White Eagle's Touch: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 2

by Karen Kay

  “I’m not unhappy…not now. How can I make you understand, White Eagle, that I am afraid of going back? Of being separated from you?”

  He breathed out deeply. “Aa, I see this. And I understand it. Still, I cannot stay here while a friend is in danger.”

  “I see. Then, when do you go?”

  “Soon.”

  “Do you leave tonight?”

  “Saa, no, I have the night to spend with you.”

  She glanced up at him, at his features which looked as though they were carved from wood. “Don’t leave me here to worry for you all alone. Please, stay here.”

  “Haiya,” he said, and then he murmured, “I did not come here to argue with you, Little Moonlight. Let us have this night. Let me love you.”

  She sighed, still reluctant. “I will still debate this with you later.”

  He laughed gently. “Then it will be so.”

  What could she say? Though she wanted to contend with him, to state her defense and her reasoning more clearly, she desired his love more than any of this…so much more. And so she found herself smiling up at him as she said, “All right, then. Let us take this night, and let us see in the morning if you can leave me.”

  And, at least as regards loving her, he began to do exactly as she asked.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He took her in his arms. “I love you,” he said. She reclined on his lap, looking at him through the haze of darkness. She ran her hands into his long hair, her fingers touching the owl’s feather that dangled from one of his locks.

  She touched her fingers to his cheek, tracing over his high cheekbones, grasping the cool smoothness of the shells that were also strung in his hair. She whispered, “White Eagle, I love you too, though I fear, if you go away, we may have no future with one another.”

  “Sh-h-h. We have already had this argument.”

  “But…”

  “No more tonight.”

  “All right.” She smiled and nodded. “Not tonight.”

  He relaxed back against the wall of the room. “Do you know when I first started loving you?”

  “No, when?”

  “I think when you were three years old. You used to follow me, and imitate me. Wherever I would go, there you would be, with your big, dark eyes staring up at me.”

  “I must have annoyed you endlessly. How could you have tolerated it?”

  He grinned. “It was not so difficult.”

  “And how disappointed you must have been when we first met at the fort, to learn that I no longer…”

  He shrugged. “You were as I expected you to be.”

  “Oh?”

  “You were raised with no family around you to shelter you or teach you proper manners. You did not fool me, though, with your new ways. I remembered you and the way you used to be. I knew who you were. I only had to wait for that person to emerge again. It did not take long.”

  “You make me sound spoiled.”

  “You have always been full of life.”

  “Is that another way of saying spoiled?”

  “Saa, no. You were simply denied love. You now have it.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes, I now have it.” And, she vowed to herself silently, she intended to keep it.

  He kissed her then.

  Her head spun in reaction; her senses clamored for more and when he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking out hers, she responded with a passion that had him moaning. It wasn’t long before he took off his buffalo robe, spread it out on the floor, and placed her upon it.

  She had no more than settled herself when he began kissing her face, her neck, her eyes, her cheeks, interspersing what he was doing with passionate kisses on her lips.

  She whimpered, she moaned, she stirred, and she murmured, “Oh, White Eagle, how have I lived without you all these years?”

  “And I, you,” he whispered against her ear. “Little Moonlight, I believe we were meant to be together. It has always been so.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  That simple word seemed to urge him on, and his hands ran over her cheeks, pressing back her hair, running over her lips, her eyes, his touch making her feel more precious than all the jewels of the world. And he gazed deeply into her eyes.

  “I give you all that I am,” he said, as he trailed kisses down toward her neck, into its smooth curve. “You will be my sits-beside-him-woman all of my life. I think you always have been.”

  “White Eagle,” she murmured, as he dropped his kisses down farther, toward her breasts, his tongue paying homage to one rosy nipple, to the other.

  She squirmed. She ran her hands through his hair, on down to his smaller, though just as sensitive, male nipples, hearing him groan in response to her.

  Off, in an instant, came her nightgown, and then, his shirt, breechcloth and leggings, until they both lay naked.

  As his kisses ranged farther and farther downward, toward the center of her womanhood, she voiced, “Don’t let this end, White Eagle. Don’t you dare do anything foolish. I am holding you to that.”

  He responded with more kisses, his tongue sweeping first to one thigh, then to the other.

  She withered in the pleasure of it.

  And then he kissed her, there between her legs, tasting her, loving her, bringing her up higher and higher toward a height of ecstasy, over and over until she begged him to let her show him the same kind of release.

  When at last he joined with her, coming up onto his forearms over her, she knew that nothing, no power less than the Creator, could keep them apart.

  It didn’t matter what she had been, or what she had thought before this moment.

  She loved this man, and this was all that was important. With him, she felt she could face anything.

  She said, “I will love you always, and you remember this.”

  As he began to thrust into her, over and over, he murmured, “Aisskahs, always.”

  But she’d needed no translation to know what he said.

  They gazed at one another, they smiled, they laughed, they sighed, between moans of pure ecstasy.

  “All my life,” she whispered, “I will love you.”

  As the pleasure began to build all around her and as she became unable to think of anything more than this, he murmured, “Nitao’mai’taki. Now I am convinced.”

  On and on they struggled, never once ceasing to gaze at one another, never once ceasing to admire the other, until the pleasure exploded within her, within him, and she cried out her release, just as he spilled his seed within her.

  Their bodies wrapped together, they floated above the earth, silent, unattached, both of them, sharing the same space, closer to one another than they could have ever been physically. It was an experience such that she had never before had, and, as they both drifted gradually back to earth, she heard him murmur, “All my life, I promise you, I will love you.

  I am yours. Aisskahs, always.”

  And Katrina vowed to herself that this would be so, now and forever.

  He had gone.

  It was the first thing she noticed as she awoke.

  What time was it? Early morning, or still night?

  She couldn’t tell, since it was still dark outside; her only indication that it might be morning being that White Eagle was no longer here.

  They had made love all through the night, both of them catching only occasional snatches of sleep.

  Sighing, she fell back upon her pillow. She knew where he had gone, of course. He had left on the war party; left her without so much as a kiss goodbye.

  She groaned and turned over in her bed.

  Her bed…she had gone to sleep on a softened cushion of buffalo robe…not a straw mattress.

  She sat up quickly. Perhaps he hadn’t been gone for too long. He would have had to have carried her here to this bed before he left. It would account for her sudden awakening.

  She threw off the cheap, trade-issue blanket and dressed swiftly, not bothering with her stockings or pettico
ats. And with only chemise and drawers beneath her gown of embroidered muslin, slippers on her feet, and an Indian shawl thrown around her shoulders, she raced from her room, tying her bonnet of rice straw over her hair as she left.

  If she could catch him, maybe she could still convince him to stay here. She had to try.

  She burst from Mr. Mitchell’s house, into the fort’s courtyard.

  No one was about, and her spirits sank. Was she too late?

  And then she remembered. He was Indian. His journey wouldn’t start from the inside of the fort. He and his friends would be outside the garrison, in their own camp.

  Which brought about her next problem: the guard. Could she convince the guard to open the gate for her?

  Amazingly, she discovered that she could. It took only a few coins from her purse and a flirty smile upon her face.

  It was strange, but whatever had been her fear of leaving the fort last night, deserted her. In her haste to find White Eagle, everything else, even her own welfare, faded into insignificance.

  A circle of Indian tepees, looking like shimmering mounds of gold in the fragile, early light, attracted her attention, and, raising her skirts, she rushed toward them. If her eyes didn’t deceive her, she could make out the forms of men sitting atop ponies.

  “White Eagle,” she called out.

  She’d done it; she’d attracted their attention. She only hoped these Indians were part of White Eagle’s party.

  “White Eagle.”

  A single horseman separated himself from the main crowd gathered there and urged his pony toward her.

  “White Eagle,” she screamed his name now.

  The pony leapt toward her; she kept running.

  It was White Eagle. She could see that now.

  “White Eagle,” she called out again, and she began to slow her steps, though the pony kept sprinting toward her.

  And then she saw White Eagle lean over, as he came up close to her, his pony still in a full run, and as horse and rider made to pass her, White Eagle caught hold of her around the waist, bringing Katrina up and onto his lap.

  The pony had only sprinted a little past her, when White Eagle turned the animal around, and they flew back in the direction of the Indian camp.

  She smiled. She had caught White Eagle before he left, this feat amazingly important to her.

  He didn’t say a word to her, though, until he had trotted the pony into the Indian encampment.

  And immediately, as soon as they entered the circle of tepees, the scents of smoke and horseflesh, of sweet grass and sage, assailed her, though, in truth, these senses remained only dim impressions upon her. She was with White Eagle; it was all that mattered.

  “Have you decided,” he asked her, “that you wish to be here when I leave?”

  She nodded.

  He grinned down at her. “I was uncertain, when I left you, whether I should awaken you or not.” He glanced up and away from her. “I am glad that you have come.”

  She sighed. “I have not joined you here to see you go,” she said. “I’m still determined to keep you from leaving. Do you not remember our talk? I promised you that I would argue with you about this at a later time.”

  He chuckled. “So you did.”

  “I meant what I said.”

  He continued to grin at her.

  She inquired, “Is this a regular hunting party, or are you going to war?”

  “We go to seek your uncle.”

  “You are going to war,” she stated.

  He inclined his head. “We go to fight. We must. We cannot let our enemies think that we are nothing but a nation of women. A great injury has been done us. We must set it right.”

  “And so you go to kill or be killed.”

  “I go to find your uncle.”

  “But you will be in danger.”

  He grimaced. “I will be in danger. But then, are there not many dangerous encounters in life?”

  “Not that one actively seeks.”

  “I am sorry that you feel this way, and I would give you strength, if I could. But I still must go.” White Eagle suddenly glanced around him. “I’nakssahkomaapiwa, poohsapoot!”

  Immediately a young boy came running to them.

  “Nitakkaawa, my friend,” White Eagle spoke in the Blackfoot dialect, as he dismounted from the pony and threw the buckskin reins to the boy. “Otoi’tsikatoo ota’s.”

  The young boy nodded and glanced up at Katrina.

  Immediately she scooted off the animal, taking note that neither White Eagle, nor the boy, gave her a hand to help her.

  Not that she had expected any assistance. Though White Eagle had often aided her when they had been alone, he had also explained that many of the chores he did were women’s work and that he could not continue to cater to her when they arrived in the Indian camp.

  Still, it irritated her.

  “Who was that?” she asked of White Eagle, once she had caught up to him.

  When White Eagle turned his gaze upon Katrina, he hesitated for some moments before answering her.

  Presently, however, he said, “That was Strikes Two, an orphan. He is a lad from the Crow, who was captured by a raiding party some years ago. He waits upon my family in return for his livelihood and he cares for my ponies. I have also asked him to look after you while I am gone.”

  Katrina glanced back at the boy, who was now brushing down the pony.

  “Do you leave right away, then?”

  “We go as soon as I say that we go. And I leave as soon as I have a kiss from you.”

  She laughed, despite herself. She couldn’t help it. And slyly, she said, “Then I might never kiss you.”

  He grinned. “You would make me steal it from you?”

  “If I remember last night correctly, you didn’t have to steal anything from me, Mr. White Eagle.”

  “It is true, and yet, I find I am still unsatisfied.”

  Giggling, she brought her face up to his. “Then you will have to stay until you are more fully appeased, my fine warrior.”

  “That will most likely take a lifetime.”

  “I think so too,” she said.

  He laughed.

  “I love you, White Eagle.”

  “And I love you.” He kissed her. “I must go now. We have already delayed too long in this place.” He drew his fingers over her cheek, pushing back her hair, gazing at her as though she, alone, personified the word, “adoration.” “Wait for me,” he said, kissing her again, and then a third time. “It is not in a warrior’s nature to show emotion in a public place, as I am now to you. Know that I do this to show you my true affection.” He took her hand and placed it upon his heart. “Always,” he said, “will you be here, alive, within my heart.”

  And this said, he brought his forehead down to hers.

  “White Eagle, I…” She gulped down a wail, and she heard herself say, as though from far away, “Bring back my uncle safe and sound, won’t you?” Sobbing, she threw herself into White Eagle’s arms, then, and she didn’t care that, at a later date, he’d have to explain her actions to his people.

  Softly he murmured against her hair, “It has always been my intention to do so.” He drew in his breath, as though he, too, wished to memorize everything about her—her scent, the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin—and he kissed her forehead, her neck, her cheeks, her lips.

  With one last look at her, he turned away and left.

  She stared at his departing figure for some moments. Why was it so hard to watch him walk away? Truly, she felt as if her heart were breaking.

  A tear forged a trail down her cheek, and without herself willing it, a whimper escaped from her throat.

  She felt a presence next to her, and, with no warning, a small hand found its way into her own, and she was amazed to look down to find Strikes Two gazing up at her, adoration in his glance.

  Somehow the look of the young lad, his apparent sympathy, made her sadness overwhelming and all at once, she
cried in earnest.

  She watched White Eagle as he jumped onto his mount.

  She stared at him as he turned to look at her; she observed him as his glance met hers, that steady gaze of his, the look of affection in it, telling her more than words could have that he loved her.

  And then she saw him spinning his pony around and she watched as, giving it a swift kick, he rode out of camp, away from her, and, it seemed, away from their love.

  Her tears wouldn’t stop. And she couldn’t help feeling that she was letting him go; she knew it wasn’t really true, and yet, it seemed to be so.

  He had shown her the extent of his love for her, despite the others in his tribe who had watched him, and disapproved, of what he did. Had she? Had she shown White Eagle just how much he meant to her?

  Yes, she had told him she loved him, but that wasn’t enough, and she knew it.

  Earlier, before she had come to know him well, she had talked to him of leaving at some future date. And as before, when she had spoken of such things, he had disagreed with her…and loved her in spite of it.

  Watching him leave the camp, she suddenly grew uneasy and unexpectedly, the truth of it all came to her: She would never leave him. She couldn’t. To do so would be as to sever her own heart. For good or for bad, she was tied to this man.

  And he didn’t know it. She hadn’t told him.

  She shuddered when she remembered how she had, at first, treated White Eagle. Had she shown him in every way, every day, since that time, just how special he was to her now? How much she had changed?

  Had she?

  She bit her lip. He was putting himself into danger, and there was always the chance that he might not come back. And yet, here she stood, letting the most wonderful man she had ever known slip away from her.

  How could she let this happen? How could she have allowed him to get past her?

  Well, she determined, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t.

  With this thought, like a beam of light suddenly stealing through a black cloud of thunder, there it was, all at once, before her. She knew exactly what she had to do. Why she hadn’t discovered this until now, she didn’t know, but with this sudden knowledge, came a sense of calm and a clarity of decision.