Lone Arrow's Pride

by Karen Kay

  “It is not the way of things in my culture,” she said softly. “In my world, I would be branded a loose woman if we were to seal this lovers’ act.”

  Lone Arrow did not miss a beat as he said, “The white men have many strange customs. Know that in my world, this is how a man and woman secure their vows.” And then, with his gaze trained so very, very softly onto hers, he asked, “Do you become my wife?”

  There was a lump in her throat that she could not quite swallow, as she tried to find her voice. At last she was able to state, “I…yes, Lone Arrow, I do.”

  He nodded, satisfied, and with barely a pause, he proceeded to remove those drawers. But she brushed his hands away. She, too, would be certain of him. And she asked, “Do you also promise to be my husband?”

  Lone Arrow breathed in deeply and brought a finger up to caress her cheek, before he placed a light kiss on her lips. He said, “I will.”

  Carolyn shut her eyes, as though in defense against an emotional tempest. Her lips quivered, and no matter that in her world, theirs would be no real marriage, together, beneath the bright blue heavens and within the sight of God, they had made their vows.

  She said, “Then I suppose we are married…in a way.”

  He caressed her face with a delicate touch, smiling down at her as he replied, “There is no suppose about it or at least there will not be in a very short time.”

  And so it was upon that final note, he drew her to the ground.

  Was this love?

  It felt as though it might be.

  Carolyn gazed up at Lone Arrow as he lay over and above her. She was no fool. Carolyn was aware that there was a difference between a schoolgirl crush and a lifelong love. Was this it? And if it were the same, when had it started?

  Just now? Or had it been at the age of eleven?

  Had she actually fallen in love with this man all those years ago? The notion was perhaps a little farfetched, yet for all that, it could be true.

  She glanced up at him as she drew her fingers through his dark, coarse hair, loosening his braids, hearing him groan in reaction to her. At the same time, a shimmer of excitement swept through her.

  She repeated the action, satisfied when she felt him tremble beneath her fingertips. Then, without taking his gaze from her, he broke away to sit up and remove his quiver from around his shoulders, his motions quick, exact. In less time than such an action would seem to take, he was finished and he threw himself back into her arms.

  Smiling up at him, with a gentle touch she let her fingers trail down the hard plane of his chest.

  He shivered, moaning in her ear and Carolyn wondered, did he melt at her touch, as she did with him? Did he yearn for her?

  She murmured, “Do you feel it too?”

  His eyes met hers as though the two of them were co-conspirators in a sea of swirling motion. And he asked softly, “Do you mean the fire?”

  Fire. It was a perfect word for a perfect feeling.

  She smiled and nodded, while her fingers caressed the toughened edges of his face.

  He groaned as though in appreciation, then said, “It has always been this way with us, I think. It has been there, simmering.”

  Was he admitting that he had liked her, had maybe even desired her, all those years ago? It was hard to believe. And she observed, “But you barely paid any attention to me when we were younger.”

  “You were eleven years old.”

  “So?”

  “You were a child.”

  “You were, too.”

  He shook his head. “I was a man of sixteen winters.”

  Carolyn had to smile at that, he sounded so proud. But she made no comment. Instead, she said, “I see. And now I am no longer eleven. Is that it?”

  In answer, he bent down to kiss the words from her lips.

  And, in response, Carolyn forgot to question him further.

  However, changing the subject, he asked, “Have you ever known a man in this way?”

  “In this way?” she asked in a whisper, momentarily confused. “You mean have I ever made love to a man?”

  He nodded.

  Shaking her head, she said, “No.”

  He stiffened. She felt it at once, and she wondered at the cause.

  At length, he asked, “Never?”

  “No, why?”

  He rolled away from her, casually, as though nothing were wrong. And though he kept her in his embrace, Carolyn witnessed such a stern look of determination on his face, she felt disconcerted.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could voice a single word, he withdrew from her. Why?

  She reached out to touch him. But he drew back.

  And she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Dropping his arms from around her, he turned his back on her. Worse, he picked up his quiver case and bow, positioning them back around his shoulders, a sure sign that something was wrong.

  “What have I done?” she tried again, stretching out a hand to him, but not touching him. She dared not, for even the space around him vibrated.

  He did not answer her right away. Indeed, he drew in his breath so deeply and let it out so swiftly, she wondered if he were ill. Finally, he said, still without glancing at her, “Look around you.”

  She scanned the horizon. “All right,” she said, “I did.”

  “What do you see?”

  “A flat prairie. Mountains in the distance, some hills; a very blue sky.”

  “And where is the sun?”

  She glanced up. “Hmmm…almost overhead.”

  “Humph!” he said. “And now you know why.”

  “Why what? What am I supposed to know?”

  He made another one of those animal sounds, deep in his throat before he spoke, at last saying, “We cannot make love…here…now.”

  She frowned. “We can’t?”

  He nodded, still without turning around to confront her. Then, casually, as though he might have undergone this conversation every day of his life, he said, “Ho! It should have occurred to me, but it did not. Or maybe I did think about it, but did not want to admit it.”

  He had lost her. “Admit what?” she asked.

  “It did not occur to me,” he said, “that you would not have known a man by now. Since you presented yourself to me in the flesh last night, I assumed that you had been married, or at least had some experience.”

  He must have heard her slight gasp behind him, for he went on to explain, “It is not so unusual for me to think this. Girls in our tribe are usually married by your age. Some are already widows. Though you told me you are not now married, I thought perhaps you might mourn a husband.”

  “I see,” she said, but did she? What did this have to do with what was happening between them, here and now?

  But she did not have long to wonder, for he went on to say, “Your innocence should not be taken here, at this time, and in a place where others could find us. A woman’s first experience should be special for her. We will wait, I think.”

  “Oh.” So that was it. She might have said more. Maybe she should have. However, she was at this moment, a little too embarrassed about the subject at hand, too flustered to speak up. Plus, if she were to be honest, she would have to admit to being extraordinarily stimulated. Indeed, at this moment, she simply did not care about the time of day.

  She was not so uninhibited that she could tell him that, however.

  But he was continuing to explain, extinguishing her need for a reply, and he said, “My friend and his wife, Pretty Moon, will find us soon, and perhaps we should not be caught in a lover’s embrace. In due time, our friends will come to know what is happening between us, but we do not need to show them so plainly. We will wait to marry, I think.”

  When he turned around to face her, she thought she espied a look of sympathy, illuminated there within the depths of his gaze.

  Sympathy? Why? She needed no one’s sympathy.

  And while a momentary surge of protest welled up
within her, and she opened her mouth to voice it, the words never materialized. For he had extended a hand toward her, letting a single fingertip smooth down over her cheek.

  She bent her head toward that touch, while a flood of unadulterated desire raced along her nerve endings. She even reached out to touch his chest.

  But he would not be swayed from his decision, it would appear, no matter what she did. He came up onto his feet, casting one last glance at her before he trod away. And so quickly did he go, Carolyn felt as though she had been left midair.

  Worse, she had the strangest feeling. As if she had held the world in her hands and had let it slip away from her.

  It was then she realized that she knew nothing about what was going on between herself and this man. In truth, she knew little about Lone Arrow, about love, or about men in general, for that matter. Let alone what might be expected from her in his, or even her culture.

  She wondered: What did men want from women? What did women want from men? What did she need? And he? Should she have done something differently?

  Would Pretty Moon know?

  Briefly Carolyn recalled the other woman’s words in sign: Watch me with my husband tonight and you will see how to manage a man.

  Well, good enough, Carolyn thought. It required little effort to sit and observe. Perhaps she might learn something useful.

  In the meanwhile, she had better busy herself with preparations for tonight. Surely Lone Arrow would approach her then.

  And so it was that on this note Carolyn arose to follow her man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Watch,” signed Pretty Moon, touching her eyes and then pointing with her first and second index finger toward Big Elk. “You will learn how to handle your man.”

  Snapping down the index finger of her right hand, Carolyn gave Pretty Moon the sign for agreement. She added a nod for good measure.

  It was about time. Big Elk and Lone Arrow had been deep in conversation for what was probably several hours, and although both women were becoming anxious to be alone with their men, neither Big Elk nor Lone Arrow seemed to be inclined to do much more than sit and converse with one another. Curious, Carolyn lent Pretty Moon her undivided attention, for whatever this technique was, Carolyn wanted to ensure she witnessed it all.

  Waiting, Carolyn tried to recall how her adoptive mother had managed to gain her husband’s attention. Had the woman even developed a system? Hmmm…if she had, whatever it was had completely escaped young Carolyn’s observation.

  And then it began.

  Without even seeming to catch his eye, Pretty Moon cast down her lashes and batted them. She repeated the procedure twice.

  Had Big Elk seen?

  Carolyn wasn’t convinced Big Elk had shown his wife enough interest this evening to catch such a display.

  Another few moments passed. Carolyn watched Big Elk closely. Well, what do you know? Something had changed. Big Elk sent his wife several short glances. However, neither he nor Lone Arrow ended their conversation.

  Undiscouraged, Pretty Moon shifted position, wiggling slightly and flicking a braid over her shoulder.

  Within a matter of seconds, Big Elk stood, his body language indicating he was bringing his conversation with Lone Arrow to a close.

  Carolyn’s mouth popped open.

  “Watch,” came the sign once again from Pretty Moon.

  And Carolyn did exactly that. Truth was, at this moment she could not have taken her glance away from the couple had she tried.

  Within a few moments, Pretty Moon raised her arms over her head and stretched, adding a vocal, feminine sigh to the movement. It was an obvious ploy.

  Carolyn carefully noted the interplay between the couple, amazed when, within a few minutes, Big Elk had taken the necessary few steps toward his wife and sat down next to her.

  Before Pretty Moon gave her entire attention over to her man, she turned to smile at Carolyn. And Carolyn grinned back.

  Wow! Pretty Moon’s maneuvers could not have been more effective had the other woman tied a rope around her man’s neck and pulled on it.

  And Carolyn really did not need Pretty Moon’s signs, “Now you try it,” to compel her to do the same.

  Nonetheless, Carolyn found it difficult to initiate a single flirtatious gesture, so great was her reticence…at least at first. But when Lone Arrow seemed uninclined to acknowledge her presence, despite the fact that he now sat alone, Carolyn quickly overcame her hesitation.

  What was the first thing Pretty Moon had done? Oh, yes.

  Sitting up straight, Carolyn batted her eyes at Lone Arrow. Twice.

  Tentatively, she glanced up at Lone Arrow. Had he noticed?

  Carolyn frowned. Perhaps not. In Carolyn’s estimation, the man appeared as immoveable now as he had a few moments ago.

  Well, fine. Maybe the action had been too subtle for Lone Arrow. Perhaps she should go on to step two. What was it that Pretty Moon had done next?

  Oh, yes. Shifting position, ensuring that she wiggled her hips a little in the process, Carolyn flicked a section of her long hair behind her shoulder.

  Casting a quick glance at Lone Arrow, she tried to determine if there had been a change in him at all…anything?

  Carolyn’s spirits took a plunge. There he sat, whittling away with his knife over some stick…utterly ignoring her.

  All right, fine. She would advance to step three, and if that didn’t work…

  Casually, as though she had done this sort of thing as a matter of course, Carolyn stretched her arms over her head and sighed. She even added another wiggle to the gesture for good measure. Then studiously, feeling as though she were perched on pins and needles, she watched Lone Arrow for any sign of a response.

  Had it made a difference?…

  It was still early in the evening and Lone Arrow sat with his friend, Big Elk, before their small campfire. So far the two men had been engrossed in conversation, trying to reach an agreement as to their next course of action.

  At present they sat mute. Finally it was Big Elk who spoke first, saying, “My friend, you talk of backtracking, but I fear that we may not return to the white man’s fort for many a moon.”

  Lone Arrow nodded, yet queried all the same, “Why do you say this?”

  “Your wife,” said Big Elk, pointing toward Carolyn, “appears to be headstrong.”

  Lone Arrow shrugged, restraining himself from either agreeing with his friend or from correcting the man’s impression. Certainly, she was headstrong, but she was not his woman. Not yet. And in truth, he should not make her his wife, even though he had said that he would.

  He chided himself. What had he done this day? Had he set into motion something he could not take back?

  Moodily, he tried to stare straight ahead, though from the corner of his eyes, he couldn’t help but scrutinize her. In the distance, a night hawk squawked and a screech owl hooted above a wind that never seemed to tire of howling. That this same breeze was responsible for whipping strands of Lone Arrow’s long unbraided hair into his eyes was only a mild irritant at present.

  Though he gave the impression of speaking with Big Elk, Lone Arrow watched her; watched as she conversed with Pretty Moon, watched as the evening breeze blew a curl of her chestnut hair back from her face.

  Without willing it, he suddenly wished to coil his fingers through that silky tress; yearned to feel its velvety texture within his grasp. In truth, he could barely control the urge to spread his fingers over her skin, her face, her cheeks, if only to satisfy himself that her responses this afternoon had not been more than a warrior’s mere dream.

  “How did you rescue her from the buffalo herd?” asked Big Elk. “When last I saw you, you were edging your way into the midst of them. I feared, my friend, that I might never see you again.”

  Again Lone Arrow shrugged, as though the rescue had been nothing. He said, “I have A-la-pee, a very smart pony.”

  “Éeh, yes,” said Big Elk. “But even smart ponies someti
mes stumble. Your medicine was with you today, my friend.”

  Lone Arrow nodded and had he been alone, he might have cursed, for Big Elk’s words caused Lone Arrow to remember…remember his fear…for her…

  He had died a little today, he realized, witnessing the danger to The-girl-who-runs-with-bears. And that moment had changed him. For he could no longer deny his feelings.

  He cared for her. Ho! It was that simple.

  But there were problems.

  “She looks to be a good woman,” commented Big Elk, “and when I look at her, I see that her heart speaks true. Yet…”

  Lone Arrow glanced up.

  “Yet,” continued Big Elk, “what will you tell your clan mothers when they ask you why you have taken a white woman as your first wife?”

  “I have not yet married her,” replied Lone Arrow.

  “But you will, my friend. You will.”

  Would he? he wondered. What would happen if he did not marry the white woman?

  That there would be no commitment from either of them was clear. However, that he would also, perhaps, be only half alive, was a truth that he could not entirely discount.

  Fact was, The-girl-who-runs-with-bears did not understand his dilemma. How could he tell her that the cave she sought was sacred to his people? That those things she had seen there were to remain as they were, undisturbed? How could he do this without giving away its secret?

  “Your mother’s people and your father’s, too, will want to know why you have chosen this woman instead of a bride from amongst the people,” Big Elk was continuing. “For all my life I have known you as my friend. For all my life I have acknowledged that yours is a sacred way of life, for you alone speak to the mountain god. It is a hard way to live, my friend, because the people expect more from you than from another who does not, perhaps, have your power.”

  Lone Arrow remained silent.

  “Do not misunderstand,” Big Elk went on to explain. “I do not say you should not marry her. If she were mine, I would do as you are. My only word of caution is that you should commit a few words to memory to explain this thing to your clan.”

  Lone Arrow inclined his head. Big Elk’s word was good. However, difficult though it might be, dealing with his clan was not the shattering obstacle that Big Elk believed it to be. The truth was that his people would eventually be happy that Lone Arrow had at last found someone to marry.