by Karen Kay
He felt her displeasure. It was almost a physical thing. But why? What had he said to cause it?
He was not left long to wonder, however, for she soon remarked, “Then I won’t be seeing Pretty Moon again?”
“You will come to know her again if it is your decision to remain married to me.”
He felt her breath on his shoulder; heard her say, “Yes,” but she did not elaborate. She continued, “I must give her something so that she will remember me.”
“You have already given her something of value.”
“I have?” she asked. “What is that?”
“Does she not have your necklace?” he asked. “The one that you once gave to me?”
“You know about that?”
He nodded. “She is very proud of it.”
“Perhaps I should have told you something about that before now,” she said. “I traded it to Pretty Moon for the pony that she and I ride. At the time, I never expected her to volunteer to come here with me. But she did, and I am happy that she did. She has been a good friend.”
He nodded.
“I am sorry about the necklace. But, you did give it back to me, all those years ago.”
He shrugged. “At the time, I thought that you might use it. You could have bargained with it for something that you needed at the white man’s post.”
“That’s why you gave it back to me?”
Again he inclined his head.
She said, “I thought you were simply irritated with me and wanted no remembrance of me.”
He pulled her, if it were possible, even closer into his embrace, and he said, “It is true that you irritated me all those years ago, but it is also true that I was aware of you as a female. Perhaps my crossness had more than a little to do with that.”
He took another step, his wife following him with ease. She said, “All this time, I have thought that you were simply too proud to have much to do with me.”
He shrugged. “It is perhaps the impression that I wished to give you, for at that time, it was not in my nature to tell you what was in my heart.”
“Then you liked me?”
He grinned before he answered, bringing his lips to her ear. “Have I not said as much?”
She did not reply. Instead, she began to hum. And it was interesting to note that the tune also had a definite rhythm.
Without willing it, his steps began to keep time to the beat of the song she sang. And with every step he took, she followed.
He shut his eyes, the sound of her voice mixing with the throb of the wind, and he began to sway.
She said, “I love you. I think you should know.”
Lone Arrow found himself wanting to respond to her in kind. But instead, all he did was moan.
Carolyn continued speaking, and she said, “I think I have loved you since that first moment I tripped over you on the mountaintop.”
Lone Arrow swallowed hard. He knew that she desired him to say those same words back to her; he literally anticipated her need. And truth be known, his first inclination was to hold back from her. But then it came to him…why?
Why should he not give to her all that was in him to give? He might never have another chance.
With this decision came a feeling of freedom, and clearing his throat, he began, “When I was a little boy, there was a girl that I loved. I could not see her face, yet I loved her. When I grew up a little, she was always there beside me. I think that she has been with me in thought all through my life.”
She remained silent, standing still in his arms.
And he continued, “That girl was you,” he said. “Though I have little understood it, you have been with me always. And always, have I loved you.”
She made a sound against him, much like a cry, and in response to her, he said, “Let us have this night together.”
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”
He stared down at her, his mood awash with a mixture of desire and worry, for he had not anticipated such an easy capitulation. And he asked, “You are certain?”
She glanced back up at him. “I am,” she said.
That was all he needed to bring him to his knees. And as he knelt down in front of her, he guided her down to him.
His arms encircled her, and in the next instant, he kissed her. And he kissed her, once more, again and again…
He loved her. Dear Lord, he loved her.
Carolyn rejoiced, and with every ounce of hope within her, she returned Lone Arrow’s ardor. Yes, there were still problems between them. Yes, there were things they must discuss; important things.
But they loved one another, and with that, all things were possible.
She reached up to touch her fingers to his cheek, running them lazily along his jawline. That he shivered beneath her caress filled her with joy. That he returned the embrace set her afire. She mumbled, “You are so handsome.”
“I have to be,” he responded, “for you are so beautiful.”
She grinned. From another man, similar words might have been spoken for no other reason than to create an effect. But not Lone Arrow. Alas, it was his very honesty which made the compliment all the more powerful.
Looking up at him, she said, “Love me.”
“I intend to.”
He stared down at her tenderly, yet his glance smoldered with intimacy. And Carolyn felt herself sway against him.
“They say,” she confided, sending him a shy glance, “that a woman’s interests are best carried out under a moonlit sky.”
He grinned, his smile a lopsided sort of affair. And staring up at him, at the fine picture that he made, her heart leapt into her throat.
Reaching beneath the buffalo robe, his fingers found their way unerringly to the softened mounds of her breasts. Oh, the thrill of it.
He said, “Do you like that?”
She inclined her head. At the moment, it was the most she could do.
He smiled. “I am a lucky man, I think.”
Another compliment; one which she knew was honestly meant. She shut her eyes, as though only in this way could she savor the delight.
Outwardly, a breeze rushed by her, blowing her hair back from her face, but tossing tendrils of his mane around her, as though even this part of him would make love to her.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. He brought up a finger to run over her cheek.
With that touch, her knees buckled, making her a little afraid that she might swoon.
His fingers trailed down the delicate curve of her neck, each touch sending shivers of ecstasy racing along her nerves, and she curved her body in toward his. She whispered, “I like that.”
He groaned.
“Perhaps,” she said, “it was a good thing that I took what I did all those years ago. For it has brought me back to you.”
He nodded.
However, her eyes popped open. What had she said?
Gasping, she brought her gaze up to meet the look in his eyes. But if he noticed anything out of the ordinary, he made no mention of it.
Instead, he said, simply, “Éeh, it was a good thing.”
He did not hate her? He did not think she was no more than a petty criminal? This was to be his only reaction?
Perhaps he simply had no idea what she had done, what she had taken.
But he was continuing to speak, and Carolyn listened as he said, “Do not look so startled. You have already told me that you took something…small. It has been a difficult thing for me to understand, and it has been hard for me to trust you. But know that I do not give my love away freely. Whatever it was that you took, I am grateful. It has brought you back to me.”
Carolyn stared at him as though she had never seen this man until this moment. “Do you mean that?” she asked.
He nodded. “I do.”
“Oh, Lone Arrow,” she sobbed, “I love you so much.”
“As I love you.”
“Say it,” she said. “Say it in your language.”
He s
wallowed, as though a lump had arisen in his throat. However, after a few moments, he said, “Dé-awa-chi-shik.”
“Dé-awa-chi-shik,” she repeated.
He grinned at her. “That is right. It is good to hear Absarokee words upon your lips.”
“Really?” she asked. “Then I will learn your language as quickly as I can.”
This seemed to please him. It was not so much that he said so, or even that he acknowledged her desire to do so. It was more a feeling. He was pleased that she would want to learn more about him.
But she had no chance to follow this thought further, for he had taken his robe from around her shoulders, and was placing it beneath her. Gently, as he settled her on top of it, he said, “It has occurred to me that the first time we lay together, we had too much doubt between us. I suspected your intentions, and you would seal a bargain with me.”
“But that’s not the reason I—”
“Let there be no more uncertainty between us. I would make you my wife, once again, if you will only but agree to it. Not because of our bargain, but because we love.”
Carolyn shut her eyes as a warmth swept over her body. It was perfect, almost perfect, and she could think of no reason why they should not love. Except one…
“Let us not speak of marriage, but of love,” she said. Then with her gaze softly locked with his, she pleaded, “And please do love me.”
“Éeh,” he said. “I will. I do.”
He took her in his arms, her head nestled gently against his. Leisurely, he brought a hand up to run it down her torso. He did not undress her. At least not right away. Instead, he touched her body through the material of her clothing, his hands running over the length of her, up and down.
But it was not enough, not for her. Reaching toward him, she pressed her hands beneath his shirt, the warmth of his skin a heady inducement beneath her fingers.
Oh, how she gloried in the hard contours of his chest. Oh, how she loved his reaction to her.
He had drawn in his breath, and had fallen to the ground beside her. And though he tried to take her in his arms and position her beneath him, she soon squirmed free to sit up next to him, then atop him.
For whatever reason, she needed to have the upper hand. At least this once. Why this was, she did not know, except that she had followed this man halfway across the country, always in his shadow. Tonight she needed to come into her own. Tonight it was she who would control the pace of their lovemaking, if she only knew how to do it.
Slowly, she wound her hands up to his chest, massaging the solid outline that she found there, not satisfied until she witnessed his moan of sweet agony.
“Do you like that?” she leaned down to whisper the words.
“Too much,” he answered. “So much do I like it that I fear that if you want this night to last a little longer for us, you should let me be the one to—”
“No,” she uttered. “You are in my power tonight.”
Sighing, he relaxed back against the ground in a pose of complete surrender. He said, “I am yours.”
Now it was her turn to smile, and she said, “I know.”
Easing off of him, she began to undress him. His shirt was the first thing to go. In truth, he slipped out of it quickly. With admiration she once again explored the hard contours of that naked flesh.
She said, “You are a handsome man,” and with these few, simple words, as if to prove her point, she trailed her hands over his taut muscles. In response, he withered beneath her ministrations like a babe.
But she wanted more.
And she could not resist taking it. Unbuttoning her dress, she slid the clothing down to her waist, finding that Lone Arrow’s eyes watched every movement she made.
When she had finished, he grinned up at her, saying, “I think that I like it when you are chief.”
She gave him a tender look. “That is my intention.”
He did not utter a word in response; merely smiled at her.
And she came up over him, settling herself into a position so that she was able to press her chest to his. At the contact, both of them gasped.
“That is good,” he said.
Carolyn had to agree. She felt on fire. Yes, the wind continued to blow; yes, the air had not changed its bitter temperature, not in the least.
It was she who had changed.
Groaning, he took her by the waist, rolling over with her until she, at last, lay beneath him. The grasses and vines were wet beneath her, but she barely noticed them.
Pulling up her skirt, his fingers went unmistakably to the core of her femininity. But she was not yet ready for that.
“No,” she said, “not yet.” And twisting, she managed to rotate their positions until, once again, she sat atop him.
She said, “You are wearing too many clothes.”
To which he sent her a rakish smirk. “I agree.” Immediately he sprang up to help her, and he removed his leggings and breechcloth, even his moccasins.
Finished, he lay back, with all his masculine magnificence laid out to view. With some feeling of homage, Carolyn gazed down upon him. And she could not help but notice that he was more than a little ready for her. She said, “I am hoping that you know more about these things than I do.”
With another wayward grin from him, he said, “It is possible that I do.”
Her skirts were already in disarray around her legs, and it took him little effort to position her to receive his loving.
He said, “You are not very accustomed to this, I fear, and so it may still hurt at first.”
She nodded.
“Do not be in a hurry.”
Again she acquiesced.
Then, slowly, so very slowly she came down upon him. And she was more than a little relieved to discover that her body appeared to be built for this. Smoothly, they became as one.
Still, she paused, uncertain of herself. Such shyness, however, was hard to be maintained, and it literally stood no chance against the onslaught of his lovemaking. She felt as though she were opening up for him, much as a morning glory might do to the light of day. Pleasure ebbed and flowed within her, and as she gyrated against him, she found herself laboring for breath. Looking up, she caught his glance, and seeing it, she swooned. There, within his gaze, was such adoration…and for her, she thought she might likely explode.
Shutting her eyes, the fire within her blazed, encompassing her completely. One moment, another, and pleasure shot throughout her system.
It was a wicked, wonderful sensation, made intense by the knowledge that she had felt his gratification as well as her own.
Contentedly, she sighed. Yes, there were some things still unsaid between them, some agreements they needed to make. However, for the moment, she could conceive of nothing more important than being held in her lover’s arms.
It was not long before Lone Arrow reached out beside him for his robe, and without disturbing her, he pulled it to him, and around her. He murmured, “I think that we left this behind us as we rolled over and over upon this earth.”
She was too limp to do more than smile at him, and within moments she was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Do not…speak…to…husband’s, ah…clan father, Running Coyote,” said Pretty Moon in broken English, her hands forming the gestures needed to help her communicate fully.
As Carolyn and Pretty Moon sat upon the ground on this grand morning, they might have epitomized the image of domestic tranquility. Both the women were busy preparing the dried meat, putting it into parfleches, in preparation to leave camp.
“Why?” asked Carolyn of her friend. “It’s not that I feel like I have to talk to him or even that I want to, but why shouldn’t I be able to at least thank him for not laughing at me last night. After all, he is a relative of Lone Arrow, and they are ‘fathers’ to each other. Should I not be friendly?”
“Baa-lee-táa, no. Reasons…there are…many…heap, big reasons…you…must not. Him a…ah, Lumpwood, your h
usband…a…Fox.”
“What?”
“Him from War Club…Lumpwood Society. Your husband from Foxes.”
“And?” Carolyn encouraged, reaching down toward her leg, as if she might scratch the red welts there, the same sort of welts that were appearing as a rash all over her body.
But no sooner had Carolyn reached down a hand, than Pretty Moon knocked that hand away. “Not…scratch. Rash…spread if…you do.”
“But it itches so bad.”
“It…be worse…if…you scratch,” said Pretty Moon, covering Carolyn’s leg with yet another poultice of herbs. “Your…husband…has same…rash.”
“Yes, I’m afraid he does,” said Carolyn, glancing up at Pretty Moon. Carolyn paused. Was there a light of mischief simmering there within Pretty Moon’s gaze?
She was not long in wondering, for Pretty Moon went on to say, “Does, ah…ii-waa-ih-chaap-ku-lu-tta-tuua, ah…you call it poison ivy?”
Carolyn nodded.
“Does ii-waa-ih-chaap-ku-lu-tta-tuua, poison ivy…make…good…ah, ba-le-a-la-xa-pé…good bed…for you…and husband?”
Pretty Moon giggled, but Carolyn, mortified, stared wide-eyed at her friend. She could not believe that Pretty Moon had asked such a thing.
Was she blushing? Carolyn could only hope that she was not. Nevertheless, responding first with what she hoped was a humorous sort of smile, as though she, too, took part in the joke, Carolyn said, glancing down toward the ground, “We did not see the danger.”
Perhaps if her skin did not prickle so bad or if she, herself, weren’t quite so embarrassed, she, too, might see the comedy in this. Perhaps she might even be able to poke fun at herself. Especially since her own rash was mirrored upon Lone Arrow’s body as well.
Ultimately, however, she could only wonder: How could she and Lone Arrow have been so unaware of their environment last night? It seemed impossible. Yet the reality of the rash could not be denied.
She and Lone Arrow had made love atop a clump of poison ivy, rolling over and over upon it. Alas, they had both awakened this morning, itching.
Carolyn stirred uneasily. It was maddening to think that these things always happen to her. Certainly, it was an easy enough mistake for anyone to make. After all, it had been dark. She and Lone Arrow had clearly had their attention on pursuits more enjoyable than that of checking the ground.