by Karen Kay
And when he heard her moan, his own breathing accelerated.
Her beauty engulfed him; her fragrance seduced him; her softness reminded him of the velvety petals of the wild rose. He wanted to lose himself in her, and for a moment he cursed the limits of the flesh, for if he could, he would merge his body with hers completely.
But such was impossible, and so he settled for something less and kissed his way down toward her belly button, the taste of her balmy and fresh within his mouth. Still he listened closely for her response. And when she trembled in his arms, he went quietly out of his mind.
Ah, to be a part of her, to experience her warmth. The thought, however, made him slightly wild with excitement.
And he inched his way farther south.
But she was beginning to become suspicious of his movements, and she jerked upward, exclaiming, “High Wolf, what are you doing?”
“I am loving you,” he said simply.
“Yes, but—”
“Sh-h-h. Do not stop me. Do not think. You will enjoy it, and so will I.”
“But surely this is not love, this is not—”
Briefly he came up onto his forearms to look into her eyes, as he said, “If we have only a short time to be together—as you tell me we do—I would take every memory of you with me, including this.”
“But I’ve never heard of such a thing…”
“It is no wonder,” he said, “if all that has been told to you is that lovemaking must be ’endured.’ Perhaps these women, who have declared this to be so, have deficient husbands.”
The comment made her smile, and he returned the gesture, saying, “If you ever return there…”
“I will return there.”
But he ignored her words, and went on to say, “If you ever return there, perhaps you should tell these ladies a bit more about lovemaking. Maybe you could make them envious.”
“But, sir, it would be scandalous.”
“Indeed,” he said. “It would be all the more fun for that reason, and that reason alone.”
And when she chuckled, he joined in. But there was so much more to be done, and without another beat of time passing between them, he returned to the business at hand.
Quickly, he resumed his former position, and just as quickly, he began to kiss her…there.
She sighed. She moaned. She whimpered. And he loved it all. She tasted of spice and river water, as well as the heady balm of feminine splendor.
Ah, he thought, the magic of her, the sensation, the excitement. Even the warmth of her body had him wanting more of this, more of her, more of them together. And quickly, in less than an instant, he became one with her, in soul, in spirit, if not yet in body.
How it happened, he did not know. Perhaps it was their physical closeness. Perhaps not. All he knew was that right now, there was no past, no present, no future. No space between them, yet all was space.
Indeed, he came to know her as well as he knew himself. And truth to tell, what he saw he knew to be utterly divine. In faith, he had never loved her more. And he realized in that moment that their love was a coming together not only of the flesh, but of the spirit. Truly, she was a part of him.
Which was why he had never forgotten her…
It was a moment of discovery, a moment of fulfillment, a moment of utter and complete joy. It was also an instance wherein he knew that he could trust her, had always been able to do so. For she was not only trustworthy; she was trust.
He stirred uneasily. So this, he thought, this is what the two of them had missed all those years ago. This coming together, this soul-to-soul camaraderie.
And he realized more: It had been a mistake not to make love to her back then, and to hell with what her narrow-minded society might have thought of it. For if he had known her in this way ten years ago, he could never have made the error that he had.
Well, she was his now. He was alive; she was alive. They had a chance.
It would be his task, and hers, too, perhaps, to nurture their love into becoming as real as the world around them: as real as the plains, the sky, the very air they breathed.
All at once, she whimpered, interrupting his thoughts. And he gave her body his full attention, only to see that she was beginning the dance that would forever belong to the two of them.
And when she muttered, “Oh, High Wolf, I had no idea,” he merely nodded, but otherwise remained silent.
“I have never felt closer to you than I do at this moment,” she said. “I…I…”
But no words formed on her lips as yet another cry escaped her, and he watched as she surrendered to the physical demands of their passion. And as she reached her apex, her soft cry made his heart swell to many times its size…
Sierra dipped a toe into the muddy water of the lagoon, the shock of the cold water making her shiver. Briefly she glanced over her shoulder, espying High Wolf beneath the branches of the willow, the tree that would forever be indelibly etched upon her mind. That he was still lying where she had left him, and that he was looking directly at her, should have shamed her, for she stood upon the brink of the lagoon, utterly naked.
However, it did not. Instead of the shame, she experienced a feeling akin to excitement.
“High Wolf,” she called to him, “are you going to teach me to swim now?”
“Not today,” he said, raising up onto an elbow. “We must repaint you with earth and sand.”
“But surely not right away. There is still another matter to attend to.”
“Haa’he. That there is.”
“I will not be long. I simply need to dip myself in the water to wash this grime off my face and hair.”
“Why?” he asked. “I will only have to repaint you, again.”
“Then that is what you will have to do. For now, I must have it off me.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then lay back against the grass beneath him, his gaze seemingly intent on the branches above his head. And the thought occurred to her, as she watched him, that he must be tired.
Not only had he little to no sleep, he was also preparing for a journey across dangerous land, a fact that must weigh heavily on him.
Perhaps she should allow him a few moments alone to sleep—at least before they took up where they had left off. After all, she had her hands full. Imagine, a face and head full of mud.
She dipped down into the water and, submerging her head, hand washed her hair.
Something caught her around the ankle, and she would have screamed had she not been in water over her head. As it was she choked in liquid instead of air and surfaced at once, coughing.
“High Wolf,” she screamed as soon as she had settled herself, “there’s a monster in the water.”
But when she looked back toward the willow, he was not there.
“High Wolf!”
Slowly, a head surfaced from out of the water, and Sierra bit back a scream.
But then she looked closer. The head materializing before her was human, sporting long, black hair.
High Wolf.
He came up smiling.
“You! How did you get there?” she scolded, frowning at him, yet unable to completely suppress the need to laugh. And her lips throbbed as though they might betray her. But she held her ground, kept her frown, and asked, “Where did you come from? You were under the tree not a moment ago. And I didn’t hear you get into the water.”
He chuckled. “That is because you were so involved in what you were doing that you did not pay attention to the rest of your environment. A scout never relaxes his awareness. Not even for a moment. A scout must always keep his senses listening to the forces of nature, and what they are telling him.”
In response, she splashed him. “Well, I am not a scout,” she said, “and you didn’t tell me you might startle me.”
“And neither will an enemy give warning.”
“But why should I learn these things when I have you with me?”
“Because,” he said, “
I cannot be with you every second of every day. Or would you like me to come with you when you have feminine matters to attend to?”
She didn’t answer, except to send him another splash. And he retaliated, but his splash was small in comparison to what he did next. Submerging, he swam around her until he was able to catch her around the waist. And standing up behind her, he pressed up close against her, leaving her in no illusion as to his need.
And he said, “If you wish this sand and ooze to be washed from your hair, you might have asked me to help. For I think that I should do it.”
She nodded, willing at least to concede this.
And he began to massage her head. “If you were to try to do this alone, little bits and pieces of mud might remain.”
“Then you most certainly must help me,” she agreed.
“And alas,” he said, “I see that there is silt and clay still clinging to your breasts.”
She grinned, glancing down and seeing only cleanly washed flesh. But bending quickly, he brought up a handful of mud to splash on her there. And she said, “Goodness, yes, they are quite dirty. I must have done a terrible job of cleansing myself.”
And he rubbed and massaged her chest. “Aren’t you glad I am here to help?”
“Yes, sir, I am. But I think the job is hardly done yet.”
“Then I cannot be remiss.”
“Hardly.”
“On my honor,” he said, as he bent again to grab some more of the morass from the river bottom, smearing it over her belly and lower still…“I believe there is still some dirt down here. Tsk, tsk, what would you do were I not here to teach you how to wash properly?”
“Yes,” she said. “What would I do?”
He nuzzled her neck with his lips. “Hmmm,” he said, “river water and mud. What an enticing combination.”
And she swooned backward, into his arms.
But she was not long in the embrace, for, bending, he placed an arm under her knees, and with a single flourish, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms. And then he began to tread back toward the shoreline, while Sierra clung to him, hugging him around the neck, cuddling her head into the crook of his neck.
And she wondered, how had she survived these past ten years without this? Without him?
Had she been only half alive?
The truth stung as its reality hit home. Yes, it was true. Her world, her very existence, had been empty without this man. In sooth, without him, the brightness of the day had faded into a dullness of pomp and formality. No, without him, life had become no more than something to be endured.
And now he was here, and the earth was again full of color, of adventure, of life and love.
Yes, love.
Oh, dear Lord, she prayed. What was she to do? For duty to herself, her family, her people, demanded certain actions on her part; while love…love gave and gave, leaving her with a happy glow of hope, awareness, beauty.
But it was also something she could not have. The time when she could have easily reached out and taken it had long since passed her by.
But she wouldn’t think of that now. For this moment in time, she had this man, this make-believe marriage, these memories. And at least no one could take these away from her. No, these were owned by no one, save herself; hers and hers alone to keep, to cherish, and to replay over and over again in some distant time…
He kissed the top of her head as he trod toward their bed beneath the willow. Quickly, efficiently, he pulled back its branches, and set her down, oh so gently, upon their grassy knoll.
And coming up over her, he said, “I think you are ready for me. Are you?”
“Yes, my love. I think so.”
With his knee, he spread her legs, and she waited, wondering…
But he didn’t rush her. Instead, he caressed her, there in that place most private. And he said, “Here, where my fingers touch you…”
She nodded.
“This is where I will place myself.”
She looked up at him, drawing her hand over his back. “I know. This much I have been taught.”
“Good,” he said. “This is good.” And then, supporting his weight on his forearms, he thrust forward, joining their bodies in the age-old act that would forever unite them as man and wife.
It did hurt. And she stiffened.
“I am sorry,” he said. “It cannot be helped.”
“I know.”
He withdrew a small distance, then plunged inward again, this time a little deeper. Then once again.
Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his back. But he didn’t appear to mind, if he, indeed, even noticed.
Over and over, he thrust inward and out, and Sierra bore it as best she could. And then it was over. They were joined.
“Is that it, then?” she asked.
He laughed. “No, I have but begun.”
“Oh.”
And without moving the lower half of his body, he kissed her lips, his tongue searching out hers, tasting, testing, mating. Slowly, so slowly she barely noticed, he began to move once again…there.
And she strained against him.
He said, “If you tighten your muscles there, and pull them in, it might help ease the pain.”
She did so, and he groaned.
“Did I hurt you?”
Again he laughed. “No, the opposite.”
“Oh.”
“Do it again.”
She did, receiving the same reaction from him, and she said, “You can feel it when I do that?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I feel it very much.” And with an easy maneuver of his body, he began to move.
Instinctively, she joined in with the motion, rejoicing in his low-pitched grunts and groans, enduring the tenseness in her body.
And then it changed.
Ever so slowly, instead of pain, sensation—intense and consuming—began to build. The same sort of sensation that she had revelled in earlier.
“High Wolf,” she whispered. “I feel something there…again…”
“I know,” he said. “I feel it, too.”
“But…again? And now?”
“You are, indeed, an incredible woman,” he said, and he kissed her.
And they danced, and they danced, that ageless reel that has no steps, no rules and no regrets. She twisted beneath him; she gyrated, she wiggled. And remembering his comment from earlier, she tightened her pelvic region, each time glorying in his reaction to such a small movement.
The pleasure, indeed, the sensation built; it crescendoed, it became consuming and the rhythm of their movement increased. Rising up on his forearms, he gazed down into her eyes as the sweat of their bodies commingled, and he whispered, “I love you, Princess. I have always loved you. And I swear to you that I will make you glad to be my wife.”
She bit her lip, holding back the emotion that was welling up inside her. To have said such a thing, and at such a time, moved her, truly moved her, and she thought at this moment that he might likely be the most beautiful being of her acquaintance.
And then he surged upward, once, again, passionately, and she followed him there, both of them attaining that plateau, as though they were of one body.
Over and over the pleasure continued, so intense, she thought she might not be able to withstand it. But she did; and he did.
And then, with a finale, he collapsed against her. But it was far from over. Beyond the flesh, their spirits soared upward, up over the willow, up toward the sky above them, their very space, their lives joined irrevocably.
And so it was that she came to know him, as well as she knew herself, for there was nothing between them, only truth.
And at that moment, she found him not only beautiful, but worthy of…trust. Trust?
It was true. And she knew with a certainty that was uncanny that this man had not betrayed her. Not then. Not now.
The knowledge caused tears to well up in her eyes. He had not betrayed her after all. Despite all evidence to the contrar
y, he had remained true. She had been lied to, manipulated.
Oh, what had she done? What a waste of years.
And as the tears slipped silently from her eyes, she uttered softly, “I love you, High Wolf. I have always loved you.” And truth be told, her words were a vow.
She would always love him, then and now. And no matter what the future held, it would always be so.
In response, he cradled her in his arms and hugged her. And then, with his head nestled upon her breasts, he fell fast asleep.
Chapter 18
I’m putty in your hands, a willing thrall
Devoted to your charming beck and call.
Excerpted from a poem by David Ziff
“Sonnets to a Soul Mate”
“A scout is expected to go naked into the environment, without tools or weapons, and to survive. And he should not simply survive, but should flourish in that environment as well. A scout knows nature’s rules, he lives with them, and he knows how to go outside of them, thus becoming invisible.”
“And you will teach me to do this?”
High Wolf glanced askance at her. “I will teach you a little. Enough to see you safely to the Mandan village, which is a little farther north. Here,” he said, bending down to pick up a rock. “Do you see that deer?”
He pointed out the animal, which had come silently up to the lagoon, where it had stopped to drink.
“Do you notice how far away it is from us?”
“Yes, it must be…over one hundred yards away.”
“Good, watch what I do. I am going to throw this rock in the water, gently, so as not to make too much of a disturbance, but I want you to watch what happens with the deer.”
“Yes, very well.”
He did so, creating a minor splash. Then he said, “Do you see the concentric circles made by the water?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now, look at the deer.”
She did. Soon—much sooner than she would have thought—the deer stopped, looked up, and startled, it scampered away.
“What happened?” she asked.
“The deer felt the interruption of nature all around it. Notice that it had been quiet, and then, because of the circles spreading out farther and farther in the water, the deer became aware that something was not as it should be. It could not see us or detect us, but the disturbance told it that something else was there besides itself. And so it ran.”