Sundancer's Woman

by Judith E. French

  “No,” she answered. “I would not.” Her clear blue eyes filled with tears as she took Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed it. “Forgive me. I blame you for my own fears. You do not make my husband go. He chooses to do this thing. It isn’t your fault.”

  Elizabeth gripped her hand tightly. “They—my son,” she corrected quickly. “My son depends on me. He’s only six winters. I’m afraid he’ll think I’ve abandoned him. When does the war party leave?”

  “I know no more than you do.” Sweet Water’s forehead crinkled with concern, and she nibbled absently at her lower lip. “I go to seek my husband. I will ask Jumps High to help you locate Hunt Campbell.”

  “But they haven’t left yet?” Elizabeth suddenly was afraid. What if he was already gone? What if he left without her? Even if he managed to get Jamie away, that would leave Rachel at Raven’s mercy.

  Sweet Water spoke to Jumps High’s mother in Algonquian, and the old woman answered. “No,” Sweet Water assured her. “The war party did not leave. This afternoon will be a False Face Dance, and after that prayers and dancing for the safe return of the men. Tomorrow they go, at first light.”

  Elizabeth’s heartbeat slowed to near normal. She still had time to talk to Hunt and convince him to take her with him. And if she couldn’t, then she must reveal her secret. A shudder passed through her. What if he decided not to go for either child? The thought was too terrible to dwell on.

  “Please,” she said to Sweet Water. “Please ask Jumps High to take me to Hunt at once. It’s urgent that I see him.”

  It was nearly dusk before Elizabeth saw Hunt. He’d left early in the morning with Fire Talon and some of his friends to hunt deer for the evening feast and celebration. She saw him arrive with the hunting party just as the medicine men were beginning the False Face Dance, but before she could reach the admiring circle of women around the hunters and the three fat deer they’d brought in, Hunt disappeared into the crowd.

  Shaking rattles made of turtle shell, the two principal dancers—the village shaman and a visiting holy man known as Counts His Scalps—began to weave in and out of the assembly of gaily clad men, women, and children. The shamans, dressed in full ceremonial regalia and wearing large, carved wooden masks, moved with slow, shuffling steps. Close behind them followed a man, face painted, beating on a small drum.

  While the Shawnee dress was different, the occasion seemed similar to many Elizabeth had witnessed among the Seneca. This was obviously a joyous celebration rather than a war dance, because the women were present and taking part. Everywhere, people were smiling. Wide-eyed babies had ceased their crying and stared in wonder at the bright colors. Children wiggled and hopped up and down in excitement; women good-naturedly whispered to them to be still. In sharp contrast to deeply religious Seneca events, no one here seemed to be in awe of the shamans. Even the carved masks the medicine men wore were friendly, rather than fierce.

  During this dance, the masked men rubbed the faces and bodies of each person with the turtle shell rattles. As each Shawnee was anointed, he or she joined the shamans in song while the remainder of the tribe sang a repetitious chorus. When everyone, young and old, had been blessed, including Elizabeth, the holy men went from one wigwam to another, touching their rattles over the doorways.

  Finally, everyone formed a circle with the two masked shamans in the center. Several men left the group to play on other drums, and the dance ended with prayers and offerings of tobacco thrown into a central fire.

  After the dance came feasting. Delicious odors filled the air as Sweet Water called Elizabeth to help the women bring out the food.

  “I’ve been looking for Hunt, but I still can’t find him,” Elizabeth said.

  “He’s with my husband in our wigwam,” Sweet Water answered. “Fire Talon is a great planner. They are probably working out the details of the raid.”

  “But I must—” Elizabeth began.

  “Don’t even think about it. Talon will be furious if you interrupt them. There will be time to speak to Hunt Campbell.”

  Knowing that angering Sweet Water’s husband would not aid her cause, Elizabeth did as she was asked. She helped the women carry out platter after platter of fish, corn cakes, baked squash and pumpkin, nuts, honey, mushrooms, roasted meat, and pots of stew and corn pudding. Young men gathered in twos and threes to practice dance steps while teams of women butchered the three deer and cut them into sections to be roasted over open fires.

  Near the center of the village, boys were competing in a contest to see who could throw the most arrows through a rolling hoop. On the far side of the clearing, one of the shamans had taken off his mask and was throwing strings of beads into the air for little girls to catch.

  Finally, a gray-haired woman called out that it was time to eat, and everyone gathered around to share the bounty of food. Elizabeth was too nervous to be hungry, but Sweet Water insisted that she have a little venison and a corn cake.

  “Eat,” she ordered. “It will be a long night, and you will offend the villagers if you do not partake of their food.”

  After everyone had eaten their fill, another prayer was offered for a good winter by Counts His Scalps. The social dancing was begun on the stomp ground by a group of young matrons and maidens, all wearing fringed blankets over their dresses. Elizabeth slipped away from Sweet Water and Moccasin Flower. At the edge of the crowd, she stopped to watch as the dancers swirled their blankets. Each woman put her hands on her hips and executed a series of graceful steps to a quick, lively drumbeat.

  “This is called the Quail Dance,” Hunt said, coming up unexpectedly behind Elizabeth. The big dog that had jumped up on him when they’d first entered the Shawnee camp dropped belly down and began thumping a ragged tail at Hunt’s feet.

  “Oh,” she said, startled by Hunt’s sudden nearness. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she stammered. Now that he was here, she was nearly at a loss for words. She’d thought of him so often during her captivity in the women’s house, and now, inexplicably, she was tongue-tied.

  He lifted a dark eyebrow in wry amusement. “You’ve found me.”

  Elizabeth shivered. “Traitor. You let them lock me up like some sort of—”

  He grinned lazily. “Never break custom if you want to make friends.” He folded his arms over his broad chest and gave her a long, intense stare. “You seem none the worse for it,” he teased.

  “Stop that.” She’d spent weeks alone with this man—she’d let him make love to her. There was no earthly reason why she should be nervous around him now, but she felt suddenly light-headed under his amused stare.

  “Stop what?” he asked.

  “Making Indian eyes at me.”

  He chuckled. “And what exactly are Indian eyes?”

  “You close them to slits and peer out at me as though you could see right through me ...” She fumbled for the right words. “... Or know what I am thinking.”

  “Maybe I do,” he replied with arrogant assurance.

  He’s more Indian than white today, she thought with a sudden shiver of excitement. Hunt wore a fringed buckskin vest over a long, indigo blue, ruffled shirt with full sleeves that stretched taut across his muscular chest. His scarlet wool loincloth hung over leggings to touch the top of high, quill-worked moccasins, but left his sinewy thighs exposed with every step he took. Slashes of red paint adorned each chiseled cheekbone, and his hair hung loose down his back with eagle feathers woven into the black, glossy length.

  Had he always been so handsome and she’d not realized it? she wondered. Or had something changed about him here among these Shawnee? Whatever the reason, Hunt was every inch a warrior ... a magnificently masculine devil who would turn the head of any woman with hot blood in her veins. She swallowed and tried to keep her tone normal as she answered him. “Sweet Water told me that you were with her husband, but—”

  “I’ve been making plans with Fire Talon,” he said. “He’s going to lead the party to try and rescue your son.
He was making a final decision on who will go.”

  “You’re not leading the party? I’d assumed—”

  “Fire Talon is a seasoned Shawnee war chief. He’s led dozens of war parties. He knows these braves and the territory better than I do. It only makes sense that he—”

  “Did you tell him that I have to go with you?” she demanded. The dog stood up and pushed between them, then butted his massive head against Hunt’s hand as though he wanted to be petted. “Shoo,” she said to the animal. “Why is this oversized monster ...” Suspicion made her glance up at Hunt. “Is this your dog?”

  “I think I’m his man. I left him here while I went to fetch you. His name’s Badger.”

  “Badger.” She glanced back at the big dog who’d placed himself defensively in front of Hunt. “I have to talk to you,” she said, but when she put out her hand to touch Hunt, the dog bristled. She snatched her hand back. “Is he going to bite me?”

  Hunt grinned provocatively. “Not unless you bite me first.” Taking her arm, he led her away from the dancing to a secluded spot between the wigwams and the river. Badger trotted after them, seemingly oblivious to the throngs of people or the other village dogs. “Down, boy,” Hunt told the animal. Badger dropped to the ground and began to lick a bear-sized front paw.

  “Hunt, please,” Elizabeth said. “Did you tell this Fire Talon that I had to come?”

  Hunt shrugged. “I told him you belonged here where it was safe,” he answered brusquely.

  “But I have to go,” she insisted.

  “That’s what Talon said.”

  “What?” She was totally confused. “What did you say?”

  The dog stiffened and the hair on his neck and shoulders rose like an angry lion’s mane.

  “Badger,” Hunt said. “Down.” He met her anxious gaze. “Fire Talon wants you with us. He says it will be easier to get the boy if you’re along.”

  Her knees went weak, and she leaned against him for support. “You mean I can go?”

  Hunt drew her into his arms. “Yes, God help us. Yes, you can come.”

  “Oh ... oh, Hunt. Thank you.” She looked up into his face, and he lowered his head and groaned. “Hunt,” she repeated softly. Liquid heat spilled through her veins, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to rise on her toes and brush his lips with hers.

  “Don’t,” he rasped. “Don’t do this to me unless you mean to let me love you.”

  She kissed the left corner of his mouth and a rainbow of sweet emotion spiraled through her veins.

  “Woman ...”

  She traced the curve of his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “Man,” she teased in Seneca.

  “Elizabeth.” He drew her name out until the last syllable became inaudible. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

  “I know what I want,” she answered boldly. Tomorrow they would leave on a perilous journey to rescue her son. They might die before they ever had a chance to be alone again. Tonight she would forget her inhibitions ... her fears. If he would still have her, she would lie with him and find joy beneath his hot, virile body. “I want you,” she whispered.

  He stared down at her with eyes as black and fathomless as any Indian’s. “You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain,” she replied. But she wasn’t certain about anything. She was terrified. With trembling fingers, she stroked his clean-shaven cheek.

  “Why?” he asked her.

  She kissed him again.

  Chapter 16

  “Not here,” he said breathlessly. “Come with me.”

  Heart racing with anticipation, Elizabeth let him pull her toward a large wigwam on the outer edge of the village. The dog trotted after them. When they reached the entrance, Hunt lifted the deerskin curtain, and she ducked inside. The dog followed.

  “Down,” Hunt ordered. Badger folded his sturdy legs and collapsed onto the floor, barring the doorway with his shaggy bulk.

  Elizabeth moved to the far side of the fire and stood there trembling, unable to tear her eyes off Hunt, barely noticing the interior of the wigwam.

  He shrugged out of his vest and drew his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Eyes smoldering, he extended a lean hand to her. She waited, frozen to the spot, unable to speak, her gaze riveted on the rippling muscles of his bare chest and upper arms.

  “Beth,” he murmured. “How I’ve missed you.”

  “And I’ve missed you,” she admitted.

  He waited for her to take the first step toward him, and when she did, his fingers closed around her wrist. She drew in a breath, savoring his scent, letting the joy of finally being alone with him permeate her soul.

  “Sweetheart,” he whispered huskily.

  Unafraid, she took another step.

  Swiftly, he claimed her with a kiss so searing that it scorched her mouth, and when she parted her lips to utter a small sound, he filled her with his hot tongue.

  The intimate kiss was her undoing. With a cry of longing, she dissolved in his arms, blending herself—body and soul—with him, letting the force of his passionate assault sweep away all of her doubts and insecurities.

  “Beth ... Beth,” he whispered between scalding kisses. “You are so full of love ... so beautiful.”

  It was a lie—she knew it was a lie—but she didn’t care. Hearing the words she’d waited a lifetime to hear was like bathing burned skin in ice water. The relief was so great that she didn’t mind the ache underneath.

  Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought it might break ... and she didn’t care. She arched her back and pressed against him, feeling the heat of Hunt’s rock-hard manhood, inhaling the primitive scent of his male arousal.

  “Yes ... yes,” she murmured, touching his face ... tangling her fingers in his long, dark hair. Sighing, she trailed her hands over his powerful shoulders. She had to touch and taste him ... had to drink in his smell. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She wanted to feel the weight of his body, the length of his tumescent sex branding her as his own.

  Whispering coaxing words, he nuzzled the sensitive place behind her ear and nibbled at her skin. She gasped as he trailed damp love-bites to the hollow of her throat, igniting an urgent heat.

  Pulsing excitement churned in the pit of her belly. Her breasts strained against her gown; she could feel her nipples aching to be caressed and kissed. Each breath seemed a struggle, yet she couldn’t get enough of kissing him ... of touching and being touched. She molded her body to his, driven by the intense yearning to fulfill the rising storm at her core.

  “Beth ... I need you. I can’t wait.”

  His voice ripped from his throat as raw as the primitive need that drove her to wrap her legs around him, to make no protest as he lifted her and tugged her dress up over her thrusting hips. With a cry of wanton desire, she clutched his back, digging her nails into his flesh, driven by a fevered heat that knew no shame.

  “Yes. Yes!”

  Her unleashed passion snapped his last restraint. Still standing, he plunged deep inside her, and her hot folds received him in a glorious embrace. With a groan, he shifted her buttocks and thrust again. She writhed against him, welcoming his pounding drive ... whipping his lust higher and higher until the primeval act filled his entire consciousness.

  Her moans of ecstasy came just before his own explosion. He felt his seed spurt into her womb, and for the briefest instant, he felt an intense sorrow that he could never give her a child. Then the thought was lost in the pulsing pleasure that coursed through his body. “Beth ... Beth,” he groaned.

  He staggered back under her weight, and laughing together, they found themselves lying half on and half off a pile of furs. He was still inside her as he pulled her close and kissed the tears from the corners of her eyes.

  His chest tightened. “Did I hurt you?” he asked her. Hurting her was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

  “No.” She buried her face in his chest. “It ... it was wonderful.”

&n
bsp; “You’re wonderful,” he murmured. He kissed the crown of her head, inhaling deeply of the clean woman-scent of her hair. He loved her hair; it reminded him of bright flames. He wondered again how she could ever believe herself unattractive. She was beautiful, and she was his. He wanted to go on holding her like this forever ... to feel her heart beating next to his ... to feel the rise and fall of her chest with every breath. He wanted to keep her safe in his arms and protect her from all the harm in the world.

  “Hunt?”

  “Yes?” He raised her hand and kissed the underside of her wrist.

  She squirmed until she could look him in the eye. “Promise me that you won’t go back on your word. You will take me with you.”

  There was so much he wanted to tell her, but the love words lodged in his throat like fish bones. It was easier to grin and joke. “Aren’t you uncomfortable in that dress?” he teased.

  “No. I am going, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.” Reluctantly, he withdrew and sat up. “Here, let me.... Do you mind if ...” He caught the hem of her twisted dress. “Can’t we just ...”

  She laughed, a merry sound that made his throat constrict. He’d not heard her laugh often, but he had the notion that anyone who laughed like that must have had a lot of practice. “We should have done that before,” she teased as she pulled the garment off and laid it on the fur beside them. “I’ll make a nice sight for whoever lives here if they come home.”

  He stretched out lazily and motioned her close. She knelt beside him and laid a hand on his chest. He covered her fingers with his own. “Wonderful? Was that all I was?” he asked lightly.

  Teasing words were all he could offer. His true feelings would only break her heart. Speaking them out loud would be the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

  He wanted to beg her to stay with him, but he knew it wouldn’t be fair. She deserved more than the wilderness life he had to offer. Still he couldn’t help imagining what it might be like to wake up each morning and look into her face, to go to sleep each night wrapped in each others’ arms. Elizabeth understood him like no other woman had ever done. They had both shared two worlds, Indian and white, and she knew what it was like to be torn between them—to be both without fully being either.