Savage Surrender

by Colleen French

  Once inside, he slowly lowered her, flesh brushing against flesh until her moccasins touched the floor. "What of Tuuban?" Rachael asked. "This is his wigwam."

  Storm stepped back to lace the inside door, guaranteeing their privacy. "He will sleep elsewhere tonight."

  She went to where Storm's bedskins lay and brought them near to the firepit where she shook them out. "You planned this all," she teased. "And what if I had turned you away?"

  He turned back to her, the door securely closed. "You did not." He pulled at the ties of his buckskin shirt.

  She smiled, her hands falling gracefully to her hips as she watched him unclothe.

  Realizing that she watched him, Storm Dancer took his time in undressing. He began to sway to the sound of the ceremonial wedding drums echoing in the night, the rhythm undeniable.

  Rachael suddenly found her breath quickening. The sight of Storm Dancer's golden bronze flesh in the glow of the fire's embers made her weak in the legs. He was dancing slowly to the music, his sinewy arms and thighs flexing, each movement erotic in itself as he disrobed for her.

  Rachael licked her lower lip which suddenly seemed dry. She wanted to go to him, to touch him and yet she wanted to stand here forever and watch him dance to the ancient sounding of the hollow drums.

  Storm had cast off his buckskin shirt and his chest rippled with his strength as he unlaced his knee-high moccasins standing first on one foot and then the other. He began to chant to the music in a deep, husky voice that sent shivers down Rachael's spine.

  When Storm cast aside his moccasins, he began to untie the laces that held his breeches-like leggings. He moved slowly around and around, his hips lifting and falling to the rhythm of the music in the distance. Aroused by his actions and bare flesh, Rachael made a move to come to him, but he shook his head ever so slightly, a playful smile on his lips.

  He moved his hands in a graceful yet masculine manner, forming patterns in the air as his body turned and twisted to the sounds that seemed now to surround Rachael, drawing her in. When he spoke, his voice was fluid and sensual like his movements. "First I will disrobe for you, my wife, then you for me."

  That thought made Rachael's heart trip in her chest. Watching Storm dance nearly nude in the firelight excited her beyond her wildest thoughts. She could feel her hardening nipples brushing against the soft hide of her white doeskin dress. She could feel a wetness growing between her thighs.

  Storm Dancer hooked his thumbs around the band that held his loincloth and Rachael felt her breath catch in her throat.

  "Kahiila?" he beckoned, his dark eyes intent upon her.

  "Yes," she whispered. "Kahiila." The music had caught her and swept her up. She too was moving slowly to the beat, watching Storm as he pulled away the last remnant of his clothing.

  Tossing aside the loincloth he danced in a circle around her, stomping his feet in the intricate purposeful pattern of some ancient dance. He teased her with the sway of his muscled buttocks and the flexing of his corded thighs and forearms.

  Rachael laughed, allowing him to take her hands and spin her as she joined in his dance of love.

  With the encouragement of Storm Dancer's touch, she found her own hands on her doeskin bodice. She traced the laces of the soft hide, bedeviling him as he had bedeviled, enjoying the way his black eyes began to glisten with arousal. Rachael had never been much of a dancer in Philadelphia or London, but this was different. The pounding of the drums and rattle of the gourds made her feel alive. The rhythm carried her from her inhibitions, lifting her up and guiding her movement.

  Rachael swayed seductively, shedding her bodice so that her breasts hung free and bare in the firelight. She felt a surge of excitement at the realization that he was watching her as intently as she had watched him.

  Storm moved his hands in a dance that told the story of the creation of the world and Rachael mirrored him, their gazes locking, then straying, then locking again as they spun and dipped.

  Rachael's hips undulated in a graceful circle as she unwrapped her doeskin and threw it aside, dancing nude save for her woman's loinskin.

  Storm came to her, catching her hands and bringing his hips against hers, his tumescent shaft brushing against her most private place. Waves of heat and pleasure washed over Rachael as she swayed to the rhythm that had lured them and now controlled them. For the Lenni Lenape the song was a celebration of life, for Rachael and Storm Dancer, it was a celebration of reunited love.

  Storm cupped Rachael's bare buttocks, guiding her against him again and again. He was kissing her now, confusing her with his hot hands and hotter mouth. "Love me, ki-ti-hi," he whispered, "love me the rest of the days this man must walk on this earth."

  "Yes," she whispered, struggling to catch her breath, caught in the rhythm of him brushing against her in tantalizing intervals. "Yes, I will love you, husband. I will love you always." She fumbled with the tie of her loincloth but could not manage the knot.

  He laughed, brushing aside her trembling hands and kissing her deeply as he shed her pieces of clothing for her.

  When they were finally both naked in the firelight, he lifted her into his arms and lay her gently on the sleeping fur she had laid out for them. Resting on his side with her on her back he began to touch her, savoring the softness of her flesh, every soft curve of her body.

  When he lowered his head, she held her breath in anticipation until his lips touched her peaked breast. Threading her fingers through his midnight hair, she moaned, lifting her hips, needing him, and yet wanting to prolong this exquisite agony forever.

  "Come to me," she whispered in his ear as he tugged on her nipple with his teeth, the pleasure exquisite. "Come to me, Dancer of the Storms. Love this woman as she must be loved."

  "You are impatient," he teased as he lifted up and stretched over her. "I have but barely found my rhythm."

  But Rachael parted her thighs as his hips brushed hers and gently, insistently, he entered her. She cried out in sheer relief, her blunt fingernails sinking into the flesh of his broad back. He let her catch her breath and then he began to move to the sound of the wedding drums.

  Consumed by the fire of his shaft deep within her, Rachael lifted again and again to meet his thrusts. A heavy-limbed aching filled her, propelling her upward, lifting her beyond all conscious thought. Without warning she felt herself shatter with pleasure, not once but twice, three times and yet he still moved inside her, deeper, harder.

  "Storm," Rachael called, her entire body shuddering. "Storm!"

  He raised himself up on his arms so that he could drink in her sky-eyes and for a moment their gazes locked, then suddenly, he, too, was caught in a wave of pleasure that couldn't be denied. Rachael heard him groan as he spilled into her with a final thrust and she smiled, her hands falling to rest on his buttocks as his movement stilled.

  For a long time they lay entwined, neither wanting to break from the other. The feel of Storm's hard, male body pressed to her soft curves gave Rachael a sense of security. It was not until she had almost drifted off to sleep that he rolled off her onto his side and drew her into his arms covering them both with a light blanket.

  "Sleep, my love, my Rachael-wife," he whispered. "Sleep and tomorrow we will begin our life anew."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The following day Storm Dancer rose early to join some of the younger men in hunting. He kissed Rachael soundly on the lips and covered her with an extra sleeping fur, promising to return by midday. Drowsy, she had waved a good-bye and turned over to go back to sleep, content to dream.

  Rachael slept late into the morning and when she finally rose and went to the river to fetch fresh water she found that the entire village was up and about and chattering about the fact the shaman and his wife were obviously together again. Rachael had just returned to Tuuban's wigwam when Dory came hustling toward her calling her name.

  "Rachael-honey!"

  Rachael turned and smiled. "The wedding was beautiful." She shielded her
eyes against the glare of the morning sunshine reflecting off the snow. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to wish you congratulations properly."

  "Well word has it you was busy with a little merrymakin' of your own." Dory winked.

  Rachael laughed. "Just the same, I hope you'll be very happy. I know you will."

  "Yeah. Yeah," she waved her hand, "enough of that talk. I got serious business here."

  Rachael's brow creased. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  Dory gave a nod in the direction of the wigwam that rightfully belonged to Storm Dancer and Rachael but was now occupied by Ta-wa-ne. "It's that bitch. You best keep an eye on her. Sometime after you and that man of yours disappeared, the trapper Malvin came back into the village. Ta-wa-ne took him to her bed, leavin' the boy to wander in the ceremonial house."

  "Is Ka-we-ras all right?"

  "Course he is. I tucked him right in with Shadow Man's little ones and he slept through the night without a peep, but come mornin'," she raised a finger, "his mother was hollerin' for the child."

  "Why didn't you wake me? What did you do?"

  Dory shrugged. "What could I do? She's still the boy's mama, and Storm Dancer had already left. Shadow Man said to hand him over so I did."

  Rachael gripped Dory's arms. "So where is he now?"

  "He's in there with his mama, but I just thought you might want to keep your eye on 'em both. Shadow Man told me last night that she had offered to sell 'im to Storm Dancer with a handful o' witnesses standin' right there listenin'!" She gave a low whistle. "That trollop's crazy as a bedbug in bedlam. No tellin' what she might do."

  Rachael nodded, glancing across the compound at Ta-wa-ne's wigwam. There was no one to be seen, but she could tell that the door flap was laced from the inside. "As soon as Storm gets back something will have to be done. We'll call a council meeting if we have to. If she's living with us, she's under Starlight's jurisdiction."

  Dory patted Rachael's arm, trying to comfort her friend. "Now don't be gettin' your dander in a ruffle. I just wanted you to know what the woman was about, so's you could keep your eye on her and the little tot. This is the boy's father's affair, not yours. Let him deal with it."

  "I suppose you're right. I just wouldn't want anything terrible to happen to him."

  "I know you wouldn't. Go on with your chores and I'll keep my eyes peeled too. The men folk'll be back before long. Now I got to get back to my little ones."

  Dory took her leave and Rachael picked up her ice bucket and ducked into her wigwam.

  Not half an hour later Rachael heard a woman screeching at the top of her lungs. She knew immediately who it was—Ta-wa-ne.

  Rachael stepped out into the snow, not taking the time to grab her cloak. She shivered, hugging herself for warmth as she craned her neck to see what Ta-wane was about.

  The trapper had come out of Ta-wa-ne's wigwam dressed for travel in a long bearskin coat with packs on his back. Ta-wa-ne was shouting at him in Iroquois as she followed him, dragging Ka-we-ras behind her.

  Twice the trapper turned around and barked a reply.

  Rachael couldn't understand everything Ta-wa-ne was saying, but it was obvious she wanted to go with him and he was telling her to stay put. Ka-we-ras was screaming and crying, dragging his feet as his mother jerked him along behind her.

  Without hesitation Rachael sprinted across the compound after Ta-wa-ne and the trapper, who was obviously taking his leave. Ka-we-ras was only half dressed with one moccasin on and one off and no mittens. He wore the little otterskin cloak Rachael had made for him, tied over one shoulder and dragging in the snow.

  Rachael knew that Ta-wa-ne had a right to go where she pleased, and she'd be thankful to have Storm's ex-wife gone, but Ta-wa-ne didn't have a right to endanger Ka-we-ras. If she was going to run after her trapper in a February cold snap, she was going to have to leave the child behind where he'd be safe.

  The moment Ka-we-ras spotted Rachael, he began to cry for her, calling her name and reaching for her with his little cold chubby hands. Rachael stepped in front of Ta-wa-ne crossing her arms over her chest, her teeth gritted. "Go with your trapper but let the boy go."

  "Out of my way, white whore who stole my husband. The child is mine; I can take him where I do wish!"

  "He is also his father's, a great and powerful shaman. He has as much right to him as you, more because you are unfit to be a mother!" She pointed an accusing finger into Ta-wa-ne's beautiful face. "You don't want Ka-we-ras, you just want him so that you can manipulate others. Leave him here where he'll be safe."

  Ta-wa-ne's black almond-shaped eyes narrowed venomously. "This woman would rather drown him like a pup than leave him to you!" She gave Rachael a vicious shove, shoving her backward into the snow. Before Rachael could get to her feet, Ta-wa-ne swept Ka-we-ras into her arms and began to run after the trapper.

  By this time many of the women and children had come out of their wigwams to see what all of the commotion was about. One of the women had run to get Starlight. Ta-wa-ne was shouting at the trapper again, screaming for him to wait for her. She was telling him in a mixture of Iroquois and English how much she loved him and how well she would please him if he would only let her go with him.

  Rachael got up and began to run after them. They had passed the outer boundaries of the village and were now headed down the snow-shoveled path that led to the river.

  "Ta-wa-ne!" Rachael shouted. "Let him go!"

  "Wachael!" Ka-we-ras was crying. He had lost his cloak and was now being carried over his mother's shoulder like a sack of cornmeal.

  Tears of frustration rose in Rachael's eyes as she raced to catch up with them. It was not until Ta-wa-ne reached the riverbank that Rachael finally caught up with her. The trapper had walked out on the frozen river and was headed east. Ta-wa-ne had already stepped out on the ice.

  "Ta-wa-ne, please," Rachael stopped on the edge of the bank. "Please let me have him. His father will care for him well, I swear it."

  "Malvin! Malvin!" Ta-wa-ne called, ignoring Rachael's pleas. "Wait for me, Husband! Wait for this woman! I will give you the boy! We can sell him. We can get coin!"

  Rachael looked down at the snow-covered ice of the river, panic rising in her chest. Storm had told her not to go out on the ice, not ever, but Ta-wa-ne was getting away! She was taking Storm's son, the only son he might ever have."

  "No Rachael-honey!" Rachael heard Dory cry.

  Tentatively, Rachael stepped down off the bank onto the ice. "I'll be careful," she called over her shoulder. "I'm just going to get Ka-we-ras!"

  "Get off that ice, girl! It ain't safe!"

  Rachael hurried after Ta-wa-ne who was walking a few feet from the bank. "Give him to me!"

  Ta-wa-ne spun around in fury. "You want the useless boy?" she shouted. "Take him! He is nothing but a burden to this woman!" With that, Ta-wa-ne threw the boy off her shoulder and hurled him through the air.

  Rachael leaped to catch the child before he hit the hard ice and the ice beneath her feet cracked and groaned. Ka-we-ras was sobbing and shivering so hard that his teeth chattered. He clung to Rachael, sobbing her name over and over again.

  "Take the boy, but this as well!" Ta-wa-ne shouted as she swung around and struck Rachael in the jaw, stunning her. The next time the Indian woman swung, Rachael had the sense to duck. She ducked, spun around, and shoved Ka-we-ras across the ice in the direction of the bank. "Go to Dory," she told the little boy as he slid across the snow on his bottom. "Go!"

  "Wachael!"

  "I said go!" Rachael shouted harshly, fearful the boy would come back toward her.

  Still crying her name, Ka-we-ras jumped to his feet and ran for the bank toward Dory who waited with open arms.

  Just as Dory caught the boy, Rachael felt her feet being knocked out from under her. The ice groaned as she hit it with a loud thump.

  The village women who stood on the bank were shouting for Rachael and Ta-wa-ne to get off the ice.

  Ta-wa-ne gave a screech o
f rage, hurling herself at Rachael, but Rachael rolled over and bounced up before Ta-wa-ne's body made contact with hers. Just as Rachael turned to face her attacker she spotted the glimmer of a knife's blade held tightly in the Indian woman's mitten.

  Rachael held up her hands in peace. "Enough. Go with you. Your man is getting away."

  Ta-wa-ne brandished the knife, lowering to a crouch. "You took my man."

  "You left him!"

  "You took my son!"

  Rachael laughed at the ridiculousness of her statement. "You threw him at me! You said you didn't want him!" She lowered her voice an octave. "Ta-wa-ne, I have no malice toward you. My husband has his son, and he will be well cared for. Now go. Go with the trapper. It's what you want isn't it? To be rid of the child and the responsibility?"

  Ta-wa-ne glanced past Rachael to see that the trapper was indeed still walking east.

  "Go," Rachael urged gently. "I'll tell Storm you left the boy for him."

  Ta-wa-ne lowered her knife, straightening. Rachael took a step back and aside to let the woman pass. She could hear the ice groaning beneath her, cracks forming around them. She was already hedging toward the safety of solid ground. "Go with him, but go along the bank," she warned Ta-wa-ne, still watching her movements closely. "It's not safe to walk on the ice, the current is too fast. The ice isn't solid."

  "Wait!" Ta-wa-ne called to the trapper. "Wait for this woman!" She started toward him.

  Rachael had just turned away when out of the corner of her eye she saw Ta-wa-ne's hand snake out. Rachael felt a white-hot streak of pain across her arm as she put it up to protect herself. Immediately her thin muslin shirt turned scarlet with blood. Before Rachael could think, she swung her leg, kicking Ta-wa-ne in the arm to ward off the next blow.

  Ta-wa-ne groaned in pain as the knife was knocked from her hand and went skittering across the ice. Rachael looked down at her arm, which was now bleeding profusely. She looked up at Ta-wa-ne and gave a shout of anger as she balled her hand, and sank her fist into Ta-wa-ne's stomach.