Fully conscious at last, she leaned her head back and looked into his eyes. “I didn’t know,” she confessed, as she touched her fingertips to his cheek.
He watched her with unutterable tenderness. “I know, sweetheart.”
He kissed her. It was a kiss filled with the promise of complete possession. “You’re my only love, Theodora. There’ll never be another woman in my life or in my bed. The name given to you at birth is true. Maheo knew I would need a woman who could be both strong and tender. One with wisdom and insight. One who could help me bridge the two cultures I must live in. You are a gift to me from the Wise One Above. And I shall never let you go.”
She knew what he wanted to hear her say. She loved him with a love that would last her lifetime, to death and beyond. An impossible, hopeless, endless love. Wanting desperately to tell him, still she held back. To go forward would be to hurl herself into a world of binding promises, ones she wasn’t yet ready even to consider. Her throat ached with the pain of her strangled words. Her lips trembled as she forced herself to smile and adopt a light, bantering tone. “You promised to share your knowledge with me, Blade, but I had no idea you’d be such a marvelous instructor. You should have told me, for I’d never have waited so long.”
His disappointment at her teasing reply touched her soul. Still buried within her, he rolled her on top of him, lifted her hips, and impaled her more firmly. He slid his hands up her ribs and cupped her breasts. Casually, he flicked her nipples until they were tight, pink buds, and the flame of desire ignited within her once again. He slid his fingers between their bodies, touching the folds of her swollen womanhood. She gasped at the wonderful, incredible feeling and arched her back, bracing her hands on his muscular thighs. As he watched her succumb to the surging, sensual need he aroused so easily within her, he answered her. His voice was rough-edged with irony. “How could I have suspected the prudish little spinster would be such a prize pupil?”
That morning everyone in the tribe took down their lodges and began the journey to the trappers’ rendezvous at South Pass. Two Moons Rising and Snow Owl showed Theodora how to dismantle the tipi. They taught her to form a travois with the lodge poles, and then load the covering and furnishings on it. Theodora helped Two Moons Rising pack the sacks of pounded meat, dried roots, and berries she had stored to be used during the winter. Dried meat was wrapped and placed in parfleches, as were the lodge’s household utensils.
Blade Stalker joined Bald Face Buffalo and Weasel Tail in the hunting and scouting party. During the day they would choose the evening’s campsite and provide meat for the family. Theodora watched her husband ride out on War Shield with a feeling of longing. As they rode by, he looked over at her. She blushed and lowered her lashes, then looked back up to gaze at his broad back until he’d disappeared. The wonder of his lovemaking was vivid in her mind, and she had to force herself to attend to the rest of the packing.
Two days later they reached the bank of the North Platte, only a few miles above the Deer Creek crossing. They’d had blistering hot weather and traveled over rough terrain that had grown increasingly arid. Each evening, after the meal shared in Snow Owl’s tent, Theodora and Blade Stalker had gone for a swim, then returned to their own tipi to make love.
The third morning Theodora awoke in her husband’s arms. She snuggled against his hard frame, putting off the time of rising. She loved the marvelous feeling of lying beside him, the sensuous luxury of entwining her bare legs with his. Outside, the village was quiet, and she decided it wasn’t as late as she’d thought. She peeked up at Blade to find he was also awake. “We’d better get up,” she mumbled lazily against his furred chest.
“Mmm, later,” he murmured into her hair. “There’s no hurry. We’re not traveling today. There’s a storm coming.”
She leaned up and propped her elbow on his ribs. “A storm? You must be joking. It hasn’t rained for weeks in this rock garden. Probably not for months.”
“Well, it’s going to rain this afternoon. “He yawned sleepily and slid his hand over her bottom in a gesture of self-satisfied ownership.
She shook her head in disbelief. “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky yesterday. It must have been over one hundred degrees.”
With an exaggerated sigh he lifted her on top of him. “Are you arguing with me, woman? Don’t you know a Cheyenne wife listens to her husband? This calls for serious punishment.” He bared his teeth in a snarl and growled like a bear. “How’d you like me to bite off your nose?”
Theodora squealed with laughter. She’d heard of the horrible custom, though she hadn’t seen any proof of it. She pushed against him in a vain attempt to rise. Her giggles filled the tipi.
With a mock roar he turned her over and pinned her to the fur robe. He placed his teeth on the bridge of her nose and gently nipped. “Mmm,” he teased as he licked his lips with relish. “Your freckles taste like cinnamon.” He rose up and slid his hand to her breast, rolling the pliant pink crest between his thumb and forefinger. “Now let’s see if you have any more I can taste.”
She burst out laughing. “I don’t have any freckles, and you know it!” _
One black eyebrow quirked in inquiry. “Want to bet?”
“Are you serious?” She stared at him in shock. At his teasing look she pushed against his arms and sat up, in earnest now. “Let me see.” When he loosened his hold, she leapt up and ran across the lodge to his saddlebags. Taking out the small mirror he used whenever he shaved, she peered solemnly at her reflection. Sure enough, across the bridge of her nose marched a sprinkling of freckles!
“Oh, no!” she cried in horror. “I’m spotted!” Frantically, she searched her shoulders, arms, and legs. Her fair skin had at last turned a light golden brown from her exposure to the sun, but there were no spots. She tried to check her back, to no avail. The fact that her husband was howling with laughter only made the search more frantic. “What about the back of my neck and shoulders?” she asked him.
He sat crossed-legged on the bed. “Come here,” he told her, “and I’ll look.”
Obediently, she crossed the lodge to stand beside the fur covered mattress. She turned her back to him.
“Now let me see,” Blade Stalker said with an air of complete seriousness. He reached up and explored her shoulder blades with his work-hardened fingertips. “Looks okay here,” he told her. He traced his strong hands across the small of her back and waist with the thoroughness of a doctor examining his patient. “This is all right too.” Suddenly he cupped her buttocks in both large palms. “Wait,” he called. “What’s this?” He smacked one cheek with a noisy kiss. “Aha,” he cried triumphantly. “More cinnamon.”
“You scoundrel!” she exclaimed over her shoulder, laughter bubbling within her. “That’s a mole, and you know it!”
She turned and fell on him, pummeling him with her fists, while he roared with delight at her futile attempt to punish him.
Effortlessly he rolled her on her back and bent over her. He imprisoned her wrists, pinning them against the fur on either side of her head.When he bent to kiss her, she turned her face to avoid him, and her lips formed a petulant moue.
“You wouldn’t want to kiss a woman who’s all spotted,” she told him.
He grabbed her chin and turned her face to his. He kissed her with thorough, ruthless, and total possession. “You’re wrong,” he informed her, his eyes twinkling. “I happen to love the taste of cinnamon.”
“You kiss me again and I’ll bite your tongue.” She knew the laughter in her voice belied the sincerity of her warning, but she tried anyway. “We’ll see how well you like the taste of your own blood.”
“Oh ho!” he exclaimed. “A rebellious, hot-tempered wife. Maybe I should turn you over my knee right now.” He lowered his hips and pressed seductively against her. “But I can think of something else I’d rather do instead.”
“You wouldn’t take advantage of my inferior strength, would you?” she taunted him.
A wic
ked, devastating grin swept across his bronzed features. “The hell I wouldn’t.” He nibbled her neck. “I’ll tell you what. I was going to suggest a horseback ride this morning. Now you’ve got my mind on other things. Since you’re feeling so feisty, I’ll let you choose. We can stay in bed and make wild, passionate love, or go for a ride before the storm comes in.”
“We’ll go for a ride,” she said with all the aloofness she could muster. She wasn’t about to admit what she’d rather do, after he’d just laughed at her freckles and then threatened to spank her.
“Let’s go,” he said. He stood and offered his hand to pull her up. “The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be back. We can make love this afternoon while it’s raining.”
She couldn’t help giggling at the leer he turned on her. “Leave it to you to get everything your own way in the end,” she scolded him in mock severity.
They were dressed and tearing across the plains in minutes. Astride Spitfire, Theodora raced after her husband on his powerful stallion. Her unbound hair blew in the wind, the side braids with their rabbit fur ties slapping against her shoulders. The antelope-skin dress she wore was soft and pliable, perfect for riding, and her moccasins were like down on her feet. She rode without a saddle. Blade Stalker had taught her how to use her legs and feet to control the pony. The freedom she felt was like nothing she’d known before. She knew he was right. She would never be the same again. The joy of living so unfettered was remarkable. To be able to gallop across the plains astride an Indian pony, to swim naked with her husband under the stars, to learn under his guidance the incredible pleasure of their marriage bed in the peaceful solitude of their lodge—all these enjoyable things must be given up once the expedition was over.
The thought of going home to her sedate life in Cambridge, where she would be expected to follow the rigid conventions of white society, was unsettling. Ruthlessly she squelched the tiny doubt that the first priority in her life would be to return to Massachusetts and her work. She had commitments to keep, despite her personal feelings. Her father was waiting to collaborate with her on the journal that Martin was to publish. With her grandmother’s influence, she had been hired by the Linnean Society to lecture on her discoveries at Mount Holyoke the first winter after her return. And with the wealth of botanical specimens she’d collected, it was possible she would even be asked to share her research with the naturalists on the Harvard faculty. How could she possibly tell her family that she no longer wanted to pursue a career as a botanist? That she’d met and fallen in love with a cavalry officer who was half Cheyenne? Good Lord, that she felt part Cheyenne herself! She wouldn’t give up her dream, and she couldn’t take Blade back with her to the quiet, sedate world of the scholar. He’d be as out of place in Cambridge as a pious monk in a brothel.
Blade Stalker and Theodora splashed across a creekbed and rode up the bluffs that followed the river. They dismounted and gazed westward toward the mountains.
“How far to South Pass?” she asked as she slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“At least a week. Maybe ten days. It’ll depend on the weather.”
“We’re running very late, aren’t we?”
He looked down at her, and she could see the worry in his eyes. “We’re a little behind. We’ll make up for it when we leave the rendezvous.”
He wouldn’t say it, but she knew it was all her fault. He’d been swept off course while saving her from the stampede that had cost Baptiste Lejeunesse his life. They’d lost more precious days when he’d been mauled by the grizzly bear. Now, if it weren’t for her, he’d be traveling alone, halving the time it would take to reach the expedition.
“I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of things. If it weren’t for me, you’d be in South Pass with the rest of them and right on schedule.”
He slammed her up against him. Bending, he kissed her roughly. “I wouldn’t give up this past week for anything in the world, Theodora. I don’t want to hear you talking like that again. Understand?”
She nodded happily and slipped her arms around his neck. She laid her head against his chest. “Yes, dear,” she said in her most submissive voice.
With a laugh he lifted her in his arms and carried her toward Spitfire. “Come on, dutiful, docile, and well-behaved wife. Let’s go back to the lodge.”
By midday the storm rolled in with black clouds, thunder, and lightning, just as Blade Stalker had predicted. But inside the lodge it was cozy and warm. They lunched on pemmican and fresh berries. Theodora made a hot tea from herbs, and they sipped it as they listened to the rain pounding on the tipi. She expected company during the day, but he assured her that no one would think of visiting newlyweds without an invitation. Blade Stalker sat on the bed, propped against a comfortable backrest. He watched her clean and stack the bowls of pottery they’d used. At a gigantic crash of thunder, she jumped nervously and nearly dropped them.
“Come here and relax, vehona.” he called softly to her. With a tender smile she came immediately.
Pulling her slowly on top of him, he spread her legs apart so she sat astride him .
She stretched forward and rested her chin on the top of his head. “I like being taller than you,” she teased, leaning back to look at him.
“It can have its benefits,” he quipped. “Did you enjoy the ride?” He slid his hands under the fringe of her hem and caressed her thighs.
“It was delightful.” She looked at him questioningly, as though trying to understand where he was leading. “Spitfire is so well trained, I hardly need to guide her. And she follows after War Shield like a puppy.”
With deliberate movements he slid his hands under her dress and lifted it up over her head. He spread her tousled curls about her shoulders, letting them drift through his fingers. He brushed her bare breasts with the backs of his hands, then spoke to her, low and beguiling. “I thought you might want to go for another ride this afternoon.”
Comprehension dawned on her. “But it’s raining out,” she told him primly, trying not to smile.
“You’ll find me very well trained. You’ll hardly need to guide me.” He lifted her up with ease, and she realized he’d already removed his breechclout. Slowly, surely, seductively, he guided her back down on his rigid shaft.
His throbbing entry brought a cry of delight to Theodora’s lips. He leaned forward and suckled her breast, and she buried her fingers in his thick hair and held him to her. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and circled her hips against his loins, enjoying the exquisite sensations.
He tipped his head back. “Open your eyes, nameo, my lover, and look at me.” When she gazed into his passion-filled eyes, he continued in a thick, husky voice. “Look at me, Theodora, and know that I belong to you. Just as I am inside you now, you are inside me. You have walked in my soul, little white woman. We are one.”
Drowning in wave after wave of pleasure, she rested her hands on his solid shoulders. “Blade Stalker … I …”
He moved only slightly, heightening her pleasure. Whimpering with desire, she never took her eyes from his.
“I…”
“Say it, nazheem, my wife. Tell me what you feel for me.”
With trembling fingers she took his handsome face in her hands, awed by the overwhelming emotions he could ignite within her. “I love you, nahyam, my husband,” she said, wonder and happiness in her voice.
His heavy-lidded eyes flashed with joy and triumph. “I love you, too, princess.”
Chapter 23
Eight days later, on the eighth of August, Blade Stalker’s tribe reached South Pass, located at the southern end of the Wind River Range, where the trail crossed the Continental Divide. To Theodora’s fellow nomads, the pass was scarcely momentous. To her it was a fundamental watershed. Somewhere in that twelve-mile stretch of mesquite plains, she left the United States and entered Oregon Territory.
Blade seemed to understand her excitement, but Theodora hoped that he remained unaware
of her growing nervousness. She was encountering vistas seen by no other white woman, except perhaps the two missionary wives who were reported to be traveling ahead of them. And she was seeing it through the eyes of a trained naturalist.
Yet the thrill of each day’s discovery was edged with growing confusion. With every mile they drew closer to the rendezvous and the time when she must tell Blade that, although she loved him, she couldn’t possibly marry him. She deeply regretted the words of love she’d confessed that stormy afternoon, for since that moment he had demonstrated in every way that he hadn’t been speaking figuratively when he told her she belonged to him, that they were one. And that realization filled her with fear for the future, when their paths must diverge.
Bit by bit, she had come to realize that he’d meant every word in its most literal sense: She belonged to him. Not in the way he owned his horse or his gun, but rather as though she were actually a part of him. His care of her was natural and effortless. Instinctively, she knew he would no more hurt her or allow her to come to harm, than he would cut off his own hand. With a growing sense of panic she recalled the words he’d spoken when he’d first made love to her: I will never let you go.
Yet when the expedition was over, he must let her go. She must return to her family and the course in life she’d already chosen.
At last the trail left the Sweetwater and they camped at Pacific Spring. That evening, after sharing a meal with Chief Painted Robe and Snow Owl, instead of walking her to their lodge, Blade led Theodora down to the creek. He sat on a boulder and pulled her to him. Holding her thighs securely between his knees, he captured her hips with his hands. “Now suppose you tell me what’s been bothering you for the last two days.”
She looked down at him, then glanced away. She’d been dreading this conversation, hoping to put it off until they arrived at Horse Creek. But apparently he wasn’t about to let her keep her thoughts, or her worries, to herself .
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