Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation) Read Online Free PDF Page A

burned. And seeing him, I became more afraid than ever.

CHAPTER 4

    The Dark Side of Light
    Though I averted my eyes from men, for the most part, even I could admit that Soquili was impressive-looking. He stood tall and noble, with strong Cherokee features and dark eyes intent on every word. And he loved Maggie. He loved her with an intensity everyone could see. At the Green Corn Ceremony, I watched from the doorway of my council house as he finally leaned in and she let him kiss her.
    Oh, I had cried after that. Because when Maggie opened her heart to a man, any man, that left me alone in my pain. To me, men were still beasts to be feared, avoided whenever possible. After a few months, I could watch them, appreciate their existence, perhaps even speak with one, but to let a man touch me was inconceivable. The Cherokee seemed to understand this and didn’t push me toward any contact I might have refused. Soquili spent every minute he could with my sister, right up until the day she left the village.
    His brother, Wahyaw, stood by me. If Soquili was impressive, Wahyaw was magnificent. Both were tall, but Wahyaw looked down his straight nose three inches or so when he spoke with his brother. The corded muscles of his biceps were ringed by black tattoos of triangles and wolves, and the lower half of his face was permanently painted the red of poppies. A gold ring adorned his nose, passing straight through, and the lobes of his ears were stretched, dominated by black, cone-shaped earrings. He didn’t often wear shirts, and breechclouts were his preferred trousers. Other than the red on his face, any other colour came from the two or three feathers that occasionally dangled from his tuft of spiked black hair. Like the other men, he had no facial hair, and the sides of his head had been plucked clean since childhood.
    Wahyaw paced like a wolf. He often appeared unable to sit. If he did, it wasn’t long before he lunged to his feet and hunted down whatever was bothering him. Wahyaw was my protector, but he never touched me. With my natural fear of men and his natural dislike of conversation, we didn’t speak much. But he came to my side whenever possible, standing sentry if the least threat arose. I came to feel comfortable with him and nervous when I couldn’t see his familiar profile. As a gift, I made him a pendant in the Cherokee style, using a beautiful abalone shell. On its surface I carved the triangular pattern of his tattoo. He wore the pendant all the time, occasionally stroking the back of it—though I’m sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He was my friend, and I missed him when he wasn’t there. I believe it was the same for him.
    After three months of this friendship, he stared at me with his usual, unsmiling expression and laid out his plans.
    “We shall wed,” he declared. “After the next moon.”
    I stared back, speechless. When I found my voice, it was stronger than I’d expected. “No, we won’t.”
    His eyebrows shot up. He was unused to anyone disagreeing with him. But I shook my head. “I cannot marry anyone, Wahyaw.”
    He hesitated, showing the first glimmer of uncertainty I’d ever seen in him. “It—it is done. It has been blessed by the Grandmother and the council. After the next moon,” he repeated. He turned, paused for a moment as if he wanted to add something, then changed his mind and walked away.
    I stared at his back as he loped across the open space. Marry him? Yes, he was a good man. And yes, he made me feel safe. But marry him? Live alone with a man? Engage . . . engage in the intimacies marriage entailed? Never.
    As always, I hid from this new fear. As his words sank in, seeming more unavoidable with every one of my breaths, I fled to the council house and dove under the bearskins covering my sleeping pad. I didn’t cry, but I shook so hard the blanket eventually slipped off me. The sun beamed through the hole in the roof, warming the room and bathing it in a