“I missed cooking for you.” She grinned and ran an appreciative eye over his body.
“I also missed touching you,” she added. His gaze met hers, his eyes darkening as if he understood, but he didn’t speak or return the words she wished he could. Yet the heated look in his eyes spoke louder than words.
“You understand by my tone, my voice. I know you do.” She went to him, knelt before him and touched his face, running her fingers across his high cheekbones and lightly over his lips.
“I love you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me.”
Her warrior set his arrow and knife down and pulled her onto his lap, where he rocked with her. “The food,” she protested with a laugh.
The food waited.
Swift Foot resumed his arrow making but his attention kept wandering. His gaze strayed to Emily, to her hair. Those white-yellow strands still mesmerized him even after all this time. When she glanced over at him and smiled, heat settled in his groin. From deep within, he vibrated with a need so strong his hands shook. How had this happened? All his efforts to hold her at bay and keep his distance had failed. Even worse, he delayed his return to his people by staying with her.
A sharp pang in the center of his chest grew. He turned his eyes to the ripening land barely discernible in the dimming light. Unrest and worry clouded his mind and filled his heart with dread. He felt as though he stood on an unstable ridge, the earth crumbling beneath his feet.
The peace he’d found with this woman, the relationship they shared was in his mind like that between Wi and Hanwi. Sun needed Moon to be complete. Without both of them, the world would not be the same. He closed his eyes, trying hard to suppress the emotions raging inside. But he knew deep in his heart that without Emily he would not be the same—just as he knew that soon this nice little world he’d created and shrouded himself in would come to an end.
Trying to keep his mind from his troubling thoughts, Swift Foot attempted to concentrate on making new arrows. He placed the quill of a feather in his teeth, grabbed hold of the top and pulled one side of the feather out, down and back, using constant pressure and speed to prevent ripping the vane.
Emily walked past, her hips swaying, her hair swinging, drawing his hungry gaze to her. His attention on her and not the feather, he went too fast and tore the vane. It was the third he’d ruined. Disgusted at his inability to concentrate, he tossed the feathers aside and gave up. Instead, he forced himself to face his future.
The truth could no longer be denied. Or hidden. Or avoided. Already he’d been gone far longer than he’d planned. His people would be worried, for he was to be their next chief as soon as his ailing uncle stepped down. His tribe was small, and many of their strong warriors were gone, killed in battle. They needed a strong leader. They needed him.
The council had recognized the need of their people, yet they also worried that Swift Foot was too young, too filled with the restless abandon of youth despite his many achievements. Fearful that their tribe would soon be wiped out, they’d agreed to his becoming chief—on one condition: he must marry a woman of their choosing. By doing this, they ensured he’d be settled and ready to focus on the demands soon to be placed upon his shoulders.
Too, marriage to a woman belonging to another clan of the Hunkpapa tribe would strengthen his own. Normally the male left his people to join his wife’s, but because of their dwindling numbers, the two clans had decided to band together, both under his leadership. The council had made their choice. The arrangements were made. All that remained was his return, and then both clans would be his—and would count on him to find a way to end the war between his tribe and the Miniconjou. The two Teton Sioux tribes had been at war all of Swift Foot’s life. It was time for the rift to be mended, and it was Swift Foot’s duty to do so.
The trouble was, he didn’t want to wed a stranger. Not only had he found the answer to his haunting dreams, he’d found love. Swift Foot loved the white woman named Emily. He wanted to take her back with him.
A test. He tried to block his emotions by remembering that this time with the woman was nothing more than a test. The spirits tested his honor, his worthiness to assume the role of chief.
Gripping his knees with white-knuckled hands, Swift Foot mourned. War and the death of his parents had shaped his life and determined his future. He had to remember who he was, and what he was.
Remembering why they’d died gave him some strength to resist the temptation to bring the woman back with him. Yet remembering the nights spent in the woman’s arms, the feel of her, the taste of her, the love he felt for her, tore his heart in two.
Tipping his head back, Swift Foot lifted his hands to the deepening sky to pray for strength. His hair brushed the exposed flesh of his buttocks as his upper body swayed in prayer. Love hadn’t brought his parents happiness, only death and years of spilled blood.
He thought of the man and woman he’d never known. In order to marry his mother, Swift Foot’s father had rejected the woman he’d promised to take for wife—the daughter of a Miniconjou chief. The scorned woman’s tribe had declared war on his Hunkpapa clan, and when he had been only a babe, they’d killed his parents. They would have killed him had they known of his existence.
Swift Foot’s lips twisted grimly. They now knew he lived, had grown to be a great and feared warrior. That gave him some satisfaction. Yet war between the two tribes continued, a vicious circle of revenge. The selfish act of his father continued to cost the tribe much, and with each new death, the dishonor of his family weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Somehow he had to find a way to restore peace. And honor. If he did not, the two tribes would end up destroying each other.
Swift Foot sighed. He’d accepted with little emotion the arranged marriage his clan demanded. It was his duty to follow the orders of his elders. At the time, he hadn’t understood the emotion called love that had made his father risk so much. But now he did. Now, in love with a woman with hair the silvery color of a full moon, he understood. His soul wept for what could not be. His heart cursed Iktomi for his cruel joke. To taste love, then to have it ripped away—how could he bear the pain?
Shifting, he watched Emily cook their meal. She’d learned fast and seemed eager to please. And she did please. More than he’d have thought possible.
Again, he was forced to remind himself that love didn’t matter. Only honor. He loved this white girl, and wanted to hold on to her as long as he could, but with Hawk Eyes—the new chief of the scorned Miniconjou tribe that sought to kill his people—Swift Foot knew what he had to do. He could no longer delay their parting.
Guilt ate at him. Each day made it worse for them both.
She was not his to claim forever, as his father had once claimed his mother. Even taking her home as a slave for his wife-to-be was out of the question. His people would remember his father’s actions, and they would doubt him.
At first he’d thought he could spend the warm months with her, then leave. He’d never expected it to be so painful to do so. He’d never expected to fall in love with her—and it didn’t help to see the love in her eyes, taste it in her kisses, or hear it in her voice. He’d never thought he’d yearn to say those words in return. But he couldn’t. Not even in Lakota could he say the words, for that would only make it so much harder to let her go.
In her arms alone could he show her the love he felt—but it was a love destined to tear them apart when he finally gathered the strength to leave.
Over the past two weeks, Emily sensed a difference in her warrior. They’d traveled long and fast for a while, and then they’d stopped. Often during the past several days he left her hidden, returning each evening to take her in his arms and love her long into the night, as if he couldn’t get his fill of her.
Not that she minded. She grinned, quickening her steps to keep up with him. Today he’d decided they should continue on.
Her gaze lingered on his bare back. She loved to look at hi
m, see the play of muscles ripple beneath his skin. Her eyes skimmed downward. The flap of his breechclout swished from side to side, revealing glimpses of flesh as bronzed as the rest of him. He was her Apollo, bronze and beautiful. She smiled and stared at her own arms. Her skin had turned a rich shade of honey after hours spent in the warmth of the sun. She was not as deeply tanned as he, still, she no longer looked white.
Her clothing felt heavy on her. At first it had seemed strange to go without. Aside from taking baths, she’d never gone naked. And never outside, in the open. She smiled. Her warrior had convinced her that it was silly to put on clothing each day when he was just as likely to take it off again; so whenever they were camped, she wore only her shift—or if he had his way, nothing at all. But when they traveled, in case they came upon anyone else, she endured the heavy weight of her mother’s old dress which she’d salvaged. She had shortened the skirt, enjoying the brush of tall grass against her calves; and the warm air on her bare arms; and the heat had convinced her to tear the sleeves from the shift.
Happy with her life, she laughed. Her warrior turned to see what she found amusing. Reaching forward, Emily stroked her fingers down his back, slid their tips beneath the hide covering his buttocks. His eyes darkened and roamed down her body, making her breasts ache for his touch. With a glint in his eyes, he trailed his finger down across one budded breast, then across and over the other.
She groaned. This time it was his turn to laugh. Then, to her annoyance, he turned and continued on. Again, she wondered about his pace. Perhaps they were returning to his tribe. Beneath her feet the grass crunched, and it surrounded her, along with leaves from trees that had lost their glossy texture. Everything looked dry. Summer would soon give way to fall and winter. Surely he didn’t roam on his own during the winter? He must be returning to his tribe. Thinking of that brought a new worry to her.
What would his people be like? Would they accept her? She had no idea.
Dusk was nearly upon them before he stopped and motioned for her to hide. She settled back while he went ahead to scout. They’d gone through this many times, especially when he spotted other Indians in the area. He’d taught her to sit absolutely still, to walk without leaving tracks, and to move through the bushes without breaking leaves or branches.
When he returned and motioned to her, she followed him deep into the lengthening shadows. Without warning, they burst out of the woods into a small, secluded clearing.
There was just enough light to reveal a fallen tree trunk, tall brown grass and shrubs, all enclosed by a wall of thick tree trunks. Beneath Emily’s feet, tiny flowers drooped on fragile stems—another sign that summer would soon be past.
“It’s wonderful,” she murmured, staring around at this little bit of paradise.
He grunted, then indicated she should make camp. Untying a long leather thong that crisscrossed her back to hold their belongings while they traveled, she quickly unpacked the pouches of food, a blanket of rabbit pelts she’d sewn together and the buffalo hide that she used to roll everything into. Gathering fistfuls of dry grass and leaves, she piled them together, making a soft bed upon the hard ground. She laid her warrior’s buffalo robe on top. Turning, she waited to see if he was going to hunt, or if they’d just eat a meal of dried meat and berries.
The look in his eyes made her smile. Dried meat and berries. When he held out his hand she took it and let him lead her down onto the soft bed she’d just fashioned. Without hesitating, she stepped out of her cumbersome skirt, noting that it was in tatters and would soon be worthless. And when she pulled the shift over her head, she heard it rip. She winced. Soon she’d have nothing to wear—but right now, it didn’t seem to matter.
After a bout of leisurely lovemaking, Emily rose and brought the pouch of food to their bed. She also brought the comb she assumed her warrior had gotten from traders. She handed it to him, and as he did each evening, he settled her between his thighs.
“I’ve never had anyone comb my hair as gently as you do,” she commented, leaning back into his hands as he gently untangled her long locks. While he attended to her hair, she sampled from the fresh batch of berries she’d picked yesterday.
“I wish you could talk to me. It’s the only thing I really miss, you know.” She’d tried to get him to teach her his language, but outside of a few words here and there, it hadn’t worked.
So in the evenings, she talked: about what she’d seen during the day, her fears, her childhood. Anything she could think of, just to hear a voice she could understand.
When he tossed the comb aside and slid his hands around to cup her heavy breasts in his palms, she leaned back. Laughing, she tipped her head back and held out a freshly picked berry.
“You really should eat.”
He took the food from her, deliberately nipping her pink-tipped fingers with his teeth.
Long into the night, Emily gave herself to her warrior, sensing an edge to his loving. But the touch of his mouth skimming her flesh shoved the worry aside. Her lover wouldn’t allow any distraction on her part. When she finally fell asleep, her legs tangled with his, her head tucked beneath his chin, and her fingers twined with his, it was with a smile on her lips.
The howl of a wolf broke the predawn stillness, startling Emily awake. Sitting, leaning on one hand, she blinked against the darkness. The moon had gone behind a cover of gray clouds. Her heart raced. What had awakened her? She no longer feared the beasts of the forest. Not with her warrior at her side. But tonight she sensed something was wrong. Seeking warmth and reassurance, she turned to her companion.
He wasn’t there. She reached out and touched the bedding but found only a cold, empty spot where she’d fallen asleep wrapped snugly in his arms. She rose to her knees and peered into the darkness. Where had he gone? She shivered.
Suddenly a small ray of moonlight broke through the blanket of clouds, and Emily spotted a familiar figure moving farther into the gray shadows, away from her. Why the sight of her warrior walking away struck terror into her heart, she didn’t know. Yet all of his strange behavior came back to her, and she didn’t care if he was going scouting or checking up on a noise he’d heard; she didn’t want to be left alone.
Not now.
“Wait!” she cried softly. She jumped to her feet, heedless of the rocks and branches stabbing her bare soles as she stumbled after the departing figure.
Catching up, Emily grabbed his arm, dimly aware of the weapons slung across his shoulders and the animal-skin pouches of personal items hanging from a throng around his waist.
She froze. He never took those with him unless they were moving on. “Where are you going?” Panic edged her voice.
His nostrils flared with emotion; then she was caught close by strong, muscular arms. Emily threw her arms around his neck, clinging fiercely, drinking in his rich scent, a combination of sweat and the woodsy outdoors. It was all right. He wasn’t leaving.
He murmured something in her ear. She heard the beat of his heart, and the sharp intake of air as he reached up and pried her hands from his neck, forcing them back to her side. She stared at him, trying to read his expression in the dark of the night.
His arms lifted, his fingers brushing up her bare arms, feathering over her collarbone, and up to frame her small oval face.
“Kopegla sni yo.” Leaning down, he gently kissed her.
Emily closed her eyes, comforted by his kiss yet troubled by it. His lips were firm and warm, yet they trembled. When he gently led her back to the fallen log, she sat, staring up at him, catching the glimmer of moisture in his eyes.
He turned and picked up a water pouch made from the stomach lining of a buffalo, and a bulging parfleche filled with meat, berries and greens. He held them out to her.
Emily took the precious pouches—she’d refilled them just yesterday—and laid them in her lap, wondering why he was preparing to leave so early this day. Then he held out a wooden object that had been sitting among the food pouches. She’d never s
een it before. Reaching for it, Emily twisted sideways on the decaying log to find beams of moonlight to illuminate his offering.
A thick piece of bark formed the top of a crudely carved box. Lifting it, she peered inside. Soft brown rabbit fur lined the interior. Curled on the silky fur lay a necklace. Emily lifted it out and held it up. She gasped at the long bear claw strung on a leather thong. It was one he’d worn around his neck, one she hadn’t even noticed was gone. Planning to take her mother’s locket that she wore around her neck on another length of leather and combine the two, she turned to thank him.
Her cry of pleasure lodged in her throat. She scanned the area but he was nowhere in sight.
Looking at the gifts he’d given her, the necklace dangling from the tips of her fingers, the wooden box resting on her palm, she knew if she stood and ran after him, she wouldn’t find him.
He’d said goodbye.
Tears slid from her eyes, ran down her cheeks and dripped down onto her bare breasts. Her head moved slowly from side to side as she refused to believe her protector, friend and lover had disappeared forever behind nature’s wall of greenery.
High overhead, the sky turned gray, the silence of the night broken by birds chirping and fluttering sleepily as they woke to greet the coming light of a new day. Emily heard none of it. She sat perfectly still, too numbed to move. This couldn’t be happening!
Hadn’t she suffered already? Hadn’t losing her family in that gruesome massacre been enough?
A rustling from the bushes behind Emily caused her to jump up from the log. Her precious water pouch fell to the ground, bursting to create a puddle at her feet. Her heart raced. Had he returned? She clutched her warrior’s gift to her chest. Rounding the large green bush, she scanned the area, praying that he’d changed his mind and had come back to get her.
Instead, a doe, startled by her sudden appearance, flicked its white tail and bounded into the concealing darkness of the woods. Emily’s shoulders slumped in despair. Unsure of what to do or where to go, she staggered back to the bed she’d shared with her warrior and fell to her knees, feeling dead to pain.
White Dawn Page 6