He looked at the wikiup Ewepu So’wina’ had insisted they use, where his reluctant bride waited. Since their arrival in the village, he’d not had the chance to speak to her but fleetingly—nothing more than a nod, or a hello, or a smile. He’d been kept with Ewepu So’wina’ and Cheveyo, and he was grateful to them for that. Once he did get her alone, he had no idea what he would say to her. She’d told him about the letters she’d written after his disappearance. Instead of using her anger as a weapon, she’d shown him her hurt, and that pain, her pain, tore him up more than anything else ever had. More than any wound he’d ever received; more, even, than the loss of his leg had. Her pain left him feeling raw and exposed. Cheveyo gestured to their wikiup. “Your wife awaits. You should go to her.” Luke leaned back on his elbow. More than just buckskin and hides and a few feet of space separated him and Jessie. Maybe more always had. “I think I’ll wait a bit.” “Wait any longer, white man, and your bride will be asleep.”
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