treat her as such.” He scowled at the grumbling women and spoke sharply in his own language.
“I not bite my tongue!” Shell Woman retorted hotly. “Is she prisoner? If prisoner, give her to me. I will find work for her.”
“Enough,” Wolf Shadow said, his patience clearly at an end. “You shame me. If the guest of your shaman is not welcome here, then I am not welcome.”
Spots of color appeared on Willow’s cheeks. Her irritation lingered for a few seconds more before she nodded and looked directly into Fiona’s eyes.
“Honored guest,” Willow said formally in soft, distinct English, “come, please, with me. I would offer to you food and fire.”
Fiona shook her head. “No.”
Wolf Shadow shot her a withering glance.
She stiffened. “No. If I am a prisoner, you must do with me as you will. If I am an honored guest, I’ll not enter a house where I’m not truly welcome.”
A titter of amusement rose from the gathered women. Wolf Shadow glared at Fiona, then turned his biting gaze on his sister. “You behave like children, both of you,” he said.
Suddenly the tension was broken by a man’s loud voice. A brave appeared from one of the huts on the far side of the village. He shouted and waved to Wolf Shadow. Shadow signaled that he’d heard.
“That is Spear Thrower,” he explained. “His wife, Sage, is in pain. Go with my sister. She’ll look after you.” He walked swiftly toward Spear Thrower’s wigwam without waiting for a reply.
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Fiona offered.
“No.” Willow shook her head. “No. My brother has no time for you now. Sage is with child. She has pain since the night, but it be no ... not time for child to be born. It is—” she struggled for the English words—“too early for born.” She held up six fingers. “This many turnings of moon.”
“Premature labor,” Fiona said, nodding her understanding. “But I may be able to help. I’m a trained apothecary, and my grandfather was a physician-surgeon. I studied under him, and I have delivered many babies.”
Willow looked unconvinced. “Sage be Shawnee woman. I no think she want white medicine.” “If the life of her unborn child is in danger, I’ve got to try to help her whether she wants me or not.”
“No,” Willow insisted. “Wolf Shadow is shaman—great medicine man. You go where he say no, he have great anger.”
Fiona turned her back on Willow and hurried after Wolf Shadow. White skin or red, it didn’t matter. Surely labor was the same in all women. She knew medicine, and if she could use her superior European knowledge to prevent a miscarriage, she must try, no matter what opposition she had to face from primitive superstition.
No one attempted to stop her as she crossed the open area, and Fiona’s resolve stiffened as she neared the sick woman’s hut. She was needed here, and if Wolf Shadow tried to prevent her from practicing her healing arts, he’d soon have a taste of Irish temper.
Chapter 7
F iona pushed aside the hanging deerskin door and entered the wigwam. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when they did, she saw that the single room was crowded with people—all glaring at her. Even a wailing toddler quieted in mid-scream and gazed at her with astonishment.
Fiona flushed under the obviously hostile attention, took a deep breath, and drew herself up to her full height. “I . . . I’m a doctor,” she explained, trying to convey professional dignity. “A ... a medicine woman.”
The wigwam was high in the center with sloping sides made of bark panels. A knee-high platform of logs, about three feet high and covered with animal skins, ran around the interior walls. There was no furniture, not even a single chair. The floor was dirt, pounded hard and swept bare. Four adults and several children were seated on skin rugs around a glowing fire. Bundles, baskets, and an assortment of items Fiona didn’t recognize hung from the roof
“I not bite my tongue!” Shell Woman retorted hotly. “Is she prisoner? If prisoner, give her to me. I will find work for her.”
“Enough,” Wolf Shadow said, his patience clearly at an end. “You shame me. If the guest of your shaman is not welcome here, then I am not welcome.”
Spots of color appeared on Willow’s cheeks. Her irritation lingered for a few seconds more before she nodded and looked directly into Fiona’s eyes.
“Honored guest,” Willow said formally in soft, distinct English, “come, please, with me. I would offer to you food and fire.”
Fiona shook her head. “No.”
Wolf Shadow shot her a withering glance.
She stiffened. “No. If I am a prisoner, you must do with me as you will. If I am an honored guest, I’ll not enter a house where I’m not truly welcome.”
A titter of amusement rose from the gathered women. Wolf Shadow glared at Fiona, then turned his biting gaze on his sister. “You behave like children, both of you,” he said.
Suddenly the tension was broken by a man’s loud voice. A brave appeared from one of the huts on the far side of the village. He shouted and waved to Wolf Shadow. Shadow signaled that he’d heard.
“That is Spear Thrower,” he explained. “His wife, Sage, is in pain. Go with my sister. She’ll look after you.” He walked swiftly toward Spear Thrower’s wigwam without waiting for a reply.
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Fiona offered.
“No.” Willow shook her head. “No. My brother has no time for you now. Sage is with child. She has pain since the night, but it be no ... not time for child to be born. It is—” she struggled for the English words—“too early for born.” She held up six fingers. “This many turnings of moon.”
“Premature labor,” Fiona said, nodding her understanding. “But I may be able to help. I’m a trained apothecary, and my grandfather was a physician-surgeon. I studied under him, and I have delivered many babies.”
Willow looked unconvinced. “Sage be Shawnee woman. I no think she want white medicine.” “If the life of her unborn child is in danger, I’ve got to try to help her whether she wants me or not.”
“No,” Willow insisted. “Wolf Shadow is shaman—great medicine man. You go where he say no, he have great anger.”
Fiona turned her back on Willow and hurried after Wolf Shadow. White skin or red, it didn’t matter. Surely labor was the same in all women. She knew medicine, and if she could use her superior European knowledge to prevent a miscarriage, she must try, no matter what opposition she had to face from primitive superstition.
No one attempted to stop her as she crossed the open area, and Fiona’s resolve stiffened as she neared the sick woman’s hut. She was needed here, and if Wolf Shadow tried to prevent her from practicing her healing arts, he’d soon have a taste of Irish temper.
Chapter 7
F iona pushed aside the hanging deerskin door and entered the wigwam. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when they did, she saw that the single room was crowded with people—all glaring at her. Even a wailing toddler quieted in mid-scream and gazed at her with astonishment.
Fiona flushed under the obviously hostile attention, took a deep breath, and drew herself up to her full height. “I . . . I’m a doctor,” she explained, trying to convey professional dignity. “A ... a medicine woman.”
The wigwam was high in the center with sloping sides made of bark panels. A knee-high platform of logs, about three feet high and covered with animal skins, ran around the interior walls. There was no furniture, not even a single chair. The floor was dirt, pounded hard and swept bare. Four adults and several children were seated on skin rugs around a glowing fire. Bundles, baskets, and an assortment of items Fiona didn’t recognize hung from the roof
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