A WARRIOR’S LOVE

Emma sat on the porch, rocking in the old rocker as she sewed up an old hanky. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the time she had left in a rage over her parents running her life and how she had nearly died out in the storm. No one knew who had brought her home that night but they were all grateful. The only clue was the knife left imbedded in their door. It was a common trader’s knife and many were used so it held no insight as to its owner’s identity.

The Major on the other hand, seemed determined to find him. Emma snorted at his obvious attempts at winning her over. She had found it was easier to merely go along with everyone’s master plan and court the man. This way, she could keep him at bay by playing coy and her parents seemed happy she was with him. Only problem with it was that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him at arm’s length. He had approached the idea of her becoming his wife with talk of the future yet never actually asked her. The sudden sharp pain of her needle piercing her finger made her drop the hanky onto her lap and stick her finger into her mouth, sucking on it.

Blast…. She mumbled pulling it from her lips to inspect the tiny prick. A tiny drop of blood formed on the tip and she watched it with almost bored eyes. Sighing, she dropped her hand to her lap and looked about the property. She felt stifled out here. There had to be something else out there, something that would afford her some happiness. Emma got to her feet and decided it was high time she walked off some of her frustration.

Mother,, I finished my chores,,, may I go for a walk? She called folding up the still unfinished hanky.

Her mother opened the door and smiled, brushing back her grey hair from her eyes. I think that might be a good idea. Why don’t you see if you can find any flowers for the supper table tonight? She suggested glancing about the area.

Emma cocked her head to the side and made a face. Don’t tell me he is coming tonight?

Mrs. Reynolds looked innocent and held her hands up in mock surrender. If he is, it wasn’t by my invite. She replied knowing Emma was going to be upset once again. She was right.

Emma scowled turned on her heel, and marched down the porch steps out onto the dirt pathway, her skirts swishing noisily.

Tokaalah watched from his horse, his long dark hair blowing about in the soft breeze. He had waited patiently for days for her to leave the house alone. He would speak to her this day. No longer was he willing to crouch like some weak girl child in the bushes, hoping for a glimpse of her. He watched her walk aimlessly, her mind obviously on something important to her, for she seemed completely unaware of him.

Emma hummed a tune, her fingers twisting a long piece of grass as she made her way to the rivers edge. She looked about knowing she had walked further then her usual but paid no heed to it. It wasn’t like she was in much of a rush to have dinner with the Major. For all she cared, the Major could marry her parents. His flowers and boxes of candy were wasted on her as were his sloppy kisses on her hands. She knew she could never love him the way she dreamed of loving a man. She blushed at the direction her mind was taking her and tossed the grass to the ground. Her hand went to her hair, groaning at the short piece at the nape of her neck. It had been cut the night she had been rescued leaving much speculation as to who could have wanted to do such a thing. The memory of that night was vague at best, but she did recall the long black hair, and those eyes. She sighed recalling how brown they had been. If she hadn’t been so close to death, she would have realized it wasn’t her father and maybe would have been more wary.

It could have been one of those filthy savages. Her father had said sternly in an attempt to frighten her.

Emma scoffed at him, dismissing his fears. If it were, he would have carried me off, right father? After all, that’s what you tell me all the time. She had shot back flippantly.

Emma picked up a stone, admiring its deep red and green speckles, its smoothness in her hand. Turning it over, she crouched down, unmindful of the wet shore that now stained her leather shoes.

Tokaalah slipped down gracefully from his mount, his moccasin feet touching the ground noiselessly, leaving his horse by a small brush to graze. He had scouted the area thoroughly, making sure they were the only two around. He was going to speak to her this day.