The interpreter turned back to Elias. Winona says she claimed you, she says she brought you to her fire not as a prisoner, but as a choice. Elias's head snapped toward her. She refused to look at him. She says, the interpreter continued, disbelief coloring his tone, that she intends to honor the placement of the robes.
She proposes a union, a wedding. The word hung in the frozen air. Elias stared at the woman standing a few feet away. She was saving his life, he realized. But the cost was insane.
I cannot, Elias whispered, leaning toward her. You can't do this. Just tell them I'm a fool who got lost. Don't bind yourself to me. I'm a dead man walking anyway.
Winona turned her head slightly, her eyes locking onto his. They were dark pools of desperation. Do you want to die here, white man? She hissed under her breath. Do you want Iron Dog to take my father's place because he proved he could spill your blood?
This is not about romance. This is about survival. Mine as much as yours. But if you refuse, she said, her voice dropping to a terrifying calm. They will kill you where you stand.
And because I brought you in, I will bear the shame. My father's standing will break. The clan will fracture. Say yes or you do must both. As looked at the warriors, 321 men waiting for a sign.
He looked at the chief who watched him with a mixture of curiosity and pity. And he looked at Winona, who was holding her breath, her knuckles white. He had spent 5 years running from responsibility, running from the things he had done and the things he had failed to do. He was tired of running, and he could not let this woman pay the price for his bad luck. I accept," Elias said loudly.
The wind whipped the words away, but the interpreter heard. He nodded to the chief. The tension in the air shifted. It did not vanish, but it changed texture. The immediate threat of violence receded, replaced by a heavy, solemn weight.
The ceremony began immediately. There was no changing of clothes, no feasting, no joy. It was a legal proceeding, a sealing of a contract witnessed by the morning sun and the armed men. The chief stepped forward and took a buffalo robe from a woman standing nearby. He draped it over Winona's shoulders.
She stepped next to Elias, her face pale, but composed. The interpreter instructed Elias to stand still. He tried, but the pain in his side was a gnawing rat. The world tilted gray at the edges. He swayed, his knees buckling before he could fall.
A hand gripped his arm. It was Winona. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her fingers digging into his bicep. She pulled him upright, anchoring him against the wind. "Lean on me," she whispered, her lips barely moving.
"Do not show them weakness," Elias gritted his teeth and forced his spine straight. He leaned into her, feeling the solid warmth of her presence. She did not pull away. Her hand remained on his arm, her thumb pressing rhythmically against his muscle. It was a touch that lingered longer than duty required, a silent transfer of strength.
The chief spoke a few words, looking at the sky. He took a small pouch of pollen and scattered it over their heads. He then tied a strip of leather around Elias's left wrist and a matching one around Winona's right. It is done, the interpreter said. There was no cheer.
No one fired a rifle in celebration. The 321 warriors lowered their weapons, but their eyes remained cold. They looked at Elias not as a new brother, but as a tolerated danger, a wolf that had been allowed into the sheepfold on a technicality. The circle broke. The men turned and walked away, their silence heavy with judgment.
Iron Dog lingered the longest, spitting into the dirt at Elias's feet before turning his back. Elias sagged, the adrenaline draining out of him. Winona kept him upright, guiding him back toward the lodge. "Not there," she said, steering him toward a smaller, older structure set slightly apart from the main circle. "My father's lodge is his own.
We have a new place. They entered the smaller lodge." It was cold inside, the fire pit merely a bed of gray ash. Winona moved quickly, gathering kindling, striking a spark. Elias collapsed onto the pile of furs in the corner, clutching his side.
He watched her as she worked. She moved with efficiency. Her anger contained in the sharp movements of her hands. She got the fire going, then turned to him. She looked exhausted.
The regal mask she had worn outside slipped, revealing a young woman burdened by a crushing weight. "Why?" Elias asked, his voice rough. Why did you really do it? She sat back on her heels, feeding a stick into the flames.
Because Iron Dog wants war, she said he wants to lead. If he had killed you, the soldiers would come looking for a missing white man. It would bring the fight he wants. My father is tired. He wants peace.
I bought him time. You bought him time with your life. Elias said, "You're stuck with me now." She looked at him, her expression unreadable. For now, until you are strong enough to leave, or until the snow melts.
She stood up and came over to him. Let me see the wound. She knelt beside him, her hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. Elias flinched, his hands shooting out to catch her wrist. It was a reflex, a survivor's instinct honed in back alley fights and military skirmishes.
Don't, he warned. Winona didn't pull back. She looked at his hand gripping her wrist. Then up at his eyes, I am not your enemy. Husband, she said, the words sounding strange and heavy in her mouth.