The broken beta - healed by innocence

Games of shadows

“Chase? Chase, I ’m scared. ”

“Don’t be.”

But Wade was afraid. The clouds passing across the midnight sky reminded him of ghosts, and he imagined that he could hear their tortured cries in the rushing waters of nearby Chickamauga Creek. He drew the blanket up to his chin, but it didn’t stop his shivering

“Chase, I’m scared about tomorrow,” His harsh whisper echoed around him, more frightening because his pa had told him that Chickamauga meant ‘river of death’ in Cherokee.

Lying on the pallet beside him, Chase rolled over and mumbled, “I ain ’t gonna hold you, but you can scoot a little closer to me if you want. Just don ’t let anybody see you doin ’it.”

Wade inched over until he could feel the warmth of Chase s body, but not the

solidness of his touch. He didn’t want his father to find him sleeping right beside his brother

“What if I die?” Wade whispered.

“You won ’t. Just stay by my side. I won ’t let nothing happen to you.”

“Swear?”

“Give you my word.”

*Briony*

I wake to an anguished wail that rips through my dream into my heart. With trembling fingers, I turn up the flame in the lantern.

My blood pounds at my temples; my breath comes in short gasps. I take a deep breath to steady myself. In my dream, I was walking through a field of clover with a man I want to believe was Chase but who looked remarkably like Wade. His arm was around me, and I felt safer than I have felt in years. I don’t think the cry has come from me.

I slip off the cot and ease into my night wrapper, drawing it tightly around me as though it has the power to ward off my fears.

I tiptoe across the tent, guide my hand through the tent flap, and peer through the small opening my narrow fingers create. I can see Wade hunkered down before the fire, wearing his duster, his hat drawn low over his brow as though he has plans to ride out.

I widen the opening in the tent. “I thought I heard a cry,” I say, my voice quivering.

He visibly stiffens. “It was just an animal. Go back to sleep,” he replies.

His rough voice doesn’t ease my doubts. He reaches for the pot of coffee. As he pours the coffee, he trembles with such intensity that the brew sloshes over the sides of his tin cup.

I pull my wrapper closer, gathering my courage within its folds. Leaving the tent, I pad across the campsite and kneel beside Wade.

“I said to go back to bed,” he says gruffly.

“Do you think we’re in danger?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No.”

He grips the handle of the pot so tightly that his bones are visible against his skin. Reaching out, I cover his hand, my palm cradling his knuckles. He jerks at my touch, but he doesn’t attempt to pull away.

I rub my hand over his, surprised to find it so cold. Slowly he relaxes, his fingers loosening their grip on the handle. I ease the pot away from him and set it near the fire.

He wraps his hand around the tin cup. I am amazed that the cup doesn’t dent with the strength of his grip.

“When I was a child,” I say quietly, “I used to have nightmares, and I would pray that I would grow up fast so that the nightmares would go away.” I gently place my hand on his arm, hoping to gain his attention. Ignoring me, he focuses his gaze on the fire and clenches his jaw tightly. “When I grew up, I learned that nightmares don’t go away. They just become more terrifying because we understand so much more.”

I work the tin cup from his grip, hold his hands, and will him to look at me. He continues to stare into the fire. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed because you were frightened by a dream.”

He breaks free of my hold and surges to his feet. “Frightened by a dream? Briony, I’m afraid of life!”

“Do you think you’re alone…”

“Yes! Damn the Goddess! I’m alone!”

*Wade*

I regret my outburst as soon as I see the stricken expression fall across Briony's lovely face. She looks as though I've taken my fist to her. I've had moments in my life when I've felt small, but I've never felt this small or this ashamed. The Goddess knows, I've done plenty that I could be ashamed of.

I take a step toward her, my hands moving like a windmill in a slow breeze. I don't know what to do with them. I don't want to frighten her, but I'm afraid she might grab my hands if I hold them still, and I'd end up wrapping my arms around her just so I'd have a tether to hang onto so I'd feel safe. Only a she-wolf shouldn't make a man feel safe. A man is supposed to protect a she-wolf. "Briony..."

She tilts her head slightly, the wounded expression retreating until she smiles so sweetly that I think my heart might shatter. Every word I've ever known rushes out of my head.

"I remember the first time I slept alone," she says softly, her voice drifting on the calm breeze as she shifts her gaze to the fire. "The bed was so large. The night was so dark. I thought surely both would devour me. And the sounds. I heard a door creak and a board moan. I felt so incredibly alone." She wraps her arms around herself and begins to rock back and forth. "My father died during the war. And my sisters. Bethany and Bella."

The serenity of her gaze fascinates me. My hands have settled into a stillness as her voice floats toward me. She has a hell of a way of distracting a man. Her remembrances have lulled my memories back into oblivion, my shakes and sweats going along with them. She glances up at me.

"My mother liked names that began with B. My father's name was Benny, and I often wondered if that was why she married him."

"That's not a very practical reason for marrying someone," I say.

"Is my reason for marrying your brother practical?"

I step closer to the fire, wishing I could attain her composure. She always seems at peace, relishing each moment as it comes. Resting on the balls of my feet, I cautiously bend my knees until my gaze is only slightly higher than hers. "I don't know your reason."

"Because I hate being alone." She closes her eyes. "And because I want to share someone's dream."

"Don't you have your own dream?" I ask.

She opens her eyes and smiles mischievously. "A question?"

Dear Goddess, I love the glimmer in her eyes as though she's trapped me, and I'm not altogether certain that she hasn't. I lower my gaze to the fire and watch the orange and red flames writhing in a contorted waltz. "I had no right to ask." But damn, I want to know everything about her, about her dreams, her reasons for traveling such a great distance to marry my brother.

"I dream of not being hungry. I dream of being warm."

I shift my gaze to her. The smile has left her face.

"I dream of regaining something of what I lost during the war: a family, a promise that tomorrow will come, and that it will be worth living, savoring, and remembering." She says.

"And you think Chase will give you all of that?" I ask.

Her lips tilt up. "Another question. I'm impressed."

I want to look away, but her eyes hold me captive. At that moment, with those green eyes boring into me, I almost have an overwhelming desire to search for my own dreams. "You don't have to answer it."

She scoots closer to me. "I think I do. No, I don't think he will give me my dreams, but I think we will work together to gain them. I have always believed that dreams were meant to be shared. Where is the joy in reaching for something if you have no one to see you capture it?”

I have no idea. I stopped reaching a long time ago.

She places her hand on my arm. "I don't expect you to answer that."

"That's good because I wouldn't know how," I admit.

She laughs, a sound that's like music under the stars, and tilts her head back to look at the wide expanse above us. "Oh, the sky is beautiful tonight. I almost envy you sleeping outside."

"It has its moments." Just like she does… sweet moments, gentle moments that fill me with awe.

Her smile is soft, tender. "I should stop pestering you and let you get back to sleep."

I unfold my body, standing as she rises effortlessly and turns away from the fire.

"Oh, look. I can see the shadow of a moth flying inside the tent. Isn't it pretty?" But her smile fades. "I can see the moth's shadow," she says, quieter now, "and everything inside the tent."

I stiffen as her gaze darts to my pallet. With my saddle at one end, it's clear where I've been laying, what I've been looking at.

Her eyes shoot back to the tent, then to the pallet, and then she whips her accusing eyes my way. "I can see everything. Everything. Have you been watching me every evening?"

I want to speak, but any words I could muster would just condemn me. And my silence? Well, it condemns me just the same.

She pulls her hand back, and I don't resist, giving her an easy target. Her slap jerks my head to one side.

She storms into the tent, the flap billowing, then slapping shut behind her. Her shadow reflects hurt and anger as she feels them, then vanishes as she snuffs out the lantern's flame.

I feel like all the light has just gone out of my life. A cold sweat breaks out over me as I gaze over the empty camp. I told her I was alone, but only now do I understand what that truly means.

She's shut me out with a mere breath. She won't ask me any more questions, that much is clear. I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel like I might just collapse and die. I approach the tent with trepidation. "Miss Starweaver?"

Only thick silence answers me. I think I'd feel better if I could hear her crying, throwing things, anything.

"Miss Starweaver, you need to come out and slap me again. The side you hit is mostly numb. You need to hit the other side of my face so I can really feel it, like I deserve."

There's nothing but the pounding of my own heart. I see nothing but a vast emptiness ahead. Dear Goddess, what words can fix what I've done?

"Miss Starweaver, I know what I did was wrong. Shameful. I regretted it even as it happened, but dearest, I swear by the Goddess, I've never seen a sweeter shadow than yours... and that's all I saw. Just your shadow."

"Without clothes! Washing up! Enjoying a few moments of freedom!"

Yes, sweet goddess, yes, and I relished those moments of her freedom, but I doubt she wants to hear that now.

"Miss Starweaver, if I could undo it, I would. But I can't. If you just knew how beautiful..."

"I don't want to hear it, Beta Moonshadow. Just leave me alone."

She has every right to be upset… I hear a sob. I was wrong; any sound is worse than silence.

"Miss Starweaver, I'd do anything… anything on Goddess's green earth… to make this up to you. I'd pluck out my eye if I had to..."

Suddenly, a light flares inside the tent, and the flap flies open. She stands there, her eyes rimmed in red, and I can see the faintest trail of tears along her cheeks. In all my life, I have never loathed myself more.

She sniffs. “Do you mean it? Would you do anything?”

I glance at her hands, expecting to see the knife she no doubt plans to use to remove my remaining eye. But her hands hold nothing but the cool night air.

I swallow hard. “Yes, ma'am. Anything.”

She folds her arms beneath her breasts and sweeps out of the tent like a queen granting her least favorite subject an audience. She holds her chin high with a dignity unlike any I've ever seen. Chase was right to refer to her as the Queen of the Prairie.

She spins about and looks down her nose at me, as much as she is able, considering the top of her head doesn't reach the height of my shoulder.

“You may sleep in the tent tonight.”

Although her words come softly, she speaks them with the force of a hissing snake. My gut clenches. I'm not exactly sure where she is headed with this train of thought, and I'm not certain that I want to know, but she appears to be waiting for me to respond.

“Excuse me?”

“You may sleep in the tent,” she repeats slowly as though I haven't a lick of sense, and I'm beginning to think that I might not have any sense at all. “Undress. Wash up. Do whatever it is men do before they go to sleep.” She drops to the log, places her elbows on her thighs, cups her chin, and smiles sweetly. “And I'll watch.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I roar.

“You said you'd do anything. Well, Beta Moonshadow, you have just heard my idea of anything.”

I glare at the tent. The damn moth is still flying around. If I step into that tent, my first order of business will be to murder that pesky critter. I glance at the she-wolf sitting on the log. “No, ma'am, I can't do it.”

“Why not? What's good for the goose is good for the gander.”

“It ain't the same at all. I'll know you're watching.” I mumble.

She comes off the log like vengeance sweeping through hell. “And you think my not knowing made what you did acceptable?”

No, it doesn't make it acceptable at all. “What if I gave you a real pretty apology with some fancy words…”

“No.” She huffs.

“If I don't do this, you're gonna stay mad, aren't you?” I mumble.

She nods. “Yes.”

Good Goddess, based on the delivery of that one simple word, she'd stay angry until we reach the ranch... and maybe beyond that. I'll be traveling through hell when I'm just getting used to being near heaven.

My stomach is knotted so tightly that I don't know if I can even walk into the tent. But it's the tear shimmering in the corner of her eye that decides me. The firelight catches it, and I can see myself as she must see me: a man who has shattered her trust.

Without another word, I fling back the tent flap and storm inside, allowing the flap to fall behind me, encasing me in the golden haze that fills the tent.

I can smell her sweetness surrounding me. I can't identify the scent. It isn't horses, or leather, or sweat. It is soft, reminding me of something so far back in my memory that I don't know if I can pull it forward. My mother, perhaps, leaning over me, brushing the hair off my brow, telling me not to be afraid.

“You can't just stand there, Mr. Moonshadow. You have to wash up!” Her voice pierces my memories, sounding more like my father than my mother. "Don't just stand there, boy! When the battle starts, you march into the thick of it."

And I march, even though everything inside me screams for me to run.

I take a step toward the small bucket and glance at the water. No steam rises up; it looks cold. But I've taken cold baths before.

"Beta Moonshadow!"

"Alright!" I grumble to the damn impatient she-wolf. I rip my hat off my head and toss it onto the rumpled covers of the bed where she'd been sleeping before I cried out like a baby. Tempted, I want to place my palm on the bed to see if it still holds her warmth, but she's watching me now, watching me like I've watched her. Damn my eye for staying open when it should have closed.

I roll my shoulders, shrugging off my duster, and lay it beside my hat. I sit on the edge of the cot and discreetly place my hand near her pillow. My fingers brush the area, searching for her warmth, but find only the cold.

She won't give off any warmth until I've done what she's asked. Anything, I've said. In the future, I won't use that word around her.

I yank off my boots. I start unbuttoning my shirt, stand up, pull it over my head, and drop it on my duster.

I turn, presenting my backside in silhouette to the front of the tent. Praying she isn't circling the tent, I begin to unbutton my trousers.