade had bedded her, and she either faltered or was slow to reply. Intuitively Blade knew Shannon would be an inept liar, and that the council of elders were wise enough to recognize the difference between a lie
“And my son,” Singing Rain claimed, stepping forward. Maternal pride brought a softness to her voice and a special brightness to her eyes.
“Answer Grandfather’s question, Shannon,” Blade prodded. He spoke in low urgent tones that demanded total submission to his will.
Shannon hesitated a brief instant before responding. “Blade does not lie, I am his woman.” She nearly choked on the words.
“She lies!” Mad Wolf blasted, increasing his grip on Shannon’s arm. “I watched the wagon train for many suns, and not once did Swift Blade share a mat with Little Firebird. She travels with another man, his mate and their papoose. She sleeps alone each night.” He slanted Blade a fulminating look. “Do you truly believe a virile man like Swift Blade would allow his woman to sleep alone?”
“You do not understand the white man’s ways,” Blade replied, unperturbed. “Little Firebird is my woman, but if her people suspected they would despise and shun her. White women do not bed halfbreeds.”
Mad Wolf looked confused and Blade used his confusion to press on. “I will take Little Firebird back to her people.” With determined force he claimed Shannon’s arm from Mad Wolf’s grasp.
Mad Wolf exploded in angry frustration. “No! Little Firebird is mine. Together we will produce strong sons.”
“Perhaps she is already carrying mine,” Blade hinted.
The two men appeared ready to tear each other apart—and would have if Yellow Dog hadn’t interceded.
“Cease! The council of elders will decide who will claim Little Firebird. Mad Wolf must adhere to tribal law as long as he remains in our village. It is the same with you, Swift Blade. No man is above our law.”
The Sioux nation was divided into several independent bands, united under no central government. They rarely united, even in war, though they spoke the same language and had the same usages and superstitions. Each band was divided into villages; each village ruled by a chief who was honored and respected only so long as his personal qualities commanded respect and fear. Sometimes the chiefs authority was absolute, and often a council of elders influenced his decisions. Because this decision involved his grandson, Yellow Dog wisely elected to call a council meeting to help him reach a fair conclusion. It was due to his just judgment, courage, and sense of fairness that the aging chief still ruled his village. Among the Sioux, who wandered incessantly winter and summer, he was well loved and obeyed by all, but for men like Mad Wolf who sought to usurp his power.
“Take Little Firebird to your tipi, my daughter,” Yellow Dog directed. Singing Rain moved to obey. “The council will decide this issue when they meet tomorrow.”
Singing Rain took Shannon gently by the arm. “Come.”
“Where are you taking me?” Shannon asked, aiming a silent plea in Blade’s direction.
“Go with Singing Rain, Shannon,” Blade encouraged. “My mother will see that no harm comes to you while your fate is being decided by the council.”
“There is nothing to decide,” Shannon vowed staunchly. “I want to leave.”
“It’s not that simple,” Blade tried to explain.
“The council will decide in my favor,” Mad Wolf loudly proclaimed. His arrogant tone and smug confidence left a bad taste in Blade’s mouth. “You cannot claim a woman you have never bedded.” Mad Wolf pressed on. “I am the one who will lie between her white thighs and pillow my head on her soft breast.”
Whirling on his heel, he stomped away.
Mad Woir’s audacious words brought a sputter of outrage from Blade’s lips. He was well aware that the decision could go in Mad Wolf’s favor if Shannon was asked point-blank whether Blade had bedded her, and she either faltered or was slow to reply. Intuitively Blade knew Shannon would be an inept liar, and that the council of elders were wise enough to recognize the difference between a lie
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