Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1

by Karen Kay

  “Gray Hawk, I—”

  “Let us swim, Gen-ee.”

  “No, it is too cold.”

  “Ah, but it is good for you.”

  She shook her head and gave him a crooked smile. “Maybe for you,” she said. “You are used to it, but I noticed that none of the women in your camp take midnight swims on these cool evenings—only the men. And I must agree with the women. It is too cold.”

  He splashed a little water up on her.

  “Gray Hawk…”

  He gave her a devious glance. “Let us wade then, and later we can snuggle underneath one of the robes.”

  “No, I…wade, did you say?”

  He grinned and nodded to her, her face so close to his own.

  She said, “I will wade with you, but that is all.”

  “Good.”

  He removed his leggings in an instant and stood, offering his hand to help her up.

  But she didn’t immediately rise.

  She just stared at him, her gaze skimming up and down his body, centering in upon that area at the juncture of his legs.

  He felt as though his skin tingled under her inspection, and he grew even harder.

  “Come,” he said, and he pulled her to her feet. “We will wade out into the water, just a little.”

  He saw her gaze upon his naked body, her glance centering on his chest and his manhood, and he felt his pulse race at her attention. He grinned at her. “You are welcome to do more than look,” he said.

  She glanced immediately at him, her eyes round.

  He merely chuckled and held his hand out toward her. “Come.”

  He led her out into the stream then, its coolness sending welcome shivers up his spine. But not so his love.

  “Gray Hawk, it’s freezing.”

  “Yes, it makes the blood start pounding, does it not?”

  “Not, I’m afraid.”

  He splashed her.

  “Gray Hawk, you said you wouldn’t…”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, well, no, but…” She giggled and, lunging away from him, splashed him back.

  He gave her a stern look. “You know this means a fight to the death, do you not?”

  “To the death?”

  He grinned. “Perhaps not to the death. Maybe I should say ‘to the bed.’”

  “Is that what this is? A war over our bed?”

  He inclined his head. “It could be. We could wager. If you win this fight, you may order me do whatever you would wish, but if I win the fight, I will have you…order me to do anything that you wish.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “What a fate I must suffer, then. It seems I must order you about no matter the outcome.”

  He grinned. “Yes,” he said. “What terrible things await you.” He gave her a deliberate leer, then tsked, tsked. “Come now. Let us see who is to win this fight.” He splashed her.

  And she shrieked, but she got him back.

  He followed, then she, back and forth.

  He held back the full force of his power, seeming to barely keep up his own end, until he had enticed her into the full part of the stream, where he let loose upon her, soaking her entirely.

  But she didn’t seem to notice. She only laughed and lay back, splashing at him with her feet.

  He moved in closer toward her, making a shower with every step he took, until he came right up to her. And there, taking her in his arms and pulling her up to him, he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, her lips again.

  “I love you,” he said. “Kitsikakomimmo.” And he began the process all over again.

  “Kitsikakomimmo,” she said, returning his every embrace.

  They stood in the water, only thigh deep.

  At first, he wasn’t aware of what she did. At first, he was only cognizant that he needed her, that he wanted her.

  But she had moved her head slightly downward until she was nibbling on his chest, on his nipples. Excitement tore through him.

  He groaned, the sound deep in his throat.

  But she wasn’t finished. She dipped down lower still, down over his chest, then back up to his nipples.

  He made another sound. He couldn’t remember what, though.

  And then she dropped down toward his navel, lower still.

  “Gen-ee?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Gen-e-vee, what do you do?”

  She raised her head, but only for a moment. She said, “The same thing you do to me.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She took him into her mouth then, and he forgot what he’d been about to say.

  He couldn’t remember a thing at that moment. He closed his eyes on a sigh. Oh, what she did to him, his Gen-ee. He let her kiss him, over and over, on and on, until he thought he couldn’t take it anymore.

  And then he brought her back up toward him.

  “Do you not like that?” she asked after he had lifted her up to him.

  “I like it very much.”

  “Then why did you have me stop?”

  “Because,” he said, bringing her shivering body in toward his, wrapping her in the warmth of his arms, “I have plans for the night, and I do not wish it to end prematurely.”

  “Prematurely?” Her gaze at him was one of pure innocence.

  He nodded. “Yes. Had you gone on too far, I would not have been able to stop myself from meeting my conclusion. I do not wish that yet.”

  “Oh.” She mouthed the word.

  “Come,” he said. “You are shivering. Let us go and find that buffalo robe that I promised you.”

  And with that said, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the lean-to, not stopping until he had entered the structure and had her…and himself wrapped up in a buffalo robe.

  He started a fire, quickly, efficiently, and within minutes, the two of them were warm again and staring into the blaze.

  “Where will we go, Gray Hawk?” she asked after a while, her body snuggled in closely toward his. “To the fort, or to my father’s?”

  “To your father’s.” He didn’t look at her. He kept staring into the flames. “It is what I have intended for some time. I see no reason to change my plans now.”

  She acknowledged his words with a barely perceptible nod.

  “There may be trouble once it is learned that we are married,” she warned.

  “I anticipate it. It is what I have come to expect since I visited the white man’s post. We will just have to be strong.”

  “My father may insist upon my marrying you in our church. He might not feel, until that is done, that we are truly husband and wife.”

  Gray Hawk said, “Then it will be done.”

  “There is also the possibility that my father may not recognize our marriage no matter what we do. While he is not prejudiced against other races, he has been exposed to too many primitive people to have much respect for them…as equals.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “He may not understand my wanting to go back to your people with you,” she said, not looking at him. “He will think that it is below me, most likely, and may cause us some trouble. He might not accept it altogether, and may insist upon your learning English customs and accompanying us back to our home.”

  “I will not do this, but you do not answer my question. What does his study of primitive people have to do with me?”

  Genevieve gazed around her, at her surroundings before. She said, “Nothing, he…”

  “Gen-ee?”

  She sighed, just barely able to look at him. “He will consider you and your people uncivilized, and he will not understand my returning with you. There will be trouble, Gray Hawk, I just know it. Perhaps it would be better if I just wrote the letter to him.”

  “No,” said Gray Hawk. “You would always worry, and I would have you free of this. Besides, do I look the kind of man to walk away from trouble?”

  “No, it is only that—”

  “We will ensure t
hat your father will survive well without you, and then, if we have to, we will sneak away. Some may consider me ‘uncivilized,’ but I know that I can do this.”

  “Gray Hawk?” She backed slightly away.

  And he gave her an inquiring look.

  “I have just remembered something.”

  “Yes?”

  “I remembered… I do not believe the Americans think too highly of an Indian man and a white woman together.”

  He stared at her a moment before he said, “I believe you are right. In truth, it may go beyond even that. I do not think the white man thinks too highly of any other people except his own, but please, go on. What was it you recalled?”

  “Gray Hawk, I am white. Do you mean to insult me?”

  “No,” he said. He paused, but when she didn’t say anything further, he went on. “But what did you think of me at first?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, yet said nothing. She gazed at him. “Well, I…” She looked away. “I… Gray Hawk, it is only that…I—”

  “You do not need to go on, Gen-ee. I know what you thought of me at first, and I am afraid in my trying to have you understand my point of view, I have also caused you to become flustered. It was ill-mannered of me. Please continue. I am interested in what it is you recalled.”

  “Are you?”

  He nodded.

  And she said, “When my father and I first came to St. Louis, there was a young boy in the town at the time, a little younger than you. He was half Indian, half white. He became involved with the daughter of a rich fur merchant who did not approve of the boy. When the two young people tried to escape to get married, the father had the half-breed hanged.”

  Gray Hawk merely shrugged. “What is this ‘hanged’?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I would not ask if I—”

  “It is where a man is put to death by hanging him from his neck.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “It is a way of killing a man. It—”

  “No, I understand this; what I do not comprehend is why people would kill a man for the simple act of courting a girl in order to marry her. I can see that sometimes there are bad feelings about two people coming together, but once it is done, why would others try to kill him, if this boy had done nothing to them?”

  “Because he was Indian.”

  “And that is the only reason?”

  She inclined her head.

  “I see,” he said. “And this is how a civilized people handle their young?”

  “Gray Hawk, not all people are like that. It is only that I remember it now. But I leave the point.”

  “Then tell me this point.”

  “If we tell many people in St. Louis that we are married, we may have to acknowledge others’ prejudice, and I frankly don’t feel like doing it. I believe that we should not let anyone else know that we are married.”

  Gray Hawk shook his head. “It is dishonest. I would never be able to look at your father without the lie being always there, always between us. And I would not live my life that way.”

  She sat up straighter. “Then we could tell my father and perhaps Robert, too, but only them. They would keep our secret, and—”

  “You fear this for me so much?”

  Genevieve nodded. “I have observed that the Americans are not too tolerant toward the Indians. In truth, many Americans hate the Indians and would jump at any excuse to do them harm. Now, you will be going into a town where there will be more white men than Indian. You would be unsafe. I only propose that we tell very few people of our marriage and thereby avoid any trouble.”

  Gray Hawk jerked his head to the left, an emotional expression. He said, “I would not hide from the truth.”

  “But Gray Hawk—”

  “Enough.” He gazed over toward her, his stare at her intense, until at last he felt himself relenting. He said, “I may not like what it is that you propose, yet I think you speak wisely. I do not believe you would be so intent upon telling me this if there were not danger. Besides,” he smiled at her, “a man should always listen to the wisdom of his sits-beside-him-wife. Therefore, I will consider all that you ask.”

  “Good. And your decision? What will it be?”

  He grinned. “I do not know. I have not decided yet.”

  “But you will let me know when you do?”

  “I will let you know.” He dropped the robe from around their shoulders. “But come now, I did not bring you here to talk of these things. There are many other matters that are more exciting, more interesting to do. In truth, I have other activities on my mind.”

  She smiled at him. “Such as?”

  “Would you like me to show you? Perhaps give you an intimate demonstration of what I have been thinking?”

  “I would like that very much, yes.”

  He laughed. “Come here closer, my sweet Gen-ee, and I will do my best to show you.”

  And for the rest of the night, Gray Hawk strived to the best of his ability to present to his Gen-ee exactly what he’d had on his mind.

  And Genevieve, ever the romantic, relished every moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Hot corn! Come gets yer piping hot corn!”

  “Fresh milk! Milk here!”

  “Aaaaaaaaaples! Fresh aaaaaaaaaples!”

  The cries of the street vendors, the tinkling of little bells, the smells of fresh, hot corn, of cinnamon apples, of pies and muffins welcomed Genevieve and her Indian husband into the city of St. Louis.

  It had been a long trip to this place. It had been a tiring trip, and it was starting to turn cold.

  They walked into the town, no horses in tow, with little more than the clothes upon their backs, having made the journey from the Blackfoot camp almost completely on foot.

  It was necessary, Gray Hawk had said. There was always danger, he’d gone on to explain, when one traveled through enemy country on horseback. Horses, found alone, indicated a rider nearby and would always be investigated. It was safer, if not as convenient, to walk and to carry as little as possible.

  And so they had left their horses in the care of the orphan boy in Gray Hawk’s camp, and with nothing more than a few buffalo robes and several changes of clothing and moccasins in their possession, they had started on their way.

  It was not as inconvenient as it might sound, however. Genevieve had already grown used to walking—toes pointed in—and so had found the trek not as daunting as she might have done at some earlier time. She had also grown accustomed to carrying their meager supplies on her back, thus leaving Gray Hawk free to fight any enemy or animal they encountered.

  In truth, she’d found that the weight on her back helped her balance. But she hadn’t told Gray Hawk this, content to let him believe that she labored under the burden.

  When they had first come in sight of white settlements, she noticed that Gray Hawk had taken to making notches on a stick. She had asked him about this and had discovered that he was counting the number of settlements he encountered by putting a scratch on a stick for every home.

  But after only a few miles’ travel, when he’d found that his entire stick was filled with notches and still he hadn’t even begun to include everything that he saw, he’d thrown the stick away in disgust.

  Genevieve, however, was not at all upset with how numerous the white communities were. She’d already known there were too many to count easily.

  No, she was concerned with something else, something that worried at her day after day: she did not look Indian.

  Despite her clothing, despite her traveling companion, her braids and the load upon her back, she looked exactly what she was: a white woman dressed up in Indian garb.

  It wouldn’t have been so critical if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t certain what would happen if she and Gray Hawk were sighted as such. What would these people do to a white woman traveling with an Indian? And more importantly, what would they do to Gray Hawk?

  She
had mentioned her fears to Gray Hawk time and time again. He had listened attentively, and then, only a few days ago, he had acted.

  He had taken out the paints that he always carried in a bag with him and had demonstrated his Indian artistry upon her. He’d fussed over her, making designs and patterns all over her body, and within a short time, he had painted the entirety of her face, her hair and any skin visible…red, white and black.

  It was an effective disguise. Not too many people would see beyond the surface, even though the paint hadn’t entirely covered over the color of her hair, nor had it done anything about the shade of her eyes.

  But it didn’t seem to matter. The whole effect of it was this: She looked Indian. She looked invisible.

  No one paid them any attention.

  It wasn’t long after they had passed the more numerous settlements that they entered into St. Louis proper, and it was then that Genevieve began to direct Gray Hawk toward her father’s home, although Gray Hawk remained always in the lead.

  Genevieve had gazed around her as they traveled over the more civilized boulevards of cobblestone, gravel and brick, those streets swarming with pigs.

  She’d forgotten how many pigs ran through town, the beasts serving not only to clean up the garbage left on the streets, but also to fill the role of an intelligent household pet.

  But besides the pigs, the avenues this day were filled to overflowing with Indians, street urchins, vendors and peddlers, and as she and Gray Hawk passed the vendors selling their goods, Genevieve wished she had the money to purchase something.

  She’d practically forgotten about sugar, about its sweet taste, about muffins and scones and breads, and her mouth watered as she sniffed the delicious scents. Funny that she hadn’t missed the confections until this day.

  They passed all this by, however, Genevieve being content for the moment to do no more than nibble on a piece of dried buffalo meat.

  Still, no one paid them the least attention, and at length she and Gray Hawk came to her father’s estate, no one having stopped them, no one having demanded that they answer questions, no one having even glanced at them a second time.

  She gazed at the place she had called home ever since she and her father had arrived in St. Louis, a little over a year ago.