Lakota Princess

by Karen Kay

  “Oh, Black Bear,” she said. “What do I do?”

  Black Bear didn’t understand why she said what she did, but he soon forgot to wonder. She was breathing heavily and her hands, of her own volition, loosened the buttons to her outfit, throwing off her jacket, her skirt, her chemise. Layer after layer, she peeled off clothes and Black Bear, unable to look away, smiled slightly to see the amount of clothing hidden beneath her outer garment.

  But at last she stood within his embrace, naked, shivering in the cool, autumn air.

  Ah, the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips. He set her feet on the ground. And while his one hand cushioned her bottom, holding her tight, his other hand reached upward to caress a ripe breast.

  She moaned and threw her head back, and Black Bear almost lost himself. He despaired, wanting her, unsure if he could wait.

  But he needn’t have worried.

  Waste Ho was ready for him, her hands even now untying the strings that held up his breechcloth until at last, he stood firmly within her grip.

  It seemed to excite her and he heard her breathing grow labored.

  He pulled her up off her feet, then, spreading her legs around him and driving himself within her moistened sheath.

  Ah, the sweet warmth of her, the overwhelming strength of her response. She twisted her hips against him as he pulled her closer to him.

  He didn’t need to talk, to whisper or to coax her. She strained against him, seeking a pleasure to which she was no longer innocent.

  And as he held her in his arms, he gazed into her eyes, seeking to witness the desire there in those blue depths.

  She looked at him, her glance filled with longing before throwing her head back, exposing her neck to his kiss.

  And he did kiss her, he embraced her, he rocked her where she rested on him, at the same time restraining himself, waiting until she had reached her conclusion.

  He relished the moist film he felt on her body, he beheld her passion as she twisted against him.

  And as she brought her head back upright, he gazed into her eyes.

  “You are mine,” he said, watching her heated response, witnessing her pleasure build and build. “You are mine,” he whispered again. “Feel me. Tell me, Waste Ho. Tell me you are mine.”

  He heard her moan, he heard her sigh, but she didn’t otherwise utter a word. He listened as her voice grew louder until at last he heard her scream; the silent, autumn atmosphere cushioning the sound. On and on it went, and just as she reached her climax, he whispered, “You belong to me, and Waste Ho, sooner or later you will admit it.”

  And as he reached his own pleasure, Black Bear realized that all between them was not yet won. Waste Ho still held back from him.

  But he smiled. Little did she know, it was not something he would allow.

  It was a vow.

  Black Bear gazed at her from over his shoulder. He watched her as she dressed under the cool autumn sunlight, debating whether he should tell her what he’d discovered or not.

  At length, he said, “Tell me about the aristocracy.” He glanced at her. “How does it work? Why do some people have so much while others have nothing? And how,” he asked, “can such people have power when they do not share what they have with others?”

  Waste Ho, Estrela, looked at him and he stared back. “I am not sure,” she said, at length. “I do know that it has been so ever since they were conquered by the Normans so many years ago. Or perhaps it could be that the English have been conquered so many times by so many different people that they no longer care about one another. All I know is that there is a central group of people who seem to have all the wealth and power and then there are those who cater to them. Why, I do not know.”

  Black Bear nodded. He was silent, studying the frayed saddle that he held in his hands, until he asked, “Do you come from the aristocracy?”

  She hesitated. “The Duke thinks so.”

  “Humph.” Black Bear glanced away. “What would be a good enough reason for someone to want to kill another? Power? Wealth? I do not understand. Are these things alone enough to make someone desire another’s death?”

  Waste Ho sent him a concerned look. She gazed at him a long while until finally she asked, “Why?”

  He looked back at her. “I understand,” he said, “revenge. I grasp why another would seek revenge if only to settle a wrongdoing. I understand the need to defend what is yours. What I do not understand is why someone would want to kill you.”

  He held out the frayed saddle for her inspection. He fingered the leather buckle there, the jagged edges where the leather had been cut. Deliberately.

  He glanced over to her. “Your accident here today”—he motioned to the surrounding area, then to the saddle itself—“it was no accident.”

  She gasped, looking down, then away.

  “Do you have any idea,” he asked again, “who might be doing this and why?”

  Waste Ho shook her head. “No.”

  He sighed. “Tell me, is power and wealth alone enough to have another want to kill?”

  Estrela sent him a startled gaze. “Yes.”

  It was then that Black Bear smiled. “Tell me,” he said. “Why?”

  And as Estrela began to explain about wealth and land, estates and money, title and power, Black Bear began to understand little by little the thought processes of the English.

  He might not agree, but at last he began to understand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You will stay in your room.”

  “I will not.”

  “You will.”

  “You cannot make me.”

  “Shall we see?”

  Estrela stomped her foot. She knew it was childish, but she couldn’t keep herself from doing it.

  “You waste my time,” Black Bear said. “I cannot stay here and guard you. There are others I must speak to this morning. There are other things I must do. Until I am finished, you will stay in your room.”

  “So, you do not allow me to go down to breakfast?” she asked. “You do not allow me to visit with friends? And how am I to eat?”

  She knew she was being unreasonable. Anna could easily bring her a tray. And in truth; someone, just this morning, had attempted to take her life. She should be grateful to Black Bear.

  Perhaps.

  No, she supposed she should thank him and yet, why didn’t he ask her to stay in her room? Why didn’t he consult her, instead of just ordering her?

  She gazed over to him where he stood, staring at her—one moment—another. And she looked back, their gazes dueling. Both knew what they were doing. Both knew that in Indian society a stare such as this meant certain insult, for a Lakota Indian will always avert his eyes to show respect.

  At length he sighed before saying, “Waste Ho Win, you know it is not safe for you to leave your room. Must I remind you of where we have just been?”

  “I have to eat,” she said, “and I had wanted to visit with friends today. There are so many people staying in this house.”

  Black Bear shook his head. “Why do you argue with me about this? Is it not for your own good? I do not understand you.”

  “But I understand you, Black Bear. You think just because you have made love to me that you can control my life.” She placed her hands on her hips, the action emphasizing her next words. “Well, you can’t. You don’t own me.”

  “I most certainly do.”

  She gasped. “What do you mean?”

  He smirked. “Did you not give me your favors, not once, but twice? Did I not find you to be a virgin? Am I not the only man who has known you? Did you not tell me you loved me?” He placed his arms, crisscrossed, in front of him and scoffed. “No, Waste Ho,” he said. “Make no mistake. You belong to me.”

  “Oh!”

  She turned her back on him.

  They stood in her chambers, having just returned to Shelburne Hall. Black Bear had followed her to her room, was even now standing here, making demands; had s
tarted doing so as soon as they had entered.

  What was even more frustrating was that it was still fairly early in the morning. There were only a few other people up and about, only a few people she could speak to at this hour. So why did he demand she stay here?

  Besides, she felt safe within the house. After all, if she were truly in danger, couldn’t the stalker just as easily come to her room? Wasn’t she really safer among other people?

  He might have his reasons for what he did, but it didn’t matter to her, not at this moment. His orders, without regard for her own opinion or her own feelings, wounded her. It was as though she were some imbecile who couldn’t think for herself. A degrading thought, a degrading feeling.

  No, she would not do as he asked. She could not afford to submit to him.

  She reacted instead.

  “You do not own me,” she said it quietly, turning around toward him. Then she looked away, presenting him with her profile. “The only man who owns me is my husband. And that man is not you.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch.

  “I disagree,” he said, his voice deep, with no expression whatsoever. “I did not notice your objecting to me. You are the one who performed the virgin ceremony, otherwise I would have…” He didn’t finish. “Who is this man?” Black Bear continued saying. “This man who marries you and then leaves you, who does not even touch you? I say he is no husband. I say you are not married.” His voice became more emphatic. “You are mine now.”

  She turned her back on him. “I am not.”

  Black Bear sighed. “We argue for nothing. It matters little to me what you say. You gave yourself to me. You belong to me. You will stay in your room.”

  “No! And I…Black Bear.” She spun around. “What?” Her eyes rounded.

  He stood before her, a sheet from her bed in his hands, his knife slashing at the material, making it into…

  “No!”

  He sighed. “I dislike doing this, but you give me no choice. I have told you that you will stay here. I have tried to reason with you. I have tried to warn you. You are too stubborn for your own good. I think I will change your name to Stubborn Woman for all the trouble you give me.” He gazed at her. “But I mean it when I say you will stay here.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  Black Bear didn’t even deign to give her an answer.

  Instead he moved with the silence and speed of a cat, catching her and lifting her off her feet.

  “Oh! Stop this at once!”

  For answer Black Bear threw her to the bed.

  She scrambled away, but he was too quick for her. He’d caught her foot and he pulled her back toward him as she struggled.

  “You can’t do this to me. I do not will it. You will cease this at once.”

  She might have been talking to a stone wall for all the effect it had.

  So she kicked out at him instead. She would have scratched him, too, but he deftly avoided her hands, grabbing her feet and tying them first.

  “Anna will be here soon,” Estrela complained. “She will untie me.”

  “She will,” he said, “but not until it’s too late. I will tell her you are troubled and didn’t sleep well and want to remain undisturbed.”

  “And why would she believe you?”

  He gave her an incredulous look, grabbing her hands as she struck out at him. “Do you think she doesn’t know that I have been with you every night, guarding you, since I first came to this land?”

  “She never said anything to me.”

  “There is nothing that escapes her notice. She is as deft within this household as an Indian is upon the plains. No, she will understand that I have been here, that I have seen to you and that you wish more rest. Only later will she discover you.”

  “Oh!”

  He laughed as he finished restraining her hands. He set about fastening the “rope”, tying her hands to the headboard, her feet to the footboard.

  “How can you do this to me? Not only do you tie me hand and foot, but you strap me to the bed.”

  “After all you have said to me, how can I trust you by yourself? If I don’t bind you, as soon as I leave you will find a knife and cut through these straps. And then you will parade yourself outside where you are an easy target. No, Waste Ho, you will stay in your room as I have ordered.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  He grinned. “I do not stop you.”

  She gave him a curious glance.

  “Of course they will find you naked.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  His only answer to her was a leer.

  His job finished, he looked down on his handiwork, and Estrela swore that he grinned over what he supposed was his own brilliance. She didn’t see the fire in his glance as he knelt next to her at the bed, his hands reaching for her.

  He drew his knife, reaching for her clothing.

  “No!”

  “If I leave your clothes on, you will scream and escape and all my work will be for nothing.”

  “Untie me then,” she said.

  He shook his head. “You will leave,” he said, setting the knife toward her.

  “No I won’t,” she said. “I will take my clothes off. It’s all I will do.”

  He nodded then, sheathing his knife and leaning over to untie her hands.

  She nodded toward her feet while she rubbed her wrists, but Black Bear shook his head, saying, “One thing at a time, only.”

  She watched him closely before she ordered, “Turn your head.”

  And Black Bear laughed. “I think Stubborn Woman forgets,” he said, “that I have already seen all she has to offer.”

  “That’s different.”

  He merely smiled. He didn’t say a word, he just looked.

  But when she hesitated, he drew his knife, and she immediately set her hands to her coat and, taking it off, to her blouse.

  “You could look away from time to time,” she complained. “You don’t have to watch me.”

  “I think,” he said, “that Stubborn Woman forgets that I still have knife.”

  “Oh!” was her only response as she stripped down to her chemise.

  He motioned toward it.

  “I have to take off my skirt.”

  He waved to her then, saying, “Proceed.”

  Estrela harrumphed before carefully pushing her riding skirt to her ankles, Black Bear removing the skirt completely and then retying her feet.

  She sat then, in her chemise. It was her only remaining covering.

  And he motioned toward it.

  She removed it reluctantly, pulling the garment away from her in a lazy, slowed pace.

  But at last the garment was off and as Estrela lay it aside, her gaze sought out Black Bear’s in one, shy glance.

  She looked away and Black Bear, taking her hands, tied them back together, then fastened them to her headboard.

  But Estrela averted her gaze.

  That’s when it happened.

  He started with her cheeks, caressing first one and then the other.

  Estrela stiffened and tried to turn her head, but she couldn’t avoid his touch.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Shh…” was his only answer as he trailed his fingers over her lips, down over her chin, to her neck, finding each and every pulse point along the way.

  “I don’t want this.”

  “I know,” was all he said. “Please forgive me, Waste Ho. You are so beautiful, I cannot keep away.”

  Estrela groaned. And try as she might to pretend indifference, she couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through her body at his touch, at his words.

  He took his time. He stroked her, he fondled her, his fingertips tracing over her shoulders, her arms, her fingers, his palms coming close to but never quite reaching her breasts.

  And everywhere he grazed, Estrela felt the lingering warmth of his touch.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered as his fingers brushed the back of her
neck.

  “Please,” Estrela said, “don’t do this to me. This can’t be right. I feel so wicked.”

  “Shh…” he said. “There is nothing wrong. Have I not said you belong to me? Is there anything wrong with giving what is mine a little…joy? Now, shh… Just feel.”

  He stroked her then, his touch, his every fondle as a kiss upon her heated flesh. She wanted it. She’d deny it if he asked her, but he didn’t. And as she lay there, bound, unable to refuse him anything, she thought she would die if he didn’t soon start to feel her in much more intimate places. She whimpered, she twisted and despite herself, as he caressed her shoulders and chest, she arched her back to him in quiet invitation. Black Bear moaned then, his only reaction as his hands reached out toward those softened mounds she offered him and Estrela sucked in her breath as he molded first one and then the other velvety breast in his hands, his fingers circling their rosy tips. Then gradually, so slowly she barely even noticed, his fingers dipped lower and lower, but still he didn’t touch her in that special place at the junction of her legs.

  Estrela almost screamed her frustration.

  She wanted him. She wanted his touch. But, Lord, she didn’t want him to know it.

  “Black Bear, please stop. I can’t let you…”

  “I wish,” he said, “that I had tied your legs apart.”

  “No!”

  He smiled at her, the warm smile of a lover.

  “I mean no offense, Waste Ho. I only wish to see all of the beauty of you. With your legs together as this, I cannot view…you.”

  “Please,” she said. “I don’t want you to talk to me this way. I don’t wish you to…see me.”

  “You do not?” he asked, his fingertips trailing over her skin to her knees, her feet. “Shall I prove you wrong?”

  “Please.”

  “Please what? Please yes? Or please no?”

  “Black Bear, I can’t… You try my very patience.”

  He smiled at her, and Estrela, despite herself, nearly swooned from the effect of it. This was not the smile of anger, of antagonism, or even a gesture of warmth. This was the look from one lover to another.

  He kissed her then.

  And although Estrela knew she shouldn’t, she surrendered.