Moonsong

Moonsong

Moonsong

Constance Bennett

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© Copyright 1992 by Constance Bennett

First e-reads publication 1999

www.e-reads.com

ISBN 0-7592-0948-0

Other works by Constance Bennett also available in e-reads editions

Blossom

Morning Sky

Moonsong

Prologue

[ e - r e a d s ]

Prologue

New Mexico Territory, 1863

The deep masculine voice woke her. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to infiltrate the restless slumber of five-year-old Rayna Templeton and bring her upright in her bed. She paused a moment, listening carefully, hardly daring to breathe until she heard the voice again.

There was no mistaking it. Papa had finally come home!

Her face wreathed in a joyous smile, Rayna threw back the coverlet and scrambled out of bed. Her bare feet were virtually silent as she flew across the room and onto the balcony that overlooked the interior courtyard of the hacienda. Overhead, the sky was awash with stars, and lanterns at the foot of the staircases cast patterns of light and dancing shadows, but otherwise the courtyard was empty. The voice was more distinct, though, and Rayna knew she hadn’t been mistaken.

Her father had left for Sonora to buy cattle five weeks ago, and every day he’d been gone had been an eternity for Rayna and her mother. There were so many dangers between Rancho Verde and Mexico—deserts and mountains, scorpions and snakes, bears and mountain lions—but those were simple hazards that Raymond Templeton was more than equipped to handle. The Apache were far more dangerous than all the others combined, 1

Prologue

[ e - r e a d s ]

and every moment he’d stayed away had meant one more day of waiting and praying.

But now he was home.

Imagining how he would sweep her into his arms and toss her into the air with a big barrel-chested laugh, Rayna hurried down the stairs and into the courtyard, straining to hear his voice. The way the sound carried up told her he was in his study, and the second voice that joined his indicated that her mother was with him. Colleen would be irritated when she learned that her daughter was out of bed at this late hour, but Rayna didn’t care. She was accustomed to being in trouble, and besides, she knew from experience that the worst punishment she was likely to get from her softhearted mother was a mild scolding.

Seeing Papa again would be worth that and much more.

Her feet barely touched the cool flagstone as she dashed across the courtyard and down a darkened corridor toward the study. Her parents’ voices grew louder, bringing Rayna to a halt a few feet short of the pool of light that beamed out the half-open door of the study. She crept closer and listened.

“But, Collie, what else could I do?” Raymond Templeton was saying. “Look at the poor thing. She’s not even as old as our Rayna, and already she’s been through a hell you and I couldn’t begin to imagine.”

“You can’t know that,” Colleen argued.

“Of course I know it—and so do you. Those damnable Mexican slave traders didn’t just find the poor thing wandering alone in the mountains. She wasn’t rescued—she was stolen, probably after watching her parents be murdered and scalped. I couldn’t just leave her in Sonora, could I? God only knows what would have become of her!”

“But, Raymond, she’s—”

“She’s a frightened little girl,” he said, overriding whatever objection Colleen had been about to make. “What else matters? Rayna has been begging for a sister—”

“That’s not fair,” Collie said quietly, her voice filled with pain. “I’ve tried to give you another child.”

Heavy footsteps crossed the room, and when Raymond spoke again, his tone conveyed nothing but love. “I know, Collie. And I also know how many nights I’ve held you while you cried because you have so much love to give and only Rayna to lavish it on. But look at this little one, Collie—really look at her, and you’ll see how much she needs you.”

“I don’t want to look at her.”

“That’s because you know you’ll fall in love with her the same way I did.

Just look, Collie.”

There was a long pause and then the sound of footsteps softly padding across the study floor.

2

Prologue

[ e - r e a d s ]

Tossing her long fall of golden hair over her narrow shoulders, Rayna held her breath and peeked around the door. She spied her father first, but as much as she longed to greet him, she was even more curious about the present he had brought her. A sister! What could be more wonderful than that?

Rayna was the only child at Rancho Verde, and she was lonely. Now she’d never be alone again. She would have a playmate and a friend, someone to run wild with and to ease the boredom of the hours she spent doing her lessons in reading and etiquette, someone to share her chores with and dream with and talk to.

Her heart filled with hope and expectation, Rayna looked deeper into the room, past her mother, who was moving toward the hearth, until her rapt gaze finally fell on a small, dirty bundle of black hair and buckskin cowering by the fireplace. A pair of enormous dark eyes stared up at Collie Templeton out of a gaunt face covered with dirt. Despite the smudges, there was no mistaking the origin of that face. The hair, the high cheekbones, the square jaw, the copper-colored skin, all told Rayna that her new sister was an Apache!

With a pitying moan, Collie knelt by the hearth, but when she extended her hand, the child scurried away like a cornered animal fleeing its would-be captor. The wild-eyed little Apache threw herself at Raymond Templeton’s feet and clung to his leg, shielding herself from the strange white woman.

Collie followed, stopping a few feet away to look at her husband.

“Oh, Raymond, she’s so frightened. How did you get her to come with you?”

He looked sad and tired. “I wish I could say it was hard, but it wasn’t. The poor little thing had been whipped into submission long before I found her.

Some hot food and a few gentle words were enough to convince her she was better off with me than with those slave traders.”

Collie looked down at the pitiful waif, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “You’ll be all right, little one,” she said softly.

Raymond smiled. “Thank you, Collie.”

She shook her head. “Raising an Apache won’t be easy, Raymond. How much do you know about where she came from?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “The traders I bought her from claimed they purchased her and several other children from a band of renegade Chiricahua.

From the looks of her clothes, they guessed that she was from the White Mountain tribe.”

Collie nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think she might be able to communicate with the Mescalero Apaches here on the ranch?”

“That’s what I was hoping. Surely Gatana can help us.”

“We’ll need all we can get.” She knelt, and the little Apache skittered away again, this time moving unerringly toward the door. Raymond uttered a soft, 3

Prologue

[ e - r e a d s ]

firm no, and she froze, squatting on the floor with her hands wrapped tightly around her knees, her head bent in submission.

Rayna, who had never been afraid of anything, could hardly believe what she was seeing. Witnessing a display of hopelessness and fear like this was more than she could bear. Acting with the same instinct she had used to tame the menagerie of wild animals that were her only friends at Rancho Verde, Rayna slid to her knees, gathered the tail of her nightgown in one hand, and crawled into the room, heedless of her startled parents.

“Rayna! No, don’t!” Collie called out in alarm, but Raymond placed one hand on her arm.

“Let her,” he counseled.

Rayna ignored them both. The frail Apache raised her head, and her eyes widened. Her fear seemed to ebb away, replaced by cautious curiosity. She lowered her knees to the floor and sat upright, motionless but poised for flight as Rayna came closer and finally mirrored her position on the floor only a few inches away.

They studied each other for a long moment. The Apache looked terrible and smelled even worse, but Rayna ignored the odor; she knew from experience it was nothing a good hot bath couldn’t cure. The hard part would be earning her trust enough to get her into a tub. It was the supreme challenge to the adventurous five-year-old, and there was nothing she liked more than a challenge.

“My name is Rayna.” The healthy blue-eyed blond child placed a hand on her own chest. “Rayna.”

The solemn little Apache mirrored the movement, but made no sound.

Rayna smiled. “I am your sister.”

The little girl’s matted black hair spilled over her shoulder as she cocked her head to one side. Timidly, as though she feared she might be punished, she reached out and touched one of Rayna’s golden curls. A fearful glance darted up to the adults nearby, but they only watched, and she grew bolder, her curiosity getting the better of her fear. Wrapping the lock of hair around her hand, she tugged gently and seemed mystified when nothing happened.

Puzzled, she raised the curl to her face and sniffed.

Rayna had to lean forward to keep the lock from being pulled out of her head, but she patiently submitted to the examination. “She’s never seen blond hair before, Mama,” she said quietly without looking at her parents.

“Rayna, be careful,” her mother cautioned.

“Oh, she won’t hurt me,” she replied confidently. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

The little Apache studied the lock of hair and the child it was attached to.

Finally she released it and gathered a handful of her own hair into a tiny fist.

Tears appeared in her dark eyes, and her chin quivered. “Pr’ncess pretty?”

4

Prologue

[ e - r e a d s ]

Collie gasped and glanced at her equally amazed husband, but Rayna never took her eyes off her sister. “Princess very pretty.” She held out her hand. “Come.”

Dark eyes darted again to Raymond, and when he nodded his head the little Apache took Rayna’s hand.

Collie breathed a sigh of relief. “Raymond, you send for Gatana while I heat some bathwater. It’s going to be a very long night.”

Her prediction proved to be something of an understatement.

5

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

1

New Mexico Territory, April 1882

“They’re laughing at us, Samson, and it’s all your fault,” Rayna Templeton muttered as she trudged through the gates at Rancho Verde leading her Appaloosa stallion. Samson whinnied what could have been an apology, but his mistress suspected that he wasn’t at all sorry he’d thrown a shoe for the second time this week. For the last four miles Samson had been quite content to poke along unencumbered by his rider, but Rayna was disgusted and bone-deep weary. She was also covered with dust from her wide-brimmed felt hat to the toes of her leather boots. Since dawn she had been scouring the countryside for calves that had escaped the spring roundup, and now she wanted nothing more than a hearty meal and a hot bath.

But first she had to get past the cowhands who had gathered at the corral to poke fun at her.

“Out fer another stroll, Miss Rayna?” Charlie McGinty hollered, making no attempt to hide the smirk on his weathered face.

6

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Yes, indeed, Charlie,” she replied facetiously. “The air is so invigorating at this time of year I just don’t seem to be able to resist.”

While Charlie scratched his head, apparently trying to figure out what

“invigorating” meant, Flint Piper took his turn. “Didja pick any pretty wild-flowers, miss?”

Everyone guffawed at that, and even Rayna had to bite back a smile. Dainty pursuits like picking posies were as foreign to her as words like “invigorating”

were to Charlie. “No, Flint, I’m afraid the verbena and Indian paintbrush are past their prime. There’ll be no flowers on Mother’s dinner table tonight.”

“That’s too bad,” Flint replied. “Miz Collie’s gonna be mighty disappointed.”

Rayna stopped and affected an air of sadness. “No more so than I, Flint.

You all know how much I adore a pretty bouquet.”

The men were still laughing at that when someone else called out an admonition against strolling in the sun without a parasol. He earned a back-slapping guffaw because he’d done such a good impersonation of Rayna’s mother. The object of their mirth put an end to the laughter by dusting her hat on her trousers, sending up a cloud of dirt that set everyone to coughing.

Chuckling, Guillermo Rodriguez jumped off the top rung of the corral fence. “All right, vaqueros, the fun is over. The sun is high and there is still work to be done.”

“Not the least of which is shoeing this horse,” Rayna muttered to the range boss as the other men scattered. “Something has to be done about that new blacksmith, Gil. I knew he was too good to be true when he showed up last week looking for a job. I can do a better job of shoeing horses than he can, and that’s not saying much.”

Rodriguez grinned. “Do you want the job, señorita? I am sure Señora Templeton would be happy to know that you are working closer to home instead of being out on the range every day.”

Rayna slanted an exasperated glance in his direction. “Don’t you start on me, too, Gil.”

“Oh, but the men, they love to tease you, señorita.”

She patted Samson’s neck. “That’s because a walking target is easy to hit.”

He laughed and held out his hand for the reins. “Here, I will take care of Samson—and the blacksmith.”

Though normally Rayna stabled her own mount, she handed the reins over gratefully. “Thank you, Gil. And by the way, I struck gold this morning. I rounded up ten head and drove them into the corral above Diablo Canyon.

There are two maverick calves and a sleepered yearling in the bunch.”

“Bueno!” he said, his eyes shining with respect. A sleepered yearling was a calf with an earmark but no brand—indicating that the animal had escaped spring roundup for two years in a row. That usually meant the herd he traveled 7

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

in was quite wild, and single-handedly corralling a wild herd was no small feat.

“I will send Flint and Charlie out now to bring them in for the brand.”

“Thank you, Gil.”

“Will you be riding out again today?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, removing her rifle from its scabbard.

“I’ve eaten enough dust for one day.”

“Bueno.”

Slinging her saddlebags over one shoulder, she patted Samson’s hindquar-ters as the range boss led him away to the stable. The house lay in the opposite direction, and Rayna headed for the nearest entrance, through the walled garden that sheltered the hacienda’s western exposure. The iron gate creaked a scratchy welcome as she slipped inside and moved across the flagstone patio toward the house.

The magnificent old two-story home had been constructed in the Spanish style over sixty years ago. Shady galerías encircled it on both floors inside and out, and each room had doors that led to the exterior galleries and interior courtyard.

The stucco hacienda had a long and colorful history, having survived Mexico’s revolt against Spain and the American incursion that subsequently wrested the territory from Mexico. What mattered to Rayna, though, was that Rancho Verde was the only home she had ever known. She loved the house and the lush green Rio Grande valley that sheltered it. She loved the mountains and deserts beyond the valley, too. It was a harsh land that could be cruel and unrelenting, but it was her home.

Her mother had insisted that she and her sister, Skylar, received a proper education back east, so Rayna had seen other parts of the country—places where water was never scarce, neighbors were plentiful, and the greatest danger to life and limb was being run over by a runaway carriage on a cobble-stone street. Her brush with civilization had done nothing to change her opinion of Rancho Verde. It was the most beautiful place on earth.

The house was quiet when Rayna slipped through the arcade that connected the patio with the courtyard. Through the open doors of the dining room on the other side of the enclosure she spotted one of the servants laying the table for supper, and she heard muted voices drifted down from the upper floor. Anxious to tell her father about the bonanza she’d corralled, she headed across the courtyard to the study. The desk was littered with open ledgers, but Raymond Templeton was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointed, Rayna ejected the shells from her Winchester, placed it in the polished gun case by the door, and returned her cache of ammunition to the drawer below the rack. She performed the ritual with the ease of someone who had been well trained in the proper care of weapons, as indeed she had 8

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

been. Rayna had been working the ranch alongside her father for as long as she could remember, and only a fool roamed the countryside unarmed.

That chore completed, she returned to the courtyard and dashed up the nearest staircase with her usual abandon.

“Unless you’re trying to escape a stampede, I suggest you slow down, dear.”

Her mother’s quietly spoken admonition brought Rayna up short, and she turned. Collie Templeton was approaching the stairs with an armload of fresh linens. “No stampede, Mother. I was just trying to see how quickly I could get into my room and out of these dusty clothes.”

Collie gave her daughter a once-over as she started up the stairs. “In this instance I could almost approve of your haste. Did you have trouble with Samson again?”

“How did you know?”

Collie’s blue eyes, so much like her daughter’s, glittered with amusement.

“Marie spotted you walking in.”

Rayna groaned. “Marie and everyone else on the ranch. I told Gil to get rid of that new blacksmith. He’s absolutely worthless.” She extended her arms.

“Here, let me help you with those.”

“Not until you’ve had a bath, young lady,” she replied sternly, shifting her bundle out of Rayna’s reach. “Consuelo would skin you alive if she had to wash these over again.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Rayna argued good-naturedly as she turned and strolled with her mother down the gallery. “She’s been threatening that for years and hasn’t caught me yet.”

“Lord knows you’ve given us both enough excuses—muddy boots, soiled gowns, disgraceful tattered Levi’s that no woman should ever be caught dead—”

“Yes, yes, Mother, I know,” she said, silencing her with a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m a wretched hoyden, the bane of your existence, and the most unrefined lady in the entire territory of New Mexico.”

Collie sighed with exasperation. “You don’t have to sound so proud of it.”

Rayna chuckled as she stripped off her gloves. “Mother, you’ve been trying to domesticate me for twenty-four years and haven’t succeeded yet. When are you going to face the fact that I’ll never be anything but the son you and father always wanted? Skylar is the domestic one.”

Collie wished she could debate the issue. She loved both her children dearly, but they were as different as night and day. Skylar was quiet and shy.

She had mastered the fine art of running a household and was in all ways a dutiful daughter. Rayna, on the other hand, was stubborn, headstrong, and willful. She had inherited her father’s business sense, and her only desire was to someday assume the responsibility of running Rancho Verde. If Raymond 9

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Templeton had ever once discouraged his daughter from such an unladylike pursuit, Collie hadn’t been within earshot when he’d done it.

“Marie is preparing your bathwater, dear,” she said, resigned to the knowledge that nothing she could say would change her daughter’s deportment. “I may not be able to domesticate you, but I can at least make certain you don’t appear at the dinner table smelling like a horse stall.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Tugging at the strip of rawhide that held her blond hair into a tight queue, Rayna glanced into her sister’s room and found it devoid of life. “Where’s Skylar?”

A small frown furrowed Collie’s brow, but she kept her voice carefully neutral. “I believe she went out to the Mescalero encampment.”

Rayna wasn’t fooled by her mother’s even tone. “Why does that upset you?

She’s always felt a special connection with the Apaches at Rancho Verde.”

“I know that, dear. But she’s spending more and more time with them lately. She goes out to the encampment every day now.”

“Really?” Rayna stopped in front of her bedroom door.

“You didn’t know?” Collie asked. Usually Rayna knew far more about what her sister thought and did then either of her parents. Since the day Raymond had brought Skylar home, the two girls had been virtually inseparable.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied, her own brow furrowed with worry now. It wasn’t like Skylar to keep things from her.

“I believe Gatana is teaching her some sort of ceremony.”

Her voice was laced with sadness, and Rayna finally realized what was upsetting her. Collie felt betrayed because she feared that all the advantages she’d given Skylar hadn’t been enough for her adopted daughter. She had loved her and protected her as best she could from the inevitable prejudice the girl had faced. She had seen to it that she received an excellent education back east that had broadened Skylar’s horizons far beyond the scope of most other young women in New Mexico, white or Apache.

Unfortunately a connection to her heritage was the one thing Collie couldn’t give her daughter, but it was the one thing Skylar seemed to want most.

Rayna searched for something to say that would lift her mother’s spirits, but she couldn’t think of anything. She knew that Skylar loved her adopted family, but there was a certain sadness in her that seemed to be growing stronger every day. Rayna thought she understood it, but she knew she could never explain it to the woman who had raised Skylar with the same love and devotion she’d bestowed on her flesh-and-blood daughter.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mother,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

“She’s probably just looking for a little diversion to ease her boredom. I know that if I had nothing to do but change bed linens and embroider sofa cushions every day, I’d go stark raving mad.”

10

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Yes, but you’re not your sister,” Collie retorted, then fanned the air to shoo away the words. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m just being silly.”

“Yes, you are,” Rayna agreed. “Learning a Mescalero ceremony isn’t going to change the way she feels about you. You’re her mother. She loves you.”

“I know she does, dear.” She started to pat Rayna’s arm, then remembered the layers of dirt and the clean sheets she was carrying. She withdrew her hand so quickly that both of them laughed.

“Oh, go ahead, Mother,” Rayna teased. “I’d love to see Consuelo threatening to skin you alive.”

“Collie!” Raymond’s deep voice reverberated through the courtyard, startling his wife and daughter.

“What is it, dear?” Collie stepped closer to the gallery railing and found herself looking down on the top of her husband’s balding head.

Raymond twisted around and looked up. “Riders coming in.”

Rayna joined her mother at the rail, her unbound hair spilling over her shoulders. “Who is it?” Visitors were rare and always a source of excitement because they varied the routine of ranch life.

“Looks like Ben Martinez and that Hadley fellow from the newspaper in Malaventura.” Raymond grinned up at his daughter. “Hullo, missy. Hear you had a little trouble with Samson again.”

“You don’t have to look so smug about it, Papa. You’re the one who hired that no-account drifter who claimed to be a blacksmith.”

“Live and learn, missy. Live and learn. Gil’s already given him his walking papers.”

“Well, if he leaves on a horse he shod himself, we can expect him back by nightfall.”

Raymond’s hearty laugh bounced off the walls of the courtyard as he made his way toward the parlor at the front of the hacienda. “Are you two ladies going to come down to greet our guests, or not?”

“I’m on my way, Papa,” Rayna said, tossing her saddlebags and hat on the chair just inside her door before heading for the stairs.

But Collie had other ideas. “Not until you’ve had a bath and changed into proper clothing, young lady,” she said sternly. “You cannot receive visitors looking like a common cowhand.”

“Don’t be silly, Mother,” she replied without stopping. “I’ve worked the herd right alongside Ben Martinez during roundup for the last six years. If he saw me in anything other than Levi’s and boots, he’d have a fit of apoplexy.”

She was right about that. Ben was Rancho Verde’s nearest neighbor, and he was well acquainted with Rayna’s unusual habits. The man with Ben was another matter entirely, though. “That may be, but Mr. Hadley is a fine gentleman from Boston. You should greet him properly.”

11

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

When Rayna realized what her mother was getting at, she stopped at the head of the stairs and gave her the most wicked grin in her repertoire. “You mean he’s a fine unattached gentleman from Boston, and I should pretend to be the delicate flower we both know I’m not.”

Collie sighed with exasperation. “You do have manners and breeding, Rayna. It’s just a matter of recognizing the appropriate time to display them.

This is one of those times.”

“Sorry, Mother, but I’m not about to trot out my best behavior for that Boston dandy,” she said, continuing down the stairs. “He can’t even sit a horse properly.”

“There’s more to life than sitting a horse!”

“Not my life,” Rayna replied.

“I give up,” Collie muttered, hurrying down the gallery. She had raised two of the most beautiful young women in the territory of New Mexico, and both, it seemed, were destined to remain spinsters—Skylar by circumstance of birth and Rayna by choice, or just plain stubbornness, Collie wasn’t sure which.

For safety’s sake, Rancho Verde had been situated in the center of the valley so that riders approaching from any direction would be visible long before they reached the hacienda. That gave Collie ample opportunity to dispose of the bed linens and instruct Consuelo Rodriguez, the Templetons’ housekeeper, to prepare refreshments for the guests. Then she went in search of her husband and daughter. She found them on the front veranda watching the riders approach. Rayna was telling her father about the unbranded cattle she’d discovered and the merry chase they had led her on.

“It’s fortunate Samson didn’t lose that shoe until after I’d corralled the herd.”

“Fortunate for the blacksmith,” Raymond commented with a chuckle. “I’d hate to see what you’d have done to him if you’d lost that yearling.”

Rayna didn’t share her father’s mirth. “Rest assured, Papa, if that had happened there wouldn’t have been enough left of that charlatan’s hide to—”

“That’s enough, Rayna.” Collie said, then turned a stern eye on her husband. “And that’s enough out of you, too. If you didn’t encourage her—”

“Oh, now, Collie . . .” Raymond threw one arm over her shoulder. “You oughta know by now that nothing either one of us says is going to discourage Rayna from speakin’ her mind or doing what she wants to do around the ranch.” He winked at his daughter. “And she does it so well that I can’t hardly complain, now, can I?”

Though Rayna smiled at her father and the affectionate way he gathered Collie to him, the mild disagreement between them made her uncomfortable.

The only real quarrels she’d ever heard them engage in had been over her.

Her earliest memories were of her father teaching her to ride and her mother protesting because she was too young. The same had been true when he taught her to use a rifle and a revolver.

12

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Raymond had allowed her to ride herd as soon as he was confident of her ability to manage a cow pony from a sidesaddle, and Collie had objected to that, too. They had fought over Rayna’s determination not to be sent away to school, and an even bigger argument had ensued when Raymond had supported Rayna’s decision to abandon her inconvenient sidesaddle in favor of a more practical stock saddle. Collie had given in on the issue of riding astride only after her husband convinced her that cutting range stock from a sidesaddle was not only impractical but exceedingly dangerous. Collie had argued that Rayna shouldn’t be working alongside the men like a common cowhand, but she’d lost that argument along with the original one.

In fact, with the exception of the issue of education, Raymond and his namesake had won nearly every battle. Rayna knew that would never keep her mother from trying to reform her, and she didn’t mind. Collie might protest her behavior, but she would never stop loving her. That was all that mattered to Rayna. Being a bone of contention between her parents did disturb her, though.

But Rayna knew this argument wasn’t going to get out of hand because their visitors were riding through the gates, and Collie would never have aired the family’s quarrels in front of guests.

“Howdy, Ben. Mr. Hadley,” Raymond greeted the two men as they neared.

“What brings you all the way out here?”

Though Raymond’s greeting was friendly, the two riders showed no sign of returning the affable welcome. They doffed their hats to the ladies, but their faces were grim as they dismounted.

“We got trouble, Raymond,” Ben Martinez said.

“Oh?” He looked from one man to the other.

Samuel Aloysius Hadley nodded a confirmation. “Big trouble, Mr. Templeton.”

“Well, spit it out,” Raymond demanded.

Hadley looked at the two ladies uncomfortably, then made his decision.

“Geronimo’s on the warpath again.”

“And he’s headed this way,” Ben added.

Raymond sighed heavily. “Hellfire and damnation. Come on in, boys. We got some plannin’ to do.”

The men adjourned to Raymond’s study, and though Collie tried to discourage Rayna from participating in the conversation, a team of wild horses couldn’t have kept her away. Their guests settled into the twin armchairs opposite Raymond’s desk, and Rayna took a seat on the small sofa behind them.

With a minimum of embellishment, Hadley related what he’d learned of the Chiricahua renegade’s bloody escape from the reservation at San Carlos in Arizona. Telegraphed reports gave several different versions of the outbreak, 13

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

some stating that as many as thirty and as few as ten civilians and soldiers had been slaughtered.

Though Rayna had no direct knowledge of the attack, she would have been willing to guess that all the reports were exaggerated. As a general rule, anything that had to do with Apache depredations was blown out of all proportion by the press. Still, having Geronimo on the warpath was a dead serious matter.

There wasn’t a man, woman, or child in New Mexico who had forgotten the massacres of the previous spring when Chief Nana, one of Geronimo’s most trusted allies, had terrorized the Rio Grande valley. His raids had lasted only six weeks, but before he disappeared into Mexico he had killed nearly fifty New Mexicans, taken several women captive, and stolen more than two hundred horses and mules. All that . . . accomplished by a seventy-year-old chieftain and forty Apaches who had a thousand soldiers hot on their trail.

If Geronimo was headed for New Mexico, Nana would undoubtedly come out of hiding to join him, and blood was going to flow like water.

Rayna was impressed by the way Hadley told the story of the recent outbreak. Obviously he had received several telegraph dispatches, sorted through them, and come up with the best conclusions he could draw, considering the limitations under which he worked. And unlike Ben, who was punctuating Hadley’s tale by interjecting an occasional wild speculation, Samuel was remarkably calm. But then, he’d been in the territory for only a few months. He hadn’t experienced the terror caused by Nana’s raids or those of the Mescalero chief, Victorio, before that. Rayna had seen firsthand what destruction the Apaches could wreak.

“Tell ‘im about the head,” Ben encouraged, getting carried away with the story.

Hadley looked uncomfortable. “Well, it seems that . . . This is just an unconfirmed rumor, you understand . . . But it seems that one of the men at San Carlos was decapitated, and the savages . . . played football with the dis-membered head.”

“Dear God,” Rayna murmured, then instantly regretted having spoken. She was behind them, and the men had forgotten there was a lady present or they never would have spoken so freely.

Hadley was instantly apologetic. “I’m sorry, Miss Templeton. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Hadley,” she reassured him. “I’ve heard worse.”

“That may be, ma’am, but such matters aren’t—”

All her life men had been giving her the condescending speech about matters that were unfit for ladylike sensibilities, and she didn’t want to hear it again. “How reliable are the reports that he’s headed this way?” she asked, cutting him off.

14

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Hadley cleared his throat. He was never quite sure what to make of Rayna Templeton because she was so different from any woman he’d ever met. She hadn’t fainted dead away at the mention of the head, and since her father showed no sign of being uncomfortable at having her in the room, he decided to continue.

“As reliable as they can be at this point. Apparently word was slow coming out of San Carlos because the telegraph lines had been cut, but the renegades also killed five teamsters near Clifton. That means they headed due east from the reservation.” He wiped a hand over his pasty white face, and Rayna wondered if he’d gotten more than he bargained for when he decided to pursue his journalistic trade in this rugged, dangerous part of the country.

“This is a big territory, Raymond,” Ben commented, “but we can’t afford to take the chance that those savages won’t come up this way. We’d better start preparing now. I’ve got some of my men out already, warnin’ the ranches to the south. We were hopin’ you’d be able to spare a few to ride north and west.”

“I’ll have Gil get some men out first thing tomorrow,” he replied. Ben started to protest the delay, but his host overrode his objections. “Ben, you know as well as I do that it would take nearly a week for Geronimo to get this far.”

“That may be, but what about the Mescalero?” he asked defiantly. “If they hear that Geronimo is on the warpath, they might decide to join him the way some of them did with Nana last year.”

“The Mescalero reservation is well south of here, Ben. I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger.”

“Yeah, but those ain’t the only Mescaleros in the territory, Raymond,” he said significantly.

“Now, just a minute—” Rayna was on her feet instantly, but her father silenced her with a wave of his hand.

“I’ll handle this, honey. I think Ben knows he’s gone too far.”

“No, Raymond. You’re the one who’s gone too far,” Martinez countered.

“You got nearly twenty Apaches workin’ for you, and it ain’t right.”

Raymond exchanged an exasperated glance with his daughter. He had lost count of the number of times he’d had this argument with his neighbors.

When he purchased Rancho Verde he had inherited a small group of Mescaleros and had quickly seen the advantages of befriending them just as his predecessor had. Their leader was Consayka, who as a boy had broken away from his own people after being converted to Christianity by Spanish monks. When the land that was now Rancho Verde had been given to Don Diego Sebastian in a vast Spanish land grant, the don had allowed Consayka and his people to stay and had put them to work on the ranch.

Consayka was old now, and he had strong feelings about continuing the traditions of his Mescalero ancestors, but Raymond had no doubts about his 15

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

commitment to peace. There was no way the ancient Apache would give a second thought to joining Geronimo on the warpath.

Unfortunately, getting his Johnny-come-lately neighbors to understand that was another matter entirely. “Ben, Consayka’s people haven’t made any trouble for sixty years. Most of them were born on Rancho Verde and have never even lived among their own people.”

“Can you deny that they still hold their heathen ceremonies?”

“No,” Raymond answered reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean they have any interest in joining their brethren on the warpath even if the reservation Mescalero do revolt.”

Rayna could be silent no longer. “Ben, our Apaches are farmers, cowhands, and house servants. I seriously doubt whether they could even survive among their own people now.”

“All the same, you’re taking a terrible chance,” Martinez warned them.

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Hadley said somewhat apologetically as he glanced between Rayna and her father. Rayna gave him a disgusted not-you-too look, and the young journalist hurried to explain, “It’s not that I doubt the peaceful intent of your Apaches, Miss Templeton. You may be entirely correct in your assessment, but not everyone in Malaventura agrees. I’ve noticed a rising tide of sentiment against them.”

“What have you heard?” Raymond asked, scowling.

“There have been no specific threats, but the community is growing increasingly uncomfortable with having a band of non-reservation Apaches in the area. Once word of Geronimo’s depredations spreads, I’m afraid the citizens of New Mexico will begin to retaliate. The history of this territory suggests that they may not care whether the Apaches they retaliate against are peaceful or not.”

A cold chill ran down Rayna’s spine. Hadley may have been scrawny, pasty-faced, and a poor horseman, but he had an excellent point. If a panic started, no Apache would be safe from attack. During Victorio’s raids several years earlier, rumors had abounded that the Rancho Verde Mescaleros were secretly aiding the renegade. Nana’s raids last year had wrought similar rumors.

For that reason, neighbors—even good ones like Ben Martinez—had been seeking the removal of the Rancho Verde Mescaleros for years, and this recent outbreak would undoubtedly fuel even more unfounded rumors.

According to Samuel Hadley, the kindling for a conflagration was already being laid.

Raymond launched into a vigorous speech about his commitment to protecting the Apaches on the ranch, then moved on to the topic of stationing lookouts at strategic passes throughout the area. Hadley and Martinez apparently felt it was wise to let the argument drop, and once they had a firm plan 16

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

in mind, they took their leave. Rayna and Raymond escorted them to their horses and watched as they rode away.

“This is going to upset Skylar,” Rayna said quietly as they turned back to the hacienda.

“I know.” He shook his head. “When is this all gonna end, honey? I feel like I been fighting Apaches all my life, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. This country should be big enough for all of us.”

“But it’s not. Mankind is basically greedy, Papa. We always want what our neighbor has, and only laws and the constraints of civilization keep us from preying on one another. Unfortunately those same laws don’t apply where the Apache are concerned, and they don’t seem inclined to accept our views on the value of civilization.”

“Very nicely put, honey,” Raymond said, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he threw one arm over her shoulders. “And here I thought your sister was the philosopher in this family.”

“Don’t poke fun at me, Papa,” she said, slipping one arm around his ample waist as they strolled inside. “I’ve had enough of that for one day.”

“All right. What other views of the Apache would you care to share with me?”

“None, because you’ll only tease me about it later. I think, instead, I’ll stroll out to Consayka’s camp and fetch Skylar. Word of Geronimo’s outbreak is probably spreading all over the ranch already, and I’d rather she heard it from me.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Tell Mother I’ll be back shortly.”

It was a brisk ten-minute walk to the tiny encampment behind the hacienda. Unlike most other Apache tribes, the Mescalero lived in tall, stately lodges similar to those of the Plains Indians. The eleven homes were grouped together in a seemingly haphazard fashion, no two exactly alike except that each entrance faced the sunrise.

As Rayna approached, she saw her sister and two elderly women sitting under the brush-covered ramada the ranch hands called a squaw cooler.

Skylar’s head was bowed, and her hands were working busily on an object that rested in her lap. Rayna had always envied those delicate hands and the genteel way her sister carried herself. In fact, there were many things about her sister that she envied, not the least of which was Skylar’s gentle disposition.

But it had never occurred to Rayna to try to be more like her demure, ladylike sister. It would have pleased their parents no end, but Rayna didn’t know how to be anything but what she was.

Under the ramada, Consayka’s wife, Gatana, was facing Skylar, deep in concentration as she studied the young woman’s every move. The third woman, Tsa’kata, sat apart from them and seemed to be paying no attention to the others. Rayna knew that was not the case. Tsa’kata’s eyesight was poor and 17

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

her hearing even worse, but little happened on Rancho Verde within her sight—or out of it—that she was unaware of.

Of all the Apaches on the ranch, Tsa’kata was the one Rayna knew and understood least, for she had never worked as a house servant, as her daughter Gatana had. Her face was a leathery mask of deeply cut wrinkles and sagging flesh, yet no one would have guessed her to be nearly a hundred years old. She spoke enough Spanish to make herself understood when necessary, but she had refused to learn English—or at least she refused to speak it; Rayna had always suspected she knew far more of the white man’s language than she let on.

As a child, Rayna had been secretly terrified of the old woman, and even now Tsa’kata was one of the few people in the world who had the power to intimidate her.

Though the women had undoubtedly seen her coming, no one acknowledged her presence, so she slowed her pace as she neared the ramada. If Gatana was teaching Skylar a ritual ceremony, it would be disrespectful for Rayna to interrupt, and she had no desire to incur Tsa’kata’s wrath. Instead, she moved to a nearby outcropping of boulders and sat, giving every appearance of someone who’d been out for a casual stroll and had decided to stop and rest.

Watching covertly, Rayna finally identified the object in Skylar’s lap as a necklace of some sort. Her small, graceful hands were carefully weaving beads and strands of grama grass into an intricate bib that was suspended from a beaded choker. Rayna could vaguely hear Gatana and Skylar speaking, but their voices were too soft to allow her to catch any of the words. It was just as well, she reasoned, for they were undoubtedly speaking Apache, and Rayna’s knowledge of the language was limited.

When Skylar had first come to Rancho Verde, Rayna had taken on the job of teaching her new sister English, and Skylar had tried to reciprocate. Skylar had proved to be the better pupil. Over the years, Rayna had kept trying, but whenever she used her limited vocabulary with the Mescaleros she invariably received snickers or outright laughs because she was so bad at it. She had finally given up completely after she mispronounced a phrase that had conveyed some terrible insult and had received an incomprehensible tongue-lashing from Tsa’kata. Now she left the difficult language to Skylar.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rayna studied her sister. Her simple white shirtwaist and beige skirt were a striking contrast to the loose overblouses and colorful calico skirts of her companions. Only those clothes and her age set her apart from the other women, though. Her hair, which she normally wore in a loose chignon or a braided roll at the nape of her neck, was unbound today. Jet black, it fell in gentle swirls around her shoulders and framed a face of such delicate beauty that all who saw her felt compelled to comment on it.

Hers was an exotic, intriguing face—or so it had seemed to the easterners 18

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Skylar and Rayna had encountered while they were at school in Boston.

While no one had feared the Indian named Templeton, her appearance had set her apart from the other girls, making her an outsider.

In this territory, however, Skylar’s square jaw, high cheekbones, deep-set black eyes, and light bronze skin labeled her an Apache. No amount of culture, grace, education—not even the considerable influence of Raymond Templeton—could overcome the prejudice that kept Skylar from being totally accepted. She was still an outsider.

Was it any wonder that Skylar felt such a bond with the Rancho Verde Apaches? Rayna wondered, remembering the pain she’d seen in her mother’s eyes earlier. As much as Collie loved Skylar, she couldn’t understand her daughter’s need for a connection with her past. But Rayna understood. Skylar was a beautiful, demure young lady trapped squarely between her vague memories of life as an Apache and the Anglo world she had been raised in. The tragedy was that she could never truly belong to either.

Even the Rancho Verde Mescaleros, who had accepted Skylar and indoc-trinated her in their ways, were not really her people. She had been stolen from a band of White Mountain Apaches, whose culture was in many ways different from that of the Mescalero. Over time, Skylar’s memories of her first family had fused with the beliefs of the Mescalero and the legends Consayka told around the fire on winter evenings.

Rayna ached at the sadness she often saw in her sister, but she didn’t pity her. Skylar would never have stood for that, and Rayna loved her far too much to demean their relationship with pity.

Never one to enjoy being inactive, Rayna soon grew tired of pretending to admire the scenery. She kept still, trying not to fidget, but by the time the ceremony was complete, Rayna had exhausted her meager supply of patience.

She sighed with relief when Skylar wrapped the necklace in a cloth and placed it along with several other bundles in a beaded buckskin pouch. As she rose, she spoke quietly with Gatana and Tsa’kata, then slipped out from beneath the ramada.

“Hello, sister. What brings you back to the ranch so early today? Did Samson throw another shoe?” Her dark eyes were twinkling merrily, and though Rayna didn’t know how it was possible, she suspected that Skylar already knew the answer to her question.

She stood and stretched her legs. “Yes, he did, and if you’re going to tease me about it, too, you can walk back to the house by yourself.”

Skylar stopped in front of her. “You’ve had a difficult day,” she said sympathetically.

“That is something of an understatement,” she replied, all hints of teasing gone. For the sake of courtesy, she moved to the ramada and greeted Gatana 19

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

and her mother. Tsa’kata did not deign to acknowledge her, but Rayna spent a moment conversing with the old woman’s daughter, who had long since stopped working at the hacienda because of her advanced age.

“What brought you out here?” Skylar asked when she and Rayna finally started for home.

Dreading having to tell her about Geronimo’s outbreak, Rayna stalled for time. “Mother said that you were learning a ceremony, and I thought I’d better see what you were up to. What is Gatana teaching you?”

Skylar’s eyes danced with excitement. “You won’t believe it, Rayna. I’ve been asked to participate in Mary Long Horn’s maiden ceremony. Gatana is teaching me the ritual prayers for making the necklace of the sons-ee-a-ray.”

Rayna gave her a sidelong glance. “Would you care to translate that for me? You know how good my Apache is.”

“It’s the symbol of the morning star, one of many that will decorate Mary’s dress. Once I have learned the prayers, I’ll make the actual necklace that she’ll wear in the ceremony. The one I was working on today is only an imitation.

We use several different necklaces for practice so that none will be invested with the power of White Painted Woman.”

Rayna needed no explanation of that. White Painted Woman was the deity revered by the Apaches as the mother of their race. Apparently the symbol of the morning star belonged to her. “When is the ceremony?”

“In July, four days before the full moon. I suppose that would make it somewhere around the eighteenth.”

“Hmmm . . . That doesn’t give you much time to learn the ritual and complete the necklace.”

“I know,” Skylar answered, growing pensive. “And there’s more, Rayna. I have been asked to attend Mary on each of the four days of the ceremony.”

She paused a moment. “Will Mother be upset, do you think?”

Rayna couldn’t lie to her. “It’s possible, but she won’t try to stop you from participating.”

“I know that. I hate to cause her pain, though.”

Rayna slipped her arm around her sister. It made walking difficult, since Rayna was several inches taller, but Skylar needed the comfort. “You’re a grown woman, Skylar. You have to do what you think is best.”

“Even if it hurts someone I love?”

“Mother understands.”

Skylar shook her head sadly. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Then we’ll find a way to make her understand how important this is to you.”

Skylar glanced up at her, grateful for her support. For nearly as long as she could remember, this sister had been her buffer against disappointment, frustration, and anyone or anything that tried to harm her. Skylar 20

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

had vague memories of another sister, older than Rayna, who had also watched over her—who had, in fact, died while trying to protect her from the Indians who had kidnapped her. The memory saddened her, but she couldn’t imagine loving that sister in the shadows any more than she loved this one.

“It is important to me, Rayna, but I don’t think I could make anyone understand why—not even you.”

“But I do understand,” Rayna insisted.

“No, you don’t.” Skylar stopped suddenly and glanced at the high blue sky near the horizon to the east. She seemed lost in thought, as though looking for something that wasn’t there.

Rayna stopped, too, facing her. “Then explain it to me.”

Skylar did not look away from the horizon as she spoke. “It’s the necklace,”

she said softly.

Now Rayna really did understand. Or thought she did. Years ago Consayka had told Skylar the romantic tale of a young Apache brave who had married a maiden from an enemy clan and united both their peoples. The brave had defied custom and given his bride a magnificent necklace of turquoise and silver with a medallion carved in the image of the Thunder Eagle.

Consayka told the story often, and not always in the same fashion. In one version the brave had been from the Jicarilla Apache tribe; in another, he was White Mountain. Depending on Consayka’s mood, the handsome brave and his wife had many children and lived to a ripe old age, or died tragically at the hands of a Chiricahua renegade. Rayna had heard so many versions of the story that she found it virtually meaningless.

Skylar, on the other hand, believed the story was true. What was more, she believed that somehow she had been a part of it. When she was fifteen, she had even made a replica of the necklace Consayka had described. She kept it hidden, and no one but Rayna and a few of the Mescaleros even knew of its existence.

“Making this necklace has reminded you of the Thunder Eagle legend, hasn’t it?” Rayna asked.

“Yes, but that’s not all.” She looked at her sister. “It’s sons-ee-a-ray.”

“Morning star? What has that got to do with the legend of . . .” She searched her memory for the names of the couple in Consayka’s story, but drew a blank. “Oh, what were they called?” she muttered impatiently.

“He Stalks the Gray Wolf and She Sings by the Willow,” Skylar supplied, her voice almost reverent as she spoke the names.

“Right. What has the morning star got to do with them?”

Skylar shook her head helplessly as tears shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. There’s a memory in my head that tantalizes me like a 21

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

mirage in the desert, but when I reach out to touch it, it vanishes. All I know is that sons-ee-a-ray should mean something to me.”

Rayna had no idea how to ease her sister’s distress, and there was nothing she hated worse than feeling powerless. “Perhaps the memory will come to you in time,” she suggested lamely, and earned a small smile for her effort.

“I was taken from my people nineteen years ago, Rayna. It’s not likely that I’ll suddenly wake up one morning with all those memories intact. My old life will never come out of the shadows. I have learned to live with that.”

“Until something like this reminds you.”

Skylar nodded. “The feelings will pass. Come. Mother will be wondering what’s keeping us.” She started again toward the hacienda, and Rayna fell into step beside her. “All right, now, sister. You may tell me the real reason you came to fetch me.”

Rayna laughed. “I never could fool you, could I?”

“Not for very long,” Skylar replied, sharing her sister’s amusement. “Your eyes betray your emotions. Others can’t always see it, but I can. Something has troubled you deeply, and you don’t want to tell me about it.”

Rayna took a deep breath. “Geronimo has fled the San Carlos reservation and is rumored to be heading this way.”

“I see.” Though Skylar continued to walk, her body became very still, as though she had somehow drawn into herself, and a curtain fell over her features, making them unreadable. Rayna had seen it happen before. Her sister had inherited the stoicism of her ancestors, and when she chose to shut out the world, no one—not even Rayna—could penetrate the barriers she erected.

In an evenly modulated voice, Skylar asked questions, eliciting all the information her sister knew. Most of it was speculation, but even that was enough to cause concern. Where the Apache were concerned, everyone always assumed the worst.

“Did Mr. Martinez try to persuade Father to send the Mescalero away again?” she asked quietly.

Rayna knew Skylar wouldn’t believe a lie. “He did mention it, yes. But Father stood his ground. Nothing is going to happen to Consayka’s people.”

It was a long moment before Skylar replied. “I pray you are right, sister.”

They completed the long walk to the hacienda in silence.

22

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

2

Arizona Territory, April 1882

Every window on the first floor of the modest two-story ranch house blazed with light, and the strains of a vigorous fiddle tune wafted out over the valley floor. There was no other sound for miles in any direction save for the occasional lowing of cattle in the distance and the haunting bay of a coyote somewhere up on Windwalk Mesa.

Keenly aware of the isolation of the Longstreet ranch, Major Meade Ashford relaxed against a post that supported the porch roof and extracted a slender cheroot from his pocket. His match flared briefly in the darkness, then arched through the air as he flicked it into the front yard. It landed in one of his sister’s flower beds, and Meade winced. If Libby found it tomorrow, there would be hell to pay. She’d been trying her hand at horticulture since the day he’d brought her to Arizona eight years ago, and she protected her garden almost as fiercely as she protected her two young children.

As far as the flowers were concerned, Meade had to admit that her results had improved tremendously over that first dismal year at Fort Apache when 23

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

her garden had consisted of a heavy wooden container that looked more like a watering trough than a window box. She had placed it on the porch that connected their quarters with the post hospital, and though people had told her that flowers wouldn’t grow in the baking Arizona sun, she had been determined to prove them wrong.

Undaunted by her failure in ‘74, she had tried again the next year here at the ranch . . . and the year after that. After years of diligence, irrigation, and far more trouble than they were worth in Meade’s opinion, she had finally coaxed her roses into blooming.

Meade smiled down at the pitiful little bed of roses and realized that he was going to miss watching them bloom this year, despite all the teasing he had subjected his sister to over the years. He was going to miss the quiet solitude of this ranch, too . . . and his niece and nephew. He would miss them very much. Of course, it went without saying that he would miss Libby, and if pressed to admit it, he might even have confessed that he was going to miss his brother-in-law, Case Longstreet.

The one thing he felt certain he wouldn’t miss, though, was Fort Apache.

Eight years as post surgeon at that misbegotten hellhole had taken their toll on Meade. He had come to the position one year out of medical school at Harvard eager for adventure and challenge. Instead, he had been forced to witness more kinds of suffering than he had ever dreamed possible. Had it not been for Libby, he would have transferred long ago to some more hospitable climate and to a place where constant battles with the Apache wouldn’t have left so much blood on his hands.

But all that would be over soon. In four days he was being involuntarily transferred to Fort Marcy in New Mexico, and six months after that, he was leaving the army forever. Though he wasn’t looking forward to the transfer, he readily acknowledged that it would be nice to enjoy the relative quiet of Santa Fe for a while. It was a beautiful old city, situated far enough north to be somewhat removed—geographically, at least—from the army’s perpetual con-flict with the Apache.

After that, he would return here, to the ranch he had helped his brother-in-law purchase shortly before Case and Libby’s wedding. Though he was only thirty-six, Meade felt like an old man who had earned a quiet retirement, and he was looking forward to becoming a gentleman rancher. In the back of his mind was the idea that he might someday set up a small medical practice somewhere, but that wouldn’t be for a while yet. At the moment, his chosen profession was anathema.

“Meade? What are you doing out here?”

Libby’s quietly spoken question startled Meade. “Good Lord, Lib, don’t sneak up on a man like that.”

24

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Sorry. I suppose some of my husband’s skills at stalking have rubbed off on me.”

“Among other things,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be contrary, Meade,” she said gently. “I know you’ll never admit it to me, but you and Case have become good friends. You can stop glowering every time something reminds you that he’s an Apache.”

Meade squared his shoulders with a hint of indignation and straightened his dress-blue uniform coat. “My dear Liberty, I do not glower. I do, on occasion, bristle, and I have been known to fume from time to time, but I most emphatically do not glower.” He turned his profile to her. “It wouldn’t be seemly.”

Her gentle laugh drifted out over the rose garden, and she tucked her arm through his. “Oh, Meade, I’m going to miss you. No one has ever been able to make me laugh the way you do.”

Meade dropped a kiss on her forehead, a gesture that was an old and comforting habit for both of them. “I’m going to miss you, too, Libby.”

“Then why did you sneak away from my party? I invited all our neighbors just to give you a magnificent send-off, and you pulled a vanishing act. It was everything I could do to keep Drucilla Metcalf from coming to look for you herself. She was positively frothing at the mouth when she realized you’d escaped her clutches.”

“Why do you think I disappeared?” he asked as he sat on the porch railing.

“That hellcat has spent the better part of the last two years trying to rope me into matrimony, and she seems to think that this is the last opportunity she’ll ever have.” Meade shook his head in bewilderment. “Why in the name of God is she so intent on me? I just don’t understand it. I’m nearly twice her age!”

“Yes, but you look incredibly handsome in your uniform.”

Meade groaned. “One more excellent reason to leave the military posthaste.”

“I agree with your goal, but not your reasoning,” Libby said, smoothing his lapel. “You see, you may eventually leave the uniform behind, but that will not keep you from being incredibly handsome. What’s more, you’re a respected physician and a landholder of some repute. That makes you the finest catch in this part of the territory.”

“To be a fine catch in this godforsaken territory, you need only be breathing, Libby.”

“Meade, you’re being contrary again,” she scolded lightly, though in truth she could hardly blame her brother for his attitude. There was a marked scarcity of unmarried women in the territory, and it seemed that the ones near Fort Apache always gravitated toward Meade. Over the years that number had included several officers’ wives as well. To the best of Libby’s knowledge, which might or might not have been accurate, he had successfully 25

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

evaded those amorous women, and had also eluded the clutches of the unmarried ones.

Yet she could scarcely blame the women for being attracted to Meade.

Not only was he a mannerly, educated gentleman, he was incredibly handsome as well. Even the rigors of his career had not changed that. He was tall, with a lithe, athletic physique, and the youthful softness that had marked his features when he arrived at Fort Apache was no longer evident. His face was harder now, and deep lines framed his mouth when he smiled or frowned. His eyes, an odd color of hazel, were much more piercing than before. They no longer twinkled with gentleness and mirth except when he looked at Libby.

The sun had lightened his dark brown hair, giving it highlights of gold; the things he had seen and done had added flecks of silver.

In many ways those changes had only made him more attractive. No longer was he a boyishly handsome young man. Fort Apache had transformed him into a ruggedly handsome man of depth and maturity.

Unfortunately it had also twisted his idealism into cynicism, and Libby grieved for the parts of her brother that had been lost bit by bit with every limb he’d been forced to amputate and every patient who’d died a hideous, agonizing death before his very eyes.

Though Libby dreaded seeing Meade leave for Santa Fe, she was more than anxious for him to retire from the army. He was weary of death, and only time would heal the ravages of his soul. Time . . . and perhaps a loving woman—

though Libby knew she would never be able to convince Meade of that.

“I have a right to be contrary where Drucilla is concerned, Libby,” he was saying. “She is a most determined young lady.”

“Then perhaps you should succumb to her charms.”

Meade looked down at her, frowning. “What charms? She has buckteeth, and her eyes cross when she laughs. And that laugh! She sounds like a braying army mule.”

“Meade! That’s unkind and untrue,” Libby said, slapping his arm lightly.

“Drucilla is quite attractive, and you know it. Granted, her laugh is a little . . .

exuberant, but that only proves that she enjoys life to the fullest.”

He made a disgruntled harrumphing sound and flicked his cheroot into the yard, making sure it fell far beyond Libby’s rose bed.

“Tell me the truth, Meade. Why don’t you like Drucilla?”

He sighed wearily. “I told you before, I’m practically old enough to be the girl’s father, and if I were, I’d apply my hand liberally to her backside. She’s boisterous, loud, opinionated . . . Most of the time she dresses like a man—

and behaves like one. Frankly, I prefer more demure women, and Drucilla Metcalf doesn’t have a ladylike bone in her body.” He raised one eyebrow sharply. “Are those sufficient reasons for you? They certainly are for me.”

26

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Meade—”

“Enough, Libby,” he said placing his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve covered this territory before, and you’re never going to wear me down. I’m too old and set in my ways to ever marry.”

“Thirty-six is not old!” she said adamantly.

“It’s not a matter of chronological age, Libby,” Meade replied, his voice tinged with sadness as he stood and looked out over the still valley. “I feel positively ancient. All I want from my life now is a little peace and quiet.”

For a moment, with his face couched in shadow, he looked as old and tired as he claimed he felt. Libby’s heart wrenched at the sight, but she knew there was no way to ease his pain. Slipping one arm around his waist, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to go to Fort Marcy.”

“So do I, little sister, but I don’t have much choice in the matter. I’ve been reassigned to the One Hundred-fortieth, and whither they goest, I go, too.”

He said it blithely, but to Libby it wasn’t a matter for levity. As post surgeon, unattached to any specific army unit, Meade had rarely been required to venture out with the troops and engage in battle. Those occasions when he had done so had always been devastating for him. This new assignment with 140th Regiment might place him almost constantly in the field . . . constantly in danger. Libby didn’t want to think about what could happen to him.

“Damn him,” she muttered vehemently. “This is all Geronimo’s fault. If that accursed Chiricahua hadn’t gone on the rampage, none of this would be happening. I don’t know why the army didn’t hang him back in ‘77 when John Clum brought him in. We’d be at peace now, and you wouldn’t be going away.”

Meade looked down at his sister in surprise. When it came to the Apache, Libby was the most moderate and sympathetic supporter the Indians had. Considering that she had married into the White Mountain tribe, that was only to be expected. Generally when there was trouble, she blamed corrupt Indian agents, unenlightened army officers, or inconsistent government policies. He’d never heard her speak out so passionately against any Apache before.

“I certainly wouldn’t argue with you on that point, Libby, but there’s no sense in looking back. We have to deal with the situation as it exists now, and that means preparing for a long and bloody war with Geronimo. When his braves killed those two San Carlos policemen, his fate was sealed. He’ll never surrender, because he knows that if he does, he’ll be hanged.”

“But so many good men are going to die because of him.” Libby felt tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“Libby, I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “I swear it. In six months I’ll have completed my obligation to the army and will retire for good. In the meantime, I plan to be very careful.”

27

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

She wasn’t reassured. “Well, I hope that course you took at Johns Hopkins was worth it, Meade,” she said testily. “If it hadn’t been for that, you could retire any time you liked.”

“It was worth it, Libby. It gave me some much-needed time away from Fort Apache, and I learned a great deal about the new surgical procedures that are being introduced. At the time, trading attendance of that course for an additional two years of service to the army seemed like a good deal.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“In your opinion.”

She glanced up at him. “Hasn’t Case told you? In this house, my opinion is the only one that counts.”

Meade laughed because he knew that was far from the truth. The love and respect Case and Libby felt for each other had made their marriage one of harmony and equality. In the beginning Meade had violently opposed his sister’s relationship with the Apache army scout who had been raised and educated by frontiersman Jedidiah Longstreet after Case’s parents were murdered.

Even after their love was put to the ultimate test and survived, Meade had still had reservations.

He couldn’t deny, though, that despite the prejudice they often encountered, they had made a good life together. Case was respected and accepted by most of their neighbors because they knew that his close ties with the nearby reservation Apaches was responsible for much of the serenity they enjoyed at a time when most ranchers in Arizona lived in constant fear for their lives and property.

“Laugh at me if you like, Meade, but I won’t rest easy until you’re back here in October.”

Meade sobered as he studied his sister’s worried countenance.

Thoughtfully he reached out and touched the medallion hanging from the turquoise and silver choker that encircled her throat. Four eagle feathers representing Case, Libby, and their two children were suspended from the medallion, which was carved with the symbol of the Thunder Eagle, Case’s guiding spirit. The necklace had been a gift from her husband, a legacy left to him by his parents, and Libby wore it only on special occasions.

“Libby, does your concern for me have anything to do with this?” he asked as he fingered the medallion. “Has Case had a vision about me?”

The question surprised Libby so much that she couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Why, Meade! I didn’t think you believed in Case’s visions.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly, then hesitated. “But I do have to admit that he sometimes has an uncanny ability to foretell coming events.”

“Like Geronimo’s outbreak?” she asked slyly, remembering the somewhat heated discussion Case and Meade had engaged in when her husband tried to warn her brother that the Chiricahua was stirring up trouble.

28

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Oh, well, that . . . that could probably be attributed to rumors he’d heard around the reservation.”

“Or a vision from the Thunder Eagle.”

Meade raised one eyebrow again. “Of the two explanations, I prefer the former.”

Libby laughed. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever known, but I do love you.”

She looked at him expectantly, as though innocently waiting for a new topic of conversation to crop up, and the small silence extended into a long one as Meade wrestled with his pride. Damn her, she was going to make him ask for it.

“Well? Has Case had a vision about me?” he finally demanded with a burst of disgust at his own curiosity and superstition.

“No,” she assured him with a smug chuckle.

“Would you tell me if he had?”

Libby thought it over. “Probably, though I doubt that Case would tell me if he foresaw some tragedy ahead for you. He would be far more likely to warn you directly.”

“I wonder about that,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said smoothly. “Nothing at all.”

The front door opened wide, spilling another patch of light onto the shadowy porch, and Case stepped into the doorway. “Cida’ké? I’m sorry to interrupt, but our guests are beginning to ask about you.” The tall, broad-shouldered Apache smiled at his brother-in-law. “And Miss Metcalf is organizing a scouting party to track you down.”

“Typical,” Meade muttered as Libby went to her husband and slipped her arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry I abandoned you, beloved. I’ll see to our guests while you talk to Meade.” She turned a pair of sparkling brown eyes on her brother. “I believe he has a question to ask you.” She stretched up, brushing her lips lightly against her husband’s, and Meade felt a swift stab of envy. He didn’t really believe in the kind of romantic love Case and Libby felt for each other, yet lately he found himself becoming more and more envious of their relationship.

Of course he rationalized the emotion by convincing himself that it had only to do with the kind of woman Libby was. She was truly a lady—a gentle, loving, nurturing spirit who seemed too fragile for this world, or any other.

Yet beneath that gentility lurked a core of iron, capable of withstanding the worst the world could throw at her. Case Longstreet was a very lucky man.

Meade had often reflected that if he had found a woman like his sister, he might have considered marriage despite his dislike of the institution. That 29

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

hadn’t happened yet, though, and it seemed unlikely that it ever would, since Libby was one of a kind.

She disappeared into the house, closing the door behind her, and Case joined his brother-in-law at the porch rail. “What did you want to ask me?”

Wild horses couldn’t have dragged his question about Case’s visions out of him this time. “Nothing. Libby was just teasing me.”

“She’s very concerned about you,” Case noted.

“I know. Frankly I’m concerned about her, too. Are you sure Libby and the children are going to be safe here, Case?” he asked bluntly. “Perhaps you should send her to Fort Apache until Geronimo is captured.”

“That’s not necessary,” Case replied with the certainty that never failed to irritate Meade. He was always so damned sure of himself. And most of the time he was right, which irritated Meade even more.

“How can you guarantee that?”

“Because Geronimo will not come back here for a very long time.”

“But what about the rumors that the Chiricahua who stayed behind will take to the warpath, too? If that happens, there could be trouble here.”

Case’s dark eyes met Meade’s. “I give you my word that no harm will ever come to Libby or our children.”

Meade didn’t see any way to argue with that. If anyone could live up to that promise, it was Case Longstreet. He glanced up at the shining silver-slipper moon on the horizon. “Do you have any predictions about what the future holds, Case?”

Case smiled into the darkness. “I’m not a soothsayer, Meade.”

He sighed irritably. “Is that a yes or a no?”

The Apache was silent for a long moment as he tried to decide how much, or how little, to tell his skeptical brother-in-law. The fact that he had asked the question was remarkable in itself, but Case knew that Meade didn’t really believe that a phantom Apache spirit sometimes visited him, showing him shadowy visions of the future. Case was hesitant to relate the visions he had experienced recently, but not because he feared Meade’s ridicule. Case simply didn’t understand them all himself, and until he did, he would never speak of them to anyone. Not even Libby.

There was one thing he could relate, though. “The Gray Fox is coming back,” he said finally.

Shocked, Meade turned toward him. “General Crook is being reassigned? When?”

“That I do not know,” Case replied. “But I believe it will be soon.”

Though he wanted very much to believe it was true, Meade found it difficult—not because it was one of Case’s visions, but because he didn’t credit the army with enough good sense to bring the general back. George Crook was 30

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

the only military man who had ever engineered any kind of meaningful peace with the Apaches. The Indians trusted him because he had proven himself a man of his word during his campaigns against them in the mid-1870’s. Had he been left in charge, Meade had no doubt that the Apache menace would have ceased to exist long ago.

Unfortunately the army had transferred him to the Department of the Platte to fight the Sioux in 1875, and the corrupt “Indian Ring” of bamboo-zlers and outright thieves had systematically destroyed what little confidence the Apache had in the word of the white man.

“I sincerely hope you’re right about that, Case. With Geronimo on the warpath, bringing Crook back would be the smartest thing the army ever did.”

He grinned at his brother-in-law. “You think they’ve got that much good sense?”

Meade was treated to one of Case’s rare laughs. The deep, melodious sound started deep inside him and overflowed into the night. “Frankly, my brother, I don’t,” he said with a smile once his laughter had subsided. “But I believe in my vision. Crook will return.”

“If he does, you know he’ll come to you,” Meade commented, his tone serious.

Case’s smile faded. “I no longer wish to scout for the army.”

“But will you be able to refuse the Gray Fox? He’s a very persuasive man, and he trusts you implicitly. You know as well as I that the first thing he’ll do is recruit Apache scouts for the campaign against Geronimo, and he’ll want you to lead them.”

“I’m a rancher now, not a soldier.” Case’s voice was very quiet as he added,

“And sometimes I am not even sure I am an Apache any longer.”

Meade allowed the comment to hang in the air. One of the things he respected most about his brother-in-law was his ability to walk the fine line between his Apache heritage and the white world he had chosen to live in.

For Libby’s sake, Meade didn’t even want to consider the possibility that Case would ever doubt the choices he’d made.

The fiddle music in the house seemed very far away as a companionable silence stretched out between the two men. Meade lit another cheroot, then offered one to Case, who refused it with a simple shake of his head. On Windwalk Mesa the mournful coyote bayed again.

“We should return to your party now,” Case said when the cheroot went sailing into the yard.

Meade nodded. “Yes. Libby probably has Drucilla hogtied to a chair.”

“That’s unlikely,” Case replied as they turned toward the door. “Libby is terrible with a lasso.”

It was Meade’s turn to laugh. Case’s quiet humor always caught him off guard. But he was in for another surprise, too. Just as he opened the door, Case stopped him by placing one hand on his arm.

31

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“In case you are wondering, brother, you will be returning to us unharmed in October.”

Meade didn’t bother denying that he’d been curious. “Thank you . . .

brother.”

Case’s normally stoic face was suddenly softened by a devilish grin. “But you will not be alone.”

With that, he disappeared into the house, leaving Meade to wonder just what the devil he meant. Case’s knowing smile troubled him a lot more than the prediction itself.

The campfire crackled and shifted, sending a shower of tiny golden sparks into the air. None of the braves at the Mescalero war council noticed. Calm voices and reasonable words had deserted them hours ago; now they shouted at one another and hurled insults. They made threats. One stalked off in anger, then returned minutes later, ready to take up the fight again.

The old ones, who had seen too many of their people destroyed, counseled for peace. The young ones, who were outraged by confinement to the reservation, wanted to join Geronimo on the warpath. Fed by the fuel of their rage, the young voices were much louder than the old ones—with one exception. Sun Hawk sat in the midst of the fray watching the others expend their wrath. His face was an impassive mask, but his dark eyes were alert to every move and gesture his Apache brothers made. He had spoken once, earlier, before the talk had decayed into a contest to see who could shout the loudest.

Now he was waiting until the time was right to speak again.

“How long must our children go hungry because there is not enough food?” Dull Knife asked, his voice raised with the passion of his oratory. The guttural traits of the Apache language made him sound all the more fierce.

“When the White Eyes told us we must live in this valley and nowhere else, we believed their promises to give us blankets, horses, and beef! They robbed us of our right to feed and clothe ourselves, but do they keep their promises?

No! They give us one steer to feed a family of twenty for a month!”

“And how many beeves will Geronimo give us?” one of the elders asked.

“Enough to feed our families, Grandfather!” Dull Knife said, though the old man was not related to him. He used the term only as a token, since it was considered an insult to use an Apache’s name when addressing him.

Klo’sen shook his head. “I do not think so. Even now the horse soldiers are hunting him like an animal. They will chase him and his people into the mountains—”

“But they will never find him!” Dull Knife insisted.

“Perhaps, but Geronimo will not find cattle in the mountains, either. The deer he kills will be barely enough to feed those who follow him now. His 32

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

women will not be able to gather juniper berries or harvest the mescal. His children will go hungry, too, and for what?”

“For freedom!” Dull Knife shouted.

“At what price?”

The hot-headed brave leapt to his feet and glared down at the old man.

“At least he is a warrior, not an old woman.”

Sun Hawk could be silent no longer. “Enough, cousin,” he said quietly as he rose and faced the would-be renegade. His height and the breadth of his shoulders gave him an advantage over the other brave, but Dull Knife did not back away. “You will not speak to our grandfather with disrespect. The battles he has led have brought glory to our people. He deserves better from you.”

“That was long ago,” Dull Knife replied, unintimidated by the reminder that the others regarded his distant cousin with great respect. “He has forgotten—”

“He has forgotten nothing,” Sun Hawk said forcefully, but still he did not raise his voice. When he turned and surveyed the faces around the fire, everyone including Dull Knife fell silent. “Listen to me, and mark the words well, my friends. To follow Geronimo would be madness. Once our people numbered in the thousands. We hunted buffalo and traded blankets for horses with our sometime friends, the Sioux. Our hunting grounds stretched farther than an old man could walk in a year.

“But now”—his voice took on a haunting sadness—”now we are only a few hundred, and I could run the length of our land between the rising and setting of the sun.”

Dull Knife smiled triumphantly. “What better reason do we need to join Geronimo?”

“It will change nothing for the good,” Sun Hawk replied calmly. “If we follow the way of the Chiricahua, we will no longer be Mescalero. Too many of our people will die, and what little land we have now will be taken from us.

For the sake of our children, we must not fight.”

Dull Knife spit on the ground at Sun Hawk’s feet. “What do you know of our children, Iya’itsa? You have none to awaken you in the night with their tears of hunger, and you allowed your own to die unavenged.”

A gasp of shock went around the fire, and a shadow of sadness passed over Sun Hawk’s face before it hardened into stone. “You go too far, cousin,” he said, his quiet tone edged with steel.

“He is right, Dull Knife,” Klo’sen said, deliberately insulting the young brave by using his name. “We do not speak of the dead, nor do we remind the living of the pain they have suffered. Leave the council. We no longer wish to hear your words.”

33

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“I will not leave!” Dull Knife shouted in outrage, but when he looked to the other men in the council for support, he found no one willing to meet his eyes. Even his friends who believed as he did would not look at him.

Only Naka’yen, the oldest and most revered of the Mescalero chiefs, met his intense gaze, but support was not on the old chief’s mind. “Go, Dull Knife.

Return when your blood is not so hot that it clouds your mind, and hope that your cousin will forgive you.”

Shame and anger warred within the young brave, and after a moment he whirled away from the fire and disappeared into the night. With the most outspoken dissenter gone, the war council ended soon after. Though many still believed they should join Geronimo, all agreed to abide by the decision of the elders.

As the others dispersed into the night, Naka’yen stood and looked with pride at Sun Hawk, his youngest child, who was a child no more. He was a great medicine chief who would in all likelihood lead their band when Naka’yen no longer walked the earth. “You spoke well tonight, my son. I am proud of you.”

“I spoke what was in my heart, Father,” Sun Hawk replied. “I have no more reason than Dull Knife to trust the white man’s promises, but following Geronimo will not help our people.” The shadow of sadness passed over his face again. “Or feed our hungry children,” he added quietly.

Naka’yen ached for him—and for himself. The wife and two sons Sun Hawk had lost had been a part of Naka’yen, too. “You have the right to challenge Dull Knife for the thing he said to you,” the old man said softly. “Some might even say it is your duty.”

Sun Hawk’s eyes were as black as the night as he looked at the old chieftain. “Father, when it becomes my duty to kill one of my Apache brothers, I will no longer be an Apache.”

He turned away from the fire and became one with the darkness.

34

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

3

Meade had almost forgotten what civilization looked like—and felt like. Santa Fe wasn’t as cosmopolitan as Washington or the other eastern cities where he’d lived in his younger years, but compared to Fort Apache, it was sheer heaven. It was a charm-ing old city with the Military Department of New Mexico sitting squarely in the middle. Fort Marcy itself stood on a hill overlooking the town, but Meade’s assignment placed him in the Military Headquarters. His quarters were on Grant Street less than a block away from the finest hospital in the southwestern territories, and there were excellent restaurants, gaming halls, and a new opera house within walking distance of the post.

In the three months he’d been in Santa Fe he had put each of those amenities to the best possible use. He’d been out on brief details with two cavalry companies, but both assignments had consisted of nothing more than escort-ing visiting dignitaries to the elegant Montezuma Hot Springs Hotel near Las Vegas. Since there had been no Indian trouble in that area since the Pueblo uprising several decades ago, the details had been less than hazardous.

Meade was far from bored by the lack of official duties. He had made good use of his time by persuading General Whitlock, commander of the 35

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Department of New Mexico, to allow him to teach a class on new surgical techniques to the hospital staff.

Having just completed one such lecture, he left the hospital and paused a moment to consider his options. He had been considering walking down to the Palace Hotel for supper, but the late afternoon heat made the very thought intolerable. Captain Manlove and his wife were hosting a card party later in the evening . . . That was a possibility. The Manloves were pleasant enough, and there was always a last-minute need for a fourth at whist.

Then again, he could always—

“Major Ashford! There you are, sir.” Colonel Collingswood’s young aide-de-camp hurried out the hospital door and offered him a brisk salute. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, sir,” he said pleasantly as soon as Meade had returned the salute. He seemed slightly out of breath. “It’s a big hospital.”

“That it is, Lieutenant . . . Bascomb, isn’t it?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Well, now that I’ve led you on a merry chase, what can I do for you, Bascomb?”

The fresh-faced officer pulled a folded sheet of parchment from his coat and handed it to Meade. “The colonel requested that I deliver this to you.

New orders, I believe, sir.”

So much for my daily lectures, Meade thought as he opened the directive, which was nothing more than a request for him to attend the colonel immediately. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Any idea what those new orders might be?” he asked, though he thought it unlikely that the officer would tell him, even if he knew.

“None, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.”

“Of course, Lieutenant. You are dismissed.”

Bascomb hurried off, most likely to deliver another message like the one he’d given to Meade.

Knowing it was pointless to speculate on the new detail to which he was about to be assigned, Meade turned down Grant Street past his own quarters and then moved along the edge of the parade grounds to post headquarters.

Several minutes later he was ushered into Colonel Collingswood’s office.

The colonel was a brisk, no-nonsense fellow with graying muttonchops that added to the already considerable width of his face. Privately Meade considered him a pompous ass, and though he kept the opinion to himself, he knew others who were less discreet in voicing similar opinions.

They went through the ritual amenities; then the colonel got right down to business. “Major, I want you to make ready to depart tomorrow at dawn. We have finally received authorization to move against the Mescalero. You’ll be attached to Company B and will take your orders from Captain Greenleigh.”

36

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

It was everything Meade could do to keep from groaning. If Collingswood was an old pompous ass, Greenleigh was a young one. In Meade’s mind, that was much worse. At least Collingswood was a seasoned soldier whose experience could sometimes be counted upon to keep him from making foolish decisions. But only sometimes. Greenleigh was just plain arrogant.

“Yes, sir,” Meade said, trying not to grit his teeth. “May I ask a question, though?”

“Of course.”

“I was under the impression that the Mescalero were living peacefully on their reservation. Has there been an outbreak of violence?”

“No, no, no,” the colonel said irritably, plucking at his muttonchops.

“There are a few agitators on the reservation, but so far old Naka’yen and his son have kept their people in line.”

“Then why are we moving against them? Sir,” he added quickly.

“It’s not the reservation Mescalero we’re concerned with, Major. For a number of years now we’ve been receiving citizen complaints about a large group of Apaches who have been working on a ranch south of Albuquerque.

General Whitlock has finally decided that it would be prudent to incarcerate them with their fellow Mescaleros on the reservation.”

His smug expression and the way he emphasized “finally” led Meade to conclude that Collingswood had been lobbying for this action for some time.

It didn’t make much sense to Meade. “Have they made any trouble, sir?”

“They’re Apaches, Major. That alone makes them trouble,” the colonel replied, giving him a withering look that might have sent a lesser man scurrying for the door. “Of course, your perspective may be a little different, Ashford. Your sister is married to one of them, isn’t she?”

“That’s right, sir,” Meade said pleasantly, though inside he was seething.

“And I’m happy to say that my brother-in-law is one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”

Collingswood clearly wasn’t impressed. “How fortunate for you. Have you any other questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. You will accompany Captain Greenleigh and subdue the Mescaleros. Offer any medical assistance to the hostiles that may be necessary, but in the event that they resist, I trust you will remember that tending to our own wounded men comes first?”

The sarcastic question went through Meade like a hot poker. “Having served for eight years in the Apache war theater, Colonel, I can assure you that I know my duty.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

37

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Meade offered a brisk salute and departed quickly, reminding himself that in three months he’d never have to smile at another pompous ass for as long as he lived.

After hours of standing in the miserable July sun, the shade offered by the cottonwood looked like heaven to the Templetons. Rayna had been eyeing it covetously through most of the last maiden ceremony ritual, and as soon as Mary Long Horn disappeared into her lodge to rest, Rayna tried to usher her mother and father toward the tree. Raymond hung back, engaging in conversation with Consayka and several other Mescalero ranch hands, but Collie and Rayna headed directly for the shade.

They were only midway through the third day of the ceremony, and though Rayna had done very little but watch, she was exhausted. For Skylar’s sake she had been on hand for every ritual from sunup to sundown, and tomorrow she would do her best to stay awake during the final event, a dance that would last all night long. She had attended other maiden ceremonies, but only in bits and pieces because Skylar had not been a major participant in those events. Since this was such a special occasion for her sister, Rayna felt it was important to support her.

At least once a day Collie also came out to watch the ceremony. For the past two nights she and Rayna had given Raymond an account of the rituals his daughter was participating in, and he had decided this morning that he would attend, too. Had it not been for the intense heat, they all would have been enjoying themselves tremendously, but Rayna could tell that her parents were getting tired. She couldn’t imagine how Skylar was going to survive the ordeal; yet from all outward appearances, she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

“How much longer today, dear?” Collie asked as they settled onto a blanket under the cottonwood.

Rayna spread her skirt out around her, leaving her ankles exposed, then unpinned her wide-brimmed straw bonnet and used it to fan herself.

Neither effort cooled her off even a little. “If I remember Sky’s description correctly, there’s only one more song this afternoon. Then there will be feasting until sunset.”

Collie’s smile was strained as she closed her parasol and laid it aside. “Do you think Skylar would be very upset if Raymond and I skipped the feast?”

She glanced at her husband, and her smile faded altogether. “I don’t like your father’s coloring, Rayna. He would never admit it, but he hasn’t been feeling well lately. I think I should get him out of this sun.”

Though Rayna had always viewed her robust father as invulnerable, she had to agree with Collie. He hadn’t been looking well for quite some time, 38

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

and she was beginning to worry. “Mother, if you and Papa want to leave now, I’m sure Skylar would understand. Having you here has meant a lot to her, but she wouldn’t want either of you to suffer.”

“Then I think we’ll ride on back to the house. I’ll have one of the hands bring the buggy back for you.”

“Oh, don’t bother with that. I can walk.”

Collie patted Rayna’s arm in her most motherly fashion. “Not in this heat, dear.”

Rayna was too hot to argue. She glanced around, looking for her father, and was surprised to see Skylar coming toward them. Though this was the third day Rayna had seen her sister in her ceremonial dress, she was struck again by how beautiful Skylar looked in her costume. As Mary Long Horn’s attendant, she wore a buckskin dress very similar to the celebrant’s. The waist-length cape and calf-length skirt had been tanned and bleached in the sun until they were nearly snow white. Layers of fringe adorned with tin cones and beads hung from the waist of the cape and down the sleeves, and the fringe of the skirt dangled to the tops of her beaded moccasins.

As she walked, the fringe swayed gently, creating swirls of motion around her. Her unbound hair hung to her waist, adorned only by a single feather that had been braided into her hair so that it fell onto her right shoulder.

What had surprised Rayna most about her appearance was that she had also donned the necklace she had made years ago. The bone, silver beads, and turquoise choker fit her throat snugly, and the crudely carved Thunder Eagle medallion that hung down between her breasts swayed lightly as she walked.

Whatever its significance to her, whether real or imagined, it was a lovely adornment. In this native costume, Skylar was stunningly beautiful. She was also thoroughly Apache.

The strained smile on Collie’s face told Rayna that her mother was thinking the same thoughts. “Is something wrong?” Rayna asked as Skylar knelt on the blanket in front of them. “I didn’t think you were supposed to leave Mary’s side.”

“White Painted Woman is resting,” Skylar said, careful to follow the pro-scription that during the ceremony Mary be referred to only as the Apache deity she represented for these four days. Skylar looked at her mother. “I am concerned about you and Father. I know that you came to show your support of me, and that means more than you can ever know. You mustn’t feel obligated to stay, though. It’s much too hot to stand in the sun all afternoon.”

Collie reached out and brushed a lock of hair over her daughter’s shoulder.

“It’s hot for you, too, dear.”

A radiant smile lit Skylar’s face. “I’ve hardly noticed the heat, Mother.

Attending White Painted Woman has kept me too busy. And besides”—she gestured toward a tall ceremonial lodge that was open at the bottom but cov-39

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

ered with brush and yucca leaves at the top—”I spend most of my time in the shade. You and Father are suffering far more than I.”

“What about me?” Rayna asked, affecting a teasing pout. “Don’t I get any credit for suffering, too?”

Skylar laughed and took her sister’s hand. “Not a bit. If you weren’t here, you’d be out scouting the herd, and you wouldn’t feel the heat, either.” Her look of gratitude was enough to tell Rayna that Skylar understood why she was here and that she appreciated the sacrifice.

“Actually, dear, I was thinking of taking your father home after the next ritual,” Collie said.

“Good. He doesn’t look well.” Skylar glanced around. “If you can drag him away from Consayka, you should take him home immediately.”

“Thank you, dear. I believe I will.”

“I should be getting back now,” Skylar said. As she rose, she glanced in the direction of the house, barely visible in the distance, and she frowned. “What is that, I wonder?”

Collie twisted around and Rayna stood. A cloud of dust was rising out of one of the shallow flats between the Mescalero encampment and the hacienda. A murmur of voices nearer to the ceremonial grounds suggested that the Templetons were not the only ones to notice the phenomenon.

“Looks like company’s coming,” Raymond said as he joined his family under the cottonwood. A moment later that prediction was borne out as two flags appeared on the rise, announcing the arrival of a long column of cavalry troops.

“What the devil are they doing here?” Rayna muttered.

Collie chided Rayna for her language, and Skylar glanced nervously behind her at the cluster of Mescaleros who were gathering near the ceremonial lodge. “I must get back to White Painted Woman.” She placed one hand on her father’s arm, drawing his attention down to her. “You won’t let them disrupt the ceremony, will you, Papa?”

Raymond wrapped one arm around his daughter and gave her an encouraging hug. “Of course not, princess. Don’t you worry about a thing. They probably just want to ask permission to make camp nearby.”

Wanting to believe it was that simple, Skylar hurried off, the cones on her dress tinkling lightly as she walked.

As the cavalry drew closer, Rayna spotted Gil Rodriguez riding alongside the officers at the head of the queue. That made sense, since Gil would have been on hand to greet them when they arrived at the hacienda. He had undoubtedly offered to take them to Raymond, but if they only wanted permission to camp on Rancho Verde land, why hadn’t the officer in charge come out here alone? Why bring his hot, dusty troops along?

40

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Whether their slow pace was a concession to the heat or a sign of the lack of urgency, Rayna couldn’t have guessed, but it seemed to take them forever to arrive.

As they drew close, Raymond finally stepped out of the shade to greet them, and though Collie hung back a few paces, Rayna was right at her father’s side.

At the head of the column, Meade Ashford studied the scene before him with dread. He had disliked this detail from the moment he had been assigned to it three days ago, and what he saw now made him detest it all the more. A man was coming toward them with an attractive young woman at his side and another lady slightly behind. All three were tall and fair-haired with complex-ions more suited to Nordic winters than to desert summers. They looked like a pleasant family out for an afternoon picnic.

The fact that they had permitted a group of Apaches to live and work on their land indicated that they had some attachment to the Mescalero the cavalry was about to incarcerate. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant confrontation for anyone, with the possible exception of Robert Greenleigh. In Meade’s opinion, the captain was displaying far too much relish for the task at hand.

His intolerance of all Apaches, friend or foe, was well known, and Meade was certain he couldn’t be counted on to bend an inch.

The ranch foreman, Rodriguez, had said the Mescalero were engaged in some sort of ritual, and from the looks of things, Meade guessed that it was a maiden ceremony. Over the years, Libby had coerced him into attending a number of Apache rites, and the maiden ceremony had been his first. It wasn’t one of his fondest memories, but neither was it something he was likely to forget.

Looking beyond the man and two women near the cottonwood, Meade studied the cluster of Mescaleros near the ceremonial grounds. A maiden ceremony indicated the presence of a teenaged girl, but Meade was struck immediately by the noticeable absence of young children. Usually they were everywhere at events like this. The Indians he saw were mostly old men and women, and a few middle-aged couples.

These were the Apache he’d been sent to subdue? It was absurd. These people weren’t about to make trouble for anyone.

Captain Greenleigh, whose pomaded muttonchops and bushy mustache had long since wilted in the heat, gave a signal to the sergeant behind him, and the troops came to a halt a short distance from their welcoming party.

“Mr. Raymond Templeton?”

“That’s right, Captain,” Raymond said cautiously.

“Mr. Templeton, I am Captain Robert Greenleigh, and this is Major Meade Ashford of the One Hundred-fortieth Regiment of the United States Cavalry.”

“Gentlemen,” Raymond said with a nod. “My wife, Colleen, and my daughter, Rayna.”

41

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Both officers touched their hats in acknowledgment of the ladies, then dismounted. As they came off their horses, Rayna noticed the gold oak leaves on the shoulder of the second officer and wondered why a major would allow a subordinate to do the talking. They handed their reins to a waiting sergeant and stepped forward.

Meade removed his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir, ladies. We apologize for the interruption.” He gestured toward the brush-covered lodge. “This is a maiden ceremony in progress, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Rayna replied, surprised by his knowledge. “How did you know?”

“I recognized the maiden lodge and some of the other accoutrements,”

Meade replied, looking at her closely for the first time. She wasn’t quite as young as he’d first thought, but she was even more attractive. She was, in fact, quite beautiful. Her simple skirt and shirtwaist highlighted a trim but well-curved figure, and delectable wisps of her upswept blond hair clung damply to her face, framing her lightly tanned skin and arresting blue eyes.

“You’ve seen this Mescalero ceremony before?” she asked.

“No,” Meade replied. “My knowledge of Apache rituals comes chiefly from the White Mountain tribes. The similarity is inescapable, though.”

Since the moment she had seen them approaching, Rayna had been gripped by a feeling of impending disaster, but this courteous, knowledgeable officer gave her hope that nothing was amiss. He was considerably older than the captain, but he appeared far more approachable than the arrogant, wooden-faced officer at his side, who seemed irritated and impatient with the exchange of pleasantries.

Major Ashford was also much more handsome than the captain, Rayna noted in a purely analytical manner. His face, lacking a fashionable mustache or beard, had a rugged quality to it that appealed to her—as did his eyes.

There was an innate kindness in them.

The tiny caduceus on the choke collar of his tunic indicated that he was a physician and, as such, was only an addendum to the military detail rather than an important part of the command structure. That explained why the captain appeared to be in charge.

“Our friends are preparing for the next ritual,” she informed the major. “It is Cane Set Out, I believe. You’re more than welcome to watch, gentlemen.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Templeton, but that won’t be possible,”

Greenleigh said tersely, darting an irritated glance at Meade.

“Then what can we do for you, Major Ashford?” Raymond asked.

“We’re here about these Mescaleros,” Greenleigh said, drawing the attention back to himself. Clearly he didn’t want anyone attaching importance to the presence of a superior officer.

“What about them?” Raymond asked.

42

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Greenleigh dug into his tunic and produced a packet of papers. “By the order of General Samuel Whitlock, commander of the Department of New Mexico, I have been instructed to round up these Apaches and transport them directly to the Mescalero reservation.”

Rayna’s feeling of dread blossomed into fear. Skylar would be devastated if they took her friends away. “You can’t be serious,” she said as her father reached for the official documents. “These Indians have been living peacefully on Rancho Verde for three-quarters of a century.”

“That oversight is about to be corrected, Miss Templeton,” Greenleigh said haughtily, as though he didn’t wish to be bothered speaking with a woman.

“Over my dead body,” Rayna replied hotly, incensed by his condescending attitude.

“Rayna, please. I’ll handle this,” Raymond said softly. He glanced through the papers, then handed them back to the captain. “These seem to be in order, but frankly I don’t understand why such a drastic action is being undertaken, Captain Greenleigh. The Mescaleros you see here are no threat to anyone.

They never have been.”

“That is a matter of opinion, sir. Your neighbors see things quite differently. Having these Apaches free to roam the country is a source of concern to all of the settlers in these parts, and they have a right to expect the army to deal with the problem.”

“But there is no problem!”

“General Whitlock feels differently. What with Geronimo on the warpath—”

Rayna could be silent no longer. “Geronimo is in Mexico, and even if he were camped on the outskirts of Albuquerque, it wouldn’t have anything to do with these Indians.”

“There is concern that they may be abetting the renegade.”

“Or, for God’s sake, Captain, how could they possibly be giving aid to a man who is several hundred miles away?”

Greenleigh sighed heavily. “Miss Templeton, I have no desire to debate this issue with you. We are here to subdue the Mescalero and take them to the reservation.”

“Subdue!”

“Rayna, that’s enough,” Raymond said sternly.

If the situation hadn’t been so dismally serious, Meade might have laughed. Miss Templeton was not at all the demure young lady she had appeared to be at first glance, and she seemed more than adequate to the task of bringing Greenleigh down a peg or two. Despite her father’s warning, she showed no sign of calming herself.

“No, Papa, it is not enough,” she argued, though her angry glare never left Greenleigh. “Captain, these people do not need to be subdued. They are house 43

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

servants and ranch hands! Most of them have never even lived among their own people. You can’t uproot them from the only home they’ve ever known!”

“I can, and I intend to, Miss Templeton.” He looked at Raymond. “I see no reason for further discussion of this, sir. We will give the Mescaleros one hour to collect whatever belongings they might need, and then we will move out.”

“Now, just a—”

Greenleigh overrode Raymond’s protest. “Do you have someone who can act as an interpreter to explain to them, or would you prefer our interpreter break the news to them?”

“They speak English,” Rayna said viciously, spitting out every word. “And most of them probably read the language better than you do, you ignorant clod!”

This time the captain didn’t look at her. “Mr. Templeton, will you control your daughter, please?”

Meade had finally had about all he could stand. “That’s enough, Captain.

We’re not here to bully these civilians—or the Mescalero, for that matter.”

“Then do something to stop this,” Rayna snapped.

Greenleigh clenched his hands into fists. “Major Ashford is—”

“Major Ashford is perfectly capable of speaking for himself, Captain,”

Meade said briskly. He took a step toward the Templetons, but his gaze was on Rayna. “I am sorry to say, miss, that while I disagree with this action, there is nothing I can do to stop it. General Whitlock’s orders are very specific, and irrevocable. I’m sorry.”

Raymond knew a reasonable man when he saw one, and he was grateful.

“Major, is there anything in those orders that would make it possible for you to delay this action long enough for me to get to Santa Fe and talk to Whitlock? I’ve met the general a number of times, and I feel certain that if I could speak with him personally we could clear this matter up.”

Meade hesitated. If it had been up to him, he would gladly have given Templeton the time he needed, but it wasn’t. Greenleigh jumped in at once to make that clear. “Major Ashford is not in charge of this detail, Mr.

Templeton. He is a surgeon, here only to render whatever medical assistance might be necessary.”

“Expecting a lot of casualties, are you?” Rayna asked Meade sarcastically, cutting him dead with a killing glance.

“Rayna, be still,” Raymond ordered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Major Ashford is on our side.”

“Yes, but he isn’t doing anything constructive, is he?” she asked, too angered by the injustice of it all to distinguish between friend and foe. “You can spout all the pleasantries you want to, Major, but unless you can take action to stop this, you’re just as bad as he is,” she said with a jerk of her head toward Greenleigh.

44

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Meade stiffened. Being lumped into the same category with officers like Greenleigh didn’t sit too well. Still, he couldn’t blame the lady for her opinion. “I’m sure that’s how it must appear to you, Miss Templeton.” He looked at his companion. “I’d like a word with you, Captain. Will you excuse us?” he asked the Templetons, then turned on his heel and walked toward the horses.

Though it obviously galled Greenleigh, he didn’t have any choice but to obey this particular request of his superior officer. “Yes, Major?”

“I want you to consider granting Mr. Templeton’s request,” Meade said.

“Give him time to speak with Whitlock.”

“My orders are specific, Major, and I have no intention of disobeying them.”

“Damn it, Robert, I’m asking for latitude, not disobedience. For the love of God, look at those people,” he said, pointing toward the Mescalero. “Those old men and women are no more of a threat to this territory than I am.”

“They’re Apaches,” Greenleigh argued. “Are you forgetting that Chief Nana was nearly ninety years old when he went on the warpath last year? He and his braves butchered dozens of innocent citizens, and I don’t blame General Whitlock one bit for incarcerating these Mescalero, regardless of their age. I wouldn’t want their depredations on my head, either.”

“Be sensible, Robert.”

“I am, sir,” he said, using the most sarcastic tone he dared. “It is you who are out of line here. If I may respectfully remind you, this is my detail, and you have no right to interfere. I will not hold my men over while Templeton puts his suit to the general. I consider that the end of this discussion.”

With a brisk salute, he turned away and rejoined the Templetons. Feeling as thoroughly ineffectual as Miss Templeton had accused him of being, Meade followed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Greenleigh said to Raymond, “but my orders do not allow for the type of latitude you requested. These Indians have one hour to collect their belongings and be ready to move out, or we will take them forcibly.

Now, sir, do you want to tell them, or shall I?”

“I will,” Raymond said after a moment.

“Papa!” Rayna whirled toward him and discovered that her father had aged a dozen years in a single, telling second. The sight of him nearly broke her heart.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said quietly, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Short of fighting the U.S. Cavalry, there’s not a damned thing we can do for now. I’ll be on the next train to Santa Fe, and we’ll get the Mescalero back, but in the meantime, Consayka’s people are going to have to go.”

“You know what this is going to do to Skylar, don’t you?” she asked, gentling her voice. “Consayka’s people are like family to her. Almost as much as we are.”

45

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“I know that, honey. I just don’t see any other way.” His face paled as he glanced over her shoulder. “I’d better tell Consayka, although I suspect he’s already figured it out by now.”

“I’ll go with you, dear,” Collie said, stepping closer to his side, her face deeply etched with concern.

“Your father has made a wise decision,” Greenleigh told Rayna arrogantly.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You don’t know anything about my father or me or these people you’re treating like a herd of cattle.”

“That is quite true, and quite regrettable,” Meade said. “For whatever it’s worth, Miss Templeton, I can assure you that your friends will be well cared for on the journey. I’ll see to that personally.”

Rayna wasn’t comforted. “Oh, really? Did you bring army ambulances to transport them in?” she asked, looking down the rank and file to the two wagons that brought up the rear. One was a chuck wagon, and the other appeared to be loaded to the brim with supplies.

“Of course not,” Greenleigh replied. “They will walk.”

“You would make those old men and women walk a hundred miles in this heat?” she asked, aghast. “That’s inhuman.”

“They’re Apaches,” the captain said negligently, as though that explained everything.

Rayna stepped closer to him, and Meade realized that she was really quite tall for a woman. She was nearly able to meet Greenleigh eye to eye. “You, sir, are a bastard,” she said, shocking both officers. She turned on her heel and called to the foreman. “Gil, get back to the house. Hitch up both of our supply wagons and see if you can rig some sort of canvas covering for one of them. And have Consuelo throw together some food supplies—as much as she can manage in what little time we have.”

Meade wasn’t surprised that the foreman didn’t question the order or the young lady’s authority to issue it. She was obviously a strong-willed hellion who was accustomed to getting her own way. Though Meade sym-pathized with her predicament, his initial attitude toward her had changed somewhat during her heated exchange with Greenleigh. At first she had reminded him of his sister, whose outspokenness was something Meade had learned to live with—and occasionally enjoy. But unlike Libby, who was a lady through and through, Miss Templeton was a little too outspoken for Meade’s taste.

Still, he felt obligated to give her what little reassurance he could. When she stalked away, heading toward the ceremonial grounds, he hurried to catch up with her. “Miss Templeton?”

She stopped and turned, her expression impatient. “What?”

“Your loan of transportation is very generous.”

46

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Well, it’s kind of you to say so, Major, but I’m not lending you the wagons,” she responded scornfully. “They’re for Consayka and his people.”

Meade was getting a little fed up with her hostility. “I understand that, miss. I just wanted to assure you that I will take personal responsibility for seeing that the wagons and teams are returned.”

“That’s very reassuring, Major . . . Ashford, isn’t it? Forgive me if I don’t go down on my knees in thanks.”

He stiffened. “No thanks are necessary,” he said tightly. “I’m just doing my duty.”

Rayna gave him a thoroughly insincere smile. “And you’re doing it admirably, too.” The smile disappeared. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to speak with my sister. This is going to devastate her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that.”

She whirled away, and Meade cleared his throat, fighting down a surge of anger. In the space of thirty minutes, Miss Rayna Templeton had gone from attractive to outspoken to offensive to downright infuriating.

He turned and came face to face with Greenleigh, whose smug expression suggested that he’d heard the exchange. “So much for trying to do a good deed, eh, Major? These Indian-lovers are all alike. If they think so highly of the Apache, they ought to go live on the reserve, too.”

Meade took a step closer to the captain, but unlike Rayna, he was able to look down at the obnoxious ass. “The lady is right, Robert. You really are a bastard.”

47

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

4

By the time Rayna arrived at the maiden lodge that had been constructed for White Painted Woman, Skylar was standing just outside, waiting for her. The other Mescalero were still deep in discussion with Raymond.

“Rayna, what’s happening?” Skylar asked, her voice tinged with desperation. “I saw you and Papa arguing with the officers.”

“I’m so sorry, Sky.” Rayna took her sister’s hands. “We couldn’t stop them.”

Skylar’s jaw stiffened with the twin emotions of grief and fear. “The soldiers have come to take Consayka’s people, haven’t they?”

Rayna nodded. “Yes. Apparently Ben Martinez and our other good neighbors succeeded in convincing the military that the Rancho Verde Mescaleros are a threat to everyone’s safety,” she said with disgust. “Papa is going up to Santa Fe to see what he can do about getting them back, but for now we have no choice but to let them be taken to the reservation.” She went on to explain her orders that would supply the Rancho Verde Mescaleros with wagons and food.

“This is so unfair,” Skylar said. “These people have done nothing wrong.

They’re decent and hardworking.”

48

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“And they’re your friends,” Rayna added softly.

Skylar nodded mutely, trying to fight back the tears burning her eyes.

“There’s nothing I can do to stop this, is there?” she asked after a moment.

“No.”

“Perhaps if I went with Papa to Santa Fe?” she suggested hopefully.

Rayna smiled. Skylar was gentle and tenderhearted, but there was nothing weak about her. In her own quiet way she was every bit as much of a fighter as Rayna. “That’s an excellent idea. In fact, I’ll go, too. Faced with all three of us, General Whitlock won’t stand a chance.”

Skylar actually managed a smile, but it faded quickly. “I’d better tell Mary what’s happening, and help her and the others prepare for the trip.”

“You’d better hurry,” Rayna advised. “We don’t have much time.”

“Why don’t you go to Gatana and see what you can do to help her. I’ll take care of Mary.”

The girls separated, and as Rayna skirted the ceremonial grounds she noticed that Consayka was now talking to Greenleigh, but even from a distance she could tell he was having no luck changing the officer’s narrow mind.

The women were hurrying toward their lodges, but some of the ranch hands were still clustered together, deep in conversation.

Were they thinking of trying to escape? she wondered. The younger ones could disperse and disappear before the cavalry knew what was happening, but would they leave the old ones? Rayna doubted it. They had too much honor to desert their elders, leaving them to the privation of the difficult journey and life on the reservation. It would be up to them to provide for and protect the old ones, and Rayna couldn’t believe they would shirk their duty.

And besides, Raymond had undoubtedly promised them that he would do everything he could to effect their release. They had good reason to trust him, but the grim looks on their faces told Rayna they had little hope that he would succeed.

An eerie silence had settled over the encampment, and as Rayna tried to help the Mescalero women prepare for the journey, she saw a kind of sad bewilderment and resignation in the old faces and deeply burning anger in the younger ones. Only Tsa’kata seemed unsurprised by the tragic turn of events.

Her ancient eyes held a spark of fire that betrayed her dislike of all whites, even the ones she had lived among most of her life.

As the shock began to wear off and the deadline grew nearer, the unearthly quiet of the camp turned into utter confusion. The Mescalero began bringing their belongings to an area Captain Greenleigh had designated. Gil returned with the wagons, one shaded by a canvas canopy, the other heavily laden with supplies.

49

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

The captain had deployed his men so that they formed a semicircular perimeter around part of the camp, and several soldiers had gathered near the wagons to “assist” the Apaches. All of the ranch hands had their own horses, and there had been a brief disagreement over whether they would be allowed to take the animals with them. At Meade’s insistence, Greenleigh had finally relented on this one point, and the men had gone off under heavy cavalry escort to collect their animals from the corral behind the encampment.

The tepees were stripped of their outer coverings, and by the time the deadline expired, the Mescalero camp looked like a barren valley littered with the bleached bones of some prehistoric animal. The soldiers grew impatient with their slow-moving captives and began throwing their bundles unceremoniously into the supply wagon. When the braves finally returned, mounted on their horses, the soldiers herded the women toward the canopied wagon.

Rayna was too angry to even consider crying as she helped Gatana climb into the wagon, but next to her, Skylar was valiantly fighting the crippling weight of her emotions. Mary Long Horn was weeping openly as the two Apache women embraced, and the tears were nearly Skylar’s undoing.

“Everything will be fine, Mary,” Skylar promised, stroking the young girl’s hair. “You’ll be back here soon.”

“I do not think so,” Mary replied, raising her head from Skylar’s shoulder.

“I will never see you or my home again.”

“You mustn’t say that,” Skylar told her sternly. “You must be strong.”

Lapsing easily into Apache, Skylar told the girl it was her responsibility to help care for the old ones.

Though Rayna understood little of what her sister said, she was amazed at the transformation in Mary as pride overcame her fear.

“Come on, squaws, get in,” one of the troopers said gruffly, giving Mary a shove that nearly sent both her and Skylar stumbling into the wagon gate.

Outraged, Rayna shouldered her way between her sister and the soldier, forcing him back a step. “Stop that! There’s no reason for brutality. She’s just a frightened young girl!”

“Sorry, miss, but I got orders to get these squaws loaded so’s we can pull out, and that’s just what I’m gonna do.”

“Then do it without pushing anyone around,” Rayna snapped.

“It’s all right, Miss Rayna,” Mary said quickly. “I’m ready to go.”

With Skylar’s help she scrambled into the wagon and Rayna stepped back, looking around. Mary was the last. The braves were mounted, and all the women were in the wagon. Raymond and Collie were some distance away conversing with Captain Greenleigh and Major Ashford, and from their ges-50

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

tures, Rayna guessed that her father was making one final attempt to change Greenleigh’s mind. He didn’t appear to be having any success. Nothing was going to stop this travesty.

“Rayna, I have to speak with Consayka,” Skylar said, moving toward her sister.

But the trooper’s patience was gone. “Oh, no, you don’t, squaw,” he said, grabbing her arm as she moved past him. “There’s been enough lollygagging.

Into the wagon, now!”

“What?” Skylar gasped, straining against his rough grasp as Rayna whirled toward them.

“You heard me, squaw. Get in the wagon.”

Incensed, Rayna flew toward the trooper and gave him a stout shove that sent him stumbling back a pace just as Skylar wrenched her arm away. Her ceremonial dress tore at the shoulder, and the trooper was left with a handful of beaded fringe.

“You keep your filthy hands off her, soldier!” Rayna said hotly, stepping between them.

Disgusted, the trooper hurled the buckskin fringe away and made another grab for Skylar. “I got my orders, miss.”

“Your orders don’t include my sister!” She brought her fist down hard on his hand and rammed her elbow into his ample midsection. He buckled over with a soft “whoof,” and Rayna whirled toward her sister. “Get out of here, Sky. Go to Papa quickly!”

“But—”

“Go!” Rayna gave her a push, but by that time other troopers had seen the tussle and stepped in, blocking her path. One of them grabbed Skylar and propelled her back toward the wagon.

“What the devil’s going on here, Gless?” Corporal Lawton demanded of the trooper who was rubbing his stomach and glowering at Rayna.

“That squaw won’t go into the wagon, and that one punched me,”

Gless replied.

“He was manhandling my sister,” Rayna said, moving toward the corporal who was holding Skylar. “Now, let her go!”

“Sister?” Lawton looked around in confusion. “What sister?”

“This one, you oaf!”

Though her eyes were wide with fear, Skylar tried to keep her voice even.

“Rayna, please, calm down. Considering the way I’m dressed, I’m sure this must be very confusing to these gentlemen, but if we explain—”

“You ain’t explainin’ nothin’, squaw,” Gless said. “You’re goin’ in that wagon with them other heathens.” After shoving Rayna out of the way, the trooper snatched Skylar away from the corporal and propelled her roughly toward the wagon.

51

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Acting on outrage and instinct, Rayna lunged toward Gless, her hand moving unerringly toward the revolver holstered at his waist. Before anyone could react, she had the Colt pressed firmly into the nape of his neck. “You let her go, you bastard, or you’re dead,” she said softly.

The dangerous quality of her voice might not have been enough to stop Gless, but the sound of the hammer being cocked and the feel of the warm steel on his neck was more than sufficient to freeze him where he stood.

Around her, Rayna heard the sound of other guns being drawn and cocked, and these, she knew, were leveled at her. She didn’t move an inch.

Someone shouted for Captain Greenleigh, but that made no difference to Rayna. Her only objective was freeing her sister. “Let her go, trooper.”

“Rayna, stop this!” Skylar cried, wincing against the pain of Gless’s brutal grip. “They’ll kill you!”

Lawton stepped forward. “Miss Templeton, please put that revolver away before someone gets hurt.”

“Corporal, the only one who’s going to get hurt is this trooper if he doesn’t let my sister go this instant,” Rayna replied without taking her eyes off Gless.

“Skylar is not a Mescalero, and no one is going to take her off Rancho Verde.

Now, you order this man to release her, I’ll uncock this Colt, and we’ll consider the matter settled. Otherwise, you’ll be taking Private Gless back to Fort Marcy over the saddle of his horse!”

“What the devil is going on here?” Greenleigh shouted, muscling his way through the knot of soldiers at the back of the wagon. The crowd parted, and the captain, Meade, and the Templetons moved into the circle. “Miss Templeton! Put that revolver down at once!”

“For God’s sake, Rayna, have you gone mad?” Raymond asked, moving to her side. “Give me that Colt.”

Rayna felt a surge of relief now that her father had arrived, but she wasn’t about to back down until she had a few assurances. “Papa, this idiot is trying to take Skylar away with the others.”

“What?” Raymond said with a gasp, and Rayna heard her mother mutter a fearful “Oh, dear God.”

“Corporal Lawton, explain this situation at once,” Greenleigh ordered.

“Yes, sir. Private Gless was attempting to place this squaw into the wagon when Miss Templeton attacked him. She claims the squaw is her sister, sir.”

Raymond rounded on Greenleigh. “She’s my daughter, Captain, and I want her released at once. Those papers in your pocket give you no right to kidnap an innocent American citizen.”

“Citizen?” Greenleigh’s arrogant brows went up in surprise as he looked Skylar over, taking in everything from her raven-black hair to her beaded 52

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

moccasins. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Templeton, but this squaw is obviously an Apache, and as such, these papers give me the right to take her into custody. Now, take that gun away from your daughter, and let us be on our way.”

“No!” Rayna shouted. “Papa, do something!”

“Private Gless! Release Miss Templeton at once,” Meade demanded, moving around Rayna and Raymond.

Beads of sweat that had nothing to do with the heat were streaming down Gless’s face. “Beggin’ your pardon, Major, but I ain’t got Miss Templeton. The little she-witch has got me.”

“I meant this Miss Templeton.” Though his voice was angry, Meade’s hand was gentle as he touched Skylar’s arm. When Gless released her, Meade ushered her away a few paces and looked down into one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen. Wide dark eyes like those of a startled doe looked up at him with gratitude.

“Thank you, Major.”

“Are you all right, Miss Templeton?”

“I will be once this matter is settled.”

Meade nodded and turned to Rayna. Her expression was grimly determined, and she showed not the slightest sign of being afraid of the weapon in her hand. Clearly she knew how to use the revolver and wouldn’t hesitate to do so. Her hair had come unpinned in the struggle and was now a mane of molten gold flowing around her shoulders.

Despite his dislike of her, Meade couldn’t help but admire the way she’d defended her sister, even if pulling the trooper’s gun had been a damn fool thing to do. “Your sister has been released, Miss Templeton,” he said calmly, careful not to make any sudden move toward her. “You may return Private Gless’s gun to him now.”

Rayna cocked her head toward Greenleigh. “Not until I have his assurance that Skylar won’t be taken away.”

Meade looked at the officer in charge. “Captain? I believe Private Gless would be grateful if you would apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“There has been no misunderstanding, Major,” Greenleigh said haughtily, glancing toward a soldier who had quietly sneaked up behind Rayna.

Meade turned just in time to see the man lunge for the young woman, sweeping her gun hand into the air. The jolt caused the revolver to discharge harmlessly in the air, and before Rayna could recover from the shock, the soldier had wrenched the gun from her hand and pinned her arms to her sides.

“Let her go!” Raymond demanded, grabbing at the trooper who held Rayna, but another soldier restrained him while a third seized Skylar.

53

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Captain, please!” Collie shrieked, horrified by what was happening. “Stop this at once!” She tried to move to her husband, but Greenleigh waved his hand and a fourth trooper stepped forward to restrain her.

“Put that squaw into the wagon!” the captain ordered.

“Greenleigh, you can’t do this!” Raymond shouted, straining against his captor. “You have no right! I have papers! She’s my adopted daughter! Listen to—ah, ah—” Suddenly unable to breathe, Raymond clutched at a fiery pain in his chest and collapsed, nearly taking the soldier down, too.

“Papa!” Clawing at her captor, Rayna finally wrenched away and flew to her father’s side. “Someone help him!” she screamed as she knelt, but Meade was already there.

“Corporal Lawton, get my medical bag!” The buttons on Raymond’s shirt gave way as Meade ripped the garment open and began a hasty examination.

“Is there a sharp pain in your chest, Mr. Templeton?”

Too racked with pain to speak, Raymond nodded.

“And down your arm?”

Raymond nodded again.

Meade looked over at Greenleigh. “Clear these men out of here, Captain.

And have that man release Mrs. Templeton.”

“You have no authority here, Major,” Greenleigh argued.

“This is a medical emergency, and that gives me absolute authority. Now, do as I say! Get me a wagon so that I can take Mr. Templeton to the house.

That’s an order!”

Reluctantly Greenleigh detailed one of his men to fetch the Templetons’

buckboard, which was tethered under one of the cottonwoods near the camp.

As soon as Collie was released, she hurried to Raymond and knelt beside Rayna opposite the doctor.

“What’s wrong with him, Major?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong despite her fear.

“I believe he’s having a heart seizure, ma’am,” he answered just as the corporal returned with his medical kit.

“Will he be all right?” Rayna asked.

“I’ll do everything I can for him” was all Meade could say. Stethoscope in hand, he continued with his examination. Collie opened her parasol to provide some shade for her husband until the buckboard arrived. Several soldiers were enlisted to carry Raymond to the buggy, and Collie never left his side.

Sickened with fear and still trembling from her scuffle with the soldiers, Rayna hung back, knowing there wouldn’t be room for her in the buckboard.

Stricken, she watched as the major climbed aboard and took the reins.

Seconds later the carriage pulled away.

54

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Knowing it would be futile to ask for the loan of a horse to carry her to the house, she looked around for Skylar so that they could go back to the house together. What she discovered made her blood boil anew. Greenleigh had used the moments of chaos after Raymond’s collapse to have his men shove Skylar into the wagon with the Mescaleros. The wagon had been pulled some distance away, and a dozen soldiers now formed a close guard around it. With a hoarse cry of anger and frustration, Rayna flew toward her sister, but the soldiers blocked her way.

Tears were streaming down Skylar’s face as her sister struggled uselessly to get past the armed guards. “Rayna! Is Papa dead?” she cried.

“No! No, he’s not dead. He’s not going to die!” She shoved at one of the guards, but he used his rifle like a staff to keep her at bay.

“That’s quite enough, Miss Templeton,” Greenleigh said as he stalked toward her leading his horse. “You’ve created enough trouble for one day.”

Rayna whirled on him. “You bastard. This is all your fault. Let my sister go!”

“Sister or no sister, that squaw is coming with us.”

“But I told you, she’s not a Mescalero. My parents got her from Mexican slavers nearly twenty years ago. She was raised as my sister,” Rayna told him desperately.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s an Apache, and all Apaches are to be confined to the reservation.”

“But we have legal papers to prove that she was adopted.”

“That’s a matter you’ll have to take up with General Whitlock, miss. My orders are clear.”

Rayna took a step back. Nothing she could say would make a difference to this arrogant ass. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you, Captain?” she asked with disgust.

“Actually I am,” he said with an unconscionable smile.

Rayna’s hands knotted into fists. “And if my father dies because you’ve kidnapped his daughter? Will you enjoy that, too?”

Greenleigh’s smile faded. “Your father’s illness is regrettable, Miss Templeton, but his poor health is not the fault of the United States Army. If it’s any consolation to you, I will be leaving Major Ashford here to tend to your father until another physician can be located. The major can rejoin the company as soon as it is convenient for him.”

“How very generous of you,” she said sarcastically. “However, you’re overlooking one important detail: You’re not leaving here with my sister.”

“And just how do you propose to stop us? Any further resistance on the part of these Apaches or anyone on this ranch will be met with force.” He fixed her with an arrogant gaze. “Now, do you want to be responsible for the resulting casualties?”

55

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Rayna had never felt so helpless in her life, and that feeling fueled her anger even further. “I will get my sister back, Captain,” she vowed. “And if one hair on her head has been harmed, you will pay for it personally, sir. Do you understand me?”

“Quite,” he replied, completely uncowed.

The laughter in his eyes was almost more than Rayna could bear. At that moment she realized that she was fully capable of committing cold-blooded murder. Stiffening her jaw against the violent emotions flooding through her, she took another step back and squared her shoulders. “I’d like to speak with Skylar before you take her,” she said, mustering all the dignity she could locate.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. We are pulling out.”

“Please! Our father may be dying. At least let me tell her that he’s being cared for.”

Greenleigh gathered up his horse’s reins and mounted. “Miss Templeton, that squaw’s father is an Apache, and your father could probably benefit from having you at his side. Good day to you.” He wheeled his horse around and galloped off, bellowing an order for the company to mount up.

Rayna darted back to the wagon, but there were more soldiers surrounding it now. Horses had been brought up, and Rayna found that she couldn’t penetrate the barrier of men and mounts. Her breath came in hot gasps, and tears scalded her eyes as the wagon began to inch forward.

“Skylar!” Her hoarse, agonized scream was drowned out by the creak of the wagons and the hooves of a hundred horses clattering into motion.

“Rayna! Rayna, stop them!” Skylar shrieked. “I have to see Papa! Rayna, help me!”

Inside the wagon, Tsa’kata plucked harshly at Skylar’s arm, forcing her to look at the Mescaleros she called her friends. “You are an Apache, child,” the old woman said sternly in her native language. “An Apache does not look back. The wild one cannot help you.”

Tears streamed down Skylar’s face. “My father may be dying. I must go to him.”

Tsa’kata shook her head. “No. We are your family now. You are one of us.”

Trying to muffle the sobs that welled up in her throat, Skylar looked toward her sister, knowing how much Rayna’s inability to prevent this was costing her. She had always been Skylar’s protector, her buffer against hatred and prejudice. With Rayna at her side, Skylar had always known that she would be safe.

Now Rayna was gone, and Skylar was alone. A deeply buried memory came back to her, and she felt more than remembered another time when she had been taken against her will. The smoke of her burning village hung in the stifling air, and her Apache sister placed herself between the five-year-old 56

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Skylar and the grinning Apache renegade who had slaughtered the entire population of their village.

“She will make trouble. Kill her,” the renegade had said. He was standing over the bodies of her parents, and a shiny necklace dangled from his hand as he pointed to Skylar’s sister. “The other one will come with us.” He had turned his back as his order was carried out, and Skylar had screamed and screamed as she watched the renegades club her sister to death.

Skylar closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out the hideous memory, but it stayed with her. When she opened her eyes again and looked out of the wagon, Rayna was gone. Skylar was alone.

All of her life she had wondered what her life would have been like had the Templetons not taken her in. She was about to find out . . .

And she was terrified.

Rayna paced the courtyard, her fists clenched almost as tight as the knot of fear and uncertainty in her stomach. Major Ashford had been with her father for an hour, and he had banished everyone but Collie from the study that had been turned into a makeshift sickroom. Rayna hadn’t seen either of her parents, and she had no idea how serious her father’s illness was. For all she knew, he was dying, and she was powerless to do anything to help him—

just as she’d been unable to help Skylar.

“Miss Templeton?”

Rayna turned and found the major at the study door. “How is he?” she asked, hurrying toward him.

“He’s resting now,” Meade replied, taking in the young woman’s disheveled appearance with a single glance. After what she had been through today, it wasn’t surprising that her clothes were torn and her face smudged. What astonished him was that her red-rimmed eyes gave mute testimony to the fact that she had been crying. Meade found it impossible to imagine this woman weeping and vulnerable, particularly when she was glaring at him so fiercely.

“May I see him?” she asked, her voice as tightly strung as a bowstring.

Meade nodded. “He’s asking for you and your sister.”

Rayna looked away from him as she struggled to control her emotions.

“My sister is gone. Captain Greenleigh took her with him.”

“What?” Meade couldn’t believe it. “Greenleigh is gone?”

“That’s right,” Rayna said viciously. “But I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that he left your horse and a trooper in case you needed assistance in locating the regiment. Private Baker is outside.”

“Damn him,” Meade swore, moving away from the study door. “How could he do that? I understood there were papers proving that Skylar was adopted.”

57

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“The captain wasn’t interested in legalities,” Rayna snapped, then tried to calm herself. Her father’s life was in this man’s hands, and there might be other ways that he could help, too. Though it galled her to beg for anything from a man in uniform, she managed to soften her voice and ask, “Can you do anything to get her back?”

Meade could see what it had cost her to ask the question. He wished he could give her a better answer. “I don’t know, Miss Templeton. It’s unlikely that Captain Greenleigh will listen to anything I have to say, but I can send a dispatch to General Whitlock explaining the situation and asking for your sister’s immediate release.”

“And that’s all?” Rayna asked scornfully.

Meade’s face hardened against his anger at his own impotence. “For the time being, yes,” he said tightly.

“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime, Major? What do I tell my father when he asks why Skylar isn’t at his bedside?”

Meade hadn’t considered that, and it worried him. He wasn’t sure that Raymond Templeton’s heart could stand the strain of knowing his adopted daughter had been kidnapped. “It would be in your father’s best interests to forestall giving him the news as long as possible.”

Rayna felt her heart turn over painfully. “You mean the shock could kill him?”

“Yes.”

She barely found the breath to ask her next question. “Is he going to die anyway?”

Meade found it difficult to look at her. “It is possible that he won’t survive the night, Miss Templeton,” he said as gently as he could. “However, if he can make it through the next few days, he might very well live to a ripe old age if he avoids strenuous physical activity.”

Tears stung Rayna’s eyes, and she turned away quickly before the major could see them. “Then I ask you again, what should I tell Papa when he wants to see Skylar?”

He thought it over. “Perhaps I could tell him it’s in his best interests to have no visitors at all for the time being.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to see him, either?” she asked, her voice strangled.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only way I can think of to keep him from questioning Skylar’s absence.”

Rayna thought about the coming night, knowing that her father might die without having seen either of his daughters. There would be no chance for her to tell him how very much she loved him, no chance to hold his hand or to gather strength from just being in his presence. But for his sake she had no other choice.

58

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Choking back tears, she nodded mutely, then cleared her throat and turned to Meade, her eyes dry. “Very well. Tell him that Skylar and I love him very much, and we are praying for him.”

Meade’s admiration for her rose another notch. “I’m very sorry, Miss Templeton. I know what that decision cost you.”

His sympathy was more than Rayna could stand. “Just deliver my message, Major Ashford. Save your sympathy for someone who needs it.”

So much for his growing admiration. “Yes, ma’am,” he said briskly, turning toward the study.

Rayna regretted her outburst before he’d made it halfway to the door.

“Major, I’m sorry,” she said, hurrying after him. “I do appreciate everything you’re doing for my father.”

Meade touched the caduceus on his collar. “I’m a doctor, Miss Templeton, and I take my Hippocratic oath very seriously. Considering how ineffectual I’ve been in other areas today, this is the least I can do.”

For the first time, Rayna caught a glimpse of his self-loathing and realized that he was frustrated and angry, too. It made him seem a little more human to her, and she didn’t like it. If she acknowledged that this wasn’t Ashford’s fault, she would no longer have anyone to vent her rage on; and at the moment, having someone specific to blame was oddly consoling.

“Major, Captain Greenleigh said that you were to rejoin the regiment as soon as another doctor could be brought out to take charge of my father.”

He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “And?”

Rayna hesitated. “The nearest doctor is in Albuquerque, and he has made it clear in previous emergencies that he doesn’t travel outside the city.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Templeton. I’m in no hurry to rejoin the regiment. I had already planned to stay through the night.”

Rayna nodded and gave him the closest thing to a smile that she could muster. “Thank you. I’ll prepare rooms for you and Private Baker.”

“A room for Baker won’t be necessary,” Meade replied. “As soon as I’ve checked on your father again, I’m going to prepare a dispatch for the private to deliver to Fort Marcy.”

“Thank you, Major.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Templeton.” He turned again and disappeared into his makeshift hospital.

Somewhere in the house a clock had just struck midnight, and the full moon was almost directly overhead as Meade stepped into the courtyard and stretched his arms. He was getting too old for late night vigils like this one, but there was consolation in the knowledge that his patient was sleeping comfortably.

59

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Exhausted, Meade dropped into the nearest chair and ran one hand wearily over his face. Lanterns suspended from the balcony made pools of warm golden light that contrasted sharply with the cool silver moonlight. In this lovely shadowed setting, it would take only a little imagination to envision elegant ladies in ball gowns dancing in the arms of their gallant escorts or strolling through the arcade into the garden.

But there was no music in the hacienda tonight, and Meade was afraid that gaiety had been forever banished from the Templeton home. An eerie silence pervaded the house, and with good reason. In the course of a single day the pleasant, peaceful life Raymond Templeton had carved out for his family had been irrevocably shattered. A decent, hardworking man was lying at death’s door, his wife at his side, emotionally crippled by her husband’s illness and by the heartless kidnapping of her adopted daughter.

Though Raymond had been kept in the dark about Skylar’s abduction, Colleen had known something was wrong the first time she stepped out of the sickroom. Meade hadn’t envied Rayna having to give her mother the news. Collie was carrying on as best she could, keeping up the charade for her husband’s sake, but Meade knew she was too numb to truly comprehend what had happened.

And what of the lovely Skylar? What was she going through tonight? he wondered. From what little he’d gleaned this afternoon and evening, Miss Skylar Templeton had been rescued from slavery and raised in this genteel atmosphere, sheltered from many of the cruelties the rest of her people had been subjected to over the years. Meade had no doubt that eventually the Templetons would succeed in getting her released, but that could take days or weeks. In the meantime, the young woman would be living a nightmare.

Ripped from her family, not knowing whether her father was dead or alive . . .

Meade couldn’t help but pity her. Tomorrow when he rejoined the regiment, he would be able to report to her on her father’s health. He only hoped the news he had to give her would be encouraging.

As for Skylar’s sister . . . Meade wasn’t quite sure what to make of Miss Rayna Templeton. She was salt and vinegar, pepper and spice. She had a temper unlike any he’d ever seen before, but she also had a wellspring of strength and courage that kept her disposition from being childish or petulant. During the course of the evening he’d found out what a competent woman she was.

With her mother totally occupied with Raymond, Rayna had taken charge of the household—indeed, the entire ranch. More than once Meade had seen her conferring with the ranch foreman, giving orders and assuaging everyone’s deep concern. Most of the house servants had been taken away, but Rayna’s firm hand had turned chaos into order in the hacienda. At her bidding, the remaining servants had prepared meals and converted a small parlor near the 60

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

front of the house into a bedchamber. As soon as he’d felt it was safe, Meade had moved his patient into the more comfortable surroundings.

Rayna had prepared a room for him, too, as promised, but Meade had yet to make use of it. He was considering doing just that when a noise on the upper balcony captured his attention. He looked up and saw a ghostly figure in diaphanous silver robes floating toward the stairs. Startled by the apparition, he was on his feet before he realized that his ghost was actually Rayna Templeton.

As she came down the stairs, her flowing robe turned from silver to gold when she passed through the light of a lantern, and by the time she reached him, Meade could tell that the dressing gown was actually an unrelieved white that reflected the colors around her. A high lace collar encircled her throat, and more lace spilled from her sleeves onto her hands, making her look as demure and fragile as a nun.

Her golden blond hair was tamer now. It fell in soft waves around her shoulders like a cape of molten gold framing a freshly scrubbed face that looked more vulnerable than Meade would have ever imagined possible. Her blue eyes, the color of priceless sapphires, were softer than before, too. The rage that had made them flash with fire had been drained from her by exhaustion.

Meade’s heart went out to her, but his far more surprising reaction to her was a purely physical one. He felt his body tighten in an instinctive male response to her incredible beauty. Irritated with himself, he tried to tamp the feeling down. Miss Rayna Templeton might look like a vision from heaven itself, but she was no angel, and she was far too young for him. Just looking at her made him feel like a lascivious old man.

“Good evening,” Rayna said quietly, puzzled by the strange look the major was giving her. Though she knew better, she thought she saw a flash of desire in his dark eyes. It must have been a trick of the moonlight. “Did I startle you?”

“For a moment,” he replied, trying to get a grip on his unexpected emotions. Even her voice was different tonight—softer, like a lover’s gentle caress.

“When you appeared on the balcony, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

“There are no ghosts here, Major. Only the restless souls of the living.”

“Understandably so,” he replied.

He was still looking at her most strangely, and Rayna found his gaze dis-quieting. “How is my father?”

“Sleeping comfortably,” he was happy to be able to tell her. “He’s very weak, but I have reason to believe that the worst has passed.”

Her eyes lit up with hope. “Then he’ll live?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Templeton. I can’t promise you that.” The expectation in her eyes died, and Meade hated himself for having killed it. “I thought you had turned in for the night.”

61

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Rayna moved to one of the wrought-iron benches flanking the silent foun-tain that flowed only in the spring and winter. “I couldn’t possibly sleep, Major. I have been packing instead.”

“Packing?” Meade asked as he settled onto the bench next to hers.

“Yes.” Rayna clasped her hands together and forced them to be still in her lap so that the major wouldn’t see how they trembled. “I mean no offense, but I can’t assume that the dispatch you sent to General Whitlock this afternoon will be sufficient to secure Skylar’s release. I fear the only solution to this absurd dilemma is for me to go to Santa Fe to speak with the general personally and to show him Skylar’s adoption papers.”

“That’s probably a wise course,” Meade replied, not surprised that she would take the initiative. “I would be happy to write you a letter of introduc-tion and reiterate my objections to Captain Greenleigh’s action, if you think that would be of help.”

“Thank you, Major Ashford. I would appreciate that.”

“When will you leave?”

Rayna glanced away from him, hesitating, wondering what he would think of her decision. What dutiful, loving daughter would abandon her father, knowing full well that he might not be alive when she returned? This was the hardest decision Rayna had ever made in her life. “I plan to leave first thing in the morning. There is a train leaving Malaventura at ten o’clock that will put me in Santa Fe before nightfall.”

“Have you any suggestion regarding what we should tell your father?”

Rayna was absurdly relieved that she detected no censure in his voice. “I’ve thought about that a great deal. I suppose you or Mother could tell him that Skylar and I were so encouraged to hear about his recovery that we felt it would be safe for us to go to Fort Marcy to see about getting the Mescaleros returned. He may be disappointed that we left without seeing him, but the shock won’t kill him.” Emotion clogged her throat, and it was a moment before she could go on. “I don’t recall ever having lied to Papa before,” she said softly.

Meade couldn’t restrain himself from reaching over to gently place his hand on hers. “You’ve never had a better reason than this, Miss Templeton. It’s for his own good, and this way he won’t question your sister’s absence.”

The kindness of his touch and his voice were more than Rayna could handle. Her emotions were being held in check by a fragile thread that could be too easily severed. “Thank you,” she said, slipping her hands away from his and rising.

Meade straightened abruptly, cursing himself. He had meant only to be comforting, but instead he had obviously betrayed his curiously tender feelings toward this woman. She probably thought he really was a lecherous old 62

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

man. “My apologies, Miss Templeton,” he said as he rose. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

Rayna had difficulty facing him, but she did so anyway. “You weren’t,” she assured him. “You’ve been far kinder to me than I deserve, after the way I treated you this afternoon, but kindness is something I’m not sure I can deal with at the moment.”

Meade thought he understood what she meant, and he smiled. “You mean you’d be more comfortable yelling at me?”

Caught off guard by his candor, Rayna couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Precisely. It seems you know me too well already.”

I’m learning, he thought, and at that moment he couldn’t recall having wanted anything in his life more than he wanted to take this lovely young woman into his arms. Instead, he offered, “You may yell at me if you like. I don’t bruise easily.”

“Nor do I,” Rayna replied, her smile fading. “Yet I seem to hurt all over tonight.”

“That, too, is understandable.”

A small silence fell between them. A cool breeze wafted through the arcade, rustling Rayna’s gown, and Meade had to take a step back to prevent himself from taking two steps toward her. “Would you like to see your father, Miss Templeton?”

“Could I?” she asked, hardly daring to hope. “But you said—”

“He’s sleeping now. If he should awaken, we can tell him that Skylar has already retired for the night.”

It was a moment before she could answer. “Yes, I would like very much to see him.”

The tears of gratitude that suddenly shimmered in her eyes were nearly Meade’s undoing. He took another step back and gestured toward the parlor.

She preceded him, moving like a wraith floating on a cloud of white silk.

Meade’s heartbeat quickened again, and he sent up a fervent prayer that morning would come quickly so that he could leave Rancho Verde and escape this misbegotten attraction to Rayna Templeton.

63

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

5

Skylar could see very little difference in the landscape as the cavalrymen and the wagons moved slowly through a pass in the mountains that bounded the Mescalero reservation, yet she seemed to know instinctively when they reached the land that had been set aside for this small tribe of Apache.

For three days they had followed the winding trail alongside the Rio Grande before veering east across the northern limits of the Jornada del Muerto, a section of desert aptly named the Journey of the Dead. Water had been carefully rationed during the crossing, but it had escaped no one’s notice that the soldiers received the lion’s share of the water from the great barrels attached to the army supply wagon.

Skylar suspected that she should have been grateful to receive any water and rations at all, and she knew that Major Ashford was responsible for the relatively decent treatment she and her people—as she had come to think of them—had received. The doctor had caught up with the company the evening before they left the Rio Grande valley, and his first act upon entering camp had been to seek Skylar out and report on her father.

64

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Though he had not sugarcoated the news, he had encouraged her to hope that her father would survive. He had also told her about Rayna’s departure for Santa Fe. “If anyone can secure your release, she can,” he had said with a wry smile. “Your sister is a most determined young woman.”

“That she is, Major Ashford. I’ve never known her to fail at anything she tried—well, almost anything,” she had added with a shy smile.

Meade cocked his head to one side curiously. “And what might that be?”

“Her needlework is atrocious,” she whispered, as though revealing an embarrassing secret. “And her biscuits have been known to choke a mule.”

Meade laughed. “Why do I not find that difficult to believe?”

Skylar’s smile faded as she thought of her family and how much she missed them already. “Rayna’s strengths lie elsewhere, Major. She has a loving, loyal heart, and that’s worth more than all the petit-point pillows and flaky biscuits in the world.”

“Her sister has great strength, too,” Meade had said with a tender look that had bolstered Skylar’s flagging spirits.

Throughout the journey she had gathered a great deal of comfort from the doctor’s presence. He was almost always on hand to act as a buffer between the soldiers and the Apaches, and he was always quick with an encouraging smile or word for Skylar in particular. Often she found herself searching for a glimpse of him. He became almost a talisman for her, the only tangible cord that connected her to her family.

After two days of searing desert heat they had reached the foothills of the Capitan Mountains and turned south; within another day they reached the reservation. The arrival of a full cavalry company caused a great stir in the small Apache camps they passed, and long before they reached the cluster of rickety wood and adobe buildings that housed the offices of the agency, Buck Newsome, the Indian agent, had been warned of their arrival.

It was apparently ration day, and a considerable number of Mescalero had gathered at the agency. They stood in long lines in front of two wagons at the end of the compound, and Skylar wondered how two small wagons could possibly hold enough food to feed so many people.

The cavalry line eventually veered away from the agency buildings, and the wagon jolted to a halt. Somewhere in front of the team, Skylar could hear Captain Greenleigh’s voice, but his words were indistinct. Private Gless, however, was all too understandable as he stepped to the end of the wagon and unceremoniously ordered everyone out. Some of the old women moved too slowly to suit the trooper, and he took a perverse pleasure in hurrying them up by grabbing them roughly and all but slinging them onto the ground.

65

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Throughout the journey Skylar had stayed close to Tsa’kata, and she did the same now, holding the old woman’s arm to balance her as she moved to the wagon gate. They were the last out, and when Gless yanked at Tsa’kata’s arm, Skylar tried to protest.

“Please, Private. There’s no need to hurt her. I’ll help her out.”

“You just get out here yourself, squaw, and let me worry about the old woman,” he growled.

“That’s enough of that, Private. Let her go.”

Skylar looked up and wasn’t at all surprised to see Major Ashford, still mounted, scowling down at Gless. She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Major.” Moving quickly, she jumped out of the wagon and helped Tsa’kata down.

“That will be all, Private Gless,” Meade said as he dismounted. “I’ll handle it from here.”

Gless hesitated a moment, then joined his fellows some distance away.

Skylar watched him go. “I’ll be glad to see the last of him,” she told Meade.

“He enjoys hurting people.”

“I’m sorry to say he’s not the only such man in the army,” Meade replied.

Skylar looked toward the agency and caught sight of Captain Greenleigh.

“No, he isn’t.”

Meade followed her glance. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to see the last of him, too.”

Skylar’s answering smile was gentleness personified. “That I will, but I shall regret your departure, Major Ashford. I shudder to think how much more difficult this journey would have been without you along. You have been more than kind.”

Meade smiled down at the young lady who had become a study in para-dox to him. Except for her youth and beauty, she looked no different from any of the other Apaches, yet her manner rivaled that of any gently bred lady of his acquaintance. Even Libby, for all her quiet compassion, couldn’t hold a candle to Skylar Templeton.

Unbidden, Meade thought of the other Miss Templeton and wondered how two young women raised in the same household by the same loving parents, given the same education, could be so different in personality and temperament. Given Skylar’s brief Apache upbringing, he would have expected her to be the more aggressive of the two, and yet she was not. Rayna was fire, and Skylar was a draft of cool, soothing water.

But that wasn’t his concern, he tried to remind himself. In a short while both the Templeton ladies would be out of his life forever. To his great irritation he suspected that Rayna would be more difficult to forget. She hadn’t been far from his thoughts for a minute since he’d left Rancho Verde.

66

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“Come,” he said, offering Skylar his arm. “I think we should have a talk with Mr. Newsome, the agent. I want to explain your situation to him.”

“Does he have the power to release me?”

Meade shook his head. “I don’t believe so, but he should be made aware that your incarceration is unfounded and possibly even unlawful. It might secure better treatment for you and your friends.”

“I wonder if that would be wise, Major,” Skylar said with concern. “If we are treated differently, it might cause resentment among the other Mescalero.”

“I don’t believe talking to Newsome can hurt anything. From what I’ve heard about him, it’s unlikely that he’ll be more generous with your friends, but your sister made it clear to me that we were to leave the wagon and teams with you, and I want to be certain that Newsome doesn’t try to confiscate them. I also want it made clear that you aren’t to be mistreated in any fashion.”

Skylar lifted her head, trying to replace fear with pride. “Once you are gone, Major Ashford, I fear nothing will guarantee that.”

Meade didn’t know how to respond, because she was absolutely right.

Anything could happen. Encouraging words failed him, and all he could do was introduce her to Buck Newsome and hope for the best. With any luck, Rayna had already secured her sister’s release and someone would arrive soon with the appropriate papers to get Skylar off the reservation and back where she belonged.

By the end of the day everyone on the reserve knew of the newcomers and of the wealth they had brought with them. Few braves on the reservation had horses, but the ones who called themselves Rancho Verde Mescaleros had fine mounts and good saddles. They also had a wagon, a team of mules, and a fine load of blankets and food. Few who were brought to the reserve came with such wealth, and it created suspicion among many.

In full view of the Apaches in the rations line, the Verdes—as they soon came to be called—were processed by the Indian agent and assigned tag-band numbers. To the astonishment of those watching, nearly all of them spoke the white man’s language and could even write their names in Newsome’s ledger.

Once they had been given their meager share of agency rations, they were told to disperse and make their camp.

Normally the resident Mescaleros would have helped the newcomers find a place for a temporary encampment, but the Verdes were strange, and no one wanted anything to do with them. The others were all reserving judgment until they could study and understand the strangers. If they were truly Mescaleros, the Verdes would take the initiative to make themselves part of the tribe by presenting gifts to the elders and sharing their wealth. If they did 67

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

not, they would be shunned and might very likely perish, for cooperation was the key to survival on the reservation.

Sun Hawk had collected his rations early that morning and had spent the afternoon hunting in the southern foothills of the Capitans. There was little game at this time of year, but he had snared several rabbits that would help feed one or two of the larger families whose rations did not go far enough to fill the hungry bellies of their children.

When he returned at dusk and began distributing his gifts, he was told about the Verdes at every camp he visited. By the time he reached his father’s camp, it was old news, but he sat by the fire and listened as though hearing it for the first time.

“Ten horses and two mules?” he queried as though asking for verification that he had heard his father correctly.

“And a wagon,” Naka’yen said with a nod of his head.

“Do you know the name of their chief?” Sun Hawk asked. This was one bit of information he hadn’t yet learned.

“The name Consayka was overheard by your uncle’s wife,” Naka’yen replied, and Sun Hawk looked across the fire to Klo’sen.

“This is true,” his mother’s brother said with a nod.

“I have heard of Consayka and his people,” Sun Hawk said. “They have not lived among us for many years.”

“Consayka chose the white man’s way long before you were born,”

Naka’yen replied. “It did not spare him their wrath. Now he must learn to be one of the People again.”

Sun Hawk considered this for a moment. His own contact with the white man made it inconceivable that any Mescalero would want to live as they did. He could not escape a feeling of sympathy for them, though.

Whatever their lives had been, they were no more, and he understood that only too well.

“Who among us greeted them when they arrived, Father?”

Naka’yen seemed surprised by the question. “No one.”

“You did not speak with Consayka or help his people find a place to build their camp?” Sun Hawk asked, astonished.

The old chieftain drew his shoulders back proudly. “I am the leader of all our people. It is Consayka who should come to me.”

Sun Hawk hid a smile. “But, Father, if no one will speak to the Verdes, how is Consayka to know who you are and where you can be found?”

Naka’yen’s weathered face wrinkled in concentration. Then he looked at his brother-in-law. “My son is right. Perhaps that is why Consayka has not come to me with presents.”

“I could send my wife to speak with some of their women,” Klo’sen suggested.

68

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“That is not necessary,” Sun Hawk told him. “I will go and say words of welcome to Consayka. If he has questions, I will answer them.”

“They may not understand you, my son,” Naka’yen warned. “It is said that they speak the white man’s language so well that they have forgotten their own.”

This was a surprise to Sun Hawk. He had not considered the possibility of a problem communicating with his own kind, but more than that, he was intrigued by the Verdes’ knowledge of the white man’s language. In this one thing he envied them. Though his father was the chief, Sun Hawk was often called upon to deal with the agent, Newsome, or with his assistant or one of the reservation policemen. Only the assistant spoke Apache, and that he did so poorly that Sun Hawk was never certain his words had been understood.

He had made an attempt to learn a few of their words, but when he used them, the white men often laughed at him. It was a constant source of frustration and humiliation to him that he could not deal with the Indian agent and other white men as an equal. Consayka’s band would not have that problem. They would not be laughed at when they spoke to Newsome, and they would never have to fear that their words had been misunderstood.

Perhaps at least one good thing had come from Consayka’s break with the People. Meeting Consayka, which had before seemed like a duty to Sun Hawk, was now something he anticipated with relish.

He listened patiently to a few words of advice from his father and uncle, then went off to find the Verdes’ encampment.

Though Skylar was trying very hard not to be sad, it was difficult for her to look around the pitiful excuse for a camp she and her friends had made and not feel the tug of that emotion. Their departure from Rancho Verde had been so swift that they had not had time to dismantle the poles of their lodges, and this afternoon they’d had no chance to search for stout saplings to replace them. Instead, they had constructed several brush-covered wickiups like those the Mescaleros used when they traveled. There were not enough shelters to accommodate everyone, but at least the elderly would have some protection from the chill night air as they slept.

The departure of Major Ashford with the other soldiers had also saddened Skylar, but she tried not to dwell on his absence. She had to rely on herself now that there was no one to act as her protector, and she tried to imagine what Rayna would do if their situations were reversed. Knowing her sister as she did, she found it easy to visualize her taking charge, telling people where to construct their wickiups and deciding who should collect firewood and who should carry water from the trickling stream nearby. And Rayna, in the 69

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

midst of the noise and confusion she had created, would be doing as much work as anyone, if not more.

Skylar couldn’t imagine herself taking over as Rayna would, but she found it easy to take the initiative in one area. Since she had never made a wickiup before, she knew she would only get in the way if she tried to help Gatana, so she focused instead on preparing supper. Foraging through the supplies Rayna had sent, she found flour, sugar, beans, dried beef, and even some rice, which she knew Tsa’kata was quite fond of. Consuelo, the Templetons’ housekeeper, had even thought to send along cooking utensils to supplement those the Mescaleros had brought.

While Gatana and the others finished constructing the wickiups, Skylar prepared a fire and began cooking beans seasoned liberally with strips of beef.

With Mary Long Horn’s help, she rolled out tortillas, and by the time darkness fell, the Mescalero braves were seated around the fire eating. The women served their men in the traditional fashion, then retired to a separate fire, almost too exhausted to eat.

“You have done well today, Skylar,” Gatana told her when they had finished the meal. “Your mother would be proud.”

“Thank you,” she replied, trying to smile. “I know my mother would be grateful to you for all you have done to help me.”

“That is nothing,” Gatana said with a shake of her head. “I wish I could do much more. You should not be here.”

“Grandmother thinks otherwise,” Skylar said with a nod toward Tsa’kata, who appeared to be nodding off to sleep but was probably listening to every word. “She believes it is time I learned what it truly means to be an Apache.”

Gatana stroked Skylar’s hair and gently touched her cheek. “If that is your destiny, so be it. Perhaps it was meant for you to journey in this full circle. No one can say what Usen has planned for you.”

“Then I can only await his will.”

Gatana smiled. “Good. You are already learning—but that has always been so, little one. From the time you were first brought to Rancho Verde you learned what was expected of you very quickly. Once you understood that you were in a place of safety, you were eager to please. You have done what you were told and behaved as you were expected to behave.”

“I had no place to go, Gatana. I did not want to be sent away. The Templetons provided me with the same kind of warmth and security I remember receiving from my first mother and father. I would have done—and would still do—anything to keep from dishonoring them.”

Gatana shook her head. “That would not be possible for you, child.”

Tears stung Skylar’s eyes. “I miss them, Gatana.”

70

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“I know. If Usen wills it, you will see them again soon. But my husband and I have talked and agreed that between now and then we should take you into our family until you can return to yours. If you will allow it, I will be proud to call you daughter for a little while.”

“That would be a great honor.”

Gatana smiled and wiped at the wetness on Skylar’s cheeks. “Then dry your eyes, daughter. There is work to be done.”

“Yes . . . indé’cìmá,” she said. My Apache mother.

Gatana was pleased. After handing Skylar a bowl of rice and beans, she gestured to Consayka. “Here. Take this to your Apache father so that he can share it with the others. It will tell them all that you are his daughter and that you have his protection.”

Though Skylar knew she had nothing to fear from the men who had worked as cowhands on Rancho Verde, she did as Gatana bade her, partly out of obedience, but primarily because it was comforting to feel that she was part of a family again. She loved these people very much, and being one of them would make her separation from her real family a little easier to bear.

She moved to the brave’s fire, and with only a softly spoken “indé’cìtà,”

acknowledging Consayka as her Apache father, she knelt and handed him the bowl. He glanced at her, his eyes smiling warmly, and for a moment Skylar was transported back in time to the nights on Rancho Verde when she had sat across a campfire from this kind old man, listening to the wonderful stories he told. She hesitated a moment, caught in a web of sweet memories of a time that could never come again.

When she finally realized that the other men were looking at her strangely, she stood, and it was everything she could do to keep from crying out as a huge shape materialized in the darkness just beyond the glow of the fire. It moved to the rim of firelight, stopped, and coalesced into an Apache brave.

Skylar’s fright passed quickly, but she was assailed by other, more confusing emotions. She had never seen any man this handsome before. Tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, the half-naked brave would have been enough to make any maiden swoon. His coal-black hair, parted in the center, hung loose on one side of his face, flowing around his shoulder. A single braid hung from the other side, the end tipped with a feather that dangled onto the intricate bone breastplate that covered his chest.

His long legs were encased in buckskin leggings with broad flaps on either side, similar to the chaps worn by cowhands, and a small breechclout hung from his waist to cover the area that would otherwise have been exposed by the cut-away leggings.

The light dancing on his chiseled features made him seem like something from another world, like one of the fearsome Mountain Spirits Consayka had 71

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

often told her about. Skylar could barely see his eyes in the darkness, but somehow she sensed that he was looking directly at her. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

“A friend might come to sit by the fire of other friends if he knows that he would be welcome,” the brave said in deep-throated Apache.

“A friend would never be turned away from my fire,” Consayka replied in kind. “Sit, my young friend, and share what we have.”

Wordlessly the Apache moved to the fire, choosing a vacant space between two Verde Mescaleros who were dressed in white man’s trousers and calico shirts.

“Daughter, give this to our friend,” Consayka said. He held the bowl up to Skylar, but she didn’t move. “Have you grown roots, daughter?”

The laughter of the braves brought Skylar out of her trance, and she took the bowl, chiding herself for her foolishness. Their visitor was only a man, after all. He was not a Mountain Spirit or any kind of a deity, despite his dramatic, seemingly mystical appearance from out of nowhere. It was only the stress of a long journey and the tension of this difficult day that quickened her heartbeat.

She skirted the circle and knelt beside the visitor. A true Apache maiden would have bowed her head as she offered food to a stranger, but Skylar’s curiosity overwhelmed her knowledge of Mescalero customs. Eager to dispel her image of him as a handsome god, she looked into his face as he turned to her and became instantly lost in a pair of eyes that were as black as the night and as soft as the moon shining on dark water. The eyes regarded her curiously; then a veil fell over them, and he glanced away.

Expecting no thanks for her good deed, for it was not the Apache way, she quickly rose and left the fire.

“Who is he?” Gatana asked as she returned to the women’s camp.

It was difficult for Skylar to remember how to speak. “A visitor who calls himself a friend,” she said finally.

Gatana looked at her questioningly. “Daughter? What is wrong? You sound strange.”

“Nothing, indé’cìmá,” she replied. “The brave appeared so suddenly that he startled me. That’s all.”

“I see,” Gatana said, smiling into the fire as she began clearing away the remnants of their meal.

For the twelfth morning in a row, Rayna walked from her rooms at the Palace Hotel down Washington Street to the headquarters of the Military Department of New Mexico on Palace Avenue. It was a short jaunt she could have made in her sleep, but nothing about her bearing suggested any-72

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

thing even remotely resembling somnambulation. Though this daily routine was wearing thin, Rayna had lost none of the ire that she had brought with her to Santa Fe. If anything, the events of the last two weeks had increased her rage.

The moment she arrived in the city, she had gone directly to General Whitlock’s office and discovered that he was gone for the day. She had left a terse message requesting an appointment at his earliest convenience, and she had returned the following day, only to be pawned off on a dim-witted aide-de-camp named Bascomb who didn’t know his hat from a hole in the ground.

The aide had referred her to a Colonel Collingswood, the commander of Fort Marcy, who was not only unsympathetic but downright rude.

Rayna could have tolerated his brusqueness if there had been any chance that he could help her secure the return of her sister and the Rancho Verde Mescaleros, but even if he had wanted to, the colonel did not possess the authority to countermand General Whitlock’s order.

After another day wasted, she had returned to department headquarters and threatened bodily harm to the next person who prevented her from seeing the general. Her threat had been to no avail. She was told that the general had left Fort Marcy and no one was certain when he would return.

It had taken nearly a week for Rayna to ferret out the information that Whitlock was on a holiday with several visiting dignitaries from Washington.

While Skylar endured God only knew what on the reservation, the general was bear hunting in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Rayna’s first impulse had been to follow Whitlock’s trail and track him down in the mountains, but she had quickly realized the folly of such an act.

She could sooner find a needle in a haystack than a small hunting party in the mountains. Her only alternative had been to wait, making daily visits to his office and growing more frustrated with every wasted day.

She had, of course, called on all of her father’s friends in the territorial government, including the governor himself. All had been sympathetic and supportive, but short of writing letters on her behalf there was nothing they could do to countermand General Whitlock’s edict.

Telegrams from her mother reported that Raymond was weak but mending. Though Collie never said so directly, Rayna inferred that he was growing suspicious about his daughters’ long absence. When he had learned that the

“girls” were waiting for General Whitlock to return from his hunting trip, Raymond hadn’t understood why they didn’t come home to wait. He had slipped into a state of melancholy, and seeing his daughters would have been a boon to his recovery.

Had Raymond known the truth, Rayna would have gone home for at least a day or two to see him, but she hadn’t been willing to take the chance that 73

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

learning of Skylar’s abduction would cause him to have another heart seizure.

So she had stayed in Santa Fe, sick with worry about her father and her sister.

And she was beginning to worry about her mother, too. Collie was such an innately honest person that it must have been difficult for her to lie to her husband. What was worse, though, was that Collie had no one with whom to share her deep concern for Skylar. Rayna had no doubt that her mother was keeping up the pretense, but the strain had to be taking a dreadful emotional toll on her. She prayed that on this, her tenth daily visit to Whitlock’s office, she would finally find him there and put an end to this nightmare.