Bewitching Bret

by Cheri Chaise

  All I could think of was how wonderful it had felt this morning when Essie had snuggled in my arms, her body warm after being buried under a mountain of furs. Her skin musky and salty from the dried sweat that had seeped from every pore.

  My cock had instantly hardened. I’d wanted nothing more than to strip her naked and taste every inch of her. To lick her skin until my tongue was raw from savoring her succulence.

  Until remembrance of her sister ruined the intimate moment – and sent Essie scampering from the teepee.

  Away from me.

  Another jab to my ribs sat me up straighter. My brother cocked his fair brow and handed the pipe to me to draw from. I took a weak draught to try and keep a clearer head. My uncle offered up a knowing frown as I surrendered the pipe to his hands.

  Now that Cole was aware the chief understood him, it seemed unnecessary for me to attend this ritual ceremony to act as translator. As leader of the Carston clan, it fell to Cole to correspond with and share the peace pipe with the tribal head.

  But with tensions high among some of the younger braves, the chief showed strength and wisdom in keeping up appearances of separation between the tribe and the white man. Showed respect to old and young alike in honoring the old ways while accepting the coming of the new. All in order to preserve the peace.

  Much like Essie with her sister.

  The comparative realization fully awakened my mind with a jolt like the sparks that flashed from the fire as the burning wood shifted.

  Essie hadn’t rejected me. She was only trying to preserve a semblance of peace between her old world and her new. Respecting Abby’s understanding of marriage while trying to figure out how to move forward with what we had found.

  The love that we’d once shared – and she still obviously had for me.

  I’d been rather unfair to my wife. Lacking in understanding of the position she was in with her sister underfoot. For the first time in nearly two weeks, I relaxed with the understanding that no matter what transpired with her sister – whether she stayed or returned with Edna – Essie and I would find a way to come together again.

  As a family. As husbands and wife.

  A disturbance in the camp interrupted the ceremonial meeting. However, my musings were deeply disrupted by the familiar feminine cry just before Essie was thrust through the wigwam door, quickly followed by Abby.

  And Running Wind.

  Cole and I lurched to our feet as one to face my cousin’s husband. Nostrils flared beneath the smattering of smears across his face from the hunt, though whether they were paint or blood I wasn’t about to ask.

  My brother stooped to help Essie up from the ground where she’d fallen. It’d taken everything in me not to shame him by claiming injury to our child that swam in her womb. But then as I stepped forward to do the same for Abby, Running Wind thrust himself between us.

  My blood flowed hot as I stared down the brave. If any harm came to Essie, our child, or even her sister, I’d cut this man’s heart out and feed it to the dog we’d seen on the journey.

  Only the touch of my uncle to my elbow prevented me from doing something rash, and I fought to temper the simmering anger before it exploded.

  “Take the women outside,” I instructed Cole as calmly as I was able.

  No matter how much Running Wind disrespected the elders and his own grandfather by dragging women into the wigwam in the midst of a ceremony, I wasn’t about to do the same.

  A stream of invectives spewed from the brave’s lips the moment Essie and her sister were gone. But before I could respond, the chief interrupted.

  “Silence,” Chief Killing Bear said firmly in the native tongue. Though he hadn’t raised his voice, it still echoed with authority.

  An authority Running Wind was all too happy to ignore as his tone grew more heated and fervent the more his gestures grew wild.

  “You disrespect your elders, Running Wind.” The chief’s voice rang sharply this time. “Sit and be quiet…or you will no longer be my grandson.”

  The shame of disrespect and the threat of disinheritance had the desired effect. Running Wind pressed his lips together and sat in the spot indicated by his grandfather.

  The space where Cole had vacated.

  Right beside me.

  I waited for the dust to settle after he’d dropped into place before I took position again closer to my uncle. Running Wind’s dark eyes focused in on the fire pit. Heat washed over me – but it was not from the crackling coals this time.

  A heavy silence settled over our heads. The chief closed his eyes and began a low chant before sprinkling a handful of herbs across the flames that sent sparks flying into the air and heavy smoke curling in ribbons.

  The chant descended into a muttered wail before Killing Bear spoke again. “It is good to see you have returned safely, Running Wind, and that the white soldiers did not hinder the hunting party.”

  His grandson glanced up. From the corner of my eye, I saw the twinge of a muscle in his cheeks before he offered a single nod to acknowledge the words.

  “And was the hunt a success?” the chief then asked.

  “Yes, my chieftain,” Running Wind murmured, his head bowed low. “The buffalo surrendered his spirit to us.”

  “Then we shall feast well tomorrow to celebrate the naming of your son.”

  The fierce brave’s head jerked up at this news. “You have chosen?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, the Great Spirit has.”

  Confusion painted his face, but Running Wind held his tongue as Killing Bear continued.

  “The shaman said your son’s destiny was to run with the Wolf Spirit.” The man beside me stiffened as if ready to leap through the doorway and race to his family before his grandfather gave him pause. “Instead he bested the Wolf.”

  As the words settled into his mind, an audible sigh escaped the young brave – until Killing Bear lifted a withered hand across the pit toward me.

  “Because of the wisdom of the Carston medicine man.”

  The sigh was sucked back in with a hiss so quickly, I was afraid Running Wind had swallowed his tongue. The minutes ticked by with each crackle and hiss of flame without a word from anyone. Slowly he turned his head to stare at me. I met his gaze, expecting hardness.

  And instead saw the hint of glistening.

  His voice was thick with emotion. “My…thanks, Bret Carston,” he began in halting English, “to…save…my son from…šųktogeja,” he finished with the native tongue for wolf.

  I was shocked into momentary silence that he’d even been able, much less willing, to communicate in my native tongue. The white speech he so hated when I spoke it with Little Red Fox and my uncle on our visits.

  It also wasn’t lost on me how much pride Running Wind had to swallow to demonstrate that he even knew how to speak English in front of not just me but the tribal elders.

  I was so tongue-tied that all I could do was simply dip my head in acknowledgement, especially when his hand settled on my shoulder in a display of friendship.

  For the first time in my twenty-nine years, my pulse thrummed with the realization of true acceptance into the tribe of my father.

  My Sioux brethren.

  My kin.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Estella

  “So what will they name him?” Abby asked curiously as we strolled by the sizzling buffalo cooking over the open fire pit the following day.

  She clutched the sketchbook and case of charcoals in her hand, having enjoyed drawing a group of women as their hands flew along, sewing beads into various articles of clothing for the naming ceremony tonight.

  Bret had been quiet after returning from the ceremonial hut the night before, though that wasn’t so unusual for him. Being around his Indian kin always seemed to bring a certain melancholy over him the longer we stayed.

  Of course, Cole had been outraged at our treatment at Running Wind’s hands, the disrespect shown not only us but the tribal leadersh
ip in bringing women into a sacred gathering of the elders.

  But when Bret finally deigned to share even a little bit about what had transpired after Cole escorted my frightened sister and me back to the shelter of our wagon, I was overcome with joy. Joy I had to hide from Abby.

  But the wonder in Bret’s voice as he described the smidgen of what had happened with Running Wind and Killing Bear deeply affected not only my dusky husband. I bore witness to the sparkle in his eye to hear of the tribe’s acceptance of him. A thrill of desire welled up in my soul and made me want to rush over and throw myself upon him in celebration, giving him both my body and soul.

  But once again, I had to check myself due to my sister’s presence.

  “We will find out his name in a few hours,” I returned, “along with everyone else.”

  “Surely Little Red Fox will tell us if you ask.”

  I shook my head with a laugh, and received smiles from the old and giggles from the young women seated outside their teepees, weaving baskets or stringing colorful beads with deft fingers.

  “Not even Little Red Fox knows.”

  “But she is his mother.” Abby stared at me in surprise. “Does she not have a say in the choice of names? He is her son, after all.”

  “The chief is not only the leader of the tribe, but the head of their family too since Running Wind is his grandson. It falls to the patriarch to have the final word on the matter.”

  “It’s just all so…so…different.”

  “Only because it is unlike what we’ve always known.”

  Abby nodded and graced me with a grin. “Like the differences in the way we dress.”

  I couldn’t help the deep laugh that welled up at her acknowledgement of the words she’d spoken in ignorance back at the ranch. “Taffeta and silk would keep them oh so warm, yes?”

  My sister simply laughed in understanding at my jest.

  Several children squealed and came running our way through the tall prairie grass, their long dark hair blowing behind them in the breeze until they stopped to share the colorful leaves with us that they’d gathered. Their eyes were bright with the thrill of discovery, cheeks reddened with energy as they explored their surroundings in this wide-open world.

  So like my sweet Meghan back home. As would this little one be.

  I placed my hand over the tiny bump of my belly with a sigh as Abby again took up her charcoal. After the turmoil of almost losing that precious little boy, I could hardly wait to return home and gather my young brood in my arms and never let them go.

  Just like Abby had with dresses, I’d been needlessly concerned over the differences in the appearances of my children. Worried that their mere presence would give away the truth about my love for all the Carston men – and theirs for me.

  Damn society and their expectations. As long as each of our children were happy and healthy, that’s all that mattered.

  Wasn’t it?

  Then why was I still so hesitant to reveal the truth to my sister?

  I’d lived a lie these past weeks. Pretended to love only one man, when my heart yearned for more. My body ached to be held, caressed, kissed. Filled by each one.

  By all of them – including Evan someday dammit.

  But how would I go about explaining such love to my sister? Broach the subject in a way that she might understand? Come to accept – eventually?

  Perhaps here, nestled among the cultural differences between the white man’s world and the tribal world that my sister seemed to have accepted so readily, she might be willing to accept the truth. The truth of my new home life. My family.

  But continued contemplation on the subject had to wait, as Abby grabbed my arm and pointed toward the edge of the tree line.

  “Look,” she whispered. “Isn’t that the dog we saw earlier? On our way here?”

  I squinted through the haze as the sun sank on the horizon to see the fair outline of the animal. The limping animal. “I believe it is.”

  “She appears injured.”

  “How do you know it’s a female?”

  Abby just shrugged as she studied the creature across the meadow. “Did you notice a limp before?”

  “Not that I recall, but we only saw it briefly.”

  “She appears to have blood on her hind quarters.” She stared hard a few moments longer before dropping the hand that shielded her eyes and rubbed between her brows as if to stave off a rising headache. “Maybe Bret has something to put on it.”

  “Bret’s here to take care of human patients,” I reminded. “I doubt he’d want to waste precious supplies on a stray animal.”

  “But she’s got to be hurting. Surely there’s something he might do to help.”

  The dog limped back and forth along the tree line before sitting back on its haunches to lick a paw. “We’d have to catch it first. And there’s the risk the poor thing might be rabid.”

  My fears amplified as the group of children made their way closer toward the animal before it darted aside, but still within sight.

  My concern raised yet another degree to hear the twang and stretch of a bow as an arrow was notched and pulled.

  “No!”

  Abby’s cry whipped my head around to see the tall brave who had constantly been in our wake these last few days. His arms didn’t show the slightest strain as he aimed and released.

  Right as my sister jumped into his path.

  The arrow went sailing up into the sky and landed farther afield – but far too close to the children. At the last second, he’d tilted the bow higher to avoid hitting my impetuous sibling as she’d leapt between the taunt bow and the dog.

  Who appeared to have wisely run off into the trees.

  Abby lay sprawled on the ground, the Indian yelling over her in a rapid stream of unintelligible words that I’m sure contained some rather colorful language as my husbands were wont to use in such situations.

  I ran through the scrub to Abby’s side as she sat up and brushed her hair free of bits and bramble while I assisted her to her feet – and took up a position between her and the offending man.

  “You ought to be ashamed,” I scolded, though it was doubtful he understood anything I said. “Shooting at an innocent dog. Yelling at a lady.” My finger waggled in his face as if he were one of my children. “Don’t you know you might’ve struck a child?”

  “I think he’s more worried about almost killing your sister,” Bret called, as he sauntered up with Little Red Fox beside him, having taken a momentary break from the care of her son.

  Bret had changed from his normal attire to that of a proud Indian warrior, the deerskin breeches stretched taut across his thighs. His chest and face were painted with symbols of the tribe and a breastplate of bone, beads, and feathers hung from his neck.

  The conversation between them was brief as Bret took control of the situation with the angry Indian. Rapid fire words descended into clipped one or two word responses between the two. Then a sharp glance at Abby as soon as explanations ceased before the brave stormed off away from the camp.

  “Are you alright?” Bret asked my sister, picking up her dropped sketching.

  “Yes,” Abby responded smoothing out her skirts before accepting the offered pad. “I believe so.”

  He stooped and gave her a hard look, then took her chin in his hand and turned her face to look at her cheek. “Looks like you’ve got a small cut.” He swiped at the bit of blood with his thumb just like he would do with my lips.

  Abby sucked in a breath, her eyes fixed on the sight of Bret’s hard, bare stomach. My heart fluttered and pulse pounded as well to see his flesh on display. I yearned to trace each and every line, ripple, and ridge. To kiss my way down until I could take his full manhood between my lips.

  Taste the salty goodness of his seed as it spilled over my tongue.

  My belly quivered with desire as liquid heat pooled between my thighs. The ache to have him nearly tore me in two.

  “Let’s get you both back, and I
’ll get some salve on that so it doesn’t burn.” His teasing grin was only for Abby.

  Who appeared to comprehend the jest over the onion incident the other day, as she returned his smile with one of her own.

  “What all did that…gentleman say?” I asked.

  Bret cleared his throat. “He was afraid he’d almost shot Abby here.”

  “That was an awful lot of yelling just to say something so simple.”

  “Well, that was more a summation. The rest probably isn’t fit for translation,” he finally admitted. “Or for ladies.”

  Little Red Fox murmured something in the native tongue only Bret would understand, who responded with a chuckle before turning back toward the camp.

  “What’d she say?” I asked.

  “Come on,” he called to us, ignoring my question. “They’ll start soon.”

  Little Red Fox continued on ahead, but I made the mistake of grabbing Bret’s forearm. His eyes flashed with savage fire, however briefly, before he tamped it out with a twitch beneath his left eye. But the flames burned through me. Not of anger but passion. A flood of want burst between my thighs before I released him and took a step back.

  All transpired in the blink of an eye – and right in front of my sister.

  I swallowed the knot of need. “What did she say?”

  But he ignored me again and trudged away in silence.

  I fought against the sigh that wanted to come out with each breath, then shook it off and slid my arm through Abby’s. “Come then, we don’t want to be late.”

  The open fire pit swarmed with members of the tribe by the time we reached it. Everyone prepared for the ceremonial feast by sitting in a circle far enough from the heat’s intensity, but still close enough to participate in the meal as it was passed around.

  Cole kept me tucked up close to his side, spreading our blankets in a place of honor where Running Wind indicated. Seth and Sean occupied the space on my husband’s right while my sister then Bret sat on my left closer to Little Red Fox, Running Wind, and their son.