by Gen Bailey
Sarah paused while she contemplated what he said. At last she responded, saying, “Although I understand what you say and can appreciate it, you must realize that one cannot live forever in the past. New inventions are a part of life, if only for the reason that the young will always try to find new ways to do old things. There must be a happy medium.”
He nodded. “And so there must be. For my part, I believe we Seneca should learn to make those things the trader brings us. Either that or do without them.”
“Perhaps you are right,” she said. Then, changing the subject, she uttered, “Hmm . . . after this massage, I am thinking that I might obtain a good night’s sleep.”
“Have the cramps awakened you from your sleep at night? ”
“They have, indeed.”
“I was unaware of that. Usually I awaken easily, but I have not heard your plight.”
“That is because I have not given one. I have done all I can to remain quiet.”
“But if you are in pain, then you should tell me so that I may help. It is not in my mind that you should grieve.”
“I will remember that.”
“And now, if your pain is less, I think that I might bring in the fresh meat that I hunted this day. I believe we can make dry meat with it and some soup to help you on the path back to health. If you can, try rolling over and standing.”
She did as he asked and came onto her back, so that she lay faceup, but she said, “I fear, sir, that I might still be too weak to stand. When I am on my own and have tried it before, I seem to do nothing but collapse.”
“But I am here now and if your legs cannot hold you, I will catch you.”
“Very well, then. I will try. Perhaps you could assist me to stand? ”
She sat up and as she did so, his arms came around her. It was nothing unusual, nothing to set off a spark within her. After all, he had been assisting her and holding her for days and days now.
But at this particular time, there was something different about him. This day, when he helped her rise, and they stood chest to chest within each other’s embrace, there was a seductive pull that Sarah would have been hard-pressed to ignore. Indeed, she swooned in toward him.
It was a tense moment as he caught her, made more acute by his gentle breath upon her hair.
She looked up at the same time he glanced down at her, and they stared at one another until at last, he said, “You are most beautiful.”
“I? Beautiful? After being almost drowned and lying here with a raging fever?”
“Indeed, I think you are beautiful.”
Then he kissed her on the cheek. Perhaps it was meant to be no more than a light peck, a gesture given to bring comfort. But something went wrong with it.
She turned her face into his so that all he had to do was move his head ever so slightly, and . . . He seized the opportunity and kissed her, this time on the lips, fully, completely and without restraint.
Although Sarah little understood what drove her, this she did grasp, she wanted more. She wanted to be held closer, loved and cherished. Little able to stop herself, she swooned in toward him. It was a mistake. She knew it at once.
However, it felt so incredibly good . . .
Seven
It was a moment of rapture. It was a moment set out of time, reminiscent of the Englishman’s heaven. But it was wrong—the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong woman. Yet contradictorily, something about her was right, and White Thunder felt himself surrender to the softness of her curves, her scent, her taste.
However, it had to end. It should have never begun. After all, he had his duty, and she . . . she couldn’t even remember who she was. Might she not belong to another?
Common sense demanded he withdraw. Instinct, however, saw him reaching down and pulling her buttocks in even closer toward him.
She didn’t object. This was his downfall.
He thought he might go mad with desire. He deepened the kiss, opening his lips so that he might explore the warm inner recess of her mouth.
He groaned. She sighed and fell in toward him. So close was she, he guessed that he could feel every feminine hill and valley of her form. The knowledge sent his mind spinning, and his body reacted with all the pent-up frustration of an aroused male. His heartbeat raced and he could barely catch his breath.
In the end, he had to breathe, and he ended the kiss, but not so the embrace. In fact, he pulled her in even closer. They both gasped for air.
He should say something. But what? At last, all he could think to utter was, “I am sorry.”
She didn’t respond, not by word or by action. Indeed, she remained fixed in his arms.
After a brief hesitation, he decided he should explain himself, and he said, “I am sorry because I, who have told you that you are safe with me, have yet taken you in my arms.” He shook his head against hers, but he didn’t release her. In essence, she was still so close that he figured he could commit her physical form to memory.
At last she spoke, her voice soft and breathless as she said, “You have nothing to be sorry for, sir. If I remember correctly, you promised that as long as I didn’t desire your attention, you would not give it.”
He nodded. “That I did.”
“However, sir, I fear that I am as much to blame as you are.” She paused. “You see, I wanted to be kissed.”
She stared up at him, and he pulled away from her to glance down at her, though his arms remained firmly locked around her. Surveying the look in her eyes, he realized at once the truth of her words, plus he recognized something else . . . something more profound. Passion, amorous and sensual, stared back at him from the depths of her gaze.
His heartbeat leaped into furious action, and blood surged through him with alarming speed. At once, his body was ready for her. He feared she could feel it.
He uttered, “Do not tell me these things if you do not mean them, for I fear it encourages me very much. I have taken it on myself to care for you, which does not and must not include making love to you.”
“That’s not necessarily true. In this instance—”
“Do you tease me? ” he interrupted her. “You must know that I am already thinking I will not let you go until we have explored one another as a man and a woman might.”
“As a man and a woman might? Of what are you speaking, sir? ”
He didn’t answer.
“In my society,” she continued, “men do not speak such words to a woman unless that man is contemplating marriage, for to do so is unseemly. And yet I can hardly believe that this is your intention . . .”
He gulped. Marriage? His heartbeat stilled. Even his arms loosened from around her. Luckily, with that distance came a ray of sanity.
How could the conversation have progressed so far in only a few minutes? He realized he had to tell her. He had to be truthful.
However, there was a problem. How does a man explain the truth of his life to a woman who is as sweet and desirable as this one? How does he tell her what’s in his heart without tearing out hers by doing so?
He breathed in deeply, then took the plunge, his voice barely a whisper as he confessed, “Know this, I would make love to you and give you all that I could that is within me to give, but I cannot ever marry again. At least not until my duty to my deceased wife is fulfilled.”
She was silent for so long, he almost wished he hadn’t spoken.
“To Wild Mint? ”
“Nyoh, yes.”
“Oh.” It was all she said before she backed away from him, her countenance gradually mirroring her understanding. She said, “I fear this conversation has gone too far, much too quickly.”
He agreed, yet he felt bereft without the warmth of her body next to his. However, in this case distance was not to be so easily gained. While it might have been a good intention on her part—to restrain herself from him—her legs wouldn’t hold her up, and almost as soon as she stood on her own, she collapsed. He caught her easily, and held her in his arms
momentarily until she again struggled against his hold.
“Do not fear,” he said. “I will take you back to your sleeping robes, where you can invoke your need to be away from me if you choose.”
“That would be most kind.”
He picked her up in his arms and stepped toward her bed. No sooner had he started, however, when she said,
“Sir, I fear there are further problems. If I do not recover my memory, there will be no option for me but to remain close to you. This would be difficult for us both, I think.”
He dipped his head in agreement. “True,” he said, “but if we have to do it, we will. I cannot leave you here on your own. To do so would be as to commit murder, for I do not think that you could easily forage for yourself.”
She paused. “Yes, of course.” She stared away from him. “But let us pray that my memory does return, the sooner the better. For the well being of us both, I think.”
“Nyah-weh. I will pray that it will be so.”
He set her down on the softness of the pine boughs and blanket, and as soon as he did so, she lay back and took several deep breaths. He watched as she gazed up at the ceiling of the cave. She was silent. He was the same.
At some length, she said, “’Tis quite a dark place that you have chosen for our shelter, is it not? ”
“That is the way in which caves and other passages underground are formed, for they do not have the warmth of the sun to light them.”
“Aye. I have wondered,” she said. “When I first awoke, I heard water running here in the cave, but I have not been able to find the source, since my legs will not hold me. Tell me, is there water near here? ”
“There is an underground stream that flows not more than a hundred or so feet from us. It is farther into the cave and so there is no light there. It would be hard to find on one’s own.”
“Ah, that accounts for it,” she said, then she sighed as she turned her face away from him.
Watching her, he felt helpless. He realized his words might have seemed harsh to her after he had held her in his arms and kissed her, but there was little he could do about what he’d admitted to her. He had spoken the truth.
After some deliberation, however, he decided to talk of trivial things, much as she was doing, and he said, “I have brought us fresh meat. It is a deer and should provide a good source of food for days. We can make dry meat, and from the bones, we can boil a broth that should supply you with the necessary nourishment to keep your muscles from becoming painful.”
“I . . . thank you, sir.”
He hesitated and stared at her. “I will bring the carcass near the fire, where we will be able to skin it at our ease. Would you like to help me? ”
“Yes, very much, I think.” But she didn’t sound as if her heart were in it.
Feeling utterly powerless, White Thunder rose up to his feet and stepped to the front of the cave. Retrieving the game, he placed it around his shoulders and brought it toward the fire, where he set it down.
“Would you like me to take you up and bring you to the fire? ”
She didn’t reply at once. He waited.
At last she said, “I think I would like you to prop me up so that I am in a sitting position, and can watch you from here.”
He did as she suggested, being careful not to touch her overly much. “Are you comfortable? ” he asked.
“Yes, I am, and thank you.”
He nodded and returned to the fire, where he set to work over the deer.
To ease the undercurrents that were awash between them he continued to talk, and he asked, “Have you ever skinned a deer? ”
“No, sir, I have not.”
“It is not a hard task to accomplish if you know how to do it. If you will come here, I will show you the way of it.” Almost sheepishly, he asked, “Will you? ”
“Yes, sir, though I fear you must again help me to the fireside, for I cannot make it there on my own.”
So quickly did he jump to his feet to come to her aid, he wondered if he’d startled her. Reaching down to take her in his arms, he said, “Know that if I were able, I would—”
“Please, sir,” she interrupted. “There is no need to belabor the point. You are committed, and I . . . I don’t remember my past. I could very well be committed, also. We are both doing the best we can in a very poor situation, so do not feel there is a need to explain.”
He nodded, and placing his arms beneath her, carried her to the fireside. But it was like magic. It took no more than a mere touch to again send his body into readiness.
Were he not sworn to his obligation, were he not consumed with duty, he might like to come to know this woman better. But these ideas were useless to consider, for they could not be.
Indeed. They simply could not be. Why, he wondered, didn’t that feel right?
“ You make a slit here in the belly of the animal from the rump to the throat, and when you pull the skin away, it comes off whole with little trouble.” He showed her how to do it.
Sarah nodded, but at the first sight of blood, she realized that this was a skill she might never use. Propped up so that she was in a sitting position, she watched him work, her attention focused on his hands.
But there was danger in letting her thoughts drift in that direction. Was it only minutes ago that those hands had held her?
To keep her attention focused on other matters, she looked away. Truth be told, Sarah was upset, but not with him. Her upset lay with . . . circumstances.
How could she have encouraged him to kiss her? Hold her? How could she have practically begged him for his embrace—only to be turned down.
It was a sobering realization.
“You are quiet,” he said after a while.
“Aye,” she returned, “that I am.” She didn’t offer further communication and he didn’t seem inclined to press her.
After some moments, however, she decided to confront this tiger, stripes and all, and said, “I don’t blame you for what happened.”
He paused. “I am glad.”
“However, I think you should have been honest with me about your wife and your feelings toward others in your life before you kissed me. Perhaps before you massaged my legs, also, for I believe that is what started this.”
“I agree,” he said. “I am sorry. But massaging your legs is not what started it, I fear.”
“Is it not? ” she asked, sparing him a glance.
“Neh, it is not.”
“If not that, then what? When? ”
He exhaled on a breath, then throwing her a sharp glance, he said, “I will tell you, but in doing so, I do not wish you to think I am trying to change the conditions between us.”
She nodded briefly.
“I have been watching you and admiring you since I first found you, for you are fair of face and figure,” he went on to say. “My feelings have been building up to this since I first found you, awaiting only an outlet.”
She swallowed noisily, before saying, “You compliment me, sir, but I hardly think that would cause you to want to make love to me.”
“Then let me say it to you this way: Had I been massaging my grandmother’s legs, I would not have felt the need to kiss her and leave my imprint upon her.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She paused. “In not knowing this, I did encourage you, didn’t I? And you are, after all, male, and . . .” She frowned and turned her head away, rubbing her forehead. It was as though her thoughts hurt.
“Did you remember something? ”
“No,” she said, “but I do seem to be possessed of numerous opinions—which require no memory a’tall. ’Tis strange.”
He nodded. “It is. What opinions are these that appear to worry you? ”
“I fear I cannot say them.”
“Why can you not? ”
“Because, sir, they are hurtful opinions, and perhaps not based on fact.”
“Hurtful to whom? ”
“If I were to tell you that—”
“Tell me.”
She breathed out on a sigh, and glanced down at her hands. “Then it would be toward you, sir.”
He nodded. “I thank you for sparing me.”
“You are most welcome.”
“But I think,” he went on to say, “that I would know the worst of it.”
“I cannot say it, sir. I should never have brought it up, for I simply cannot bring myself to use my lips to say the things that have been told to me.”
Laying down his knife, and ripping open the carcass of the deer, he commented, “Someone has said that the Indian man is a beast and will rape women and children, hasn’t he? ”
Again, she hesitated. “I cannot recall . . .”
“And you believed it?”
“Until I met you and one other . . .” She scowled, and again she grabbed her head. Suddenly, it hurt.
“Another memory?”
“Almost, sir.” Sarah cast her gaze upward. At last, she said, “After all you have done for me, I fear I now believe that the opinions I have been told are based on nothing but terrible gossip. And, sir, I have remembered something.”
He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, but he didn’t push her to relate her memory. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he waited.
“I recall a man, sir,” she began. “An older gentleman, who was well-to-do, I believe. He had . . . some business with the Indians, I recall. It was he who told me this gossip, and it was, indeed, similar to what you said.”
“I thought as much, for it is common for a man to accuse another of those things he does himself.”
“Is it, now? ”
“It is. Have you never observed this for yourself? ”
“No, sir, I don’t believe that I have.”
He sighed. “I will tell you the truth, though it is probably useless to do so. But even if you do not believe it—and I fear you won’t—you will at least have both sides of the story, and can make up your own mind about what is and isn’t true.”
“Yes. Please. Go ahead.”
“Nyah-weh. It is a story,” he said, but he didn’t look at her. His attention was taken up in preparation of the game. “Long ago, before the French, the English and the Dutch came into our country, our women and children were safe to travel on their own, even into the woods, often without accompaniment. Certainly, they were safe in their own homes. However, with the arrival of the European into our country, this and many other things changed. Disease came with the English and the French, killing many of us. But for this, we did not blame the new invader. If he brought it, it was unintentionally done. No, what we disdained, what we could not understand, were this man’s unhealthy desires to seek his pleasure from our women and children.”