White Dove

by Susan Edwards

  His people showed the outsider more respect than they had ever shown Waho. All his life he’d felt an outsider. He had few relation ties here, and since he and his family had joined this tribe when he’d had twelve winters, he’d always felt unwelcome.

  His hand rested on the hilt of the knife hanging from his waist. He was not beaten yet. Too bad he didn’t have any more Crow arrows. He felt for the leather thong around his neck and fingered the fox teeth and claws. The sungila was smart. Wily. Waho would be, too. Watching the white man ride away, he made his way to his own horse.

  * * *

  Though tired, Jeremy climbed up the slope of the large rock, almost a mountain in his estimation. The way was rocky, but he’d easily spotted the worn path from generations of Indians who’d come here. Below, he left his horse near Dove’s. The knowledge that she was still here gave him the spurt of energy to make the long climb. The top of the rock was nearly flat, big enough for several people to sit or stand without fear of falling down the steep sides. In the center, someone had arranged rocks in a circle, and in the center of that, Dove sat, legs crossed, the backs of her hands resting on her thighs, her face serene and tipped to the sky. He gripped the rock and drank in her beauty. He’d never seen a more entrancing, wonderful sight.

  “Are you going to pray all day?” he asked, grinning.

  Dove’s eyes flew open and she jumped up just as he stood. She ran toward him and threw herself into his arms. “You’re safe,” she cried, holding him tightly.

  He staggered, felt the loose pebbles beneath his feet as he slid back. “Holy cow, woman. Careful or you’ll send us both over the edge.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he swung her around in circles as he took them back to the center.

  “I missed you, sweetheart.” He kissed her, pulled her tight. “I never want to let you go.”

  Dove clutched him tighter. “Then hold me,” she said, her voice soft and a bit choked. “I was so worried.”

  Jeremy’s lips traveled from her lips to her neck. “Because you didn’t think I could handle it.” Setting her down, he stopped her protest with a finger to her mouth and a laugh. “It’s all right. I’d have worried if it had been you.”

  Dove nipped his finger. “I worried because I love you. It doesn’t matter how skilled you become—when you leave me, I’ll worry.” She paused, then gave him a measured look. “Come on, sit down. Tell me what happened.” She pulled him back to the circle.

  He sat, but pulled her onto his lap before he told her everything. When he mentioned the girls, she turned in his arms. She stroked the side of his face with the backs of her fingers. “I am so proud of you. They are lucky you were there.”

  Nuzzling her neck, Jeremy sighed. “You realize that I’m now their father, at least until I find their family. Could you be their mother?” He felt relieved by the maternal look on her face. It was a look he’d never seen, at least not as softly as it was being given now.

  Dove leaned her head back and gripped his hands. “Your love for children is part of what made me fall in love with you. The twins. Makes Music. The rest of the Sioux children. You are so good with them. I’d like to be their mother, but I’m not sure what kind I’ll be.”

  Jeremy chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “Loving.” He planted a kiss along the side of her neck. “Loving.” His hand slid up her arms. “Kind.” Dove sighed in his arms. “Gentle. The best,” he whispered, loving the feel of her in his arms.

  Dove turned in his arms, and slid her arms around his neck. “I’ll try.” Her lips curved into an amused grin. “You realize you may never get rid of your name now, Hunkuya Mato.”

  Jeremy sighed. “You know, I’m getting used to it.” It seemed he was fated to be mother or father, whether to bear cubs or to two little girls.

  “You are a brave man,” Dove whispered. “A wise warrior with a kind and generous heart.” She rose up onto her knees and leaned forward, her hands framing each side of Jeremy’s face, forcing him to tip his head back. “I love you, Jeremy, my ‘great warrior.’“

  Happiness flooded Jeremy’s heart. “Marry me, Dove. Now. At the Sun Dance. It doesn’t matter when. Just say you’ll be my wife.”

  “I thought you’d never ask, White Man.” As she spoke, Dove’s eyes were brimming with tears.

  Jeremy rolled back, taking Dove with him, pulling her head down to his. On top of the world, their lips met, passion exploded, a storm of their own making. His hands roamed down her sides, stroking her through her soft leather dress. Reaching the fringed hem that had ridden up, he clutched it, pulling it higher, his fingers scraping over bare skin.

  Stopping his upward movement, his fingers slid across her buttocks, dug into the soft flesh, pulling her tight against his pelvis, feeling the blood pulsing through him with desperate need. “I love you, Dove.”

  He groaned, protesting when she tore her mouth from his and sat up. “I love you, too, Jeremy.”

  He wanted to pull her back to him, needed to touch her, love her, and have her love him. When she shifted so her wet warmth slid across his hardness, he sucked in his breath. “God, Dove, don’t tease me.” He tried to sit, but she gently shoved him back down.

  * * *

  Dove’s heart raced, the blood between her legs throbbed. She wanted Jeremy, wanted him here and now. No other man had ever made her feel this way. No other man ever came close to making her lose control the way he always did. Jeremy had taught her passion, shown her that there were feelings within her that she’d never known, and knew there was much more he could show her. She wanted what they’d had before, the earth-shattering passion, the tender loving, the sweet kisses. She wanted it all. She wanted to lose herself in his love-making.

  Moving her hips, she slid along the hard ridge of flesh beneath his breechclout. When he closed his eyes and arched his hips, she grinned, reveling in her newfound power. She ran a finger down his stomach. “Tezi. So hard and flat.”

  Jeremy’s eyes shot open. She laughed softly, and deliberately shifted on top of him. Then with his eyes fastened to hers, she inched her dress up, slowly, loving the look of hunger in his eyes and the way his tongue snaked out to lick his lips. With a quick movement, she pulled her dress over her head, and tossed it down upon the ground.

  “You’re killing me, you know,” he moaned, staring at her breasts.

  “Now you know how I felt the night you teased me with your words of loving.” Dove planned to do the same to him that he’d done to her. She wanted him to burn, to yearn for her touch as she’d yearned for his. Lifting one of his hands, she pressed his palm to one of her full, aching breasts.

  “Nape. I want your hands on me. All over me. Everywhere.”

  “Sweet.” He sighed, lifting his other hand. His fingers stroked her nipples to hard peaks. “Beautiful. You are so beautiful.” Again he tried to rise, and again Dove shoved him down.

  This time she leaned over him so she could remove the leather ties from his hair and thread her fingers through the black, wavy strands. Her breasts hung just out of reach of his mouth. His quickened breathing sent warm puffs of air over her nipples, urging her to lower herself to his mouth. But she didn’t. Instead she stroked his hair. “I want to see your pehin fall over me when you make love to me. I want to wrap it around my hands and hold on when you take me to that special place.”

  “You’re going to kill me with this, aren’t you?” His eyes were alight with love, laughter and heated desire. “I give as good as I get,” he promised on a gasp when one breast brushed against his jaw.

  Dove lowered her head. “I will hold you to that, White Man,” she whispered, biting the lobe of his ear. “Nuge,” she said as she licked and nibbled on it. He shivered and ran his hands up and down her back, stroking along her spine.

  “Lift your head, sweetheart, and straighten your arms.”

  Dove did, wond
ering if she was too heavy for him. He gave her a wicked smile, then pulled himself up enough so that he could latch on to the tip of one pale breast with his mouth.

  Tossing her head back, giving him more access, Dove cried out as his tongue circled her beaded nipple while his other hand supported the weight of her other breast, his fingers kneading the firm flesh, his palm cupping her as if she’d been made to fit his hand.

  He rolled her over, using her dress to soften the rocky ground beneath them, and took her lips in a long, hungry kiss. Then he rose and removed his breechclout. She reached out, needing to touch him, but he stopped her. “No. Let me love you.”

  Starting with her lips, he kissed her, moving down over her body, paying careful attention to her breasts, lingering over the flat planes of her belly, circling the indentation of her belly with his tongue.

  Dove felt on fire. She’d burst with need if he didn’t stop teasing her. Her hips shifted, seeking his touch. “Please, Jeremy,” she whimpered. “Touch me. Like before.”

  “Patience, sweetheart. I don’t want to rush. I want you to enjoy every minute of this.” His fingers slid up her legs, along the inside of her thighs.

  Dove tensed, not out of fear, but out of anticipation, waiting for his fingers to find her sensitive core. When his hands rested on either side of the apex of her thighs and gave a gentle push, she opened her legs to him. Her head rolled side to side, but he didn’t touch her. She opened her eyes, saw him looking at her.

  Heat rushed through her. “Jeremy, what are you doing?” she squeaked, embarrassed.

  He groaned. “Looking at you.” His gaze met hers. “Like you looked at me.” One finger traced her cleft. “It’s heaven,” he said, holding her gaze.

  “Jeremy!” They were going to kill each other at this rate.

  He smiled softly and lowered his head. A curtain of black hair fell forward and caressed her belly. She widened her eyes when she felt his breath between her legs. Before she could protest, she felt his tongue stroking her in place of his finger.

  Her head fell back; her hips jerked up. She bit her lips to keep from crying out as the most wondrous feelings flowed through her. His fingers parted her, and his tongue found that part of her crying out to be touched. “Jeremy,” she sighed, repeating his name over and over.

  “Like it?”

  Dove gave herself over to the most incredible feelings. “Yes,” she cried, feeling all sense of control slipping from her.

  Over and over he stroked and laved her, even suckling gently. She felt one finger slide into her. Her body clenched around him, and her legs moved restlessly, her hips jerking against his mouth as need made her impatient. She wanted him. Wanted this. Love for him soared through her like a bird set free. Lifting her hands, she buried her fingers in his hair, holding him to her as she reached further. Without warning, the tempo of his fingers and tongue increased, and with a cry of release, she tensed as the world spun out of control.

  “That’s it, sweetheart, fly for me.”

  Dove gasped as tremors exploded through her. She felt herself flying, falling, but he was there to catch her, his voice guiding her, pulling her back.

  His mouth, with her scent on his lips, covered hers. His tongue found hers and stroked. Still pulsing from her release, Dove needed more. She wanted it all. She wanted him. Her hips rose, found his throbbing manhood. She slid her hand between them, touched the soft, moist tip.

  Jeremy shuddered when she gripped him. “Don’t,” he gasped. “I won’t last.”

  Dove’s fingers slid down his length, her palm cupped him, squeezing gently. “You’re so soft,” she murmured, moving back along the rigid flesh. “So soft and hard.”

  Pulling away from her, he stared down at her soft and dreamy from his loving. “Wrap your legs around my waist, sweetheart. I can’t wait.”

  Dove lifted her legs. “You talk too much, White Man,” she groaned, holding him prisoner with her calves.

  Slowly, Jeremy eased the tip of himself into her, watching for signs of pain. When he encountered her maidenhead, he took a deep breath, then fastened his mouth over hers as he pushed his way through.

  He felt her tense. “Look at me, love.” Dove stared up at him. “I want to watch you as I make you mine.” He pushed a bit more.

  Tears of love slid down the corners of her eyes. “I’m yours, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy kissed the moisture away. “Almost, love. Almost. Hang on.” He framed her face with his hands and held her gaze. With a low, throaty groan, he gave a final shove.

  Beneath him, she tensed and cried out softly. He kissed her then, gently, tenderly, murmuring soft words of love as he waited for her body to adjust to him. “You feel so good. Like I belong.”

  She shifted her hips, and he pulled partway out, then slid back into her tight sheath. “You belong to me,” he gasped. “Now and always.” Dove moaned, moving restlessly.

  He wanted to give her more time, but he couldn’t wait. Love and need surged through him demanding release. “I can’t wait. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered against the side of her mouth.

  Dove gasped and moved beneath him. “I hurt, but not there. I need you, Jeremy. I need you,” she cried, tightening her legs about him. “Let me fly with you. Take me with you.”

  He took a deep breath and moved within her. With each slow stroke, the fires in her belly grew hotter. The pain of her virgin flesh was gone, leaving another sensation in its place, more intense than before. It was as though the other times she’d found release had been practice, leading up to this. They’d been shadows of the real thing.

  Their mouths mated, their tongues stroking and thrusting in time to the throbbing rhythm of their bodies. She felt that wonderful shimmer overtake her. She cried out. Jeremy threw back his own head. “Yes, Dove. Now. Fly with me.”

  The turbulence of their passion swirled around them until they both arched into each other, their cries mingling with the whisper of the wind, and the call of the birds soaring just below the rock.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jeremy rolled off her. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice, soft bed,” he said, grimacing. He stared up into the sky, feeling on top of the world.

  “How about a nice bed of furs instead?”

  “That’ll do.” He smiled down into her eyes. “That was incredible. I feel free. Like those eagles flying above us.” Together they watched the soaring birds.

  Dove stroked his face. “I think together we shall fly as one.”

  “The eagle and the dove?” He kissed her, slowly. “I like that.” Rising, he gave her a look of regret. “As much as I want to make love to you again here, all night long, it’s getting late. We need to get back.”

  Dove sat up with a groan. She wanted him. Again. Forever. But her family would be worried if they weren’t back before dark, and she suspected Jeremy wanted to get back to the two girls. Standing, they dressed—slowly, with much touching and kissing. Jeremy slung his quiver over his shoulder and picked up his bow from where he’d set it down. She followed him to the edge. In silence, they made their way down, stopping often. He to help her, she to pass him, making sure her breasts brushed against him. A kiss was stolen here, and loving touch given there. By the time they reached the base, both were breathing hard, their eyes dark with desire.

  “Don’t tempt me now, sweetheart.” He turned to gather their horses.

  Dove followed close, her hands stroking down his back and over his buttocks. He tensed. She chuckled when he sped up. The wind jiggled the arrows in his quiver. One arrow, its fletchings cut at a short, sharp angle and tipped with black on only one vane, caught her attention. She pulled the arrow from the quiver.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Jeremy turned, saw the arrow in her hands. “I found it. Figured one of the
warriors lost it, but I forgot to ask your brother who it belonged to. Whose is it?”

  Dove studied it distastefully. “It belongs to Waho.”

  Freezing, Jeremy returned to her and grabbed her arm. “Are you sure?” He took the arrow away and studied it, looking at the marks she pointed out that made it Waho’s.

  “We mark our arrows so that all know who makes a kill. That arrow is Waho’s.” She studied his face. Something was wrong. “Why?”

  “I found it the night your father died.” Jeremy set his bow and quiver down and paced back and forth. “This makes no sense.”

  “I don’t understand. Our warriors often lose arrows.” She tossed it down.

  Jeremy snapped his fingers. “You know, maybe it does make sense. When I was returning to the village that night, I didn’t see any Crow, yet they’d had to have passed me to flee. After I left you, I traced their path from that bush, looking for clues. There was no one out there but me. Yet when I got back to the herd, the brave guarding them was gone. Waho was there.”

  Dove shook her head, confused at his look of comprehension. “I don’t understand, Jeremy. Maybe he just went out there to check on the guards.”

  “And he just happened to have lost his arrow at the exact spot where the killer would have hidden? Also, I’ve never known him to take up guard duty unless it was ordered. It’s too beneath him.”

  “You think Waho killed my father?” The idea was so absurd, Dove laughed. “Jeremy, you are tired. It was a Crow arrow. As much as I dislike him, I do not believe Waho would do such a thing. Why would he kill my father?”

  Without warning, Jeremy pulled Dove behind him. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him.”

  Dove started when she saw Waho waiting for them. He looked calm, too calm for someone who had heard an unjust accusation. The fact that he wasn’t vehemently denying it told her it was true. As did his bow, pulled taut with an arrow ready to fly.