White Flame

by Susan Edwards

  Emma paled and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, I’ve done nothing but put her at risk since leaving home.”

  Pulling her to him, he felt as low as a snake for making her feel worse than she already did. But he had to prevent her from ever doing anything so foolish again. If he hadn’t found her, she’d have perished in the storm. He pushed the terrifying thought from him. “Promise me this.”

  Emma drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I promise. I’ll stay with you if you take me to Renny.”

  Pulling her hands from her face, Striking Thunder lowered them to the mat of furs beneath them. “We cannot leave until the storm stops. The child is safe and protected. In the meantime, I think I know how we can pass the time.” Lifting up onto his elbows, he used his tongue to stroke her from the tip of her breasts down to her flat belly. Her breathy moan told him she agreed.

  Two days later, Emma and Striking Thunder left the cave to enter a world of white silence. Trees rose from the ground, their heavily laden boughs weighed down with snow. Above them, a crystal-clear blue sky greeted them and rising high, the sun provided a comforting sight.

  Emma lifted her face to its weak warmth and breathed deeply of the fresh crisp air, grateful to find there wasn’t so much as a breeze. With no lasting effects from her experience in the blizzard, Emma followed Striking Thunder down the hillside, allowing him to help her when the ground turned slick with snow already melting. When they reached flat land, he pulled her to him. “Remember your promise.”

  She tipped her head. “Remember yours.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself. Then he lifted her onto her horse. The animal had been sheltered near the cave in a thick stand of trees and seemed eager to move on. Emma was glad the mare had survived the storm. “I can’t believe I’ll see Renny soon,” she whispered, closing her eyes, finally able to rid herself of her last image of Renny screaming as she’d been torn from Emma’s arms.

  “You will see her tomorrow.”

  True to his word, Striking Thunder led them in the direction she’d been headed when the storm hit. As he didn’t seem to be inclined to talk, Emma thought back over the last two days spent in the cave. The time seemed dreamlike. Nothing more had been said between them about her father or even the fact that soldiers had been close. They’d spent their time huddled beneath the furs sleeping or making love.

  Emma smiled in remembrance. She’d had no idea there were so many different ways to bring one to the brink of pleasure, especially with one’s mouth! She tingled between her legs just thinking about Striking Thunder’s insistence that kissing her there was acceptable. Oh, it was. It was more than acceptable.

  Watching him as he led the way, her heart swelled. During their time in the cave, he’d been so gentle, so patient with her inexperience. Without a doubt, in these last two days, she’d fallen completely and irreversibly in love with her warrior.

  And that admittance brought up questions like what to do about it. She didn’t know, but for now, she’d take what she could. They stopped to rest and eat. When it was time to go, Striking Thunder approached and helped her to her feet. But instead of releasing her, he pulled her close, a familiar glint in his eyes.

  She glanced around. There was no shelter. “Not now? There’s no shelter.” Her voice ended on a squeak.

  His lips curved into an amused grin. “Here. Now.” He slid her dress up over her hips, pulled his swollen manhood free, then lifted her onto him. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  Emma did and held on as he stroked them both to a fast and furious release. Afterward, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe how much I want you.”

  Gently, Striking Thunder lowered her. “Minseya, kechuwa. Minseya.” He kissed her, long and slow.

  Emma sighed. She didn’t know what he’d said but she loved the tender sound of it. After a moment, Striking Thunder stepped away, then fixed his clothing while she did the same. They continued their journey to Night Hunter’s village.

  The closer they got, the more worried Emma became. She voiced her fears. “What if they won’t give her to you?”

  Striking Thunder stared straight ahead. “They will give her to me.”

  She wished she felt as confident. Her sister had been right when she’d accused her of being a bore. But what choice did she have? Raising a child essentially on her own was a huge responsibility. Recalling Star Dreamer and Striking Thunder’s reaction to her father’s abandonment, some of her guilt eased. Responsibility for Renny had been one unfairly thrust on her. But instead of the familiar resentment, Emma longed for a second chance. She’d gladly embrace being boring if it meant having Renny back at her side.

  Thinking about her life, and having to go back to a strict, confining lifestyle, something deep inside Emma rebelled. Staring around her, she realized she didn’t want to return to that life and the same predictable routine day in and day out. There was no spark, no grand adventure to liven it—except Renny’s escapades. She shifted on the back of the mare, startled by her train of thought. What nonsense was this? She belonged in St. Louis. It was home.

  Wasn’t it? Rubbing her fingers, she glanced down, forgetting she no longer wore gloves to pick at when she was uncertain or nervous. Of course it was, she chided herself. And if not there, certainly in some other town. Or out here? a small voice whispered.

  Emma shook off the ridiculous notion. What was wrong with her? As if she could live in the wilderness, roaming from spot to spot endlessly! It was an absurd notion. When the time came, she’d return home to the secure world she knew so well.

  But instead of representing happiness and security, the thought of once again taking up her old life made her feel caged. Yes, she’d have security, but freedom would once again be lost to her.

  With nothing to do but think and ponder, Emma searched her heart and soul, confused by her conflicting emotions. She studied the scenery, looking for answers. It was so peaceful out here, a painting waiting to be captured on canvas. The rising tower of rock and trees awed her and when she lifted her face to that incredible sky, she wanted to spread her arms out and embrace it all. She wanted to be as free as the birds soaring overhead.

  But she didn’t hold her arms out or jump off the horse and run just because the thought of doing so made her happy. Instead, she restrained herself. Her upbringing did not allow her the freedom to act in such a manner. Emma frowned. There it was again. That word. Freedom. Why did it keep popping into her head? In St. Louis she was free. A respected citizen. Here, she was a captive. No rights. No freedom.

  No, that was not true. Since Striking Thunder had brought her to his village, she’d felt more free than she’d ever felt before. The differences came to her. Here, she was no longer hemmed in by what others said and believed. From her own personal experiences, she’d been able to draw her own conclusions and in fact, survival had forced her to do so. With Yellow Dog, her perceptions of the Indian race had mirrored those of society as a whole. He’d been a savage bent on harming others. But that perception couldn’t be more wrong with Striking Thunder or his people.

  No one in the Sioux village told her how to think or act, and despite her status as a captive, her captors hadn’t forced her to do more work than any other woman. They were not like those of her own race who owned slaves and worked them long, cruel hours and considered them less than human. Striking Thunder’s people had treated her with respect and acceptance.

  That was the key. Acceptance. They had accepted her for who and what she was, judging her only on her own merits. That was where her sense of freedom lay. Even her art reflected her freedom of choice—her subjects. She’d always yearned to draw and paint what she wanted, not what others told her was “ladylike.”

  She wanted to run across the land with her arms outstretched, and she needed to give in to her temper occasionally and express herself. And most importantly, no matter where she went in the future, she wanted to take a st
and and be herself.

  Rubbing the mare between its ears, Emma smiled at the ever-changing landscape, the canvas on which she longed to paint herself and her dreams. In her mind, she painted a tipi—Striking Thunder’s—and inside, embraced by the warm glow of the fire, she sat with her family. In her arms, she held an infant to her breast and across from her, two black-haired children sat beside Striking Thunder, her husband. That was the image she longed to paint on the canvas of her future.

  Acting on impulse, she slid down from the horse and sank into the melting snow. With a shout of pure happiness, she held her arms out and ran, twirling around and around, with her face to the sky above.

  Striking Thunder watched Emma with a smile. He felt her wild abandon and understood. No one knew better than he the weight of responsibility and duty. Though he did not resent his position or the behaviors and expectations imposed on him, he occasionally longed to shed them and just be himself.

  And right now, watching Emma, he wanted to join her. Her contagious laughter drew him, reminded him of his mother. He fondly recalled from his childhood how she had always laughed, and always his father had responded. How many men in his village so openly declared their love and affection for their wives? Not many would come home after a long day of hunting and take their wife to their mat, uncaring who knew.

  His people still regarded his parents as a pair of young lovers.

  He stopped. And why not? For the first time in his life, Striking Thunder understood his father and his need to come home and make love to his wife. Giving in to that same need to openly express what he felt, Striking Thunder set his bow and quiver of arrows on the ground and took off after Emma with a shout of his own.

  He chased after her, she tossed snow at him and he retaliated by tackling her and sending them both rolling through the slush. Like children, they played, laughed and ran, unhampered by responsibility. By the time they resumed their trek, shoulder to shoulder, Striking Thunder felt lighter in heart and soul than he could ever remember feeling.

  Early the next day, Emma and Striking Thunder were greeted by Night Hunter and two other warriors. Anxious, Emma followed the men into the village; it was much like Striking Thunder’s. Women stopped what they were doing to stare at her but this time, there was no hostility. They were curious, nothing more.

  Emma glanced around for her sister, but didn’t find her among the familiar sights of women going about their chores and children running around. Where was she? Was Renny still here? Impatiently, she waited. After several minutes of talk and hand motions, Night Hunter left. “What’s happening?” she asked Striking Thunder.

  Striking Thunder glanced down at her. “Your sister will be brought to us. We will wait here.”

  Now that the moment was upon her, Emma felt afraid. She plucked at her fingers until Striking Thunder put his hand over hers. She read the question in his eyes and voiced the fear that had her stomach churning. “What if she hates me?”

  He frowned. “Why would your sister hate you?”

  Emma rubbed her arms. “For not protecting her.”

  Striking Thunder sighed. “She does not hate you.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Emma’s stomach tightened.

  “Do not make yourself sick worrying over what is not.” He tipped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Let it go.”

  Emma knew he was right. What had happened couldn’t be changed. If Renny resented her, she’d just have to deal with it as best as she could. But what about him and his determination to lure her father into a trap?

  “And you, Striking Thunder, can you let it go?”

  His eyes darkened. “It is not the same. You did not kill anyone.”

  Emma drew a deep, shuddering breath, recalling the soldiers. “That’s a matter of perspective. And if Renny had died out here, her death would have been my fault.”

  Striking Thunder was saved from having to respond by a child’s shout.

  “Emma!”

  With a joyful cry, Emma whirled around. “Renny!”

  She held out her arms and caught her sister in a bear hug. Laughing and crying, she stood, holding Renny close. “Oh, God, I’ve missed you. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Emma sobbed, overcome by relief and love. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I promise to make it up to you.”

  Renny leaned back, her dark blue eyes alight with mischief. “I missed you, too, Em. Guess what, I have two horses of my very own! Can I take them back with me?”

  Laughing out of sheer relief, Emma would have promised her the moon. “Absolutely.” Setting Renny down, Emma knelt and ran her fingers down her sister’s untidy braids. “Some things haven’t changed.”

  Renny frowned, then looked worried. “I ruined my dress, Em. That’s why I’m wearing this one. You’re not angry are you?”

  Emma grinned. “Guess what. I ruined mine, too.”

  Giggling, Renny glanced up at Striking Thunder. “He is very nice, Em. And he has lots of horses.”

  “Yes, he is. He saved me from Yellow Dog. You’ll get to know him when we go back to his village.”

  Dancing on her toes, Renny looked puzzled. “But I already know him. He paid Night Hunter three horses for me, then gave Red Rock, that’s Night Hunter’s wife, a horse of her very own to take good care of me until he came to take me to you. Imagine, Em, four horses!”

  “Are you sure?” Emma frowned. What Renny said made no sense. If her sister had seen him three times, then he—She lifted her eyes to Striking Thunder. He met her questioning gaze briefly, then his gaze skittered away. The truth slammed into her.

  He’d known. For two months, she’d nearly worried herself sick, wondering and worrying about Renny and he’d known all along where her sister was. Keeping her features schooled, she spoke to Renny. “Are you ready to go?”

  Unaware of the mounting tension, Renny nodded. “Almost. I’ll go get my things.” She started to run off, then turned back. “You won’t leave, will you?”

  Emma reached out and pulled her back into her arms for another reassuring hug. “Never. I’ll never leave you. Now hurry.”

  As soon as Renny ran off, Emma stood with her hands on her hips and faced Striking Thunder. “You low-down slimy snake. You knew! You knew all along where my sister was and you never said a word.”

  Striking Thunder had expected Emma’s anger. He didn’t deny her accusation. “I had my reasons.” He didn’t elaborate. A warrior had no need to explain himself.

  “Reasons! You let me worry myself sick. Even in the cave, when you knew how I felt, you didn’t say a word.”

  Keeping his features impassive, he stared straight ahead. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”

  Tears of fury beaded in Emma’s eyes. “You tricked me. You tricked me into agreeing to share your tipi.”

  Striking Thunder glared at her. “No. I made a bargain. I said I’d bring you here and I did. You will keep your part of that bargain and move into my tipi when we return.”

  Emma drew herself up. “Yes. I will keep it. But listen well, Striking Thunder. I agreed to share you tipi. Not your mat. I won’t come to you willingly. You will have to force me.” Renny returned leading two horses. Emma stalked off to help her.

  Night Hunter, who’d returned, stared after Emma with an appreciative smile. “Your woman is very angry. She challenges you.”

  Striking Thunder smiled. The fire in Emma’s eyes fascinated and drew him. His blood sang and every nerve in his body felt alive. “It is good for a warrior to have challenges.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Riding across the barren prairie in search of game a month later, his words continued to mock him. True to her word, Emma had moved into his tipi upon their return. Renny had not. The girl stayed with Star Dreamer. Emma hadn’t felt it proper for the girl to witness what went on between a man and woman—not that anything had happened between them, a fact that sat sorely with him.

  Except for sharing his mat, Emma did everything
a woman did for her warrior. When he hunted, she cooked, preserving or sharing what they didn’t consume. With the harshness of the cold and wet weather, she repaired his clothing and even made him a new shirt and moccasins. But there was no joy in what she did. It was done in an unemotional, methodical, controlled manner. The laughter and spirited arguments between them were gone.

  The warmth and passion she’d ignited in his heart had been cruelly snuffed, all because he’d kept her sister’s whereabouts from her. Pulling back on the reins, he stopped. Fisting his right hand, he lay it over his heart. His heart beat, gave him life, yet inside, there was a cold, dark void that left him aching with sorrow.

  He’d tried to make amends, tried to talk to her but she refused to listen. When he brought up the sensitive subject of her sister and his duty to his tribe, she walked away from him. No one else dared to treat him so. He was chief. A courageous, smart, cunning warrior. He’d counted numerous coups, led successful raids and won the admiration and respect of his people. He didn’t need hers, yet he pursued, tried to win her back. All because he wanted her approval, needed to see her smile and gaze at him with love in her eyes.

  He spent his days hunting far and wide to bring back all manner of game, sat around the fire at night fashioning tools to ease her workload and went to neighboring tribes, traded for small treasures, including a nice short-handled knife, but still, she withheld her forgiveness. His fist tightened against his aching chest. Not even a gift of three bags of powdered paint, a whole range of painting implements he’d made, and hard-to-come-by squares of hide and smooth bark had softened her. He’d thought those supplies would bring a smile to her eyes but, no, she refused to touch them.

  He scowled. He’d been so sure that, given time, she’d come to her senses. She felt betrayed, hurt and angry, and he understood that. But his people came first. He didn’t have to explain himself—yet he’d tried to explain that things had been different before they’d become lovers. Before she’d run off, he hadn’t realized that to Emma, her need to find Renny was as vital to her as breathing. If he’d believed she’d have risked her life to go to her sister, he’d have brought them together sooner. By not telling Emma, he’d put her life in danger and had nearly lost her.