Night Wind's Woman

by tiffy

  ʺI am cold. You must warm me, Lioness,ʺ he said softly as he pulled back the furs she held up to her chin.

  Orlena watched the firelight dance against his naked flesh, reflecting rosily off his hard, sinuous muscles as he climbed into the pallet with her and took her into his arms. ʺAah! You are cold,ʺ she gasped. But quickly that changed as she warmed him to feverish desire.

  ʺYou cannot ask this, White Crane! You know of my plan for the Spanish woman. She is Quinnʹs beloved!ʺ

  White Crane studied his distraught and angry son‐in‐law. ʺI ask it. She who was Orlena Valdéz among the Spanish is now Sun in Splendor, my daughter. She will be your wife, as is the custom of our people. You will obey my wishes in this?ʺ

  The old manʹs creased face looked like tanned leather, but his black eyes glowed with keen insight. He knew Night Wind would not refuse him, even though he and She Who Dreams had agreed not to tell the young man of his impending fatherhood. One surprise at a time.

  Outside the oblong council lodge where the two men conferred, Orlena sat wordlessly, her heart frozen in dread. They were not telling him of the child; at least that small consolation comforted her. But he was still being cornered, forced into the marriage. She had been a lowly captive. Now she was White Craneʹs daughter. As his son‐in‐law, Night Wind had no honorable recourse but to do as the chief asked and marry her.

  Would I ever have dreamed I would want to marry a savage in a heathen ceremony? For better or for ill, she was a part of this savage scene now, and the Lipan were the only family she would ever again know. A lump of misery welled up in her throat as she thought of Santiago and Conal, now lost to her forever.

  At that moment, Night Wind stepped outside the lodge, his face darkened with fury. He strode over to her in a few long‐legged steps and took her forcefully by the arm. Automatically her chin went up and she walked stiffly beside him, refusing to humiliate herself by making a scene. She could feel curious eyes on her as numerous of the villagers stood and stared, eager to know what White Crane and Night Wind had discussed in the council lodge.

  When they had walked out of earshot, he said, ʺSo my Lioness will whelp in the summer.ʺ His voice was low and controlled.

  A thrill of anger coursed through her. ʺWhite Crane promised not to tell you!ʺ

  she blurted out, then her breath caught. ʺYou will not marry me.ʺ She hoped the tight misery in her chest did not carry in her voice. ʺI told them you would refuse.ʺ

  ʺI will marry you, Lioness,ʺ he replied softly, feeling her stiffen in surprise. ʺI cannot refuse White Crane.ʺ

  She forced out a tight little laugh. ʺYou did refusethat is why he told you about the child.ʺ Her face flamed in humiliation as understanding washed over her.

  ʺIt was not my plan to keep you here. . . .ʺ His voice trailed off in confusion. How could he explain to her what he did not comprehend himself?

  ʺThen send me homeback to Conal and my brother,ʺ she said quickly, determined not to beg or debase herself further.

  His face hardened and he hissed, ʺStill you prattle of that cur Quinn! You cannot go back to him. Think you the fine nobility of Santa Fe would accept the red bastard growing in your belly? That your noble Conal would?ʺ Scorn laced his voice now. ʺWe are bound together by blood, Lioness. It is too late for either of us to look back. We wed tomorrow night, as soon as She Who Dreams and the other women make their preparations.ʺ

  His voice sounded hollow. He was doing this out of a sense of duty to his family, not out of any love for her. That wounded her more than she had ever dreamed it would, even though she had assured her foster mother that Night Wind did not wish this match. ʺYou are right. I cannot return home. You have seen to that.

  Now it seems your hatred of Conal has turned on you, trapping you in your own web of deceit and violence!ʺ With that she broke free of his grasp and turned back to her lodge, where she knew She Who Dreams and several of the village women made wedding gifts.

  ʺI did not know the depths of the hatred eating his soul,ʺ White Crane said sadly to his wife. ʺI had to tell him of the child and actually shame him into the marriage.ʺ

  She Who Dreams watched her husband puff disconsolately on a pipe as they shared a simple meal in their tepee. ʺI have seen many confusing visions, my husband, but know this. As the years stretch ahead, Night Wind and Sun in Splendor will be separated. Theirs will not be an easy path to travel, but they are fated to love. Beyond this I cannot say, but my heart tells me it is enough.ʺ

  Nodding, the old man was content. She Who Dreamsʹ medicine was very strong, her visions always true. Smiling, he said, ʺNight Wind did bring me three of his fleetest ponies this morning, along with six fine antelope hides and a splendid skinning knife he received from the French trader.ʺ

  ʺHe will take good care of his wife and their children. Have no fear. Both are proud and afraid to confess their feelings. White blood must cause much foolish blindness!ʺ

  At her words, her husband chuckled. ʺI warned him when he brought her here that his vengeance would turn on him. He, too, is half white and half foolish.ʺ

  Orlena nervously ran her hands over the delicate quillwork on the satiny white buckskin dress. When She Who Dreams and Gray Fawn had brought it to her earlier, she had shed tears of gratitude. The dress was incredibly elaborate, with yards of long fringe and intricately patterned quills. The buckskin took weeks of preparation to achieve the snowy white color. The dress was to have been Gray Fawnʹs, but her wedding was not to be held until spring, when her groom came from another band of Lipan. She shyly explained that she could sew another gown before then, but Sun in Splendor needed one now. Such generosity touched Orlena deeply.

  ʺWhat do I do at the ceremony?ʺ she asked Gray Fawn. She Who Dreams had vanished into the large council lodge earlier to complete the preparations.

  ʺOnly follow your husbandʹs instructions,ʺ Gray Fawn said in Lipan. ʺIt will be very simple.ʺ

  When her foster parents escorted her into the midst of the assembly that night, Orlena was not at all certain how simple it would be. She could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on her and knew that even more of the villagers waited outside in the chill evening air, for the lodge was too small to accommodate them all. Most marriages took place outdoors during warmer weather, but in this strictly chaste society, few had her reason for a hurried ceremony! When Night Wind saw her, he was rendered speechless by her beauty. If the simple, tanned skirts and tunics of his people suited her well, the exotic white dress was perfection itself! Her skin, darkened by the autumn sun, glowed against the snowy dress with its brightly colored green and bronze designs. Her hair was plaited in two large coils on either side of her head, each intricately fastened with feathers and quills.

  Burnished gold, it did indeed shine like the sun in splendor!

  Orlena gazed at her husband to be, splendidly attired in fitted buckskin leggins and a fringed jacket weighed down with quill work and heavy copper ornaments attached to the long ends of the fringe. The suit was a rich tan color that contrasted with her white clothing. The barbarous magnificence of his tall, dark body robbed her of breath.

  Night Wind walked up to her and clasped her hand, taking her from where she stood between White Crane and She Who Dreams. Leading her over to where the marriage basin stood, he slid off his moccasins, indicating that she should do likewise.

  Orlena looked uncertainly at the large bowl on the ground. It was about six feet in diameter, made of hardened cowhide and filled with several inches of water.

  Night Wind guided her by the hand to one side of the basin, then he walked to the position directly across from her. He stepped into the water and she followed his lead. As he walked in a clockwise pattern around the basin, he motioned for her to circle in the opposite direction until they had each returned to the spot where they began. Then he stepped into the center of the warm water and pulled her to his side, guiding her to step out of the basin midway between their points of entry.

  She Who D
reams waited by the edge of the basin with a soft fur pelt to dry their feet. They donned their moccasins once more and turned to face the assembly.

  White Crane said, ʺI have given my daughter, Sun in Splendor, to the Night Wind as wife. No longer do they walk separate paths. Now their lives are joined together. They begin their journey through life purified by this water. We are bound as family for as long as they both agree to live as husband and wife.ʺ

  With that, the ceremony was ended and everyone began to smile and talk.

  Several of the tribal leaders and shamans nodded. She Who Dreams beamed at Orlena. The younger women began to serve fooda spicy steaming stew full of venison chunks and wild onions, mounds of pounded buffalo jerky mixed with dried fruits and suet, a candy of wild honey and dried raspberries, as well as the staples of corn mush and sotol bread. Looking up at Night Windʹs unsmiling face, Orlena decided that she was not hungry in spite of her recent voracious appetite.

  ʺMust we stay for the feasting?ʺ she asked in a timid whisper, hating the break in her voice as his stormy eyes turned to regard her.

  ʺIt is expected. There will be dancing. The celebrants will wish us great fertility, which does not seem necessary under the circumstances,ʺ he added caustically.

  Orlena bristled. ʺYou abducted me, you seduced me, and you got me with child!

  I do not think this an appropriate time for recriminations,ʺ she hissed in Spanish.

  She Who Dreams hid a smile behind her hand. So, the Lioness had not lost her claws. It was good, for Night Wind was an arrogant man who would soon tire of a submissive wife.

  Night Windʹs face was ominously shuttered as he sat down abruptly, motioning Orlena to do the same. When the foods were presented, she was supposed to offer him each dish and let him eat first. After a terse exchange in Spanish, and her uncertain look over at her foster parents, Orlena did as she was bidden.

  The feted couple ate and drank, watched the ceremonial dances, and then, as soon as he could do so without dishonoring his in‐laws, Night Wind stood up and walked over to White Crane. ʹʹI wish to take my bride to our lodge now, Father.ʺ

  Smiling, White Crane inclined his head. The feasting and dancing would go on long into the night. If only these foolish young ones could share the joy. But he trusted in his wifeʹs visions. With the fulness of time and the birth of this child, all would be well between them.

  ʺEnjoy your pleasures now, for soon you will be denied them.ʺ he whispered with a chuckle to Night Wind.

  Overhearing, Orlena reddened as she followed Night Wind from the long brush arbor. Not as warm or windproof as the hide‐covered tepee, it nonetheless served when a large crowd gathered. They left the noise and warmth behind and walked out into the starlit night, now husband and wife by the law of the Lipan.

  Moonbeams reflected on the thin crust of newly fallen snow.

  The ceremonial wedding garb was beautiful, but not warm. Orlena shivered and Night Wind wrapped his arm about her, then, almost as a reflex action, he scooped her into his embrace and stalked quickly across the silent village to their lodge.

  ʺSoon we will not be able to lie together. Let us enjoy what is ours while we can, Lioness,ʺ he whispered, nuzzling her ear.

  When he set her down and reached to untie the flap of their tepee, she asked, ʺWe are married by your laws. Why can we not . . .?ʺ White Crane had said the same thing earlier.

  ʺOnce a woman is visibly pregnant, she can no longer make love with her husband. It is a religious taboo and supposedly protects the unborn child,ʺ he replied as they entered the warm lodge.

  That bit of Apache folklore dismayed her. As he had said, the only thing they truly shared was making love. At times, she almost dared to hope he was coming to care for her, so intense and sweet was his passion. Now that, too, would end.

  And I will grow fat and ugly, mayhap die in this cold wilderness, alone, in the agony of the childbed.

  Never would she confess her cowardice to Night Wind, or even worse, her need for him. ʺHow soon must you seek your pleasures elsewhere?ʺ she asked tartly.

  He chuckled mirthlessly as he began to undress. ʺYou reason like a Spaniard.

  Now you are Lipan, at least by adoption. Lipan men are not faithless husbands who keep mistresses like the Spanish. Nor are we allowed second wives, as are the Mescalero and other Apache.ʺ

  ʺNo, but when you are gone from this stronghold, spying and raiding among the Spanish, will you be so faithful?ʺ The minute she blurted the question, Orlena knew she did not want to hear his answer.

  Night Wind looked at her stricken face and reached for her, taking her in his arms and crushing the heavy, ornamented dress as he held her tightly and kissed her lips roughly. Then, abruptly, as if the civilized Spanish side of him had gained control over the savage Apache side, he released her. His breathing was erratic and his green eyes glowed in the flickering light. Orlena watched him, fascinated and fearful at the same time. ʺThe dress is very beautiful. If you do not want it damaged, you had best remove it,ʺ he said as he unlaced his buckskin shirt. After peeling it over his shoulders, he tossed it across a buckskin robe and began unfastening his leggins.

  Orlena complied, slowly lifting the heavy dress over her head with loving care, then spreading it carefully across one of the willow backrests sitting by the door of the lodge. In spite of the warm air, she felt a sudden chill, standing naked before him. Her breasts were already growing heavier and her waist had thickened a bit, although as yet no telltale bulge marred her belly. After all their nights and days of loving in the past months, she was suddenly self‐conscious, afraid of the changes in her body.

  Sensing her uncertainty, Night Wind raked her with a scorching look of desire.

  His hands cupped and hefted her breasts, teasing the distended nipples until they contracted into tight rosy buds.

  ʺTake down your hair. I would feel its silk and see it flow freely down your back,ʺ he commanded.

  As she reached up to fumble with the quills and feathers holding the braids in the intricate hairdo, he helped her, pulling the ornaments free, then unplaiting her waist‐length hair until all of its mass floated like a golden cloud about her upper body. He took a fistful and inhaled its fragrance, let it drop back over her breast, then reached up and swept all of it back from her temples until it cascaded down her spine, the curly ends brushing her buttocks enticingly.

  He groaned and ran his hands down her sides, over the satiny curve of her hips, grasping her buttocks and massaging her firm tight cheeks, pressing her against his body. His lips brushed and teased her neck and throat; then he lowered his head and suckled her breasts, alternating from one to the other. At her sharp moan of pleasure, he picked her up and lay her on their pallet, now piled even higher with lavish new pelts and sprinkled with sweet‐smelling herbs and dried flowers.

  As he leaned over her, his hair fell like a black curtain, obscuring his face from the light. Orlena reached up and combed her fingers through the inky mass at his temples, pulling it back, studying the harsh beauty of his sculpted face. The wide, sensuous mouth was parted and his forehead furrowed in concentration.

  Hesitantly, she released his hair, letting it fall as her fingertips explored one high cheekbone, then slid down to caress the strong line of his jaw. Beyond the dark, compelling handsomeness of his face lay something familiar, but the thought was quickly banished as he lowered his mouth over hers, brushing and teasing her lips, allowing his tongue to dip and dart in and around her mouth, tasting her, exciting her to mindless passion.

  ʺYou are so perfectly formed, all golden, my Sun in Splendor,ʺ he whispered. His tongue curled cunningly into one tiny ear while his hand roamed over the swell of her breast, past her waist, around her hip, then moved across her thigh to tangle in the dark golden curls between her legs. ʺEverywhere, sunlight,ʺ he said huskily as he touched her wet aching flesh and felt her legs spread, eager for his penetration.

  Her hands slid feverishly up and down the hard, scarre
d length of his back, her palms pressing into the taut, rock‐like curves of his buttocks, urging his body to meld with hers. ʺNow, now, please, husband,ʺ she whispered boldly.

  Night Wind sank into the sweet, hot void of her flesh, so yielding, yet so tightly sheathing his pulsing shaft. The pleasure was as blinding as the sun; he closed his eyes tightly to concentrate on prolonging the ecstasy. His mind cried out for control, yet his body continued its deep rhythmic thrusts, driven to wild, sweet abandon by his wifeʹs response. My wife. In that surge of passion, the idea no longer appalled him, but rather infused his very soul with a burst of joy.

  Orlena felt his heat and hardness, the desperate possessive drive that caused him to ride her so fiercely, yet it did not frighten her. She reveled in it, in her husbandʹs need, reflecting her own. The simple Lipan marriage rite had touched her deeply with its beauty. She asked nothing, wanted nothing more from life than to have this bond between them continue. Let it never be broken, she prayed.

  Did she ask her Christian Godor that of the Apache? As the shuddering bliss of her release washed over her in shattering waves, Orlena Valdéz, the Sun in Splendor, did not care as long as her prayer was answered.

  Feeling her convulsive pleasure and the soft cries of ecstasy she muffled against his shoulder, Night Wind made several swift, long strokes and exploded, deeply embedded inside her. His eyes were yet closed tightly, but the image of her delicate face floated through his mind as he collapsed, breathless and spent, over her silken flesh. Gathering a fistful of her hair, he gently pulled her head into the curve of his shoulder as he rolled onto his back. She curled against his side like a sylph and put her arm across his broad chest.

  Slowly, as the haze of pleasure dissipated, her fears and insecurities rose anew.

  Sensing a calmness and acceptance in her husband that had not been present earlier, she quashed her private misgivings and asked a harmless question. ʺI could not understand all the Apache words White Crane spoke. What did the ceremony signify?ʺ