Red-winged blackbirds called from the rushes that rimmed the pond. Their harsh whistles scolded her cheerfully as she bent to the task of cutting spring cattails with the small sharp knife she’d brought along.
Glancing up, she caught sight of something else growing along one of the cold streams that fed the pond. Watercress! She loved watercress—and its tangy leaves would make a fine spring tonic for Swan Feather, whose usual energy had begun to flag of late.
She circled the pond, taking care to watch for snakes in the swampy morass of weeds. She could still see the watercress, but the stream on this side was walled off by brambles and stinging nettle. Approaching from the other side might be easier, or at least not so painful.
Impatient but determined, Clarissa raced back around the pond. By now the sun was high, her skin warm and flushed as she flung herself down beside the joining of pond and stream. The watercress was on the far side now, still out of reach, but perhaps if she leaned out over the calm crystal water she just might be able to—
Clarissa’s heart lurched as she glanced down andcaught sight of her own image, perfectly mirrored in the pool’s quiet surface.
Since the day of the gauntlet, she had avoided looking directly at anything that might reflect her own face—a polished knife or hatchet blade, a glassy trade bead, an open bowl of water. She’d had no wish to see what her fingers told her was there—the long slanting scars, the misshapen nose. Now for the first time she confronted her own changed features.
A gasp escaped her lips as she stared down at the water. The face that stared back at her was not the flawless porcelain oval she remembered. But its features were far less grotesque than she’d imagined them to be. It was, in fact, an interesting face. A striking face.
She tilted her head, noting how the broken nose and slightly lopsided upper lip lent her an air of raw sensuality that she had never possessed before. And the skin above her left eyebrow was slightly puckered, giving her eyes a questioning look. As for the scar across her chin that she’d imagined to be so hideous, it was little more than a shadow, like an elongated dimple.
“You will wear a new face—the face of courage.”
Wolf Heart’s words echoed in Clarissa’s memory as she blew on the watery surface, shattering the image into a hundred rippling fragments. How much courage lay behind her intriguing new face remained to be seen. But for now she had better things to do than sit here admiring herself like a flame-haired Narcissus!
Stretching to her limits, she caught a fistful of watercress from the wet green tangle at the stream’s mouth, yanked it loose and tossed it into her basket. The leaves gleamed like tiny cabochons of Chinese jade where they lay against the drying meadow herbs. When she sampled a sprig, its fresh peppery taste burned lightly on hertongue. Swan Feather would enjoy it, too, she reminded herself as she reached for more. And perhaps Wolf Heart, as well.
Wolf Heart.
Something tightened in her chest as she thought of him waiting in the darkness of the lodge, glowering like a tethered eagle, seething with boredom. In that other, distant world, she might have brought him books to read or set up a chessboard and challenged him to a game. She might have entertained him with a tune on the clavier, which she played prettily if not brilliantly. She might have even invited friends over for a discussion of philosophy or mathematics. But here, in this wilderness, there was nothing of light or learning, nothing to challenge the mind of an intelligent man like Wolf Heart He was wasting his life here among the Shawnee. But that was his choice, Clarissa reminded herself.
Her own choice would be different.
At the meadow’s edge, she paused to fill the folds of her skirt with fresh green grass. She would be wise to make friends with the horses. If they knew her and expected food, the nervous animals
Glancing up, she caught sight of something else growing along one of the cold streams that fed the pond. Watercress! She loved watercress—and its tangy leaves would make a fine spring tonic for Swan Feather, whose usual energy had begun to flag of late.
She circled the pond, taking care to watch for snakes in the swampy morass of weeds. She could still see the watercress, but the stream on this side was walled off by brambles and stinging nettle. Approaching from the other side might be easier, or at least not so painful.
Impatient but determined, Clarissa raced back around the pond. By now the sun was high, her skin warm and flushed as she flung herself down beside the joining of pond and stream. The watercress was on the far side now, still out of reach, but perhaps if she leaned out over the calm crystal water she just might be able to—
Clarissa’s heart lurched as she glanced down andcaught sight of her own image, perfectly mirrored in the pool’s quiet surface.
Since the day of the gauntlet, she had avoided looking directly at anything that might reflect her own face—a polished knife or hatchet blade, a glassy trade bead, an open bowl of water. She’d had no wish to see what her fingers told her was there—the long slanting scars, the misshapen nose. Now for the first time she confronted her own changed features.
A gasp escaped her lips as she stared down at the water. The face that stared back at her was not the flawless porcelain oval she remembered. But its features were far less grotesque than she’d imagined them to be. It was, in fact, an interesting face. A striking face.
She tilted her head, noting how the broken nose and slightly lopsided upper lip lent her an air of raw sensuality that she had never possessed before. And the skin above her left eyebrow was slightly puckered, giving her eyes a questioning look. As for the scar across her chin that she’d imagined to be so hideous, it was little more than a shadow, like an elongated dimple.
“You will wear a new face—the face of courage.”
Wolf Heart’s words echoed in Clarissa’s memory as she blew on the watery surface, shattering the image into a hundred rippling fragments. How much courage lay behind her intriguing new face remained to be seen. But for now she had better things to do than sit here admiring herself like a flame-haired Narcissus!
Stretching to her limits, she caught a fistful of watercress from the wet green tangle at the stream’s mouth, yanked it loose and tossed it into her basket. The leaves gleamed like tiny cabochons of Chinese jade where they lay against the drying meadow herbs. When she sampled a sprig, its fresh peppery taste burned lightly on hertongue. Swan Feather would enjoy it, too, she reminded herself as she reached for more. And perhaps Wolf Heart, as well.
Wolf Heart.
Something tightened in her chest as she thought of him waiting in the darkness of the lodge, glowering like a tethered eagle, seething with boredom. In that other, distant world, she might have brought him books to read or set up a chessboard and challenged him to a game. She might have entertained him with a tune on the clavier, which she played prettily if not brilliantly. She might have even invited friends over for a discussion of philosophy or mathematics. But here, in this wilderness, there was nothing of light or learning, nothing to challenge the mind of an intelligent man like Wolf Heart He was wasting his life here among the Shawnee. But that was his choice, Clarissa reminded herself.
Her own choice would be different.
At the meadow’s edge, she paused to fill the folds of her skirt with fresh green grass. She would be wise to make friends with the horses. If they knew her and expected food, the nervous animals
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