Tess found herself studying Jon's handsome features. There was no
denying that the man had Indian blood, proud blood. His cheekbones were
wide and broad, his flesh was dark bronze.
And his hair, too, was Indian, black as ink and straight as an arrow.
But his eyes were a deep, startling green.
He caught her studying him, and she blushed.
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude.'
'It's all right. You're welcome to wonder about me. I'll tell you,
because I like you. My father was a Blackfoot chief.
My mother was the daughter of an English baronet.'
' A baronet?'
'Urn. Sir Roger Bennington. Actually, he's a very decent old fellow.'
He smiled.
'What does that make you?'
Jori laughed softly.
'A half-breed Blackfoot. Sir Roger did not marry his daughter to an
Indian.
She was kidnapped, but she discovered that she was in love with my
father.
She stayed with the Blackfoot until my father was killed. Then she went
back to England. She died there.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Don't be. They were both happy while they lived.' Tess hesitated.
'Did you go to England with her? Is that where you acquired your
accent?'
'My accent?' he repeated.
'Well, you don't sound like a Texan or an Indian.'
'I'm not a Texan, ~xeept by choice for the moment. I was born in the
Black Hills. And my father was still alive when I went to England. My
mother convinced him that a half breed needed every advantage. My mother
knew that the Indian's day was dying. That the buffalo were being 93
slaughtered.
That the white men were going to push west, and push us west, until we
were pushed fight into the sea or given deser/land as our reservations.
Our prisons.'
He spoke hard words, but he spoke them softly.
'You don't seem very bitter,' Tess commented.
'Bitter? I'm not. Bitterness is a wasted emotion. I ride with Jamie now
because I choose to be with him. Some time this year, I'll go back to my
father's people. And if the whim takes me, I'll go visit my grandfather
in London. I enjoy the theater and opera there, and Grandfather is a
hardy old cuss. I think he's actually damned pleased when people stare
at his Indian grandson. Actually, I wear formal clothing rather well.'
He grinned ruefully, but then his grin faded as he studied her.
'I love the west, too. I love horses, and the feel of a good one racing
beneath me. I love my tribe, and I love this harsh, dry land. And I've
stayed with Jamie because he knows people. He's spent most of his life
fighting, but he still knows people. He goes to war with men, but he
never attacks children.'
