Jeremy squatted down in front of her. The cloth hanging between his legs rested on the ground between them. “Like what you see?” He grinned, openly teasing her.
Dove narrowed her eyes. If she said no, he’d know she was lying, but admitting she did like what she saw was out of the question. No matter what she thought about his plan to become a warrior, her body only cared for how he made her feel. Suppressing a sigh, she knew Jeremy was right on one count. No other man had ever made her feel the things he did, which made it very hard to ignore him and treat him only as a pupil. Her body yearned to welcome him as a lover. “You are late,” she said, refusing to rise to his taunt.
“Had to settle the cubs. They don’t like being tied down at night, and they’re too big now for that cage I built them.” Jeremy sat in front of her. He jerked his chin toward her parents’ tipi. “Looks like Jug-head has come to call on you.”
Dove whipped her head around. Waho stood at the doorway of her parents’ dwelling, his short form a dark silhouette in the lighted tipi’s doorway. She heard her father’s voice and then Waho turned away, his searching gaze locating her and Jeremy in the shadows. Dove groaned. The long days of summer still lay before them. The thought of having to fend off Waho’s constant courting for the next five months made her shudder. At least she was spared his unwanted attention for now. It was one good thing to come from her evenings with Jeremy.
Jeremy reached out to take hold of her hand. “You could end it all tonight if you agreed to marry me.” His soft, husky voice washed over her, tempting her to say yes to him, which only angered her. How could she be so weak within? Before Jeremy she’d never had trouble keeping to her vision of her future. But in his presence, all her hopes, dreams and plans for her future no longer mattered. “You are not a warrior.” Caught between the love in his eyes, her heart urging her to say yes and her need to be sure she fulfilled her grandmother’s vision, her voice came out much harsher than she’d intended.
Jeremy inclined his head, his gaze serious. “Not yet. But I promise you, Dove, I will become one.”
“Words mean nothing, White Man.”
Jeremy raised one brow. “Then I will prove myself by my actions. I’ll show you my love is strong and real. When you marry me, you won’t have any doubt as to how I feel or what I’d do for you. For us.”
Dove’s anger drained as she stared at Jeremy, noting more subtle differences. A month ago he’d have been belligerent in his declaration. Now he spoke calmly, his voice and his demeanor filled only with confidence and resolution. “We shall see,” she whispered, licking dry lips.
Jeremy leaned forward. “Do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Wet your lips.” His voice dropped to a low, husky command.
She shivered at the look in his eyes, once again falling victim to her own body’s desires. “I think we’d better practice your Lakota. No more white man’s tongue—” Her throat tightened, cutting off her words as she stared at his mouth.
Jeremy gave her a wicked grin. “Too bad. I can think of a lot of things I’d like to do to you with a white man’s tongue.” Moving closer, he whispered a couple of outrageous suggestions that made Dove gasp. Her belly clenched at the thought of his tongue moving across her soft skin, and her breasts actually seemed to swell in answer to his other suggestion.
She started when he trailed his fingers over her legs, and, flustered, she glanced around to see if her mother or Sofia were watching. The two women appeared to be engrossed in their own conversation. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing.”
“What?” Dove felt completely muddled when he looked at her like that; it was as if he wanted to kiss her right then and there. “What are you practicing?”
“I’m practicing my Lakota and proving the truth of my words.” He grinned wickedly as his hand moved up over her knee, then higher to her thigh.
Dove forgot about her mother, Sofia, Waho, even where she was when she stared into his eyes.
“Huki,” he whispered, his fingers skimming over her bare skin. “You have nice legs. Strong. I dream of having them wrapped around my waist when we make love.” He mixed both Lakota and English in a poetic seduction.
Oh, yes, she wanted that, too. She’d felt his hardness pressed against her, knew what it meant and how a man and woman joined. She’d come across couples mating when they’d thought themselves alone, and she had no trouble imagining herself and Jeremy in that act. Her face grew warm. Clearing her throat, she tried to steer things back to something safe—like language lessons. “This is not what I—”
Jeremy ignored her. “Nape.” He took hold of her hand, stroked her palm then lifted her hand to his mouth. “Soft. Capable. Gentle. I want you to touch me. Everywhere.” His tongue stroked her pulse on her inner wrist. “Do you remember touching me before?”
She remembered the feel of him, the strength and firmness of his buttocks, and the smoothness of his flesh. How could she forget?
“Shall I tell you what your touch does to me?”
“No, that is not necessary.” The ability to breathe left her. Mesmerized, Dove felt herself go weak. As if he’d put a strong, magical spell on her, she waited, helpless against his assault.
He lifted his hand to her face. “Pehin. Like spun silk and honey. I love your hair.” He wrapped a long strand around his fist and brought it to his cheek, caressed his skin with it, then let it fall strand by strand. “I want to see it spread out beneath you when we make love. And when you ride me, it will fall around us like a glossy curtain.”
“Ride you? Where did you learn to talk like this?” Dove whispered, shocked. But her body was responding. Her heart slowly melted and puddled in a pounding ache between her thighs.
Speaking softly in Lakota, Jeremy used his thumbs to stroke just beneath each of her eyes. Then he leaned forward and boldly placed a kiss on each as her lashes fluttered closed.
“Ista. I love your eyes.”
Dove felt drugged as she let herself look at him.
“Clear as the summer sky when filled with kindness and tenderness.” He smiled. “When you are angry, they turn to the blue in the heart of a fire.” His eyelids lowered. “Did you know your eyes turn gray when I kiss you—like the storm clouds fill with rain, your eyes fill with your need for me.” His smile faded as he trailed both hands down her face to her mouth. “Like now.”
“They don’t.” She barely heard her own protestation.
“They do.” Jeremy brushed one finger lightly against her lips.
Dove couldn’t have moved or spoken if the sky had fallen around them. Indeed, it seemed as if the stars had grown brighter. She felt slightly dizzy, as if she were floating among the jewel-bright lights.
Jeremy reached out and traced the shape of her mouth. “This is heaven.”
She nipped the tip of his finger. “No. It is i.”
“I. Mouth. Whatever you want to call it, it makes me crazy with the need to kiss you.”
Dove moaned. She needed him to kiss her. Her body swayed toward his.
Jeremy glanced around. “Come with me. Let’s walk. By the river.”
She, too, looked about, shocked that she’d forgotten where they were, that they sat in plain view. “We can’t.” But she wanted to. How she wanted to.
“I want you.” His voice dropped, slid over her, tempting her. “Say it.”
“Say what?” Her heart pounded, and the ache between her legs pulsated with each beat of her heart.
“Say you want me too.” He feathered his fingers across her mouth.
Dove sucked in her breath. “I—” The piercing squeal of a flute startled them and broke them apart. The harsh notes destroyed the intimate moment.
“What the hell is that?” Jeremy glanced around.
Dove didn’t know whethe
r to be grateful or angry at Waho for breaking the mood. “Waho plays his flute.” She couldn’t suppress her grimace. “He courts me.” Normally the bland music from the Indian’s pipe irritated her. Tonight she detected an undercurrent of anger in the high, shrill notes. Worried, she wondered if Waho would openly challenge Jeremy. She didn’t think so, he was too cowardly, but still, the anger in the music rising from his tipi left her feeling unsettled.
Gaping in disbelief, Jeremy let out a short bark of laughter. “Jug-head calls that music? That’s enough to send a cat up a wall.” He stood and reached down to pull her to her feet. “Come on.”
“We can’t.” Part of her—a big part of her—wanted to go. But she wasn’t sure it was wise to further anger Waho.
Jeremy ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “We’ll stay in camp.” He motioned to two other young couples strolling in plain sight with the girl’s mother following. He glanced over at Sofia who grinned and got to her feet.
As soon as Dove realized that by refusing to allow Jeremy to court her, she was catering to Waho, she gave in. They walked slowly around the camp. To her surprise—and disappointment—Jeremy didn’t try to touch her or even resume stirring her senses with his clever words. Instead, they strolled and talked. Using a mixture of Lakota and English, he asked her about her childhood and entertained her with outrageous stories of his own. Hours later, when he left her at her tipi, she was sorry to see the evening come to an end.
Snuggled down into her pallet of thick furs, she stared into the glowing embers of the fire in the center of her tipi. Words from their earlier conversation replayed in her mind and echoed in her heart and soul.
“You need a man who will not challenge who you are.”
“There is no such man,” she whispered into the darkness. Again, she heard Jeremy’s voice.
“One who will accept your great skills and not try to prove he is better than you.”
Was it possible to find such a man? Deep down, she’d given up hope of finding any such person. Had she been wrong about this one? Could Jeremy accept her skills without needing to prove himself better? Or would he always be on his guard, needing to exert his own worth at the expense of hers?
“You need a man you can relax with, be yourself with.”
Dove sucked in her breath when she realized she had no trouble relaxing around Jeremy. Closing her eyes, she recalled the soft timbre of his voice.
“You need me to show you how to have fun and enjoy each day.”
That memory made her smile. She didn’t need anyone to show her how to have fun. She had a good life. Liked it just fine. Yet, there was some truth to his words. In his presence, she felt more alive. Colors seemed brighter, emotions sharper. Life itself seemed fuller.
For the first time, Dove prayed to the spirits to give Jeremy the strength to become not just a warrior, but her warrior. For she was very much afraid he’d already captured her heart.
Just before sweet dreams claimed her, she heard soft strands of music from Jeremy’s mouth organ floating through the walls of her tipi. As his words had done, the young white man’s music wrapped her in a cocoon of sensual need. Dove fell asleep to the loving melody that came from Jeremy’s lips, written by his heart.
* * *
In his tipi, Waho sat on his bed of furs as from outside came the sounds from the white man’s instrument. Each note added to his fury until he feared he would burst. This was just one more humiliation for him to endure. He tossed a pelt across the tipi.
His sister settled next to her husband on their pallet. “You, my brother, have lost. When will you see this?”
“The white man will not take what is mine. He casts an evil spell on White Dove.”
Tanagila sighed and snuggled close to her husband. “The white man’s music is beautiful.”
Waho glared at her. He’d been forced to endure a night of teasing and unwanted advice from several warriors when Dove and the white man had walked together. Now, listening to the white man’s music, Waho knew others heard it as well and his shame warred with his fury. “I won’t let him win. I will prove to all that she belongs with me.”
His father, lying in his own bed, broke into their conversation. “You will not cause trouble. You have brought enough shame to this tipi. No more.”
Waho glared at his father—his weak old fool of a father who hadn’t been brave enough to challenge for the position of chief when Golden Eagle stepped down. He should have. He should never have allowed it to go to Striking Thunder. It belonged to them. To him.
Listening to his sister giggle, Waho glared at her. But she and her husband were moving beneath their covers. Her laughter turned to breathy moans. Disgusted with them, Waho clenched and unclenched his fists. The sounds of lovemaking aroused him. He imagined having Dove beneath him, driving himself into her young, sweet body. Breaking out in a sweat, his hand moved beneath the furs. His body screamed for satisfaction. But he took a deep breath and resisted the urge.
Soon, he’d have her. He wasn’t weak. The white man would not take what was his.
Tuning out all thought and sounds except how he would soon reclaim the honor that belonged to his family, Waho slowed his breathing until the hardness in his loins eased. He hated waiting. If he were chief, he could take what he wanted. Sitting up, he stared at his hands. Perhaps he was going at this wrong.
Reaching beneath his pallet, he pulled out an arrow. Though he couldn’t see the arrow crest or the style of the notch and fletching, he knew it would fly true and do the job. He pushed the arrow through the air. One shot and the white man would be no more. No one would know Waho was responsible. But he didn’t leave the tipi. Instead, he put the arrow back in its hiding place. He only had the one special arrow. And only one chance to use it. He would bide his time. Soon, though, they’d all recognize him as chief.
Chapter Nine
The flat, grassy plains stretched out beyond forever, broken by deep river valleys. Across the prairie, green soothed the weary traveler while tiny purplish blooms offered beauty and a reminder that soon, other flowers would follow suit and show their colors.
White-tailed deer wisely avoided the traveling tribe, while jack rabbits and prairie chickens scattered before them. Towns of prairie dogs protested the intrusion by standing on their hind legs, scolding loudly.
The tribe traveled south after leaving Wolf’s home, then west, following a river that ran through Cheyenne land. Another week passed before they left the river that turned south. Heading north, they skirted the badlands, gave chase to a party of Crow and stopped to visit with their friends, the Cheyenne.
The pace picked up as they entered Sioux land, and by noon, the tribe came to a halt in one of their favorite camp sites at the base of the Black Hills. Dove surveyed the land around her, taking pleasure from familiar landmarks—the stub of tree trunk that had been struck by lightning when she’d been ten winters, the dark mountain rising high above them and a lush green carpet that spread out to the east, north and south as far as the eye could see. Soon it would turn golden in color and ripple in waves across the prairie.
Like an old friend the mountain called to her, a mother with arms outstretched to welcome home one of her children. The need to seek sanctuary, peace and answers in the dark, cool hills ran strong but White Dove knew it had to wait. There was much to be done first. Later she’d go explore, see the changes, feel the peace steal through her.
Joining her mother with Sofia at her side, they sorted through the hupa, the poles that formed the skeleton of each tipi.
Sofia pulled out an old pocket watch from her shirt, glanced at it, then put it away. She struggled to lift three poles. “This time we will be faster.”
Dove grinned. Sofia had been amazed that it took women less than twenty minutes—she’d timed them—to set up their tipis, and she was determin
ed to be as fast as the rest. But she was still just getting the hang of it. “By the time your husband and my brother come for you, you will be sick of putting up the tipi and taking it down.
Dove glanced over her shoulder at her mother, who was unloading the second travois. She noticed the tired lines etched around White Wind’s mouth and the paleness of her face. “Hawk-Nose Woman and I will set up your tipi. She needs practice.”
White Wind hesitated, then straightened. “Thank you, daughter,” she said, then walked away.
Dove frowned as she left. She’d fully expected her mother to refuse, and the fact that she hadn’t, worried her. Lately, her mother seemed tired and lacked her usual enthusiasm and energy. Conscious of Sofia waiting, Dove resolved to take care of the evening meal as well. It had been a hard day of travel. Most everyone was tired.
“You form the cankazuntapi,” she told Sofia.
She watched the older woman set up the three largest poles with one planted north, south and east to form a tripod. When finished, the tipi would form a fourteen-foot diameter. Dove picked up four poles and set them in the crotch of the tripod then spaced out the bottoms to form part of the circle. Sofia laid the next four poles in the same north-south crotch. With two-thirds of the poles in the front vee where the smoke hole would go, it made the least possible bulk under the cover. Of the remaining four poles, three were placed in the rear, spread out evenly to form the base of the tipi. The last pole was set aside. They’d use it to lift the cover into place.
Dove took hold of the end of rope Sofia had attached to the tops of the tripod poles. She walked around the outer edge of the frame four times to the left—with the sun—to secure the poles. After bringing the remaining length of rope over the north tripod pole, she let the end dangle free near the center of the floor. After driving a three-foot peg into the ground, she tied the rope to it, anchoring the poles.
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