White Flame

by Susan Edwards

  Stop this. All you have to do is ask him when he returns. But no matter what she said to herself, she couldn’t stop worrying.

  By dusk, she’d worked herself into a nervous state. When he returned, tired, hungry and only wanting to eat and go to bed, Emma couldn’t bring it up. She couldn’t risk destroying what they had. And when he held his arms out to her, she went. Held securely in his arms, surrounded by his warmth, Emma shivered.

  “What is wrong, white woman? Are you cold?” His voice revealed his exhaustion.

  Tears threatened her at the tenderness in his voice when he spoke those words. Once, they’d been uttered with derision but now, he used them as an endearment. She opened her mouth to ask if he loved her but the words refused to be spoken.

  Closing her eyes, Emma struggled between loyalty to a father she hadn’t seen in nine years and the man who held her so lovingly, whose voice sent warmth darting through her veins. She buried her face against his neck and held tightly to him, afraid he’d fade away. She pressed her naked body to his.

  Though the chill came from within, she whispered, “Yes. I’m cold. Hold me, Striking Thunder. Just hold me.”

  Emma woke to warm breath brushing over her neck. She smiled. Striking Thunder always woke with his need for her in evidence. She’d long ago decided it was silly to sleep with her dress on.

  “You are awake.”

  She kept her eyes closed. “No. I’m dreaming.”

  “Ah, can you feel this in your dreams?” His hand slid over her bare breast, his fingers plucking the beaded nipple.

  Arching into his touch, Emma tried to keep a straight face. “Um, I believe so.”

  “How about this?” His warm, wet mouth closed over the nipple, drawing it into his mouth to suckle. Then he flicked his tongue across the sensitive tip, made much more so by her expectant state.

  She couldn’t answer and when he slid his mouth down her belly, she lifted her hips eager for the kiss he’d plant there. He didn’t disappoint her and when he deepened the kiss, thrust into her with his tongue, she moaned. “Don’t stop.”

  He lifted his head for a moment. “But you are asleep. This is only a dream.”

  Heat pooled in her loins. She throbbed with need and with every stroke of his tongue across the swollen heart of her, Emma gasped. “But what a dream.” Tangling her fingers in his hair, she held him to her, needing the release only he could give her. And he didn’t disappoint. In a burst of heat and flame, she soared to a shuddering ecstasy.

  Striking Thunder moved over her. “Look at me.”

  She focused on his handsome face and smiled.

  “Feel me. Feel all of me. Together we fly as one.” He slid into her slowly, his features contorted with his own need for release.

  Reaching down, she took his male flesh in her hands and caressed him. He groaned and lowered his lips to hers. With quick sure strokes, he set the pace. Emma slid her hands to his buttocks and urged him faster. “Now,” she cried as each stroke pushed her closer to the wondrous peak.

  “Yes.” With one last stroke, his cry rose to mingle with hers.

  Striking Thunder knew he had to get up and start his day, yet he felt reluctant to do so. Holding Emma, listening to her breathing even out, left him content to stay right where he was. She stirred.

  “I love you, Striking Thunder. I could lie here with you forever.”

  Her declaration of love warmed him as it always did and left him feeling a bit in awe.

  “You are my heart. You make this warrior happy. But now I must bathe and make ready for my day or the women will pity you for having a man who is lazy.”

  Emma sat up when he did. Her gaze searched his and he had the feeling that she expected something from him. He kept his tone light so as not to ruin their morning of sweet loving.

  “All know I have the bravest, smartest and most handsome warrior in this village.”

  Though her words were light, there was something in her voice that gave him pause. He playfully mocked a frown. “Only in this village?” Standing, he donned his breechclout then strapped his knife to his calf. Another one dangled from the thong around his waist.

  Her eyes held a hint of sadness and worry, as did her voice. “In all the land.”

  No longer able to deny something was wrong, he returned to her. Squatting, he tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes. The paler-than-normal color signaled her fears. “What troubles you?”

  She tried to pull away. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  “Liar,” he said. “Tell me.”

  Her gaze searched his. “Do you love me?”

  The question took him aback. He thought it obvious that he did. “Do my actions not prove my feelings?”

  “You have never said the words.”

  He frowned. “Are words more important than actions? Did I not just show my love to you?” When she remained silent, he realized she truly needed to hear the words. Cupping her face, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  “Yes, kiyapi kahaha kin, flame of my heart. This warrior loves you.”

  Relief spread across Emma’s features and brightened her eyes. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

  “Always.”

  With a cry, she threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad. I was afraid you didn’t love me and that you would send me back. Now we can be together forever. We can send word to my father not to search for me or Renny. I’ll tell him I’m happy and want to stay here.”

  Striking Thunder went still. He pulled back. Emma stared at him, her gaze wide and questioning. He stood. His stomach felt like a great stone had just dropped in it.

  Emma got to her knees. “Striking Thunder, I love you. Things have changed.” She licked her lips. “My father. You won’t—I mean, you no longer need—”

  “Revenge?” he asked softly, fighting to control the rising fear inside him.

  She nodded. “You have me. We have our love.”

  Striking Thunder slung his quiver of arrows over his shoulder. “Our love has nothing to do with what must be done.”

  Emma shook her head. “No. If you love me, you can’t kill my father. You wouldn’t be able to cause me this pain.”

  His heart turned to stone. “I have my duty.”

  “What about me? What about Renny? He is our father. Do you truly expect us to be happy here, for me to stay with you if you murder my father?”

  Striking Thunder turned slowly. “Are you saying if I kill your father, you will leave?”

  Tears fell from her eyes, yet her jaw was set firmly. “If you love me, you won’t do this.” Emma glanced down at her fingers then lifted tear-filled eyes to his. “I can’t stay with a man who puts duty to others before his family, as my father did. He rejected us to go fight his causes.” She eyed him squarely. “And fighting for the rights of Indians is one of them.”

  He snorted derisively. “So you say. I have seen differently.”

  “No. You haven’t seen. You believe the words of a liar. I have my father’s letters, which prove his dedication and while I will admit that it is an honorable cause, Renny and I have suffered because of it. He chose to dedicate himself to others not to his family. I won’t live like that ever again. If you cannot put me and my needs above that of your people’s, then we have nothing.”

  Angry that she didn’t understand and frantic at the thought of losing her, Striking Thunder asked, “What about the pain your father caused the people in this village? Would you deny them the satisfaction of knowing their loved ones’ murders have been avenged?”

  Emma held out her hands, palms up. “There are other ways. What you plan is also murder.”

  “In the eyes of my people, our laws, it is the only way.”

  “You would risk every woman and child in this village over the deaths of a few? The soldiers will destroy everyone here.” Emma lifted her chin. “If you kill my father, you will be responsible for what happens. Can you live with the massacre of your people?”

  Str
iking Thunder didn’t reply but neither did he soften.

  Emma’s shoulders sagged. “My duty is to my sister. Her need to meet her father brought us here. Even though our father has chosen to lead a life away from us, he is still our father. I cannot condone what you are planning to do. I carry his blood in my veins. If you feel the need to kill him to avenge your wife’s death, then you shall have to kill me as well, for I will try to stop you.”

  She stood, donned her dress, then began packing. “Do what you must. I will have nothing more to do with you. I am moving back in with Star.”

  Furious, Striking Thunder glared at her back. But she didn’t turn around. He stormed out of the tipi, hurt and angry. How could she ask this of him? Already he’d put her and his own need for her above his duty. But to expect him to allow her father to go free was impossible. He could not abandon his need for vengeance and remain honorable. For him to do so was wrong.

  He had a duty to his people. To their dead.

  Stopping at the edge of the river, he closed his eyes. But what about him, his needs? What about the love between him and Emma? He loved her, wanted her for his wife—but that was out of the question. Needing to be alone with his turbulent thoughts, he ran along the banks until he reached a secluded area. Stripping, he threw himself into the cold, fast-moving current.

  The water matched his blood. He felt frozen, his heart shriveled into a tight hard ball. How had this happened? He’d allowed himself to believe he could keep his white woman always. Shame filled him when he recalled his vision. In it, Emma had left him. In his fascination and happiness with her, he’d forgotten this. Anger filled him. He’d failed the spirits’ test, and failed his people who looked to him to guide them and keep them safe from the encroaching white settlers.

  They expected their chief to be strong. Wading out of the water, he dressed then fetched his horse and joined his waiting warriors. Together, they rode out across the plains. He was chief. He was beyond normal temptations and weaknesses of the flesh. For just a moment, he’d been tempted to do as she’d asked—to let her father live. More than anything, he wanted Emma at his side, forever, but he could not do as she asked.

  His heart ached, urging him to return to her and put the sparkle of love back in those soul-searing green eyes of hers. But he couldn’t. To do so would be to betray everything that he was.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emma sat, numb with shock, long after Striking Thunder left camp. All her hopes and dreams lay shattered like broken crystal. In seconds, she’d gone through elation that he’d said he’d loved her to stunned disbelief that he would still seek vengeance against her father.

  Finally, she roused herself. Sitting there, wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t change anything. There were plans to be made. She couldn’t allow Striking Thunder to carry out his plan. She had to leave and warn her father and, she prayed, save the village from the wrath of the soldiers.

  At the door to the tipi, she glanced out. She’d miss this life but there was no choice. Spotting Renny across the way, shoulder to shoulder with Morning Moon, a new worry set in. What to do with her sister? Emma wouldn’t risk Renny’s life again by taking her from the protection of the tribe. There were just too many things that could go wrong: capture by hostile Indians, attacks of wild animals or getting lost and starvation. She would risk her own life, but not her sister’s.

  She slid her hand down her belly where a tiny new life grew. Striking Thunder’s baby. By leaving, she risked her baby. That thought alone nearly made her abandon her plan, but then she looked around the tipi at all the familiar faces she’d sketched.

  So many that she’d come to know and love. Little Woman, Star and her family, the children with their round faces and sparkling brown eyes… Her stomach clenched. Oh, God, the children. If Striking Thunder killed her father, it was a sure bet that the soldiers would come and wipe out the entire village.

  And she couldn’t allow that to happen. “No more bloodshed,” she whispered, haunted still by the massacre of the soldiers. Thinking of what she had to do, Emma wasn’t sure what she’d tell her father. If he knew Renny was here, alive, he’d insist on coming to get her. That was out of the question. She had to keep her father and Striking Thunder far apart.

  Well, she’d think of something when the time came. Maybe she’d just tell her father that Renny had been traded. It was the truth, though not all the truth. Then, she’d hire scouts to bring her back out here to fetch her sister. With her mind made up, Emma gathered what she’d need.

  That night, when the moon had risen to its highest position, Emma walked quickly downstream where she’d hidden a bundle of supplies and her mare. She and her sister, along with several others, had gone riding earlier to search for fresh herbs. Using the excuse that she wished to bathe the horse when they had returned, Emma had left the animal hidden.

  Mounting, Emma stared at the peaceful village for one last time then rode off into the darkness.

  Tanagila watched from the shadows. All during the day, she’d observed Emma and knew she planned to run. Stupid woman. She’d really thought by sleeping with their chief, he’d do whatever she wanted. This time, there was no snowstorm to hamper her. And judging from the fury on Striking Thunder’s features when he’d left, he wouldn’t care enough to go after her.

  She rubbed her hands together. Striking Thunder was hers. Slipping inside his tipi, knowing he and some of the warriors were gone overnight to meet with another chief, she twirled around. Soon, this would be her domain. She added more wood to the smoldering embers to keep the fire alive in order to ward off the night’s chill.

  The bits of bark and twigs caught fire. Light danced on the walls, chasing away the deep shadows. Glancing around, Tanagila noted the white girl’s sketches of her people. She would burn them, she decided. But then she looked closer. Not only did she not have trouble recognizing the individual subjects, but hidden inside each sketch, some essence of that person came through. Mesmerized, she lost herself in the study of them. Some she took down and held out to the fire so she could see them better.

  She loved the ones of the children. Happy, innocent and carefree, they brought a smile to her face. Then she found one of her father, sitting stoic and stern. It brought a lump to her throat, for beyond the outward calm and control he always maintained, there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes that lingered from the death of her mother three winters past.

  Tanagila replaced her father’s portrait and turned to go, suddenly unnerved to be here, where she did not belong, surrounded by her people. In the shadows, they seemed to look upon her with sad disappointment. Turning, she froze. There, hanging from a pole framing the door, she spotted a sketch of Tatankaota and some Indian maiden. She took it down with shaking fingers.

  This one was different from the others. It wasn’t just a bunch of charcoal lines. The white woman had used dyes to paint the couple. Seeing him staring at the woman with his heart in his eyes made her angry, until, with a start of recognition, she realized the woman Emma had painted beside Tatankaota was her. That couldn’t be her. There was a softness about the portrayed woman as she stared up into the features of the warrior beside her.

  Love. The truth stared her in the face. Her heart belonged not to Striking Thunder, but to this warrior who offered all he had, including his heart. Shocked, Tanagila realized she’d been blind to her true feelings toward the tall, brave and handsome warrior. She’d only chased Striking Thunder for the sake of her pride.

  The white woman had seen her true heart. With her spirit lighter and her heart filled with the knowledge that she loved this warrior, Tanagila held the painted buckskin reverently. Would the white woman give it to her if she asked? She frowned. She’d been so mean to her and now felt bad. Jealousy had driven her to treat the redhead so terribly.

  Then she remembered. Emma was gone, again at her hand. Glancing once more at the silent and disapproving faces around her, Tanagila backed up. Let the woman go. Let her return to her peopl
e where she belonged. Nothing had changed. In a few days, the plan to lure her father into their trap would be set in motion.

  In the end, Striking Thunder would still kill her father and Emma would still leave. She left the tipi, taking the buckskin picture with her. Halfway to her own tipi, she stopped and glanced around. The white woman traveled alone. It wasn’t safe.

  Beneath the moonlight, Tanagila battled her conscience. Again, she stared at the sketch of herself and Tatankaota. The woman had given them a gift. She’d revealed their true natures, captured the very spirit of The People. Not only that, Tanagila realized with a sinking heart, she’d captured the heart of their chief.

  There was no doubt that Striking Thunder loved Emma. Emma had become one of them. Little Woman had publically adopted her as her daughter.

  And Tanagila, in her mean-spiritedness, had put Emma’s life in danger—again.

  “No.” Spinning around, she realized that she had to go after her. Taking one of her brother’s horses hobbled behind their tipi, she led the animal away. When she reached the edge of the village, she took off after Emma. If she caught up with her in time, they could both return to their tipis before anyone knew they’d left.

  It didn’t take long to catch up with Emma, which surprised her. She’d have thought the white woman would be a lot farther ahead. Then she paused. That wasn’t Emma up riding just out of sight. Someone else was following her. Slowing, not wanting to give her presence away, she palmed the knife she, like all women, wore strapped to their thigh.

  Voices, childish and excited, reached her long before she made out the shapes of two riders on the one horse. She relaxed and put the knife away. Urging her horse forward, she caught up with two young girls who had some serious explaining to do.