Shawnee Bride by Elizabeth Lane Page A

throbbing lump that rose in her throat was all too real. These people who possessed so little were offering her everything they had—their kinship, their support, even their love. Unshed tears blurred her eyes as she nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
    The chiefs grim features broke into a smile. “So let it be done,” he said. Without another word, he turned away and down the long center aisle toward the door. There was a stirring in the lodge as all the boys and men, including Wolf Heart, rose and followed him outside, leaving only the women and girls, who edged forward expectantly.
    Clarissa stood before them, wondering what to do next. Swan Feather’s wrinkled face wore a gap-toothed grin. Some of the younger girls had begun to giggle. The unsettling tightness in Clarissa’s stomach was quelled only a little when White Moon stepped forward, beaming.
    “Now we will make you Shawnee,” she said.
    As if triggered by some silent signal, a half-dozen senior women sprinted forward, surrounded Clarissa and began pulling at her clothes. Only White Moon’s reassuring smile kept Clarissa from bolting out of the lodge as the worn fabric began to rip and tear. First the skirt went, then the petticoat and the bodice of the gown. Buttons popped off and rolled across the floor to be snatched up by eager hands. The watchers laughed, hooted and shouted encouragement as fabric strained and ripped.
    Clarissa gasped as rough fingers split her chemise down the back and jerked it off her arms, leaving her bare from the waist up. “Stop—” she pleaded, clasping her arms over her exposed chest as the hall resounded with laughter. But even she knew where this rough-andtumble was going. When her underdrawers were ripped away, the stained muslin so threadbare that it offered littleresistance, she stood naked and trembling before the gathered women, her hands too small to conceal her body from their curious eyes. To be sure, few of them had ever seen red hair down there. But did they have to stare at her so openly?
    At a nod from White Moon, four younger women hurried forward, each of them carrying a small earthenware pot. Only when the first of them dipped her fingers into the pot and began smearing a thick white liquid clay onto Clarissa’s bare shoulder did she realize what was happening.
    They were going to paint her, all of her, from head to toe!
    She forced herself to stand still as the women’s hands rubbed paint onto her skin. The watchers in the hall had begun to chant—a high-pitched blood-stirring song—accompanied by clapping hands and the throb of an unseen drum. By the time the song was finished, the white paint had been spread over Clarissa’s entire body. Her face, her hair, her breasts and her genitals, were covered. Even the bottoms of her feet had not been missed.
    Clarissa stared down at the paint-spattered earthen floor, her nerves silently screaming. Only the calm presence of White Moon and her whispered reassurances kept her from bolting out of the council house in a fit of panic. When she’d expressed her willingness to become a Shawnee, she’d had no idea what that consent would entail. But if this was the price of Wolf Heart’s love, she would endure it, Clarissa reminded herself. For him, she would endure anything.
    Abruptly the chanting ended. Clarissa waited in the silence, trembling as she wondered what would happen next. She did not have to wonder long. Like the sudden bursting of a rock slide, all the women scrambled to theirfeet and rushed toward her. Whooping and shrilling, they swarmed around her and began pushing her in a mass toward the door at the far end of the hall.
    They were taking her outside. Painted, naked and blazing with humiliation. They were taking her outside!
    Clarissa’s hard-won composure nearly broke as they passed through the doorway and into the blinding sunlight. It was one thing to stand naked before a group of women. But before the entire village—this was too much to