White Fire took Flame’s hands. He edged her a few feet from the chief so that they could talk in private about what he wished to do.
“We can’t stay,” Flame blurted out, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him. “My father is already angry over so many things, especially over my having left the fort in such a way.”
“And he has a right to be angry,” White Fire said, sighing. “You see what happened by you having left the fort at night? You were easily abducted.”
“I had to leave,” Flame said, yanking her hands free. “Father was so horrible about things when I told him I was going to many you. He . . . he . . . made threats. I ran out on him before he could grab me and imprison me in my room!”
“You can never return to him, you know,” White Fire said, his voice drawn. “You will stay with me. We will be married soon. Then just let your father try and interfere. You will be mine to protect. I will protect you with my life.”
Feeling so much for him at this moment, seeing the depth of his feelings for her, and realizing the sort of sacrifice he might be making to have her as his wife—that her father’s threat would always be there, to haunt White Fire’s every move, Flame floated into his arms and hugged him.
“I love you so,” she murmured. “And I am so afraid for you. For both of us to be free of my father’s wrath, perhaps we should leave the area. We could go and get Michael and go where Father could never find us.”
“Your father is an obstacle for only a while longer,” White Fire said. “If Colonel Edwards does as he promised, your father will soon be no threat to anyone again.”
“But until he does, both our lives are in danger,” Flame said, stepping away from him, gazing into his eyes. “Even though I am his daughter, I truly believe he now sees me as no less than an enemy. I fear his wrath so, White Fire. When someone crosses him, he is capable of anything.”
“Tonight we are safe from him,” White Fire said soothingly. “Let us relax and enjoy this time with the Chippewa.”
“I shall try,” Flame said, then turned and walked with him back to Chief Gray Feather.
“We both accept your offer to stay,” White Fire said, which caused the old chiefs eyes to light up.
But when White Fire looked over at Song Sparrow, and saw a strange sort of emptiness in her eyes, he could not help but be afraid for her. It was not just that he had refused to marry her, it was the way it had all transpired in the presence of her people. She appeared to be totally dejected and ashamed.
When Song Sparrow turned and left, he was glad, for surely when she joined her daughter in the privacy of their lodge, she would realize who was truly the most important person in her life: her daughter. Being a mother, Song Sparrow must know that she must consider her daughter’s welfare over her own. Her daughter was solely dependant on her now since she no longer had a father.
“It is good that you will stay,” Chief Gray Feather said, taking White Fire by an arm. “Come inside my lodge. Wear the clothes of my people. Let us share tonight what we shared in the past.” He nodded at Flame. “Come. Join us.”
Flame smiled awkwardly at him. Then she went inside the chief’s large wigwam and sat down beside the fire on rich, soft pelts. White Fire and the chief went to the far shadows of the lodge, where the younger man changed from his clothes into a breechclout.
Trying not to be embarrassed while this was done, Flame centered her attention on other things. She looked slowly around her. Even though she had come here as a captive, she was as in awe of it now, as she had been the first time she had seen it earlier in the evening.
The lodge was just a single room, built of saplings which had been covered with woven rush mats and bark to keep out the cold. Flame noticed that the bark had been cut in a decorative zigzag pattern, and more mats on the floor were dyed in bright colors, giving the whole dwelling a cheerful appearance.
In the center of the lodge, a crackling fire provided warmth and shed a soft glow over the space. At the door, a hide had been hung to keep in the heat during the winter months. Warm blankets, bear skins and hides were hung from the rafters or arranged around the edge of the wigwam for sitting or sleeping. It was completely different from any home Flame had ever seen, but it seemed cozy.
Gray Feather’s cache of weapons were in the shadows at the back of the lodge.
As Gray Feather stood close by, his loose robe hanging in folds over his left shoulder, White Fire fastened his breechclout.
“Share body paint tonight with me also?” Chief Gray Feather asked, holding out a pot of assorted paints toward him.
White Fire gazed questioningly at the chief for a moment, then nodded and accepted the paints.
They took turns painting each other’s faces in colorful zigzag designs in colors of red, yellow, and blue.
Then White Fire watched the chief remove a long-stemmed calumet pipe from a sacred bag. Together they went and sat down by the fire.
Flame gasped when she saw the paint designs on their bodies and faces. For the first time, ever, she saw just how truly Indian White Fire was, and found it intriguing.
She said nothing, but only watched as White Fire and the chief exchanged smokes from the long-stemmed pipe. It seemed to be some strange sort of ceremony in how the pipe was smoked as the chief lifted it toward the east, the west, the north, and then the south.
She couldn’t understand what the old chief was saying as he offered the pipe in all directions, for he spoke the words in his Chippewa tongue.
After the pipe was smoked and set aside, Chief Gray Feather left the wigwam. Flame took this time to scoot closer to White Fire.
“Where is he going?” she whispered.
“To tell the women to bring in some food,” White Fire said, reaching a soft hand to her cheek. “Are you all right about everything? You are able to relax?” His lips fluttered into a soft smile. “You have accepted how I look? The paint? The breechclout?”
“I would love you if you wore nothing and you ran around with your body painted black,” Flame said, giggling. She leaned closer and ran a finger slowly over his powerful chest. “I think you are so handsome.”
“I could paint your face, if you wish,” he teased, his eyes dancing into hers. “When we are alone, I could paint your body.”
“No, I wouldn’t go so far as that in my admiration of the body paint,” Flame said, laughing softly. Then she grew quiet and stared at the buckskin entrance flap. “I wish that I could totally relax while being here with you, but I can’t get Father off my mind.”
“Of course, and who would expect you to?” White Fire said, drawing her into his embrace. He cuddled her closer. “I am sure he will look for you tonight until he is exhausted. Then he will return to the fort. I hope that we can leave early enough in the morning to travel through the forest before he is up again and searching for you.”
“What are we going to do in the morning?” Flame asked, shivering at the thought of what her father might do if he found them together. “Where will we go?”
“It would be too risky to go back to my cabin,” White Fire said. “Not yet, anyhow. We will establish ourselves elsewhere for a while. We can go to the Indian agent in Pig’s Eye. We can seek refuge there until Colonel Edwards sees to your father’s dismissal from this area, or better yet, his arrest. Then I will proceed at getting my son, but only after you and I speak vows before a preacher.”
“I want nothing but to be with you and Michael,” Flame murmured. “I will do anything, go anywhere you say, to achieve it.”
“For tonight, let us just forget everything but being together,” White Fire said huskily.
He leaned her away from him. He placed both hands at her brow and swept her hair back from her face. “We will be given a wigwam for the night,” he said. “You will experience how it feels to live as the Chippewa live. You will experience how it feels to make love in a wigwam.”
A sensual shiver raced across Flame’s flesh at the thought of being alone in a wigwam
with White Fire, making love. It seemed so primitive.
Yes, she concluded. For tonight she would forget about her father. It served him right to have to worry about her welfare, for in truth, it was only himself that mattered to him.
Perhaps her father might even feel relieved if he never saw her again, she thought bitterly. She had become a nuisance, an obstacle to his peace of mind.
She knew him well, and knew that he needed a clear mind to plan his strategies. A man of no great intelligence, he could only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Gray Feather came back into the lodge. He held the entrance flap aside as several women stepped inside. They carried wooden trays heaping with food and sat them on the floor close to the fire.
Another woman brought in a large brass kettle filled with boiled venison and green corn.
Flame glanced over at Chief Gray Feather. It was as though the Chippewa chief had known there would be a reason to celebrate, that he had known that his scheme to bring White Fire there would work. Much food had been prepared over the cook fires in many lodges.
When the women left, and Gray Feather came and sat down close to White Fire and Flame, he offered them wooden spoons and bowls.
“Eat your fill tonight and then tomorrow there will be more to eat before your departure from my village,” the chief said, gesturing with one of his hands toward the food.
Hungry enough, having had only a few bites of food the entire day, White Fire did not have to be asked twice. But first he heaped Flame’s plate with different items from the large platters.
As they sat by the fire White Fire sampled all the dishes they were offered. There was bear meat, which Flame declined, and boiled venison and duck, which she ate daintily with her fingers. They both had bowls of the corn soup, then finished the meal with cups of pine needle tea.
When the platters were empty, Chief Gray Feather gazed over at White Fire; then at length at Flame. Then he touched White Fire gently on the shoulder. “I do understand now why your heart is lost to this white woman,” he said thickly. “She is a gracious woman. She is beautiful. And I see much love in her eyes as she looks at you.”
“Fate brought us together many years ago just before my departure from St. Louis, as it did again here upon Flame’s arrival to the Minnesota Territory,” White Fire said, reaching over to take one of Flame’s hands in his. “It was written in the stars that we should meet twice, then marry.”
“Dreams, my dreams, placed you in the arms of my daughter,” Gray Feather said sullenly, his attitude cooler. “But in the past, as dreams failed me, so do they fail me now.”
White Fire’s insides stiffened. “It is with much regret that I am to blame for your dreams proving wrong,” he said tightly. “But although I am not marrying your daughter, do you not see that we can still be friends? I still feel a oneness with you and your people. I feel as though I am brother to your warriors, and son to you, their chief.”
“A son in my heart is not the same as in truth,” Gray Feather said, sighing. “But I do wish for you to still be a part of my life . . . of my people’s. Come often. Have council. Smoke with me. Hunt with me.”
“I will gladly do those things,” White Fire said, nodding. “But I have many things to do in my life before I can again sit with you as I sit with you tonight. I must do everything I can to protect my woman against the evil of her father. I must, at all cost, get my son back. These things take time and careful planning.”
“I wish you well and much happiness,” Chief Gray Feather said. He yawned and stretched. “The hour is late. Go. You will find the lodge that was yours three winters ago still standing. I have not allowed anyone to live in it. It is as you left it when you went to live with whites. I had hoped, even then, that you would return to us. So much inside my heart tells me that you belong here. It is a beckoning of sorts, a whisper in the wind.”
Chief Gray Feather rose to his feet as White Fire held Flame’s hand and she moved to his side.
The chief walked them to the entrance flap. Then he turned and went to sit by his fire again as they went on to White Fire’s wigwam.
Once inside, White Fire and Flame found a fire already burning in the fire pit. They found luxurious rabbit-fur blankets, woven from long strips of cottontail pelts, lying beside the fire.
“The blankets are beautiful,” Flame sighed as she sat down on one of them. “They are so soft.”
“They were made for me when I was an everyday part of the Chippewa’s lives,” White Fire said, recalling when Song Sparrow had brought them to his lodge and laid them at his feet.
Regret again filled his very soul to have hurt Song Sparrow so deeply by his rejection. But she would have to learn how to accept life as it was, not as she wished it to be. No one had control of their own fate. More than once fate had been unkind to Song Sparrow.
* * *
Song Sparrow stood in the dark shadows of night beneath a giant elm tree. As the brisk breeze fluttered the entrance flap that hung at White Fire’s lodge’s door, she could get an occasional peek of him and the flame-haired lady.
When she saw White Fire cover the white woman with his body and kiss her, she stared for a moment longer, then turned and fled into the forest, sobbing.
* * *
“Did you hear something?” Flame asked, drawing her lips from White Fire’s.
“Nothing but the thundering of my heart,” he whispered against her cheek, his hand sliding up inside her skirt. “Flame, Flame . . .”
Flame soon forgot having heard something that sounded like sobs as White Fire again covered her lips with his mouth and kissed her hard and long, while his fingers stroked her woman’s center. All was lost to her now except for the ecstasy that was building within her.
“Undress me,” she whispered against his lips. “Let me undress you.”
She closed her eyes and shivered sensually as White Fire unfastened her skirt and slowly slid it down across her hips, past her thighs, and then on past her ankles. He tossed it aside.
And before removing her blouse, he bent low and kissed the warm, wet place at the juncture of her thighs, the red tendrils of hair there soft against his lips.
Flame gasped at this forbidden way of loving her.
Chapter 23
Small in the worth of beauty from the light retired.
—Edmund Waller
The eerie cry of a loon sounding across the river outside the wigwam awakened Flame. Everything so unfamiliar to her, she leaned quickly up on an elbow and looked around her.
The soft glowing embers of the fire soon revealed the interior of the wigwam, and then White Fire, who still slept soundly at her right side. His body and face were now washed free of the body paint.
Swallowing back the fear that had crept into her heart upon her first awakening, Flame sighed. Then she stretched out again beside White Fire on the luxuriously soft rabbit-fur blankets. Smiling, deliciously content, at least for the moment, she became lost in deep thought.
It had been interesting the prior night as she and White Fire had lain together after making love. He had opened up to her and told her things about the Chippewa that until now he had not spoken about.
He had told her that the Chippewa called themselves Anishinabe, meaning “first or original man.”
Each band of Chippewa had its own chief, just as Gray Feather led the tribe that had befriended White Fire. This position was handed down from father to son, along with the example of leadership. If a young man did not show himself to be of good character and good sense, he would never be respected by his people. A chief like Gray Feather, who had no son, would hope to marry his daughter to a worthy candidate. It was no wonder White Fire’s friend had tried to convince him to take Song Sparrow as his wife.
Snuggling close, White Fire’s flesh warm against hers, Flame knew that he would have made a wonderful chief, for he had all traits expected of a chief and a leader.
Closing her eyes, she relived the sensual moments th
at they had shared only a few hours ago. He had introduced her into new ways of making love. Some had felt forbidden, yet deliciously wonderful in how they aroused the wild side of her nature.
“I do so love you,” she whispered, running a hand down the sleekness of his copper back.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and tried to block out the worry of her father and her fear of what would happen if he found her and White Fire together.
No. She would not think about it. She would only think about the wonders of being with White Fire after having thought about him, oh, so often through the years.
She recalled dreams that she had had, in which White Fire would be there, his arms outstretched, his hands beckoning her. She had tried so hard to go to him, yet there always seemed to be a barrier of sorts stopping her.
As she had grown older, the barrier had slowly faded until finally, when she had been seventeen, she had experienced her first sensual dream about her and White Fire together.
She opened her eyes and gazed over at him, smiling at how she had, at that time, felt so shocked at herself when she had awakened from that dream. She had actually slept with him in her dream. He had actually touched her breasts.
But they had not made love, for in her dream she had never seen him totally nude. While in bed with her, he had always worn fringed buckskin breeches.
“You have nothing on now,” she whispered, sliding her hand down and across his buttocks.
Daringly, she moved her hand on around and touched the part of his anatomy that could make her soar above the heavens.
Strange how it was so small now. . . .
“And what do you think you are doing?” White Fire suddenly said, flipping over to face her, causing her to jerk her hand away with a start. “My woman is not familiar enough yet with my body?” He laughed huskily. “You wished to explore while you thought I was asleep?”
An embarrassed, heated flush turned Flame’s face crimson. She giggled, then sighed with passion when White Fire guided her hand back to him and encouraged her to fill her fingers with his manhood as it began to grow in the anticipation of where this was leading them.
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