White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  She entered her tipi where her father lay, his body covered, ready to begin his journey to the spirit world. Tomorrow, they’d place his body high in a tree so he’d be closer. Sitting with her back resting against the hide wall, she drew her knees to her chest and buried her head in her arms. How could her father be gone? She’d never expected to have him forever, but they should have had more time.

  Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to release them. She would not cry. She had to remain strong. Her father would want her to be. She had to take care of her mother. Worse, so great was her grief and hurt, she feared if she allowed the tears to come, they’d never stop.

  “Dove?”

  Lifting her head, she found Jeremy standing in the doorway. “I’m fine.” Her voice came out a low croak. All her emotions fought for release.

  He came to her. “There’s no crime in showing your grief.” He sat beside her.

  “Will tears bring him back to us?” She struggled to fuel her anger.

  “Nothing can bring your father back.”

  The truth of that slammed into Dove. A low cry left her throat. She’d never speak to him again, hear his voice, hunt with him. She’d never again be able to seek his wisdom, or hear his laughter. Grief welled up inside her, worse than before.

  Jeremy pulled her into his arms. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here for you.”

  Dove wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. Not even in his arms. Was it because he held her? Or maybe because she felt as though her father might be watching her. She needed to be strong.

  “Just hold me, Jeremy.”

  “As long as you want.” He pulled her into his lap. “I’ll hold you for as long as you want.”

  Dove found comfort in his arms, in their strength, in his warmth. “He told me to follow my heart.”

  “Your father was a wise man. I respected him.” Jeremy stroked her head gently.

  “He said a great warrior was one who followed his heart. He was trying to tell me that you were that warrior.”

  Jeremy’s arms tightened. “As much as I’d like to believe that, I don’t think I’ve earned that honor yet. But soon I will become the warrior of your heart.”

  Dove sat in thoughtful silence, replaying her conversation with her father. It seemed fitting to have this conversation with Jeremy in the presence of her father’s body. His spirit was still here. She wanted him to know that she took his words to heart. That he had been right.

  For he was. If she truly loved Jeremy, she’d trust him, believe in him. Not doubt him or be afraid of the future. “He was right. He said to follow my heart. I was a fool.”

  “No. It’s not foolish to be uncertain.”

  “I should have trusted you. And trusted my own heart.” She lifted her head and stared deep into his eyes. Suddenly it all seemed so clear. “I love you, Jeremy.”

  “I love you, too, Dove. Marry me after the Sun Dance.”

  Feeling as though her father were there, watching and waiting, Dove knew she had to give him the peace of mind he’d sought, that she’d denied him. Golden Eagle had approved of Jeremy, and he’d been wise. She would follow her heart and marry him after the ritual.

  “Yes.” She didn’t try to talk him into marrying her before that. She knew he wouldn’t until he could protect her as she could protect him. And to her surprise, she didn’t want it any other way.

  * * *

  The next day, true to his word, Striking Thunder gave Jeremy permission to join the band of warriors who would go after the Crow. Another aspect of Sioux life was revealed. He’d assumed the warriors would just leave. But it seemed there were rituals to be observed first. One was the sweat lodge. Crowded into the small, low dwelling, he sat naked, elbow-to-elbow with the rest of the warriors.

  At first he’d been hesitant, too self-conscious to sit naked in the small enclosure with the rest of the men. That was bad enough, but when he saw each warrior run out to bathe his body in the cold river to cool off, he didn’t think he could do it. But when his body reached the point of overheating, he didn’t care who saw him. Over and over, he and the rest of the warriors sweated, prayed and cooled their bodies, then again repeated the process. And in between, he thought—mostly of Dove.

  He’d spent most of the night holding and comforting her, but by being with her, he’d also soothed his own raw nerves. He’d come so close to losing her. She could have easily been killed with her father. She’d been sitting beside him. Jeremy knew how fast a warrior could fire off arrows. The enemy could have killed them both before Dove had even had the chance to scream. His heart clenched. He didn’t think he could bear to even think of losing her.

  By late afternoon, he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. All through the night and day, the women had mourned their loss by crying and wailing and lamenting. At first it had been unnerving. Then he came to appreciate the honest expressing of emotion. These people didn’t hold it in and put on brave fronts like his own did. They were sad and they showed it. Even the men vented by showing their anger. Only Dove remained calm, controlled. Too controlled, he thought, but he couldn’t help that right now. He’d asked to go on the raid, and all his energy was required to ready himself.

  While sitting in silence in the sweat lodge, Jeremy had used the whole day to search his heart, to be sure this was what he wanted, what he stood for. And he’d decided that yes, he could do this. No matter what culture, there were some things that just weren’t honorable. Shooting a man in the back, whether with a gun or arrow didn’t matter, was one of those dishonorable things. Murder was murder, and whether the person responsible died by the same means—an arrow—or a hanging, in the end, it didn’t matter. Justice would be served—whether at the hands of a judge or a chief. It was a matter of culture, a way of life. And since there were no sheriffs out here to see that justice was served, it was up to Striking Thunder to seek justice, and Jeremy to lend his support.

  Around him, those chosen to go on the raid ran in and out of the sweat lodge. Jeremy’s chest felt tight, sweat drenched his body and he felt lightheaded. Knowing it was time to cool himself in the river, he stood. He swayed, and the small, cramped lodge tilted, spun out of control.

  Browns from the naked bodies of the men around him swirled with the off-white canvas of the lodge until it merged and took shape. Jeremy held his head, struggled not to faint. Then he figured he must have, because the Owl-woman stood before him. Again, her body was white with brown spots. Her golden eyes held his.

  “You will go, but you will not fight. Watch. Wait. Listen to your heart, not to what you are told.”

  Then she was gone. He sank to the ground. A hand on his shoulder made him glance up.

  Striking Thunder knelt before him. “This is too much for you.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “No. It was her. The Owl-woman. She came back.” He stared at Striking Thunder. “I know it sounds crazy, but she spoke to me.” He glanced around. The other men were staring intently at him. “I’m not losing my mind! At least I don’t think so.”

  “Wait. Do not speak further.” Striking Thunder left the lodge. He returned a few minutes later with the medicine man and Tawasuota.

  When he was commanded to tell of the Owl-woman, he did, starting with the first time he’d spoken to her—only yesterday, though it seemed so long ago. Then he recounted last night’s episode, showing the marks on his arm. Last, he told of her appearance just moments before in the sweet lodge.

  “It seemed so real.” He held out his arm and stared at the marks left by the owl. Everyone leaned close. Excited murmurs rose, then fell silent when the medicine man lifted his hands over his head and spoke.

  Jeremy turned to Striking Thunder. “What does he say?” He could only understand bits and pieces.

  “He says you are now a Dreamer.
You have had not one vision, but three. The Spotted Owl is your talisman.” He paused to listen. “You will seek wisdom in this owl, and listen to her advice.”

  Jeremy knew enough about the Indians to know they put a lot of stock in visions and mysticism. He understood that they now regarded him highly, all due to his visions—though he still wasn’t sure he believed in them himself. Each time, except last night, it had happened when he’d lost consciousness.

  The old medicine man continued to speak and wave his hands before Jeremy, the trinkets around his wrist jangling. Then he left.

  “We are done here. We leave before Wi shows her face.” Having said that, Striking Thunder stepped out. Jeremy followed, along with the rest. After another dunking in the cold river, he dressed, returned to his tipi and accepted a hot, wooden bowl of stew with large chunks of rabbit. Though it was hard to eat while listening to the songs of mourning, he ate to regain his strength. He’d need much for what was coming.

  In just a few hours, the tribe would move and he along with the others chosen to seek revenge would ride out. Exhausted, knowing he should try to get some sleep, his mind continued to race. He’d thought going on a raid would be exciting, an adventure. Only now did he realize that lives were at stake. Not just his own, but the life of each warrior who’d sat in that sweat lodge.

  Doubt crept in. Fear. What if one of their warriors died due to his own lack of skill?

  Jeremy left his tipi but wasn’t sure where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do. Spotting White Dove leaving her mother’s home, he knew that wasn’t true. He wanted to go to her, to see how she was holding up. Though he’d held her until dawn broke the darkness, neither had slept.

  When she saw him, she stopped, glanced around, then walked toward him. She passed him and spoke. “Meet me down at the river.”

  He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken but his pulse jumped. Casually, he headed for the river, then turned to follow her. As soon as he was out of sight, she stepped out from behind a tree.

  “Quick. Let’s cross.”

  He hesitated. “Dove, we shouldn’t leave. What if your mother or brother come looking for you or me?”

  “They won’t.” She reached out and took his hand. “Please.”

  How could he refuse her? He followed. They crossed at a bend by balancing on a fallen tree that had been placed there. Away from camp she led them until they came to a secluded grove of trees. She led him deep into the shade.

  “Dove, it might not be safe to be so far from camp.” Once again he’d left without any weapons.

  She threw herself into his arms. “The Crow have gone. We are safe. I need you to hold me, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy wrapped his arms around her. “Lord, Dove, I’m so sorry.”

  Dove pulled away. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “What?” He stared her, noted the worry in her eyes.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Tears streamed down her face.

  Confused, Jeremy used his fingers to wipe the tears from her face. “I have to do this, Dove. For you.”

  “What happens—”

  “Don’t say it. I’m going. And I’ll be back.” Seeing her fear and worry made him determined to not only go, but to take part so that he could return to her with his head held high.

  She stepped back and pulled him with her. Sinking to her knees, he went too. “Then kiss me. Touch me like you did before.”

  “Dove, this isn’t the time.”

  “What if it is the only time? I want you, Jeremy.” She paused. “I need you.”

  Her words sent a shiver of desire racing through him, as well as a twinge in his heart. Right now he needed her every bit as much as she needed him. Together they moved until they were in each other’s arms.

  “Kiss me, Jeremy. Don’t let me go.”

  He threaded his hands in her hair, pulling her face closer. “I’ll never let you go. We were meant to be.” One hand slid to the back of her neck, the other to her waist as their mouths met in a wild mating driven by love and need, fear and grief. His hands roamed up and down her body.

  Dove arched in his arms. “I need you to touch me and make me forget.”

  More than anything, Jeremy wanted her, wanted to take what she offered, but he didn’t want her to have any regrets. Then Dove pulled away, reached down, grasped the hem of her dress and slowly pulled it over her head.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dove knelt before Jeremy without clothing, nervous yet desperate for him to take what she offered. Afraid he’d reject her, she leaned forward and boldly slid her hands up to his shoulders and pressed her breasts to his chest. The silky mat of curls teased and tickled her sensitive nipples. They hardened, and her breasts swelled against him.

  “Do you not like what you see?” she asked.

  Jeremy dropped his forehead onto hers. “God, yes.” Gently he held her out from him and stared. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Then hold me. Touch me. Love me. Show me what you feel.”

  “Dove, be sure. Grief—”

  “I’m sure. Please, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy groaned and pulled her back to him. Dove gasped at the feel of his hands roaming across her back and down to cup her buttocks, pulling her hard against him. She arched her back, rubbing her breasts against him. He groaned. “I want to make love to you slow, sweetheart. I want it to be special.”

  Dove cupped his face. “It will be special, because you are a special man.” Her lips hovered close to his. She sighed when he finally kissed her, and all her emotions broke loose—fear and love for him, grief and anger at the loss of her father. Her need exploded. She didn’t want to go slow, didn’t want him to be gentle. The storm of passion within her demanded the same from him. When she moved her hips closer, he pulled her onto his lap. Her heated center came in contact with his pulsing hardness.

  “You are so beautiful, sweetheart.” His lips traveled down her jaw, down her throat, over her collarbone and across the soft rise of one breast. Her head fell back. She held on to him, arched to give him access.

  Dove felt beautiful beneath his caressing hands, and the gentle warmth of his mouth. When his lips closed over her breast, she cried out. Her hips jerked hard against his pelvis. He responded by holding her hips with his hands. Together, as one, they rocked, each desperately seeking what the other offered.

  “I love you, Dove,” Jeremy said tenderly, then guided her legs around his waist. He gently laid her down on her dress without breaking the heated contact of their bodies.

  His head lowered to one pebble-hard nipple. He licked, teased and suckled until she writhed beneath him. “Don’t stop,” she begged. The ache between her legs grew, spreading upward into her belly. She tightened her legs around him, rocked harder, seeking satisfaction and completion.

  “Don’t ask me to,” he replied, moving to her other breast. Back and forth, he loved her with his hands, mouth and tongue. With each gentle tug, each suckle, each playful nip, the throbbing grew. She felt a strange wetness between her legs. Dove ran her hands through his hair, and over his shoulders, as if afraid he’d stop.

  “So beautiful,” he sighed, his lips trailing up her throat.

  She threw her head back, amazed at the feelings flowing through her just from his mouth and tongue dancing across her jaw. “Kiss me, Jeremy. Please.” She pulled his head toward hers and pressed her mouth to his, boldly using her tongue as he’d done.

  He moaned and opened his mouth, allowing her to stroke his tongue and explore and taste as he’d done. Reveling in the feeling of power, she teased him, retreated and celebrated his entrance to her mouth with soft moans and cries. He lowered himself over her, his chest crushing her breasts beneath him. Her legs fell open, wantonly inviting him to take her. Lifting her hips, she stroked him, matched
the rhythm of this thrusting tongue. He lifted his pelvis and met her upward grinding. Over and over until Dove went wild.

  When he moved off her, she cried out. “Shhh, it’s all right. Too fast,” he gasped.

  “I need—”

  “I know.”

  His breathing sounded as ragged as hers. His voice held the same hint of pain she felt. His hand, warm and large, moved from her breast over the flat plane of her belly, and lower. When his palm cupped her intimately, Dove reacted by jerking her hips up.

  “So sweet,” Jeremy breathed against her breast, his tongue snaking out to stroke her beaded nipple.

  Dove rolled her head to the side and moved restlessly beneath his hand. When his fingers slid through her nether curls and touched the aching center of her, she nearly screamed. His mouth fastened over hers. “Move with me, Dove. Find your release.”

  Dove had no idea what he meant, but her body didn’t need to be told to move with the strokes of his fingers. Her hips circled as his fingers did, jerked when they stroked deep. With each rotation, she grew more desperate.

  “That’s it, just let yourself go,” he whispered, trailing his lips from her mouth to her ear. His breath and the touch of his tongue fueled the building need in her.

  “Jeremy!”

  His mouth moved back to hers. He drank her cries, but his fingers never slowed. They moved faster, pulled away, forcing her to lift her hips to keep him touching her. Dove felt as though she were climbing and falling at the same time. Then her body lurched, her hips leaving the ground, her head rolling back as something inside her exploded. She felt herself flying, out of control, as spasms tore through her.

  It was unlike anything she’d ever felt or experienced. As her body calmed and Jeremy’s touch stilled, she slowly opened her eyes. “That was…”

  “Incredible?”

  “Wonderful.” She buried her head in his shoulder, feeling nervous and shy.