Seneca Surrender (Berkley Sensation)

by Gen Bailey

  He laid himself beside her, next to her, and his fingers were creating so great a stir within her that she thought she might burst. As he watched her, his groans grew more labored.

  She was more than aware that she was struggling toward that ultra-fine release, and as feeling took over thinking, such joy crescendoed within her, she could hardly hold back the pleasure. Indeed, that pleasure was coming in on her so fast and furious that when the rapture burst within her, an exquisite kind of euphoria flooded her system, literally rocking her physically. It needed outlet, and as she cried out, he echoed her with a moan of his own. She gazed up at him, finding him watching her, looking at her as though he were witnessing grace in motion.

  When she at last had settled down, he whispered, “I have great feeling for you, Miss Sarah. All the days of my life, I will remember this moment. This, I promise you.”

  She smiled at him, and reached up to grab hold of a lock of his hair, flicking the long strand behind his shoulders. Then he brought himself up over her, and without delay, joined their bodies together.

  Briefly, she remembered that the first time she had made love with him, there had been pain, then. She expected it now.

  But it didn’t materialize. Not this time. At present, there was nothing but enchantment. She welcomed him, fully, completely.

  They began to move as one. One thrust from him followed another, her bliss heightening as she tightened her muscles around him. When he pushed against her, she met him. When he withdrew, so, too, did she.

  It was an erotic sort of dance. On and on they swayed as they drew closer and closer together. But it seemed as if it wasn’t close enough . . . at least not for him.

  Breaking away from her, for a moment he came up onto his knees before her. Taking hold of her legs, he placed them around his neck. At once Sarah found the position most erotic, sensuous, and utterly stimulating. In this position, she was able to gaze up into his dark, almost black eyes.

  She smiled at him, and it seemed her simple action was his undoing. In response, he thrust again and again within her.

  As their bodies came together in the act of love, so, too, did she meet him on a different plane. She held that look in his eyes, she wanted that look, even as the dance between them became fast, then faster.

  Never, she thought, had she ever seen a man so magnificent. His groans were pure music to her ears, inspiring her, bringing her up again so that she was spiraling up to that same pinnacle she’d met earlier. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until finally with one last cherished thrust, he gifted her with his seed. And she met him all the way. When he burst, so, too, did she.

  And not once during the entire deed, had they dropped their heated gaze from one another. It was as though she’d been presented with a glimpse into his soul. Perhaps, he, too, had glimpsed her soul. But it little mattered; for a moment, if a moment only, she knew exactly who he was.

  Moreover, he was spectacular.

  As he collapsed against her, she rubbed her hands up and down his spine, savoring the feel of his hard muscles against the cushion of her touch. And despite all the logical reasons why she shouldn’t, she knew she would never be the same again.

  She had changed. Never again would she look at the world in the same way. This man was hers.

  Fifteen

  Days passed. Days that were filled with lovemaking, with mounting respect for one another and with the pleasure of becoming even better acquainted.

  Of course, there was always work to be done, too. White Thunder instructed Sarah in the best ways to prepare a food made especially for travel. It was a dry meat pounded into a powdery substance and spiced with fat and berries. Apparently a handful of this mixture could sustain a warrior throughout an entire day.

  They made plenty of it. They made plenty of love, too. Indeed, so idyllic were their days, Sarah began to wonder if it were possible to remain here in this cave for her life through. To her, it had become home.

  Meanwhile, the weather outside the cave had turned cold. But it hardly mattered. Inside their little haven, Sarah and White Thunder were scarcely aware of the change in temperature. They seldom ventured far from the cave. There simply was no need.

  There was only one problem, and that was due to their activities. Sarah had become sore, and in the worst of all places. However, once she had made White Thunder aware of the difficulty she was having, he had treated her to mud and clay baths, administered lovingly by him. Amazingly, the pain went away.

  Days turned into a week, then another. And though White Thunder’s strength had returned—as had Sarah’s—still they lingered—with good reason.

  Here they were spared the wagging tongues of spiteful gossips, the damning looks from prejudiced eyes, the scornful opinions of others as were bound to occur were they to return to society. Here they were free, they were married, at least within their own eyes . . . for a time.

  But as the days plodded forward, Sarah’s worry about Marisa increased. What had happened to her? Would the young warrior who was so smitten with her protect her from harm? She assumed that he would do most anything to keep his love safe.

  But what if Marisa needed her? What if there were problems, and she had no one to turn to?

  And so Sarah came to understand that the time had at last come to leave.

  She and White Thunder were cuddled up in front of the fire when White Thunder said, “Are you prepared to go?”

  “I think so, but do we have to?”

  “You know we do,” he said. “You have mentioned on more than one occasion that you worry about your friend. And I have a duty to perform, which cannot be accomplished here.”

  Sarah shot him a sad smile. “Surely,” she said, “there must be something else we need to do to ready us to go. Is there anything we missed?”

  He smiled at her before he bent to rub the side of his face against hers. He said, “We have smoked and dried all the meat, pounded it into meal and mixed it with berries and fat. We have packed it in bags. We have no more food here to prepare. It is all stored in the bags we will carry.”

  “Yes, but you could hunt for more food and we could prepare that.”

  “I could, but it is unnecessary. We have all the food we will need.”

  “Oh.” Her voice sounded as disappointed as she felt. “But, sir, ’tis cold. Don’t we need warmer clothing?”

  “What we have will be enough. We have already made two warm shirts and extra moccasins for us both from the deer kill. It will be enough.”

  “Then how about the root that is needed to keep me from conceiving?”

  “I have dried much of it. It, too, is packed.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she said. Then again, “Yes.”

  “If we linger here too long,” he declared, “the snows will come and we will have much difficulty finding your friend.”

  Sarah frowned. “Do you think we’ll encounter trouble?”

  “I little know. I have seen enemy tracks in my travels to find food. War rages across this land, making traveling, even upon the lakes and rivers, dangerous. I have given it much thought, and I think we will do best to make our path through the forest. Although an enemy can hide there easily, so, too, can we.”

  Sarah turned to stare at him grimly. “Now that you speak of it, I remember this war. I recall that the whole world seemed afire.”

  “And so it has been since the English and others have come to our borders. It has been a series of one war after another. Once, many years ago, the Iroquois were at peace with themselves and with their neighbors.”

  “I have heard that this was so. Tell me about it.”

  “In the long-ago time,” he replied, “hundreds of years before the white man ever arrived on this land, there was the Great Peace. It was started by two men and a woman, who took the idea of ending war from tribe to tribe. It was not easy to do, for not everyone desired harmony, and some were great, but evil magicians. However, eventually these three accomplished it, and they uni
ted six heroic nations together under one branch, and offered to bring all other Indian nations under its branches. It was what united the Iroquois. It is this that has made us strong.”

  “And you have a government, I believe. Is that not right? ”

  “We do, but it is not like the English, who are subject to a king. Our towns are ruled by the people, and he who has power, but who would govern for himself and his family, alone, is quickly warned, and if he still doesn’t behave, he is removed from the council.”

  “Fascinating. And there is no confusion?”

  “Confusion? Not about government or who we are or how we make our laws. We council together, and when all agree to a law or to a suggestion, only then is it passed by the council. But even then, if the people don’t like it, they don’t have to follow it. One is always left to make up his own mind.”

  “And this unites you? It doesn’t pull you apart?”

  “It unites us, yes.”

  Both were silent, until at last, Sarah asked, “When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “’Tis quite soon.”

  He nodded.

  “I will miss it here. I’ve been happy, and I’ve even started to think of this cave as mine.”

  “I, too.”

  “But I suppose we can’t stay here forever.”

  “So it is. We both have duties that weigh upon us.”

  “Aye,” she said. Then, “I’ve had you to myself for all these days and I have become used to thinking of you as my husband. But when we leave here, that’s all behind us, is it not?”

  “That was our agreement, yes,” he said. “It will soon be at an end. However, we still have tonight. For a little while longer, let us pretend that we are a married couple, with no other responsibilities except to bring pleasure to one another.”

  She nodded. “I would like that.”

  He sighed and tightened his arms around her. “On this night, I would like to think of nothing but the many different ways to love you.”

  “Yes, Mr. Thunder, please.” She smiled at him, but she feared that at present, even her smile reflected her loss. However, when she spoke, she didn’t speak of sadness. Rather, she said, “Let us make beautiful memories.”

  He, too, seemed grim, but as he turned her around toward him and proceeded to do as she suggested, their lovemaking transformed them both. Once again, there was only him. There was only her.

  The extreme darkness before dawn ushered in a new day. They had made love through the night, as though only in this way could they keep the morning from coming. But here it was already. She was tired. He was tired, also, but White Thunder had already assured her that they would rest throughout their journey.

  Amazingly, she wasn’t sleepy. Just tired.

  They had swept away all traces of their stay in the cave—a necessary procedure, according to White Thunder, so that their time here might be invisible to the eye of anyone who should be looking for them. He had recently stepped from the cave to say his morning prayers while Sarah had stayed behind to attend to her toiletries.

  She was settling her open gown over her petticoats and straightening its bodice when White Thunder came back into the cave. He stopped almost perfectly still when he saw her, and he stared at her as though he had never seen her until this moment.

  “You are ready?” he asked, but he said nothing more to her.

  “Almost,” she replied. It was the first time she had worn her gown since before she’d awakened to find herself in a cave and in the presence of a man she didn’t remember.

  The gown had once been one of her best. But traveling over open ground and practically drowning in it had done irreparable damage.

  Long ago, however, it had been beautiful, made of a rich, gold-colored silk brocade. Her petticoats were a quilted cream color, almost matching the gold of the dress, and as was the fashion, they were displayed in front of the gown. Somewhere in her adventures, however, she had lost her white muslin apron, although her white neck handkerchief had survived. She wore it now, covering her chest, up to her neck.

  On her feet were moccasins, since her own slippers were flimsy and wouldn’t provide her with the needed protection against the cold. Sarah had also managed to tie her long hair back, although she hadn’t been able to contain the blond ringlets that fell forward against her face.

  “You look very English,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she replied, “I think.” She smiled at him. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Perhaps.” It was all he said.

  She looked toward their luggage, which consisted of several buckskin bags, as well as her own hand-carved cane. “What is it that I’ll be carrying?”

  “Our bags.”

  She frowned at him. “All of them?”

  “No, I will carry some, but my hands and arms must remain free so that if we come upon enemies, I will be able to protect us. That this requires you to bear the brunt of carting most of our food is to be regretted, for I know this is not the English way.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “It’s not the English way. But your point is well taken. Where shall we go to pick up Miss Marisa’s trail?”

  “I have given it some thought, and I believe that we’ll start at the beginning, where I found you: by the side of the Lake-That-Turns-to-Rapids. We will backtrack to the falls, since I believe that is where your accident occurred. When I found you, you were almost drowned.”

  “So you have said. I do wish I could remember.”

  “It matters little. What I have explained is the only conclusion that makes sense. So I believe that if we begin at the falls, we may yet find some trace of your friend.”

  Sarah smiled at him. “I will be happy to see her.”

  White Thunder nodded, but otherwise remained silent. Then, he said, “Come here. I would begin our journey with an embrace, if you would humor me.”

  Happily she went into his arms, where he buried himself in the folds of her hair. He murmured, “There is a war raging across this country. Stay close to me. We will move fast, but not so swiftly that I cannot go back on our trail and erase our prints from the ground. Are you ready?”

  She nodded, and with the both of them bidding adieu to the cave, they set off into the woods. Perhaps it was her imagination, but for a moment she thought that a certain squirrel had come out of her winter hideaway to say goodbye.

  It was cold, it had rained and the ground was both hard and wet. There was a scent in the air of decaying, wet leaves, as well as the earthy smell of dirt. The trees were naked of their leaves and looked to be little more than skeletons waving their branches against the gray beginnings of the day. Sarah’s toes immediately protested the chilly weather, but as long as she kept moving, her feet cooperated.

  They had been gone for no longer than an hour when Sarah began to wish for the relative comfort of their cave. But she knew it was not to be. They had to move on forward; there was no turning back.

  Their progress through the forest was slower than what Sarah would have imagined it would be, if only because she was weighted down with their supplies, thus their stops were frequent. And although Sarah realized that each day the burden would become less—if only because they would be consuming the food—here at the start of their journey, the bags were still cumbersome and bulky.

  White Thunder never strayed too far ahead of her, even though she was certain she was holding him back. While they were on the move, his rifle was held in a ready position, always. He was well armed: Attached to his belt were tomahawk, war clubs and knives. Strapped across his shoulders were bags, a powder horn and balls. And within the folds of his leggings, there at his calf, were two more knives. He looked, she thought, like a walking arsenal.

  But it made her glad. He also appeared fully capable of protecting the two of them.

  She took a moment to admire his look, for it was different from what she had become accustomed to. For one thing, he was dressed for the weather with a white
linen shirt worn inside a buckskin coat. On his legs were buckskin leggings and moccasins. His blanket, which also was used for warmth, was thrown over one of his shoulders and belted at his waist. Quite incidentally, his leggings didn’t reach all the way up to his shirt, which left her with an alluring view of his thighs. And, indeed, she did look. Truth be told, she found her gaze lingering there more often than perhaps it should.

  She knew his moccasins—and hers as well—were winter- as well as waterproof, having been carefully smoked and sewn with the fur turned inside. She knew this because she had helped to sew them.

  He had insisted that her clothing also be winterized, and she wore a blanket over her shoulders in a style much like a cape. Also, there had been enough deerskin to fashion herself an outer buckskin petticoat, made and worn for warmth. She had long ago lost her hat, a shame, for it would have been a good addition to protect her against this weather.

  Suddenly White Thunder came to a complete stop. She almost ran into him. Quickly, he glanced to his right and left, surveying the lay of the land. He pointed toward a stand of trees, then, gazing at her, brought up a single finger to lie across his lips.

  Trouble. Her stomach suddenly churned and again, adrenaline pumped through her system.

  As noiselessly, yet as quickly as they could, they fled toward the stand of the distant trees he had indicated, their feet scurrying over the wet mosses and ferns littering the forest floor. What was it? she wondered—or rather, who was it?

  Her questions were all too quickly answered, however, when she witnessed a war party of perhaps twenty-five young men round a hill. At the same moment the war party came into view, both she and White Thunder had reached that stand of trees. Immediately, they ducked beneath the weight of a pine tree’s branches.

  He settled her up close to the trunk of the tree so that she was almost completely hidden by its long and extending boughs. Then he left. What was he doing? she wondered. And why, in outfitting her gear for the trip, hadn’t she considered a weapon? In a land torn by war, one needed some manner of self-defense.