She stood and stretched her legs. “Yes, he did, and if you’re going to tease me about it, too, you can walk back to the house by yourself.”

Skylar stopped in front of her. “You’ve had a difficult day,” she said sympathetically.

“That is something of an understatement,” she replied, all hints of teasing gone. For the sake of courtesy, she moved to the ramada and greeted Gatana 19

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and her mother. Tsa’kata did not deign to acknowledge her, but Rayna spent a moment conversing with the old woman’s daughter, who had long since stopped working at the hacienda because of her advanced age.

“What brought you out here?” Skylar asked when she and Rayna finally started for home.

Dreading having to tell her about Geronimo’s outbreak, Rayna stalled for time. “Mother said that you were learning a ceremony, and I thought I’d better see what you were up to. What is Gatana teaching you?”

Skylar’s eyes danced with excitement. “You won’t believe it, Rayna. I’ve been asked to participate in Mary Long Horn’s maiden ceremony. Gatana is teaching me the ritual prayers for making the necklace of the sons-ee-a-ray.”

Rayna gave her a sidelong glance. “Would you care to translate that for me? You know how good my Apache is.”

“It’s the symbol of the morning star, one of many that will decorate Mary’s dress. Once I have learned the prayers, I’ll make the actual necklace that she’ll wear in the ceremony. The one I was working on today is only an imitation.

We use several different necklaces for practice so that none will be invested with the power of White Painted Woman.”

Rayna needed no explanation of that. White Painted Woman was the deity revered by the Apaches as the mother of their race. Apparently the symbol of the morning star belonged to her. “When is the ceremony?”

“In July, four days before the full moon. I suppose that would make it somewhere around the eighteenth.”

“Hmmm . . . That doesn’t give you much time to learn the ritual and complete the necklace.”

“I know,” Skylar answered, growing pensive. “And there’s more, Rayna. I have been asked to attend Mary on each of the four days of the ceremony.”

She paused a moment. “Will Mother be upset, do you think?”

Rayna couldn’t lie to her. “It’s possible, but she won’t try to stop you from participating.”

“I know that. I hate to cause her pain, though.”

Rayna slipped her arm around her sister. It made walking difficult, since Rayna was several inches taller, but Skylar needed the comfort. “You’re a grown woman, Skylar. You have to do what you think is best.”

“Even if it hurts someone I love?”

“Mother understands.”

Skylar shook her head sadly. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Then we’ll find a way to make her understand how important this is to you.”

Skylar glanced up at her, grateful for her support. For nearly as long as she could remember, this sister had been her buffer against disappointment, frustration, and anyone or anything that tried to harm her. Skylar 20

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had vague memories of another sister, older than Rayna, who had also watched over her—who had, in fact, died while trying to protect her from the Indians who had kidnapped her. The memory saddened her, but she couldn’t imagine loving that sister in the shadows any more than she loved this one.

“It is important to me, Rayna, but I don’t think I could make anyone understand why—not even you.”

“But I do understand,” Rayna insisted.

“No, you don’t.” Skylar stopped suddenly and glanced at the high blue sky near the horizon to the east. She seemed lost in thought, as though looking for something that wasn’t there.

Rayna stopped, too, facing her. “Then explain it to me.”

Skylar did not look away from the horizon as she spoke. “It’s the necklace,”

she said softly.

Now Rayna really did understand. Or thought she did. Years ago Consayka had told Skylar the romantic tale of a young Apache brave who had married a maiden from an enemy clan and united both their peoples. The brave had defied custom and given his bride a magnificent necklace of turquoise and silver with a medallion carved in the image of the Thunder Eagle.

Consayka told the story often, and not always in the same fashion. In one version the brave had been from the Jicarilla Apache tribe; in another, he was White Mountain. Depending on Consayka’s mood, the handsome brave and his wife had many children and lived to a ripe old age, or died tragically at the hands of a Chiricahua renegade. Rayna had heard so many versions of the story that she found it virtually meaningless.

Skylar, on the other hand, believed the story was true. What was more, she believed that somehow she had been a part of it. When she was fifteen, she had even made a replica of the necklace Consayka had described. She kept it hidden, and no one but Rayna and a few of the Mescaleros even knew of its existence.

“Making this necklace has reminded you of the Thunder Eagle legend, hasn’t it?” Rayna asked.

“Yes, but that’s not all.” She looked at her sister. “It’s sons-ee-a-ray.”

“Morning star? What has that got to do with the legend of . . .” She searched her memory for the names of the couple in Consayka’s story, but drew a blank. “Oh, what were they called?” she muttered impatiently.

“He Stalks the Gray Wolf and She Sings by the Willow,” Skylar supplied, her voice almost reverent as she spoke the names.

“Right. What has the morning star got to do with them?”

Skylar shook her head helplessly as tears shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. There’s a memory in my head that tantalizes me like a 21

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mirage in the desert, but when I reach out to touch it, it vanishes. All I know is that sons-ee-a-ray should mean something to me.”

Rayna had no idea how to ease her sister’s distress, and there was nothing she hated worse than feeling powerless. “Perhaps the memory will come to you in time,” she suggested lamely, and earned a small smile for her effort.

“I was taken from my people nineteen years ago, Rayna. It’s not likely that I’ll suddenly wake up one morning with all those memories intact. My old life will never come out of the shadows. I have learned to live with that.”

“Until something like this reminds you.”

Skylar nodded. “The feelings will pass. Come. Mother will be wondering what’s keeping us.” She started again toward the hacienda, and Rayna fell into step beside her. “All right, now, sister. You may tell me the real reason you came to fetch me.”

Rayna laughed. “I never could fool you, could I?”

“Not for very long,” Skylar replied, sharing her sister’s amusement. “Your eyes betray your emotions. Others can’t always see it, but I can. Something has troubled you deeply, and you don’t want to tell me about it.”

Rayna took a deep breath. “Geronimo has fled the San Carlos reservation and is rumored to be heading this way.”

“I see.” Though Skylar continued to walk, her body became very still, as though she had somehow drawn into herself, and a curtain fell over her features, making them unreadable. Rayna had seen it happen before. Her sister had inherited the stoicism of her ancestors, and when she chose to shut out the world, no one—not even Rayna—could penetrate the barriers she erected.

In an evenly modulated voice, Skylar asked questions, eliciting all the information her sister knew. Most of it was speculation, but even that was enough to cause concern. Where the Apache were concerned, everyone always assumed the worst.

“Did Mr. Martinez try to persuade Father to send the Mescalero away again?” she asked quietly.

Rayna knew Skylar wouldn’t believe a lie. “He did mention it, yes. But Father stood his ground. Nothing is going to happen to Consayka’s people.”

It was a long moment before Skylar replied. “I pray you are right, sister.”

They completed the long walk to the hacienda in silence.

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2

Arizona Territory, April 1882

Every window on the first floor of the modest two-story ranch house blazed with light, and the strains of a vigorous fiddle tune wafted out over the valley floor. There was no other sound for miles in any direction save for the occasional lowing of cattle in the distance and the haunting bay of a coyote somewhere up on Windwalk Mesa.

Keenly aware of the isolation of the Longstreet ranch, Major Meade Ashford relaxed against a post that supported the porch roof and extracted a slender cheroot from his pocket. His match flared briefly in the darkness, then arched through the air as he flicked it into the front yard. It landed in one of his sister’s flower beds, and Meade winced. If Libby found it tomorrow, there would be hell to pay. She’d been trying her hand at horticulture since the day he’d brought her to Arizona eight years ago, and she protected her garden almost as fiercely as she protected her two young children.

As far as the flowers were concerned, Meade had to admit that her results had improved tremendously over that first dismal year at Fort Apache when 23

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