“The season had not come for me to choose.” One finger stroked her bottom lip. “I have thought much about the tasting of your mouth with mine. Is this what the iszáń wishes me to do?”
Angie once more closed her eyes. “Will you always ask first, Niko?”
“You are Anglo. I am Apache.”
“No. You are a man, and I am a woman. Do the Apache kiss? I have never seen or heard—”
“It is for a man and a woman alone to show. Not for other eyes to see what passes between them.”
“Then show me. I, too, have wondered how your lips would taste to mine.”
From the gentle way he drew her against the heat of his body, Angie expected a tender, chaste kiss.
Niko held her gently, but felt her response, the swelling of her breasts, the quickening of an excited heart, and he kissed her mouth with all the long hunger that had built inside him.
There was fierce pride in his eyes as, with a graceful, quick turn, he brought her to lie beneath him. His hands framed her face, his lips drank her cry, and he felt the hard press of her fingers against his shoulders. Her touch told him of the desire that waited to be claimed. The need in him demanded a joining.
He tempered the unbridled hunger of his kisses till she lay shaken. Slowly he lifted his head, seeing his fine black hair entwined with the golden color of hers. In minutes he could be inside her, gloved in tight warmth, easing the agony of need that prowled his body.
Angie opened heavy lids to see him watching her. “Niko?”
He brushed his mouth over her eyes to close them.
“What’s wrong? Please, tell me?”
“I have given you the taste of my lips, and have taken yours to me. For this time, it will be enough.”
His lithe body was gone, taking with it the warmth that had covered her own. She saw him stand, and struggled to brace herself up on one elbow. “You’re leaving me?”
“I would honor you.”
“Honor me?”
“I will come for three nights, then you will tell me what is in the iszáń’s heart.”
He was gone before she understood, gone before she could utter a word.
Chapter 8
Niko could not remember a time when he had longed for darkness to come with such impatience. All day he watched over her, smiling when he caught her stopping to search for a sign of him. She would not find any. Long before the sun greeted the new day, he had moved his horse to where no water stood from the rains and the grass grew thick and sweet.
He snared four cottontail rabbits, waiting until the breeze freshened so that the smoke of his fire would be carried high and disappear. He skinned all four, but ate only two. He intended to bring them to her later.
There was much time to think. He remembered running as a boy, his strong legs pumping hard to cover the miles while he carried a mouthful of water. He’d spit it out at the end to prove his strength, then quench his thirst. No water could quench the thirst he had now. No liquid could. His thirst was for her lips, opening beneath his own, granting him the right to plunge his tongue deep inside to imitate the joining they would share.
His hands were not idle. He cleaned and honed his knife, searched for and found wild onions, but his hands longed to touch the curve of her breast and feel the flare of her hips.
And his thoughts took him to an understanding of the steps he was taking. She was an Anglo woman. He was an Apache warrior. There would be no acceptance for her with her people again.
Time after time, his gaze drifted toward the south, toward Mexico. He could take her there. But would she accept his life-path? It was a question lost in the heat of his loins.
Lost, because he made it so.
He was unable to dismiss the thought that she came to him as rain to earth, because this was a thing forbidden to her.
Three nights, he had promised her, and he would keep this promise, too. He would show her that he had honor and would not take the gift of her acceptance of him lightly.
There was a deep depression in stone where he bathed, wishing he had his fine ceremonial buckskins to wear. The breeze dried his hair as he dressed and gathered his gifts of food to bring to her.
Angie was waiting for him outside as dusk hovered. She had bathed and changed her gown, wearing now a pale cream calico with tiny sprigs of leaves scattered over the cloth. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon stolen from her chemise, and she fiddled with it as he walked toward her. There were fluttering feelings in her belly, as if butterflies had taken up residence there.
Niko presented his gifts of food, her smile as shy as an Apache maid’s, but warm with welcome. Her female grace enhanced his male strength, and he felt his spirits were smiling with them.
Angie added the rabbits and onions to the jerkedbeef stew she had made, aware of Niko watching her every move. There was a mood set, that of youth and innocence and the sweet time of courting. Excitement flowed in her blood, and, as she turned toward him after washing her hands, his smile made her feel the most beautiful of women.
“Come, iszáń, we will walk.”
He did not take her hand, as in the way of the Anglo, but kept his pace even with hers as they walked away from the agency building.
“Tell me of your day.”
Angie glanced at him. “My day passes one to the other with the care of my home, the tasks all women do.” She couldn’t ever remember anyone having asked her how she spent her day. But Niko was frowning, as if her answer had not been what he expected. She struggled to recall something special.
“Is there no beauty of the land that brings a smile to your lips?”
“The sun rising does. Each morning I watch the sky painted with colors, and each time it is different, a thing of beauty that I wanted to paint.”
“In the lands of the tall grass that flows like a wide river, there are those who believe the sun is the home of a great spirit. The Apache believe it is not so. For us the sun played a great part when there was fighting between Thunder and Wind. They made floods on the land, and long times of no water. The sun spoke to them. Then they worked together once more to make the land as it should be, green with grass and water that flows for the people.”
There was a peace to be had as dusk deepened, and Angie knew it was from his presence. There were so many things she wanted to know, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to ask first.
Niko looked at her then. “Iszáń is bright of eye, and quick to smile at Niko. She is happy?”
“She is happy. Niko, tell me how you come to speak English.”
“The black robes taught me. I did this to please one-who-is-not-here.”
She pondered that for a few minutes in silence. Mary had told her that he had lost all of his family but a younger brother. Knowing the Apache fear of ghosts being raised when the names of the dead were mentioned, she assumed he had spoken of his mother.
Touching one hand on her shoulder, Niko stopped her. He sensed he had brought her sadness. He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “I would see the joy in your face once more.”
“Tell me about you, Niko. What was the boy like? Was he very good?”
“Niko became good. Many times the Clown came to frighten me before seven seasons had turned.”
“The Clown? I do not understand.”
“We hobbled our horses far in the woods. I would sneak off to learn to ride. When I would not come back before dusk, they sent he-who-is-gone dressed as the Clown to frighten me. When I went on my first hunt alone for the deer that numbered ten times the people, he-who-is-gone told me what had been done. Does not the iszáń have a thing to frighten the child to obey?”
“A bogeyman. We were warned to stay close to the house and to obey our parents, or the bogeyman would take us away. I used to wake up at night thinking I had heard a noise beneath my bed. I would be afraid to move for fear that he could grab me and take me away.”
“Now you are woman an
d know that the dark shadows of a child shall be no more. We will return, and iszáń will feed me.”
They shared the food from one plate, and Niko, to keep the shadows from her eyes, told her stories of his childhood. Some made her laugh, and he took the smile that curved her lips into a place in his heart. She again made tea, this time a little less sweet, and they shared it in a silence tense with the awareness of each other.
As he had done the night before, he set the cup aside on the floor beside him and drew her close. Iszáń, I must know if you come to me because this is a thing that is forbidden to you.”
“Forbidden, Niko?”
“The touching of you brings joy here,” he explained, then lifted one of her hands and touched his forehead. Lowering it to his heart, he pressed her hand against his chest. “Feel how you make the blood quicken, iszáń. Here,” he whispered, his dark gaze holding hers as he drew her hand slowly down his chest, and lower still, to curve her fingers beneath his own around his manhood. “This is where you bring a fire to me.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she shuddered to know that he wanted her so much. Even through the layers of supple hide, she could feel the heat. The strength. The male power that made her imagine she could feel the lifeblood flowing.
Forbidden? How could this be forbidden? She opened her eyes and looked at his face. His features appeared sharper. His mouth fuller, his eyes black and hot. There was a faint, deeper color to his cheekbones. Angie gazed at their hands, fair and dark, then looked up at him.
“If this is a thing that is forbidden, it is by others. I desire a man who brings me joy here,” she said, lifting his hand with hers and resting it against the side of her head. She held his gaze as steady as he had held hers, drawing his hand down to curve it over her breast. She felt the instant swell of flesh, the hardening of her nipple with this lightest touch from his palm. And she smiled to know that the fine trembling besetting her had hold of him, too.
“Niko is a warrior. But a man who touches me with a gentle hand. There is an empty place inside me that hungers to be filled.”
It took great courage for her to lean closer to him, for she had never initiated a kiss before. But she wanted to with him, for him, needing to show him what words could not.
He shook with the need of her that coursed through him, but held her away. “Iszáń, if you accept me as a man, there will be no going back. I would not let you go.”
“There is nothing for me to go back to, Niko. All waits for me… now, with you and the love I need to give….”
All day he had thirsted, and now he quenched himself with kisses that spoke of hunger, of need, of the pleasure her words brought him. The sweet grass beneath the blanket rustled and released its faint scent as he lay back and drew her to lie upon him. And with the gentleness she seemed to want, he cradled her face between his callused hands and slowly drew her head down to his.
Her mouth was soft and hungry, mating with his. For a moment he feared the power of her as she pressed the fullness of her breasts against his chest, the whole of her body straining against him. He stroked her spine, then cupped her buttocks with his hands, bringing the soft heat of her womanhood to cradle that which made him male.
He meant to be gentle. Her small, wild sounds drove him toward a savage need. Anglos had named him savage, and he felt one now. Hot. Powerful. Male.
Her mouth touched his neck, her teeth caught the lobe of his ear. He courted the wildness he sensed, returning each kiss, each nip that brought pleasure and the pain of denial. Niko rolled her beneath him, a primitive moan escaping his lips as his mouth trailed to her throat, kissing her flesh, then biting, soothing and hurting before his mouth once more sought hers. He plunged his tongue deeply, withdrawing, then again claiming the warmth and rich taste of her. Soon he would make the same claim upon her body.
His hands rose to tangle within the long length of her hair, holding her head still. He plundered the sweet giving of her lips, branding them his, as he branded upon his mind the sighs and moans he called forth from her.
She was soft where he was hard. Despite the weight of his body on hers, she writhed against him, the soft noises she made exciting him. Even in this, the first joining of a man and a woman, the iszáń of the Chiricahua did not respond with abandon.
Niko felt the trembling of his body, on fire as she arched her hips. He lifted himself to one side, running a hand over her breast and hip, curving his fingers over her breast to lift her nipple to his mouth.
She cried his name, lost in a whirlwind of sensations as if the wind had caught her up and spun her around and around, always bringing her nearer to the heat of the sun.
Even through the cloth of gown and chemise, she felt the intense wet heat of his mouth suckling her. She knew it was not the sun that scorched her skin, but Niko.
Abruptly, he was gone. She opened her eyes to find him standing above her, his chest moving with his harsh breaths. Her own were heaving pants. “Why?” The one word was all she could whisper.
“Come to me, iszáń. Without shame.”
It took seconds to understand, for he was already stripping off his headband and shirt, unwinding the cloth belt, then removing his breechcloth. She rose and stood there on unsteady legs, forcing her hands to open the buttons on her gown. And as she watched him bare his flesh to her, so, too, did he watch her.
“Do you know the courage you ask of me to do this?”
“I know.”
Angie stepped out of the gown pooled at her feet and bent to lift it up. Niko was beside her to take it.
“Do you know the pleasure you are for my eyes, iszáń?”
“Am I, Niko? I want to be.”
He caught her chin with one hand and stayed the hand she raised to untie the ribbon holding the neckline of her chemise.
“You are pleasure only for my eyes. Never will another see you. I will make you Niko’s iszáń this night. First I tell you I had already claimed you in my heart the day your brother struck you.” He placed his fingertips over her lips to silence her. “Do not ask what I cannot answer.”
His lips touched the flesh of her throat, finding the pulse that beat with a wild call of its own. His teeth caught the end of the ribbon, and he pulled the tie free. With the rolled tip of his tongue, he opened the knot and nuzzled aside the cloth that hid her from his eyes.
Before she could hold him, he dropped to one knee and removed his moccasins. And there he remained, waiting and watching as the soft, sheer cotton slid down her body to fall to the floor.
He rose, and she touched his smooth, hairless bronze chest. The move was a bold one for her, but not more so than the bold way her gaze searched his flesh, noting the scars of a warrior. His manhood rose proud between his powerful, muscled thighs, and her eyes flew to his.
Niko grinned at her look, and held his hand out to her. “Come lie with me. I will show you how we fit without pain.” And when he had her beneath him, he whispered, “Like the knife slides easily into the sheath that was made for its blade alone, so will we join. Never again will an Anglo bring pain to my ishton. I would kill not to have it so.”
“No death, Niko,” she murmured, reaching for him as he brought his lips to her breast. “I want only life. Yours. Mine. Fill the empty places of my heart.”
Swollen flesh sent her arching up to his hand. She cried out moments later. He drank the cries of her pleasure, filled her heart and mind with his praise. He held back longer than he thought he could as he made a place for himself between the pale skin of her thighs.
“Watch, iszáń,” he demanded, his voice husky with the need that tore through him. “Watch as we join, and no man can part.”
She watched until passion sent her head thrashing from side to side. Niko was the sun, setting fire to the earth, quenched with the spill of life till the embers flamed anew.
Chapter 9
Ishton. The woman, the beloved of all women. Angie cherished the word
s as she woke to find him gone from her side.
In the cool light of morning, she recalled her boldness, reaching for him as he reached for her, touching him as he touched her, until there were no secrets to be discovered.
From her memory she dragged up the faded image of her first wedding night, lying alone in the dark, feeling stifled by the high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown beneath the linen sheet and quilt. She had felt fear of the unknown, remembering only that Tim’s kisses were hot and wet, his touch was rough, his flesh piercing hers before he rolled over and fell asleep.
Niko had held her within his arms, stroking her body, coaxing her to do the same. He had made her laugh when she took the same path he had explored on her body on his, telling her he would be a toothless grayhair, soft and useless to her, before she was done if he waited any longer. She had made him wait. She had a mark on her neck from his teeth. He’d never grown soft and useless. The unaccustomed aches of her body were proof of that.
She missed him. He had told her that he had broken his promise to give her three nights to decide, and would find his way to the new agency at San Simon to see his brother.
It was foolish for her to look for him, but she did, all day long. By late afternoon, worry came. The sun shone, chasing away the rain clouds that had plagued every day, and the wind sent a freshening breeze to mock her fear for him.
As twilight came, Angie began to doubt his return.
Since they had left the lantern burning all night, she lit two candles to conserve her small supply of kerosene. There was no hunger for food in her, only a hunger to see Niko again. She wrapped a shawl around her, too restless to wait inside. Pacing the area immediately around the building didn’t satisfy her. She felt no relief from the tension that was building with every minute of Niko’s delay.
Angie felt the need to run, but the lengthening shadows cautioned her to keep to a walk. In her mind she framed the land before her, the placement of rocks, boulders, the looming of cacti, the small shrubs. She blocked a path for herself, then followed it, wishing she could shake off this feeling of dread. Like the dark, it had crept up on her, until she couldn’t fight the feeling that something terrible had happened.
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