She moaned in rapture as his teeth worked lightly at her taut breasts. Her desire for him was selfish and powerful. Time and reality deserted her, as her slender arms encircled his neck, then roved the muscles of his broad back. Her body and mind craved this joining which had once been forbidden, for only Bright Arrow could feed and sate the longing that filled her womanhood.
Bright Arrow had been skilled and experienced in lovemaking long before meeting Rebecca. He was well informed about the female body and how to please it. In their years together, he had taken her down many paths of pleasure. Yet, never had he experienced such delights, such intense hunger, and such contentment until Rebecca. She was stimulating, often encouraging him to make love to her several times in one night. She could heighten and enliven his senses as no other female had. He had made her a woman, and she had known no other man. She was like powerful magic, reaching and touching the very center of his being. She was his heart, and he must never forget or abuse that knowledge again.
The intensity between them built to an almost unbearable peak. He rolled to her side, giving himself more freedom over her body. Bright Arrow had shown her from the first that the touching before and after lovemaking was as important as the joining of two bodies. Once, Rebecca had been like sacred red stone. Bright Arrow had chipped, smoothed, and honed her into a passionate woman, a priceless trophy. He grinned at her, his dark eyes carrying a glow which she hadn’t seen there in a long time.
Excitement and happiness surged through her. She returned his smile, her hand going up to roam over the finely chiseled lines in his handsome face. Her finger lovingly traced his high cheekbones, his straight nose, his squared jawline, and his cleft chin. She pulled his head down to glue their lips together, thriving on the sweet nectar of his mouth. A sob was torn from her throat as she murmured, “It hasn’t been like this between us for a long time, Bright Arrow. You’ve finally come back to me. God, how I’ve loved you and missed you,” she confessed raggedly.
He gathered her shaking body into his powerful and protective embrace. With his body half covering hers, he held her tightly and fiercely. “I know, my heart. I am shamed by this.” New fires and needs coursed through him and quickly spread to her as he fervently vowed, “I will never hurt you again, my heart, for I love you beyond my life. We will be happy and free once more.”
It had been so long since he had taken Rebecca that he feared his manhood would explode with tightly leashed passion. His loins throbbed savagely with need of her, and he knew he must stimulate her to a quick fulfillment, for he couldn’t master himself for any length of time. He whispered into her ear, “Come, my heart, let us walk into the edge of the forest. If our children awaken, we will know before their eyes touch upon us. I have great need of you. My body burns with a fierce fire.”
His husky voice and stimulating words shot through her body like a bolt of potent lightning. She nodded and arose. Grabbing a blanket, she wrapped it around her shapely frame and, holding hands, they left the cabin and entered the coolness of the trees. He halted, drawing her close to him. His eager mouth worked upon her lips and ears as his deft hands fondled and inflamed her eager body clad in the thin covering. He took the edges of the blanket from her grasp and held them apart to view her loveliness. When his moist mouth traveled down her neck to tease at its sweet hollow, she moaned with irrepressible desire.
“Ni-ye mitawa,” he murmured against her ear in Sioux, stating his claim upon her, confident once more of his enthralling power over her body and heart. He smiled at her again, this time in triumph, for he had not lost her during his crazed time.
He had not spoken his tongue in years and, hearing his words, her eyes brightened with hope and joy. “Yes, my love, I am yours,” she replied before dropping the blanket to the earth.
Bright Arrow hungrily admired her beauty. “I have not taken you in many moons, since before the snows left our lands. Perhaps I am no longer man enough to please you. Perhaps my body will betray me and take you too swiftly and roughly,” he confessed. His attention captured, he failed to notice a movement in the trees. “I have become as fat and lazy as a bear in winter. I have lost my manhood. Why have you not left me?” he wondered aloud.
Suddenly Bright Arrow’s gaze went past her head before she could answer his anguished words. His expression warned of an intrusion. Taken by surprise, Bright Arrow gaped at the sight.
Alarmed, she impulsively whirled to trace his line of vision. Her eyes widened and her face grew pale as a figure covered with blood and scratches staggered from the trees. The man stepped forward in an appeal for Bright Arrow’s assistance, then collapsed heavily against him.
This invasion of their haven was like icy water tossed upon Rebecca’s smoldering body. Her passions froze; she couldn’t move. She seized the discarded blanket to cover her nakedness, her face flushing with a bright red that sprinkled color down her neck and chest. The special moment had been lost forever.
Chapter Four
Rebecca quietly slipped over to the narrow beds to check on the children who were still sleeping this close to dawn. She smiled in relief as she thought of their stamina and survival. Fatigued from their ordeal, they would probably sleep for several more hours if the three adults were cautious. She flushed crimson as she recalled rushing to the cabin ahead of the men to yank on her clothes, but there had been little time for modesty or embarrassment then.
Rebecca returned to her husband’s side. She handed Bright Arrow another wet cloth to cleanse the dirt and blood from Windrider’s injuries, for it was not permissible for a white woman to tend a great warrior—and Windrider was a powerful and high-ranking warrior among his people, the Cheyenne. He always moved with such vivid self-assurance and fluid agility. He was a commanding figure, and she doubted he had ever shown fear or hesitation. His towering frame displayed sleek and well-developed muscles, as Bright Arrow’s had long ago.
Yes, she silently mused, Windrider was a male animal to inflame a woman’s blood, if she were unattached. Strange, she had not thought about him this way before, perhaps because he presented such a stark contrast to her mate in his present state. Or was it Windrider’s piercing gaze, which felt as if it was utterly encompassing and dominating her?
She curiously observed the Cheyenne warrior who refused to show any sign of pain or anxiety during Bright Arrow’s ministrations. She noticed the way his acute senses appeared to collect even the tiniest details surrounding him. He exuded an undeniable pride in himself and his race. She wondered if he could ever be brought low as her husband had been. They were so similar, yet so different. It seemed miraculous that he had survived and traveled to their cabin, for surely he had been wounded many days ago, preventing him from arriving in time to repel her two white demons. “What happened to him? Do you think he’ll be all right?” she asked worriedly.
“Yes, Rebecca, he will live and heal,” he replied without looking at her. “As soon as he is able to travel, we will take him to his camp. We must be ready to leave as quickly as possible.”
Rebecca perceived an urgency in Bright Arrow’s tone. “Why?” she inquired instantly, leaning forward to peer into his tension-lined face.
“Our cabin is no longer safe. Enemies are near,” he answered, averting his face from her gaze. Unintentionally, his secretive, distant mood was surfacing again. He didn’t like being questioned before another warrior, even a friend. He wondered if Windrider had overheard his humiliating confession in the woods. His friend had innocently stumbled onto a private, embarrassing, and frustrating scene. “We must go soon.”
“But they’re dead, Bright Arrow.” She paused, then asked, “Did they attack Windrider thinking he was you?” Tremors swept her body as she imagined other dangers from friends of Jess and Lester, for she assumed her love was referring to them. She would never forget those devils and the fate they had intended for her family. Fury assailed her, fury because she had been so helpless against them. If they had invaded her body and sullied her soul�
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The banished warrior slowly and carefully disclosed, “Windrider’s wounds were not caused by the white dogs who attacked our home. This is a wound from a Pawnee club,” he informed her, pointing to the worst injury. “At the club’s end, there is a blade like a long, pointed bird’s mouth, which makes a wound of this size and shape. The Pawnee are friends of the Crow, fiercest enemies of my people and our Cheyenne friends. The danger of the two men who attacked you is smaller than the danger of one Crow.” Both men’s faces revealed hatred and the thirst for revenge. “Windrider will heal in a few moons.”
More dangerous than Jess and Lester? her mind screamed. Rebecca was astonished. “You think they’ll track Windrider here? How many?” she asked aloud in rising fear. Warfare! Why must there be so much death and agony? she cried inwardly.
“No,” he replied, relieving some of her tension. “Windrider killed his foes. Others will come to seek the fates of their brothers when they do not return home. The Crow and Pawnee know the name and face of Bright Arrow. We must be careful,” he warned, then wished he hadn’t reminded her of the value of his scalp.
“Why must we hurry? Surely there is time to conceal Windrider’s trail to our cabin? Who would dare attack us with Windrider here to help us? How do you know he killed his enemies?” she asked, for the injured warrior had spoken little since regaining consciousness.
Bright Arrow took her compliment on Windrider’s prowess as a double-edged statement. Rebecca had expressed pride in his friend, yet had insulted him because of his own lost skills. Bright Arrow explained, “He has three fresh scalp locks on his waist. Only by the deaths of his foes could he have escaped with such wounds. He has earned an eagle feather with three beads, one for each kill. But he must wear the coup feather standing up to show he was wounded during this battle. Many will chant his victory over the Pawnee.”
Rebecca grimaced as her eyes shifted to the prized locks, items which indicated the loss of three lives. Enemies or not, she feared she was going to be sick. She swallowed rapidly several times. “Why did they attack Windrider? He wasn’t on a raid. What honor is won in three warriors challenging a lone fighter?” she questioned.
“Because he is Cheyenne,” Bright Arrow stated simply.
“So much hatred and so much killing,” she murmured. “Tribes war against each other and the white man. Soon there will be no braves left to fight. It’s senseless. It was over for you, Bright Arrow. Will you become a warrior in our new camp?” Her emotions in a turmoil, she sent him a frosty stare without meaning to do so. She wondered if a grueling life in an Indian camp was facing her again, and she was apprehensive about his answer.
Bright Arrow was concerned over the direction of her talk. Did she doubt he could regain a warrior’s skills? He tried to soothe her worries. “I will be safe. It is rare for one Indian tribe to war against another. Most Indian battles are small raids by small bands. Bands attack for war coups and horses, or for revenge of a past attack. A band on a raid should fight bravely, but not against too many for victory. If there are too many foes, it is wisest to return home without fighting. A warrior’s life cannot be replaced; it is not given or taken lightly. Acts of bravery and cunning are more worthy of honor than the slaying of a foe. The band leader chooses the target, and those who wish to follow him do so. A band leader must never endanger the lives of the warriors who follow his lead. If warriors are slain from his foolishness, he is shamed. Many times I have ridden from camp with the four joined lines painted on my horse’s rump,” he stated, remembering those days when the painted square indicated he was the raid leader. Memories flooded his mind.
Bright Arrow envisioned the war horse that had shared glory with him. His steed had been swift and agile; he had been long on endurance and quick to obey. Three hand prints which told of an enemy killed in hand-to-hand battle had adorned that spotted beast. Along one side of his neck had been five coup lines, and on the other side were many hoof marks to reveal his successful exploits on horse raids. When he had gone into battle, enemies had chased him just to capture this prized animal whose value and owner’s rank were exposed by the markings and trophies. Bright Arrow wondered if his father still owned Tasia, for a wilderness trapper had no use for such a magnificent war horse. Tasia had been so well trained, so intelligent, and so loyal that he had responded to a mere glance or touch. Often, Bright Arrow had felt their minds were linked.
Rebecca watched the array of emotions that came and went on her love’s face. She didn’t have to ask; she knew what path his mind was traveling. Such sadness and torment were present in his midnight eyes, until he caught himself and concealed such undesirable feelings. The instant he clouded his gaze and stiffened, she was provoked to say, “The most important thing in your life is being a warrior. You must return to it before you destroy us. We’re not enough for you, Bright Arrow. You’ve changed since coming here. I don’t look forward to returning to your tribe. I cannot forget their cruelties to me.” She did not speak aloud the tender thoughts which suddenly assailed her. But you are my husband, and I’ll do as you say. If it is the will of the Great Spirit, you will return to your people soon. She left to care for their children as they began to stir, both men watching her retreat and mulling over her words.
Five days drifted by as Bright Arrow tended Windrider’s injuries. Then the Cheyenne warrior told him and Rebecca how he was attacked by three braves, three men out to gain coups and glory any way possible. Such evil pursuits blinded a man and slowed his reflexes. Although Windrider had been stabbed once and had received many scrapes and smaller cuts, he had indeed slain all three men. His medicine bag had been knocked into a river during the battle; that was why he had not been able to tend his own wounds successfully. He had made his way to the cabin on foot as quickly as his fading energy allowed.
When Bright Arrow translated the tale for Rebecca, she was stunned by the brutal slaying of Windrider’s horse to prevent his escape. As he spoke, Rebecca furtively studied the magnetic warrior with keen interest. Because he had been in excellent health he was healing rapidly. For the first two nights, Bright Arrow had placed Windrider’s sleeping mat inside the cabin. During the last three nights, the two men had slept beneath the stars near the cabin door. Windrider’s presence and injuries had allowed no time for Rebecca and Bright Arrow to be alone at this time when they so desperately needed closeness and conversation. Her disquiet mounted with each new day, with each time Bright Arrow unwittingly avoided her, with each time she discovered Windrider’s smoldering gaze on her.
To distract herself, she asked, “What about his medicine bundle? Doesn’t that make him lose his power?” She knew that such a pouch not only contained medicinal herbs, but also held “magical” and ceremonial items. Yet Windrider seemed unaffected by its loss and, sometimes, when Windrider was talking with Bright Arrow in his Cheyenne tongue—one she couldn’t understand—the man’s dark eyes would dance with liveliness and vitality.
Bright Arrow smiled and spoke. “If a medicine bag is lost or stolen, it can be replaced. It is a great coup to steal a warrior’s powerful bag. If a bag is taken, only the power of the medicine inside is lost. To lose his power, a warrior must give the bag away or trade it. A great warrior who is dying can pass his medicine bag to his son or a friend. When Windrider returns home, he will go on a vision quest and prepare a new medicine bundle of greater power and magic.”
“I see,” she muttered thoughtfully. Respect for Windrider’s distinction glowed in her sherry-colored eyes. In her vulnerable state, it would have been better for Rebecca if Windrider had possessed less power. Yet she failed to recognize how open she was to this constant exposure to his provocative appeal and obvious prowess.
The Indians had so many beliefs, customs, and rituals that she did not understand. She realized that their strategies and considerations in warfare were the reasons for their difficulties in battling the white soldiers. While Indian warriors were more concerned with earning battle honors—touching a foe d
uring battle and escaping or stealing his possessions—the white soldiers were merely concerned with killing enemies or annihilating entire tribes. To survive, the Indians would have to become as aggressive and lethal as the whites.
During the following day, Bright Arrow assisted his friend with testing his renewed strength. They wrestled genially; they raced around the cabin; they held target practice with arrows and knives. While the girls napped, Rebecca secretly watched their exercises from the window. With Bright Arrow losing each match and exposing his deteriorated condition, she didn’t want to embarrass him by going outside. She lingered in the shadows, fascinated. Once, when Windrider was standing behind Bright Arrow as he took aim with his bow and arrow, she noticed how the Cheyenne warrior’s gaze traveled over her mate. She was surprised when he shook his dark head in disappointment and annoyance. Shame and guilt filled her. With Windrider standing beside her mate, she realized he had declined further than she had thought. Worse, she found herself having daydreams about Windrider. She blamed such wanton thoughts and desires on Bright Arrow’s withdrawal from her. She needed touching, holding, kissing, and caring!
When she lifted her head, Windrider was standing before the window and staring at her with his piercing jet eyes. Fearing he could read her mind, she felt her respiration quicken and she flushed. She hurriedly lowered her head to conceal her guilt and to master her emotions. When her head came up again, he was gone. Why was he making her so aware of him? Why did he have to be so tempting!
That night, Rebecca observed Bright Arrow and his friend as they sat cross-legged outdoors on either side of a small campfire. She watched them converse and plan. The aura surrounding Bright Arrow tonight was dismaying. His shoulders were bent as if loaded with shame and self-reproach. After the contests with Windrider, he had found that his condition was reprehensible and dishonorable. Even though his back was to the cabin door, she could perceive the determination in his rigid form. He would become a warrior again, even if in an ally’s camp. As much as she hated facing scornful hostility and her love’s return to a warrior’s ominous life, she knew it was best for him. To survive, he must reclaim and walk his destined path.
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