by Karen Kay
He whispered, “Never have I seen anyone so beautiful.”
She didn’t know what to say, and so she did the only thing which seemed natural. She smiled.
His fingers found that place most private to her, seeking, caressing, exploring, and she closed her eyes, the intensity of rapture he invoked within her almost overwhelming.
Still he gazed at her.
“It is here,” he said, “that we become joined in love.”
Her glance up at him was wide-eyed. “Yes, joined.”
He nodded. “It will not feel good at first, but I promise you that it will get better with each time we make love.”
She blinked and tried to look calm. But it was more than she could do.
She should have known what he meant, but Katrina had been strictly raised, without the influence of a more knowledgeable female. She’d never had a companion of her own age with whom to ponder the differences between men and women, nor had the subject of sex ever arisen amongst herself and the servants. And in essence, she had no inkling of what should occur next.
White Eagle continued to gaze at her as he said, “Surely you have been taught this.”
She didn’t know what to say and so she did the only thing she could in the circumstances. She stared back at him.
“It is difficult for me to comprehend that you have not…have never… What sort of society is this that does not educate their women? Here,” he said gently, “I will show you,” and he rose above her, his lips coming down over hers, as he positioned himself within her embrace.
She gasped. “Surely you can’t mean to—”
Her protest died on the sound of his moan as he kissed her once again.
“It is the way of love,” he explained on a whisper, “that a man enters himself here within a woman.” With his fingers, he made her to understand where he meant. “There is much pleasure for both people when this is done.”
“Is there?” she asked. “Will you show me?” And with this, she spread her legs more fully to accommodate him, although experiencing the bulge of him there, something further occurred to her and she said, “You are much too big to—”
He groaned. “Do you mean to compliment me?”
“Do I?”
“You do. I might seem too…large…at first and it will hurt, but do not worry, the pain will go quickly away. It is fleeting. I do not intentionally hurt you.”
She nodded, and, as she did so, he entered her.
She gasped.
But he kissed her immediately; and she soon found herself absorbed in his caress, forgetting for the moment the occurrence taking place down there.
She could taste her own fragrance on his breath, but oddly, the experience was pleasant, maybe if only because it was a part of him now, and she was discovering that she liked to be associated with him.
Besides, it gave her the feeling that she had left her mark on him, a pleasant sort of thought.
He began to move within her, slowly at first, as though she were as delicate as the fading colors of a morning sky.
He pulled his weight away from her, pushing himself up and onto his elbows as he proceeded to gaze down at her, all the while, he moved tenderly within her.
“Kitsikakomimmo,” he said on a sigh as he thrust into her.
And she repeated, staring up into the depths of his dark eyes, “Kitsikakomimmo.”
Her declaration, stated in Blackfoot, seemed to stimulate him beyond compare, and she began to move in rhythm with him, slowly at first, but then with more and more vigor, primal instincts taking hold of her and dictating to her through her veil of innocence.
She realized she wanted him to feel what she had felt earlier. She wanted him to experience the same sort of glorious release that she had, and she committed herself to doing all that she could to further that cause.
It didn’t come to her that in doing so, that same feeling began to build within her too.
“White Eagle,” she gasped, as she felt herself rising to yet another peak.
His only response was his own moan of satisfaction, and suddenly, as she reached her peak, she felt him release—felt, because he said not a word.
And his fulfillment intensified her own.
The both of them floated, soaring high above the prairie, high above the world, sharing their space, one with the other.
And at this moment in time, she could not remember ever feeling closer to another human being.
She would love this man forever, she realized. She might not always be here with him, she might not even be able to live with him, but it wouldn’t matter. No matter where she was, no matter what she was doing, she would love him, always.
And she realized it was really this simple.
White Eagle lay awake, watching her as the dawning of a new day began.
He didn’t feel tired; he didn’t know if he’d ever need to sleep again, so energetic was he.
They had loved one another throughout most of the night, Shines Like Moonlight giving in to passion as readily as he. But she had finally gone to sleep toward the early hours of the morning, while he had lain awake, pondering.
He wished he knew what the future held for them, and it troubled him that he didn’t. Perhaps he would seek out a man of medicine when he returned to his village, or mayhap he might fast until he, himself, received a vision. But this he did know:
He would introduce Shines Like Moonlight to his world as he knew and loved it. He would do all he could to give her reason to care for it, too.
Although, he wondered, would that be enough?
He realized that there were differences between his culture and that of the whites, but surely what he and Shines Like Moonlight felt for one another was enough to bridge those differences. Wasn’t it?
He hoped so.
And that troubled him. He didn’t know.
He sighed. It was as it was, and there was little he could do about it now.
With one more look at her, one further caress, he arose and donned his breechcloth and leggings, bow, quiver and shield, all the while gazing steadily down at her.
He wondered what she knew, if anything, about his world. Did she even realize that he had to arise early each morning to hunt? That the Indian’s subsistence every day depended upon the success of that hunt?
He wondered, because he had never seen white men do this, the manager or engages at the fort sometimes hiring an Indian to do his hunting for him.
White Eagle released a deep breath. He knew Shines Like Moonlight loved him. Perhaps that would be all that was needed to make their union strong, although again, he wondered.
He would have to work at it; this he knew. He would have to ensure, by his own actions, that her love for him grew, that their affection became sufficiently strong to make her stay with him.
He only hoped that furious effort on his part would be all that was needed.
Again, doubt besieged him.
Chapter Sixteen
“That is very good. It is not easy to cut.”
White Eagle peered over her shoulder,
his chin close to her own, as Katrina received her first lesson in fashioning a pair of moccasins. She turned her head until her lips were only a scant few inches from his, and in a heartbeat he closed the distance between them with a sweet, though not so gentle, kiss.
She sighed. Three days they had been on the trail and she could not remember ever smiling so much, or being so happy. For three glorious days she’d had White Eagle to herself, and she was beginning to wish their trip would never end. And yet she knew that it must; in the end, she would go her way, he, his. But the thought of that remained so far away, in some indefinite time in the future, that she rarely brought it to mind.
How could she, when White Eagle reclined so close to her? When he filled her thoughts?
She could feel the imprint of his body now against her own, as he sat behind her, leaning over her, and she reacted to his nearness with an urgency, a heat, that was bec
oming as natural to her as this land over which they strode.
She leaned back against him, and he moaned in response.
But all he said to her was, “You are learning quickly. Tomorrow I will show you how to snare a rabbit or a prairie hen so that you can always find food if you are ever lost and alone on the prairie.”
“A rabbit, yes.”
He kissed her cheek. “Or a hen. They are the easiest of all the animals to catch. I will show you how to set traps. It is easy. Then, I will not worry so much.”
He had already pressed his knees against her, on each side of her legs, and now he enveloped her in his arms. “In your parfleche,” he said, pointing to it, “you must always carry an awl or the white man’s steel needle because when traveling as we are, you will go through several pairs of moccasins.”
“Hmmm,” she said, “do you?”
“Do I what?” He nuzzled her neck. “Do I want to love you right now? Do I want to lay you flat on the ground and kiss you until you beg me to make love to you?”
Katrina glanced at the other couple who traveled with them, as Good Dancer and his wife sat on the opposite side of the evening fire. She gazed at the two young people for a moment. Night had already fallen, spreading its secretive darkness over the land, but still she could discern the other couple quite distinctly. She said, “No, not those things.” She grinned up at White Eagle. “What I meant was, do you always carry a needle of some kind with you?”
“Oh, that is too bad. I was hoping you meant something else.”
She giggled. “Do you?”
“Always,” he said, his breath warm upon her cheek. “Sometimes, a man must leave his home without these things, but they are easily obtained from the bones of animals. I will show you how to make one, if ever you are stranded upon the prairie without these necessities.”
“Hmmm.” She snuggled back against him, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. “Have I remembered to tell you today how happy I am?”
“Have you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“If you have said this to me very often this day, I still do not think it would be enough. And I would like to hear it, but there is something else I would enjoy hearing even more from your tongue.”
“Oh,” she said, “and what is that?”
He groaned and grazed his teeth gently against her earlobe. “You know.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, although she did. “Besides, you have to say it first.”
He laughed. “Kitsik…”
“…akomimmo.”
He grinned.
“I love you, White Eagle.”
“As I do you.”
“I never knew it was possible to feel this way.”
“What way is that?” He began to rub her shoulders. “To love?”
She nodded.
“I, too, have not known a love like this.”
“Oh, White Eagle, what are we going to do? As much as I am doing my best to learn all that you teach me, I can’t help feeling that this is…that…”
“It is always difficult to learn something new.”
“Yes, but that’s not what is wrong.” She stared off into the night. “You belong here, and when you are with me, I, too, can feel the love of the land, its magic, its beauty. But when you leave me, I feel confused and alone and…I think we are fooling ourselves. I do not have a place here. I know it, and you know it.”
“I do not know this and I have told you before that I do not agree with you on these things.”
“Yes, but White Eagle, I believe this to be true, and no matter how much I try to deceive myself, down deep, within me, is always the knowledge that I am a stranger here.”
He had been massaging her shoulders while she spoke. And now he trailed fleeting, carnal kisses over her neck as he murmured, “I have a different opinion—”
“Yes, I know, but I—”
“Sh-h-h. Let us worry about this tomorrow. For now, I want to hold you near me and remember that you are the woman I have chosen to be my sits-beside-him-wife.”
She smiled. His sits-beside-him-wife. Odd, how appealing, how genuinely satisfying, that position sounded to her.
True, this man might not have been her original idea of an eligible husband, but, at present, she could not imagine spending the rest of her life with anyone else but him…not anyone else at all.
“Oh, White Eagle,” she whispered, turning her face toward his, “love me.”
And he smiled as he said, “I will,” and, pulling the buffalo robe over them both, for privacy, he proceeded to do just that.
“Always remember, the eye goes more easily to anything that is moving, and so if one is pursued, hide behind a large rock or tree or bush and crouch down and remain still until the danger has passed.”
Katrina nodded.
“Here, examine this trail again, and tell me what it is that you see.”
Katrina glanced downward. “I see a hoofprint.”
“Indian pony or white?”
“Indian.”
“And how do you know this?”
“There is no shoe. Indian ponies have no shoes.”
“And how many people did the pony carry?”
Katrina looked puzzled. “I can’t tell that from a print.”
“Aa, yes, you can. Now, observe. Do you see the print of another pony?”
She looked around her. “No.”
“Good, then whomever it was that came through here was not traveling far since there was no pack animal; either this, or this person is attached to a party elsewhere. Is the pony a fully grown horse, or a colt?”
She gazed again at the prints. “A fully grown horse?”
“Aa, yes, you can see that by the size of the print. Was the pony walking or at a trot?”
Again she guessed. “Walking?”
Again, he nodded. “You can tell this by the spread of the prints. Do you see?” He bent down toward the trail. “There is an imprint of water here on the print, dew.”
He fingered a portion of the dirt that held together as though it had once been wet. “Do you remember how many days ago, we had moisture in the morning?”
She didn’t, and she shook her head, not bothering to guess this time.
“You must always try to recall these things in great detail. Someday your life might depend upon being able to tell how far away is an enemy. Two days ago, we had such a mist in the air. Do you not remember your shoes becoming wet in the morning when you went to the stream?”
She furrowed her brow. She could just barely envision it. Still, she nodded her head.
“Good. That means this person came by here two days ago, in no hurry. Do you see that his pony is walking? Now”—he arose and pointed off in the direction to the north—“do you see the way in which this person travels?”
She nodded.
“It is a single pony, traveling north, with no packhorse and in no haste to get anywhere. This means the person is traveling within his own country, especially since he is taking no pains to cover his trail, and he is going north, probably returning home, his camp not far away; otherwise, he would have a packhorse. You must study the print of a pony when not carrying a man, and what it looks like when it carries a man, and then you will be able to tell if a single person came through here or a couple. In this case, it is a couple, probably Good Dancer and his wife, because they have been scouting ahead of us these last few days, taking no pack animal with them, since they are attached to our party. It means they came through here two days ago in the morning.
It also signifies that there is no danger ahead and we may proceed; otherwise, they would have returned to us by now.”
“You can tell all that from a single print?”
“It is all there to be read. It is so clear, they might as well have left a written record, using the letters and symbols of the white man. If we go further, we will see the two of them dismount at some point, and I will show you how to tell from th
eir moccasin prints that they are Pikuni, or as you know them, Blackfeet. When one sees moccasin prints, then one can even more easily decide who it is that has left this trail, since all tribes make their moccasins in different ways.”
Katrina glanced with renewed respect toward White Eagle. Here was a specialized branch of knowledge, a very important bit of wisdom, if one wished to survive on the prairie, and yet, until this journey, she’d never known it existed.
She glanced around her. For these past few days, as she and White Eagle traveled over endless fields of dried, brown grasses and through green valleys which skirted the streams, he constantly took the opportunity to tutor her on the finer points of prairie survival. He would point out trails, remarking on the different scents in the air and what they meant; he would have her follow tracks of animals, educating her on what kind of animal left the trail; he would show her how to tell the signs of dangerous creatures, and how to track for food, those critters which were not so threatening.
Sometimes they rode on his pony, but more often, she led the animal by his buckskin reins while they walked, the pony carrying their camping goods and White Eagle striding out in front.
The days were warm and fragrant, the nights cool, and they camped beneath brilliant skies, illuminated by stars the likes of which she had never seen anywhere else.
White Eagle had pointed out the Big Dipper, or the constellation the Blackfeet called the Seven Brothers, and shown her how one could tell the time of night by the position of the “brothers.”
And then morning would come again and the two lovers would stroll over numerous bluffs and plateaus, hills and gullies, each landscape strewn with wildflowers of blue and white lupines, or golden sunflowers or the wild, pink rose, and always White Eagle would comment upon what season of the year one could expect to see what sort of flower, what food would be available at the time when those flowers bloomed, and where that food might likely be found.
She had never learned so much; nor had she ever found so much pleasure doing it.
Always, each day, they had loved, sometimes during the day, but more especially in the evening.