by Karen Kay
“Omaopii, hush, now.” He took her in his arms. “No more until we have thought well on this.”
She surrendered to his touch, melting into him as though she had been awaiting it all her life. Placing her face against his chest, she stuttered, “All…all right. No more. At least for now.”
She could feel the hard muscles of his chest as she lay her cheek against him, hear the steady beat of his heart. It comforted her.
She would do as he had asked and think on it. She doubted that much would come of it, but she would try.
Perhaps, too, she would start to seek a way home. Although, the more and more she considered it, the less and less Fort Union began to appear as her home.
Where did she belong in this vast and unusual world? Ireland, a land she had never seen? America, the land she had been born to?
Was there truly a place for her?
She sighed. Her old life, at this moment, seemed as equally unappealing as the thought of Indian life. Nor was the homeland of her heritage, Ireland, holding out the welcome beckoning that it once had for her.
She didn’t understand the change in her, nor could she appreciate why she was feeling the way she was. Perhaps she might never come to grips with it. But of one thing she was becoming more and more certain: she loved this man who held her. Despite who he was, despite who she was. She loved this man who had proved himself to be honorable, trustworthy and…a friend.
She peered skyward, toward the stars, and willed herself to think no more on it this night. Tomorrow would be soon enough to try to assimilate all that had happened here. Tomorrow she would force herself to start envisioning a way home, wherever that was.
Tomorrow…
Chapter Fourteen
Blue Raven Woman heard the hoot of the owl, but she resolutely ignored the sound, turning over onto her side in her sleeping robe. It was Singing Bull calling to her, she knew. Hadn’t she agreed to meet him tonight?
But she couldn’t go. She could not risk her honor, no matter the urging of her heart.
Why had she agreed to meet him? Was it because he would leave soon on the warpath? Was it because she feared she would never see him alive again? Or was it because she could not deny forever the yearning of what was in her spirit?
Whatever the cause, to agree to meet with him had been a weakness, a weakness she had to restrain in herself from this moment forward.
Something touched her on the shoulder and she jumped.
A finger brushed over her lips, keeping her silent. She inhaled, recognizing the clean yet tantalizing scent of Singing Bull.
He had come to her. A part of her rejoiced. A part despaired.
He lay between the tepee covering and the inner tepee lining, a space which would allow for a single body. Blue Raven Woman turned her face toward the inner lining, lifting the soft rawhide slightly so that she might see him.
She let out a barely audible gasp. His face rested only inches from her own.
He smiled at her, a finger coming to his lips to silence her again.
If she were caught this way, her honor would be forfeited, no matter that she had not asked Singing Bull to come here. As it always was, she as a woman would bear the brunt of shame, while he as a man walked away unscathed.
Blue Raven Woman glanced around the tepee quickly, noting the sleeping bodies of her mother and father, those of her younger sister and brother. Luckily, her older brother was away, hunting with his more-than-friend. Her older brother would have caught her, she was certain.
Turning her head back toward Singing Bull and bringing one of her hands upward, she motioned toward him in the language of sign, “Why are you here?”
“You agreed to meet me,” he signed back.
She inhaled deeply. “I changed my mind,” she motioned silently. “Leave here at once, before you are discovered.”
“Leave with me.”
“I cannot.”
“We will marry. Then there will be nothing more that anyone can do about it.”
“You think that my brother would accept it? More likely he would cut off the end of my nose.”
“I would not allow him to do that.”
“You would be unable to prevent it. You know this. And if my brother did not, if he let me do this, his society, the Mut’-siks, the Braves, might do it in his place. Can you deny this?”
Singing Bull remained silent for a moment, his hands still. At last, however, he motioned, “We could leave and seek out my mother’s sister who lives amongst the Gros Ventres. We could stay there until the bad feelings here are gone.”
Blue Raven Woman lay her head back against her robe, the tepee lining falling at her side. She could do it. What he spoke of was true. Though she might not see her mother or her father again for many years, still, she could do it.
Singing Bull touched her on the shoulder and she lifted the buckskin lining to stare back at him. He motioned, “What say you? Do we do it?”
She hesitated.
She shouldn’t have, because his hand slipped down beneath her robe, as though she had invited him. She drew in her breath in a hiss. She lay naked beneath the robe.
His hand cupped her breast and she almost cried aloud with the ecstasy of it. But that wasn’t all he was doing. Slipping another arm under the tepee lining and over her body, he drew her closer to him, toward that inner lining of the lodge until she faced him. He slid the robe down her body, exposing her breasts; and where his hand had gone before, his lips now followed.
She withered beneath his touch and shut her eyes, willing herself one last time to pull away. But she couldn’t, and though she told herself that she mustn’t do this, it did no good. This was Singing Bull. This was the man she loved. She gloried in his touch, and her heart seemed to have more force of will tonight than her spirit.
His lips remained on her breast, while his fingers dipped lower, over her stomach, down farther toward that private place where no one had ever touched her, though that part of her ached for him to do so now.
Would he touch her there? She yearned for it, and yet she must make him stop…mustn’t she?
Suddenly, he found the soft moistness of her and she barely held back a moan of ecstasy. She caught her breath as raw feeling overwhelmed her, and her mind ceased to function.
He rubbed her down there, his lips still nibbling on her breasts. Still stroking her gently, he slipped a finger inside her, and she thought that Mother Earth might open up and swallow her, so consumed was she with feeling.
He brought her upward in a passionate spiral, then, pushed her further and further, toward what, she did not know.
Then it happened: her body convulsed with so much pleasure, she thought she might die. But she didn’t. Instead, she moved her hips toward him, straining for more. Such intense feeling she could never remember experiencing, and it went on and on, racking her body with a pleasure so strong, she thought she might cry out.
But she didn’t. Such would be the height of foolishness.
She reached for him and he released his swollen member into her hand. She felt him shudder in reaction as she softly stroked him and she gloried in her power over him, feeling his pleasure as though it were her own.
He pulled her under the tepee lining, placing her between the lining and the outer buffalo-hide covering. Quickly he positioned himself on top of her.
But this action, far from bringing her again to the height of ecstasy, had the same effect as dousing her with cold water.
She grew stiff beneath his touch; she began to think.
She had not married this man, could not marry this man, and he was about to take her as a husband takes a wife—or as a man takes a dishonorable woman.
Dishonorable.
What had she done? What was she doing?
She pulled away from him all at once and scooted back under the inner lining, into the safety of her home.
She had almost let him take her—and without the benefit of becoming his wife. She would have shame
d herself, her parents, her brother. She might even have had to pay the price for her wanton behavior, a thing that would mar her beauty and be a testimony to her dishonor for the rest of her life. Too, if she had let Singing Bull have his way with her now, wasn’t it true that she would never be able to sponsor a dance to Sun when she grew older? Never be able to use its healing power to cure someone close to her—a husband, a son, perhaps even a daughter?
She began to weep.
Again Singing Bull touched her shoulder, but she brushed his hand away.
He tried to roll her over, too, to regain what he had lost, but she remained rigid beneath his touch, refusing to turn over and look at him or even speak to him in the language of sign.
He tried once more, again, but all to no effect.
Eventually she heard him sigh before he pulled up the buffalo-hide covering of her parents’ dwelling, replacing the stones which had held the covering down. Quietly she heard him slip away into the night—without the bride whom he had sought.
But oh, what had she done?
With a hiccup, Blue Raven Woman tossed onto her stomach and cried to herself, until at last the forgetful calm of sleep claimed her.
“I have nothing to dry myself with,” Rebecca complained. “No, do not turn around, only, please tell me what should I use to—Night Thunder!”
He had revolved around, despite her protest, and had begun to pace toward her. Startled, she threw her arms up in front of herself in an attempt to hide the fullness of her bosom. The attempt proved useless, however. She could tell by the catfish smirk on his face.
She said, “You promised that you would give me privacy this morning if I were to bathe.”
“I said that I would try to give you privacy…there is a difference between trying to do something and a full vow.”
“Is there? I am not so certain. Besides, I don’t see that you have put a great deal of effort into it,” she complained. She glanced up at the handsome warrior who stood at some distance from her, his countenance bearing the most innocuous grin.
She had so looked forward to this bath, their long journey almost at an end. This morning Night Thunder had announced that they were only a half day’s ride from his village. Their entire party had stopped here, close to this stream: the warriors to employ themselves in preparing to enter the village, she and Night Thunder to plan what they would do upon their arrival.
Night Thunder had offered to stand guard over her while she bathed, and she, unable to deny herself, had taken him up on the proposal.
His voice interrupted her thoughts as he said, “I try hard to give you this privacy you seem to desire. Very hard, I try.” He grinned at her.
She made a face at him, all the while attempting to scoot down further into the water. “Night Thunder!”
He had already compromised the distance between them, was even now standing at the bank of the stream. That the water only allowed her to immerse herself thigh deep didn’t help her cause. Even squatting down, she remained exposed from the belly up, arms over her bosom as a last defense.
“You promised,” she attempted again.
“Aa, I did, and I tried to keep from looking at you. I fought a great battle within myself to maintain this vow, too.” He smiled at her again and shrugged. “I lost.”
Despite knowing that she should admonish him, despite her own futile venture at modesty, she felt herself begin to smile, and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth that he might not know it.
“Come out now. I have a robe to wrap around you that you might not feel the chill of the early morning.”
“All right,” she said, “turn around and I will.”
He grinned at her and stayed exactly where he was. He said, “I have the robe.”
“Aye,” she said, “I can see that. Now, please turn around so that you are not facing me, and back up a distance.”
He did exactly as she had asked and rotated around, his back now to her. But instead of treading farther away from her, he came closer to the water and to her, the robe held in front of him and…unavailable to her.
She heaved a deep breath. “No, no,” she said, “spin around and—”
“I have spun around, as you asked,” he peered at her from over his shoulder.
“Aye,” she said, “I can see that.” She tried her best not to grin, but she couldn’t help herself, and humor tinged her voice. “Turn your face around, too.”
“Aa, you wish me to turn my head around, too?”
“Aye.”
“You must tell me all of these things that you wish, that I may do as you ask. Did I not say I would help you?” He turned his face back around, so that he could no longer see her.
“All right,” she said, satisfied, “now, drop the robe so that I can pick it up.”
He did so, but dropped the thing in front of him, his body effectively providing her with a barrier to it. He stood with his hands on his hips, though now and again he peered at her from over his shoulder.
She groaned and said, “Now step over it.”
“Aa,” he said, “you want me to step over it. Of course.”
He obliged her at once and the robe became momentarily accessible to her. But when she might have made a gallant effort to grab the thing from him, he sat down upon it.
“No, no,” she admonished, “you’re not doing it right.”
Again he glanced at her from over his shoulder. “Am I not?” he asked innocently. “Come here and show me how to do it.”
“No, Night Thunder, you’re not getting the point.”
“Am I not?”
“No.”
“And what is this point?”
“You are supposed to be letting me bathe without watching me.”
“Aa, I am glad you have seen to enlighten me about my duty. But am I not doing all that you ask me to do?”
She moaned. “Are you being deliberately obtuse?”
“Know I not what this means, ‘obtuse.’”
“Stubborn, mulish, obstinate, willful, inflexible, childish…” She took a deep breath.
“What am I doing? Is the robe not here as you had asked? Have I not put it within your reach? Why do you not come out here and take it from me?”
“You know why.”
He chuckled.
“Now,” she said, “stand up and walk away from the water.”
“Aa, yes, away from the water. You want me to go farther away, not closer. I think I have it now. You had only to say so and I would do it.” He stood up and, true to his word, he paced farther away from her—taking the robe with him.
“Night Thunder,” she stood up in the water, hands on her hips, “leave the robe.”
“Aa, you want the robe, too,” he dropped the robe, but turned completely around at the same time, a smug grin on his face. He gazed at her hungrily. “The robe is here,” he pointed out unnecessarily.
“Aye,” she dropped back into the water in an instant, hands over her bosom, although the attempt was too late. He had seen the whole of her nude body—which of course had been his purpose all along. Still, she couldn’t help giggling at him.
She asked, “Are you going to cooperate with me or not?”
Eyebrows shooting up, he gazed at her, so innocently. “I am cooperating. Are you unhappy with what I am doing?”
“Aye, that I am.”
“And yet I am trying to be helpful.”
“Aye,” she said, “you are trying.”
“Aa,” he rejoined, “did I not tell you that I would be ‘trying’?”
She laughed. “I suppose you did,” she admitted. “I reckon I did not understand exactly what you meant by ‘trying.’”
He smiled at her. “Come out now before your skin turns as wrinkled as that of an old woman.”
“I’m not going to manage to get you to look away when I get out of the water, am I?”
“Look away?” He shook his head. “Saa, no, why would I want to look elsewhere when something more beaut
iful than even the sky at sunset, is before me?”
“Flatterer.”
“Saa, no. I speak only the truth.”
She shook her head. “All right, then, if you’re going to watch me, come closer.”
He stepped right up to the bank of the stream, smiling at her and holding the robe out for her.
She said, “Now give me your hand that you might help me from here.”
He grinned, but extended his hand toward her nonetheless.
With all her might, she exerted one gigantic pull, and with an enormous splash, into the water came the big, tough Indian warrior, robe and all. She giggled as she watched him surface after a few moments, surprise etched on his face.
But his amazement didn’t last long. Throwing the robe to the shore, he cupped his hands and splashed her.
She retaliated.
He made a grab for her.
She shimmied away.
He fumbled with something beneath the water and threw an article of clothing ashore. His breechcloth?
Oh, my.
He sent her another splash.
She leapt under the water and lunged toward his legs, pulling on them and dumping him back into the water.
He grabbed at her, and hauling her close to him, emerged, situating her body until she was pressed up close to his.
Immediately she became aware of the differences in their bodies, male and female.
Where hers was soft and rounded, his was contoured and solid. Where hers was delicate and dainty, his was all angles and hard.
She suddenly became aware of something quite rigid and substantial pressing against her belly. Heaven spare her, what was this happening to him, to her? A craving, suddenly urgent and consuming, burst through her body, hurling down her nerve channels, centering itself in that delicate spot between her legs. Her pulse leapt, her heart pounded, her breasts strained against him.
It would have been useless to deny that she wanted this man, wanted him to make love to her. The knowledge made her knees weak, and it took all her effort to stand. But she wouldn’t give in to that weakness. She mustn’t.
“Rebecca,” he whispered to her, his hands cupping her buttocks, his voice suddenly urgent. “I want you.”