because we value you and do not wish to waste your time that I have been brought here. I am only an interpreter. I do not add ideas to the council. I am here only so you and the chief can talk.”
She had never looked at anyone so directly. She felt mesmerized and doubted that she would be able to look away. He stared back at her. His gaze was intense and as potent as a caress. It was an odd sensation, this looking at one another, and for a moment she could have sworn she knew his thoughts as though they were her own. She swallowed, then gestured, “We do not mean to disgrace you. We only try to communicate.”
Her hand tightened upon his arm, and she continued to stare at him. He was so close she could smell the clean scent of prairie grass that clung to the deerskin he wore, plus another indefinable scent that could only be marked as his own. She wondered if she should step back, away from him, but she couldn’t force herself to move.
He watched her while long moments passed; his study of her was so intense that for a moment she was certain he could see into her soul. And she wondered if he would dare to do the unthinkable and listen to her.
He shifted his gaze so that he stared at her fingers, where they touched his arm, and Kristina held her breath, praying that he could see beyond his pride and know that she would never intend him insult. Finally, he responded. “Perhaps you do not intend to demean us.” His motions were slower now, not so erratic. “But your chief does. He must know our customs to be chief at a trading post. I think he is afraid. I think he hides his fear behind the skirt of a woman. I think he uses you.” He looked down his nose at her and, though he tried to pretend differently, Kristina noted with a sense of elation that he watched her not with hostility but with admiration. It gave her hope to go on.
“Maybe you are right,” she gestured. “I do not know him well, but still he is chief. If you have business here, you will have to speak with him.”
“Halt!” His thrusting motion stopped just short of her breasts. His gaze was unwavering, yet she felt his anger did not extend to her. He raised his chin defiantly. “I do not have to speak to anyone. Our cause can be settled another way.”
“I beg you to try to continue the council.” Unable to look away, she held his gaze. “Perhaps I should explain. I am told I’m too forward for a woman. I am told I compete too fiercely with men. I am told I have talents only men should have. Maybe that is why the chief feels comfortable in asking me here.”
He paused suddenly, and Kristina warmed under the heat of his gaze which travelled down to the hem of her dress and back up, till his eyes returned to hers.
“Why do you say this?” he signed. “Are you one of those women who—?”
His hand motions stopped in midair. He had the grace to realize he should not ask what was in his mind, but Kristina, familiar with his culture, knew his thoughts, knew that his inquiry was personal, that he wanted to know about her—was she male in spirit rather than female?—wanted to know if that was why she competed with men in their own sphere.
“No,” she spoke aloud, responding to his thoughts, not to his question. She shook her head firmly, signing, “No, that is not why.”
She could feel the blush rise to her face and she looked away. Odd, but Kristina also felt urged to assure this man in a most feminine way that his speculations about her were incorrect.
“I…” Kristina paused, and with eyes clearly focused on his, she added, “It’s just that I am smarter than most men.”
Though not a single muscle moved, the Indian’s eyes mirrored amusement, while beside him one of his friends smiled.
They all visibly relaxed. Kristina smiled. She just might be able to save this council after all.
“I beg you to continue,” she signed. “But if you feel you must not council through me, come back tomorrow. Other men will be here