by Karen Kay
He nodded but remained silent, his attention seemingly on the fire as he poked at it.
“Are you cooking something?”
“Haa’he.”
“Did you bring something with you to cook, then?”
He chuckled at that, but still he didn’t look at her. “I have been hunting.”
“You have? In this weather? Are you crazy?” She had scooted down far enough now to take a seat beside him on his right.
“No, not crazy. The rain is not falling as heavily now, and I was hungry.”
“Ah, hungry. It reminds me that I would be very hungry right now if you had not found me—and had I survived the storm. I don’t know how to justify what I did, leaving the caravan like that. It’s only that I was so concerned over Julian that I quite forgot to bring anything with me. I fear that I am once again indebted to you.”
Again she noted that he stiffened. But that wasn’t all. Even though they were carrying on a conversation, his gaze seemed to center anywhere but on her.
At some length, he voiced his thoughts. “You are not in my debt, Miss Angel. Had I not sent your brother on this errand alone, you would not have placed yourself in danger. The fault is mine, not yours.”
Angelia sighed. “No, you are wrong, but I thank you for attempting to make the responsibility yours. I am afraid that my brother sometimes thinks with his heart, and not with his head, as did I today.”
“I am uncertain whether your brother thinks with his heart or with misguided impressions.”
“Hmmm. That’s an interesting concept. What are misguided impressions?”
“Your brother senses, sometimes he sees, things that are not there, and he misses things that are. It is a hard lesson for a scout to learn, for with his mind, he must perceive what is there to perceive, and nothing else.”
“Ah, now I understand…I think.” She dropped into silence, although after a slight pause, she said, “Do you think Julian is safe?”
“Haa’he, I do. It is my belief that he is lost. When this rain ceases, I will ride out to find his trail and discover what has happened to him.”
“His trail? But it’s raining. Won’t that wash it away?”
“I will find it.”
“He’ll be hungry now too.”
“He has his gun with him. He knows how to use it, and he knows how to build a fire. He is probably having a good adventure.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are right.” She fell silent for interminable minutes. “I’m sorry I have caused you so much trouble.”
He shrugged, and again he stared away from her, looking, it seemed, at most anything but her.
After a slight hesitation, she asked, “Mr. Hawk, is there anything wrong? I mean, I know that our last words to each other were hardly amicable, but…”
“There is nothing wrong.”
“I don’t believe you. Why, since I have sat down here, you have hardly looked at me. I realize I must appear a sight, what with my hair in disarray and such, but—”
“You are beautiful.”
Those words, and the passion behind them, caused her to pause and to send him a speculative glance. “Thank you. But it does seem to me as if you are acting strangely. Usually you at least glance at me when we speak.”
“Perhaps that is because when we typically talk to one another you are dressed.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide, even while a cascade of warmth swept over her nerve endings.
She didn’t know what else to say, and so she dropped the subject entirely. “What is it you are cooking?”
“Prairie chicken. I looked for a buffalo, for I would have welcomed skinning one. But I could find none. There are two prairie chickens here. One for each of us.”
“Hmmm. It smells delicious, but I don’t think I could eat one of those entirely by myself.” She glanced at the chickens, which were sizzling, blackened by the fire, the aroma of them enticing beyond belief. Her stomach growled. “Are they almost ready?”
“They are. Are you hungry?”
“Very much.”
“Eat as much as you like. We will save the rest, for it might make a good soup.”
“But what will I eat the chicken with? We have no utensils, no plates, nothing. And the meat looks very hot.”
He took one of the chickens from the fire, smoke rising as the juices fell into the flame, and scooting the chicken from the stick that held it, he placed it on a slab of wood in front of her. Glancing at her, he slanted her a smile. “Fingers will do, I think.”
She grinned back at him. “Oh yes. Of course.” Delicious. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the meal was set before her. Truth be told, it seemed the most savory of feasts she had ever eaten. Juicy, succulent, cooked to perfection, the meat almost fell from the bone, while juices ran down her chin.
She wiped at that chin. After a moment, she held up greasy fingers. “Mr. Hawk, I have no napkins, I’m afraid.”
He looked around her. “The grass, your blanket, are best for this. Although a wise Indian will wipe the grease in his hair—it is known to be good.”
“In his hair?”
He nodded. “Makes it healthy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. The next time I run my hands through your hair, I’ll…think…about…” Her words trailed away as her eyes grew big. Dear Lord, why had she said that?
Instantly, his gaze met hers, and they stared at one another for what seemed an eternity, the air practically steaming around them.
At last, he turned his face away from her.
She bit her lower lip. “Mr. Hawk, I’m sorry I said that.”
He remained silent.
“Actually,” she went on to say, “I’m sorry I said all those things to you the other day. I know I hurt you, but I didn’t know how else to impress upon you how precarious our situation is.”
Swift Hawk prodded the fire with a stick. “What does this word ‘precarious’ mean?”
“It means risky, not on solid ground, uncertain, dependent on the favor of others.”
He jerked his head to the left, his eyes still withheld from her. “You do not need to apologize. I understand why you did what you did. You were protecting me, as well as your brother.”
“And myself, as well. Yes, that’s right. But I should have…”
Silence reigned. He glanced at her. “Yes?” A single eyebrow lifted.
She pressed her lips together. Should she tell him the truth? If she did, it would strike a blow to all her well-thought-out plans. But what good had all those plans done her, except to give her more heartache?
Perhaps the truth, well stated, was a better idea. Besides, she could feel his hurt, even now.
Drawing in a deep sigh for courage, she squared her shoulders and plunged in. “I wasn’t quite truthful with you, I fear. Well, I was truthful, in a way, but…well, no I wasn’t, but… What I mean to say is that…” She paused, and he didn’t utter a word. Just looked at her.
Angelia beheld that stare and caught her breath. “The truth is, I meant to…to give you the wrong impression. I did it purposely…so as to discourage you. But in doing so I…well, I left out a few things. Maybe they’re important things.”
Again, he remained silent, though his eyes were trained on her.
Defensively, she drew the blanket around her and dropped her glance to the ground. “That day, that morning, when we made love, it was true that I wanted to do something good for you, but…well, what wasn’t true was that…that this was…the only reason…that I acted…as I did.”
A very long silence followed. After a time, he said, “I know. As soon as my anger left me, I realized this was true.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “That day, when you were in my arms, we touched one another and there were no secrets between us. For days I have known why you said what you did. And it is honorable. I honor you.”
Angelia nodded, a slight movement on her part. Another thought occ
urred to her. “Are you certain it was honorable, Mr. Hawk?”
Again he lifted that eyebrow of his.
“In truth, if I am as honorable as you say, why should I care what others think?” she asked. “Why should I be concerned about what they say? Am I not my own person?”
“But a person must live with others.”
“Yes. And people must also live with themselves. They must be true to who they are—no lies, not even to oneself. Mr. Hawk,” she said, trying her best to meet his gaze, “I have done you and myself a disservice. After all, when a person’s heart races at the mere thought of being near someone else, when she thinks of him constantly, when she wants to be near him, should she not be with him? And when a person loves another person—”
She got no further.
In an instant, he had come up onto his knees and knelt before her, taking her in his arms, his lips paying tribute to her, kissing her cheeks, her hair, her neck, her lips.
“You love me.”
“Yes.”
She wondered if this was the answer he wanted to hear, for he frowned. After hesitating, he looked at her and said, “Why do you love me? I, who can give you none of the things a woman desires most?”
“Can you not?”
He shook his head. “What I said to you is still true. I cannot put you above my duties. At least not now. And you deserve better than what I have to offer you.”
“Do I?”
“Haa’he.”
“Are you trying to discourage me, Mr. Hawk?”
“No,” he replied instantly. “No, it is only that I do not understand.”
“I see. Perhaps that is only so because you are not looking at this directly. What you must comprehend is that you give me what I desire most: the shelter of your arms, the offer of spending the rest of your life with me. And besides…”
He drew her in toward him and held her face against his breast. “Besides?”
“I yearn to be with you, Swift Hawk.”
She could feel the movement of his head as he nodded. With the back of his fingers, he touched her cheek, letting his hand fall down to her neck. “We will marry.”
“Yes.”
He exhaled deeply, as though he had been holding his breath. “Do you know that from the first moment I saw you, I have been enchanted with you? From that time forward, there has been no other woman in my thoughts, in my dreams. And it is my belief that for the rest of my life there will be no other woman for me.”
“My darling.” She threw her arms wide around his neck. “I love you so very much.”
“And I, you,” he affirmed, and with the tip of his finger, he brought her face to his and kissed her. Somehow within that kiss, the blanket fell away from her shoulders. But neither of them seemed to care.
Cool air swept over her torso, but only for an instant before he covered her with the warmth of his body. His hands caressed her up and down, over her back, around to her waist, up to her breasts.
“You are so beautiful, so womanly.” He grabbed hold of the blanket, and taking a scarce moment, he spread it beneath her. Then he eased her to the ground, pausing briefly to gaze at her. “So very beautiful.”
“As are you.” She smiled and caressed his chest in much the same manner as he was doing to her.
He captured her hand, kissing her palm. While an earthy sensation spread throughout her, he grasped that hand and the other, pulling both over her head while he positioned himself at her side. He massaged her everywhere, paying particular attention to her breasts, as though they were an altar upon which he would worship.
She squirmed beneath him. “That feels good,” she whispered. “I have dreamed of our coming together again ever since that one morning. In truth, I think I have been waiting for this all my life.”
“I too.” He bent to suckle again a ripened breast. Over to the other, back and then across her chest, up and down, he kissed, as though he dare not miss a single inch of her.
“Please, Swift Hawk, please.”
“Please what?” He paused to glance up at her.
“Please let me touch you too. I yearn for the feel of your skin beneath my fingertips. For I would know your touch and commit this to memory.”
As he looked at her, his countenance filled with an emotion that bordered on hunger, yearning…love. Briefly he shut his eyes as though whatever emotions were filling him were too much for a mere man. When he gazed at her, she could have sworn his eyes appeared a little wet. “I would deny you nothing.” He let go of her hands.
At once, she ran her fingers over his chest, down to the muscles of his slender abdomen, up to his chest to each of his tiny nipples. He sucked in his breath when she touched him there. She rejoiced in the excitement of feeling him shudder; it was as though she felt what he felt.
“I like that.”
“I too,” he agreed.
“Oh, Swift Hawk, love me.”
“I intend to.”
His fingers reached down past her navel, and farther downward they ranged, until they found the secrets of her femininity.
She said, “I want more of you than I had last time.”
He sent her a questioning look.
“I want it all. If you are to reach your…pleasure, sir, I would have you do it as a part of me.”
He groaned.
“Please, Swift Hawk, I can barely stand being this close and not having all of you.”
“Yes, I understand. But we will go slowly. This is really your first time. And I would not hurt you, if I can help it. Still, there is more we can do.” Coming up onto his knees, he knelt over her, peeling away her pantalettes over her hips, down her legs and finally tossing them to the side. He didn’t touch her, not at first. Instead he gazed at her everywhere, and then murmured, “Last time, we did not have the honor of looking upon one another as we made love. And so then I did not see the womanly perfection that I behold here before me now.”
She giggled slightly. “How you exaggerate, I fear. There is no perfection in my body.”
“If it is not so, you show me the mark that mars it.”
She smiled. “Far be it from me to point out my every weakness.”
He grinned back at her. “Do you see? You cannot do it, either.” Glancing up at her, he whispered, “Spread your legs.”
It was the last thing in her mind to deny him anything. She pulled them wide.
He reached for her then, his fingers caressing her at the junction of her legs, while he sat slightly away from her and watched her, watched her face, her hips, her every movement.
It was in her mind to feel embarrassed. But she didn’t. Instead she felt urged to give him all of her that she could, and she sensed herself growing wet beneath his devotion. However, she wanted more, and she said, “You have the advantage over me.”
He gazed up at her. “Do I?”
“I fear it is so, my love. While I lie here before you, naked, you are yet clothed.”
Her objection was instantaneously remedied, and he pulled his breechcloth from around his waist.
It was Angelia’s turn to draw in her breath. “Swift Hawk, it is my understanding that you are to fit yourself within me.”
He grinned. “I am glad that you know the facts of life.”
“But how can it be so? I am afraid you are too big.”
He laughed, though what he found funny about that remark was beyond her. “We will take it very slowly. Do not fear, for you are built for this. But it might hurt, this your first time.”
“I have heard that it always hurts.”
“You have heard incorrectly then. After the first few times, it should feel like it did that morning.”
“Really?”
He nodded, and without further argument, he bent toward her. He kissed her breasts then swept his kisses downward toward her belly, past her navel, his lips ranging lower even still.
Briefly, his fingers tangled with the protective hair, there at the junction of her legs and then—
<
br /> She jerked upwards.
“Swift Hawk! What are you doing?”
He glanced up at her briefly, but there was no apology in his gaze. “I am ensuring that you will enjoy this, your first time.”
“But—”
“I will have this moment,” he said.
So strongly had he uttered these words, Angelia recognized the fruitlessness of her argument. Instead, she let her gaze encompass his, though with her eyes she did beg him to desist.
He continued, “Lie back, let me have my way, and experience it, for I think you will like it.”
With one further, pleading look, she did exactly as he said.
Placing her legs over his shoulders, he commenced to love her in an oh-so-wonderful way.
Chapter Twenty
Nothing scares a horse quicker than a quiet thing that moves toward him and makes no noise. He will jump and break his neck at the noiseless movement of a rodent in the grass or a falling twig, while a roaring buffalo or a steaming train will pass him unnoticed. That is because he has the same kind of courage that man has: real courage; the courage to face any odds that he can see and hear and cope with, but a superstitious fear of anything ghostlike.
Chief Buffalo Child Long Lance
Long Lance: The Autobiography of a Blackfoot Indian Chief
Swift Hawk kissed her there, where his fingers had made passionate love to her once before, and as he kissed her, he let his lips roam deeply, loving her as he had never loved another. For, if it were in his power, he would have her rejoice in the thrill of lovemaking, this, her first time.
Her clean, musky scent enticed him, the refreshing, feminine taste of her empowered him, and he felt himself growing ready with anticipation. But he knew he must control his own lust, and he cautioned himself to move slowly, slowly.
She gasped, and in response a fire spread through him that was almost impossible to quell. The sounds she was making were tiny, high-pitched, and were an accompaniment to the gentle tapping of the rain outside. As her voice became a lower-pitched moan, her hips began to twist in response to him. When she opened her legs wider still, he knew she was caught up in a passion as deep as his.
“Swift Hawk,” she uttered softly. “Swift Hawk, I…I…”