by Jenna Kernan
“I would have you go with them,” he said.
“Will you come?”
“I have to raid with my friends.”
“Because you need horses for my bride-price or because of your vision?”
“Both.”
“Would you wish me to set out your things tomorrow?”
His grip changed from relaxed to possessive as he drew her tight against his hip. “I would not.”
She longed to ask if he wanted her to stay for herself or because he needed her medicines. Her fear of his answer kept her mute.
“Then I will stay until the gathering as I promised.”
“But I will be away for several days on the raid.”
She tried to keep her breathing even, but the thought of being here without him frightened her. But she also knew that he had a vision, even if he would not admit it aloud. He had seen his closest friends killed. If he could stop that, he must try.
“And I will be here when you return.” She thought her voice held a note of calm quite opposite to the whirlwind of emotion spinning within her.
He squeezed her and then rested his mouth beside her ear. “I wish you would stay to be my first wife.”
The ache in her heart hurt so much she had to rub her knuckles over her chest. She wanted this man, but she did not want to make both herself and Beautiful Meadow miserable.
“But I will not.”
He kissed her temple. “Until the Winter Moon then,” he said and sighed.
He had made a promise to Beautiful Meadow and she had made a promise to herself.
Sky closed her eyes and tried to relax in his arms. She was weary but the gentle rush of his breath against her temple and his hand, familiar across her hip, kept her from finding rest. Storm’s breathing grew even and his hands twitched as he dropped into slumber. But she could find no rest and that was why she heard the first tiny sounds from above.
A scratching sound came from the tops of the gathered lodge poles. She stilled and looked up through the opening of the tepee. The hole that was intended to funnel away the smoke was open to the moonlight. So it was easy to see the silhouette of the bird that had landed on their tepee and now gnawed at the sinew that held the poles fast.
Sky threw her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. The owl rotated its head completely around and stared down at them. Beside her, Storm roused, his body going stiff and his breathing changing. She knew he was awake.
Sky folded her arms over her heart and shuddered. Storm drew her in. Both stared toward the opening of the lodge and the bird perched there.
Death had come for a visit.
Chapter Fifteen
Sky recalled the words of Thunder Horse. He said that she called the owls. Was that possible? Had she called the owls to him?
She listened to see if her aunt and uncle roused but, judging from their breathing, they did not. Eventually the owl vanished while she lay awake beside her husband for much of the night. It was clear from his absolute stillness that he had not found slumber either, but neither wanted to disturb the other or their guests. His nearness and his warmth drew her, and she struggled to keep from reaching out to touch that velvety skin sheathing the iron of his muscles. He smelled of tobacco and wood smoke from this evening and the familiar scents comforted. She had not realized the security that came from sleeping beside a man.
His breath caressed the skin of her neck, making her feel as if her body were on fire. Why had no one told her of the terrible temptation and yearning that would come with wanting a man and not being able to have him?
Well, that was not exactly right. She would have him until the gathering and then she would let him go. She could have him. She just could not keep him.
Out beyond their lodge an owl hooted and Sky shivered. Her husband reached out, pulling her close. He rhythmically stroked her back as the terror that gripped her gradually ebbed.
“Go to sleep, wife,” he whispered.
“What if it is ghosts? I cannot help you if it is ghosts. What if it is the one who struck you, the one that died?”
And what if their shaman was right and she called the owls?
He squeezed her tight and she rested her head on his muscular arm.
“It is not his ghost. They have followed me since my vision quest. But tonight I have been dreaming of them, the owls.”
The terror was back, gripping her heart. Across the lodge her uncle’s familiar snores gave the appearance that all was normal. But she knew better.
“What dreams?”
“I have seen a child lying upon a yellow buffalo robe. I have seen the prayers for his cure rise up to the spirit world with the smoke of the burning sage. But the owls whisper in the trees that it is not ghosts or spirits who plague the boy.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I do not know. I only know I wake as he dies.”
She pushed up on an elbow. “Do you know this boy?”
“I cannot see his face because it is already painted black.”
A death mask, she knew made of bear fat and charcoal.
She was still thinking about the dream when slumber finally took her. In the morning she woke fuzzy headed as Night Storm slipped from their sleeping skins. The birdsong told of morning, but through the hole above her she still saw the stars.
She dozed and then woke again to the familiar chant of her uncle’s prayer to the rising sun.
Her aunt rose and together they made a meal of the remains of the elk mixed with the cattail tubers she had found. The men returned from their bath and the day began. She said goodbye to her aunt and uncle. Her aunt said she hoped to find Falling Otter and would keep watch for him at camp. She was glad to see her niece a happily married woman but worried over the troubles she was having with their medicine man.
“I will speak to Spirit Bear of this,” said her aunt. “We will see if we can help you.”
They touched foreheads and Sky resisted the urge to cry. After all she would see her soon.
“I am so happy to see you with a good husband. It is clear he cares very deeply for you,” said her aunt. “I hope you will come to live in our camp. But, if not, we will see you soon at the winter camp.”
Sky’s smile faltered as she added her aunt and uncle to the list of people who would be hurt when her sham of a marriage dissolved with the rising of the Winter Camp Moon.
She and her husband accompanied them out of the village, with Frost walking close to Night Storm’s side. Storm gave Wood Duck one of the promised horses to carry the hides he had given for her dowry. She waved as her family departed and watched until they were gone.
“I will see you get them back,” she said.
He said nothing to this but his jaw clenched. Frost sat beside them and whined. Both of them looked at the dog and then each other. When Sky looked back, Frost’s tongue lolled and he panted in the rising heat of the day.
“We will leave tomorrow for the raid,” he said.
That pronouncement made her stomach jump. She gripped the strand of white beads in her fist, squeezing them hard as she tried to stop herself from begging him to stay.
“How can I help you prepare?” she asked.
“Fill my water skins with the tea you make me.”
She nodded and set to work as he prepared his weapons.
“I need more Peachwort.”
“I will come gathering with you today, and we will go alone.”
The way he said alone made the hairs on her arms lift up as she shivered in anticipation. He was leaving tomorrow and this would be their last day before he went on a dangerous journey. She knew well that the Sioux were a strong and vigilant enemy.
The thought of his capture or death filled her with a new kind of terror. She was
so afraid for him, but she could not ask him to stay.
“I would welcome your company today,” she said, and earned a smile.
Sky gathered a water skin and collecting bag. Storm took his weapons and saddle. When they left the lodge, Fills a Kettle was there, but Storm told her to stay home. Frost was allowed to trot along with them. Together, they walked back to the herd of horses hobbled in the high grass across the wide river from the camp. Storm accompanied his wife to the river, where they removed their moccasins and forded the wide waterway, leaving their footprints on the sandy shore.
Sky waited as Gallop was saddled and bridled. Storm mounted and swung his quiver across his shoulders. She walked beside their dog as they wove through the herd.
“Do you look forward to rejoining your family?” he asked.
“I look forward to being at peace with my tribe. It is difficult to fight with Beautiful Meadow and her uncle frightens me. It will be good to be away from them.”
Somehow just mentioning their parting made her weary all over and Storm went quiet, keeping his thoughts for himself.
They walked until it would be time to turn back or consider camping for the evening. She stopped only to take the most irresistible and rarest of plants. She found the Peachwort and took enough to last her many days. Frost darted here and there. Storm left her and the horse to pursue their supper. He was not gone very long, and when he returned he carried two ducks on one arrow and Frost carried one in his mouth.
“He is a good retriever, that one,” he said, and Frost wagged his tail. His coat was wet and he gave another shake, making the droplets fly, and the duck lolled in his mouth.
She approached and Frost dropped the duck at her feet, sat and wagged his tail, clearly pleased. She stooped and praised him for the wonder that he was and he basked in the attention.
Before long, Storm had chosen a place to camp and it was lovely, on the shore of the pond with soft tall grass sprinkled with yellow and orange flowers and the cover of spruce and cedar trees beyond. By the time the fire was right for cooking, Sky had the ducks gutted and plucked. She stuffed the cavity with cedar and sage for flavor and set several wild onions to roast. Of course, she saved the most colorful feathers. Frost did not wait for the cooking and gobbled up the leavings as she prepared the birds to roast.
Sky had not brought a cooking pot, so they skewered the birds and sat to wait. Fat dripped hissing into the fire. The aroma of roasting duck was heaven, but the meal tasted even better. After they had finished, Sky stored away the extra food in a parfleche pouch she kept in her bag. The rawhide was colorfully decorated and inside she kept reeds she had filled with various dried herbs and plugged with wax. She steeped his tea and offered it to him.
“You must learn to make this yourself soon,” she said. She tried and failed to hold her smile. Their separation, tomorrow and then at the gathering, forever yawned before her.
The wind came up making their fire flare and then sputter. He added more wood and wrapped a blanket about them. His body heated her as much as the fire and soon the chill had left her.
“Sky, when I first saw you I wanted you. Then when we began this bargain, I wanted only for you to help me. But now I find myself searching for a way to have you as my real wife and still keep my promise to Beautiful Meadow.”
“I see no way for that to happen.”
“I cannot convince you to come with us to the Wind Basin people?”
She bowed her head. “Even if she wanted me as her sister, I would be among strangers again and I would be a second wife.”
“My first wife,” he corrected.
“The one you took out of necessity. How do I explain?” She looked up at him. “I want a husband. But I want my freedom, as well. I do not wish to make a lodge or keep the fires or tan hides. I am a medicine woman. So it is best for me to live alone.”
“Or have a husband who has a wife to do all those things.”
“She would resent me for not doing my share of the work and I would resent her.”
“For what?”
“For having to share you.”
He startled and she could see he had not expected that answer. She regretted her honesty and wished she had not told him that.
“Do you have feelings for me, Skylark?”
She looked away, but he captured her chin in one strong hand and turned her head until their gazes met.
“I will not stay. You will not leave Beautiful Meadow. The rest is just the aching of a lonely heart.”
“I made her a promise before I met you.”
“And you should keep it.”
He nodded, but his eyes glittered with a dangerous light and she felt herself bracing for what she knew would come next. Her mind cried out a warning as her body moved toward him.
Her last coherent thought was to wonder what it would be like to remain his wife. The possibilities flitted before her like a firefly, winking on and then out.
After that it was too late for words, because his mouth was on her throat and his hands slipped under her dress. Her thoughts were scattered, pushed aside by the rising need. Her head lolled back as he lavished attention on the column of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her entire body buzz to life. She felt an unfamiliar throb and hum awaking deep inside her that grew until her skin flushed hot and prickled.
He wore no hunting shirt, just the leggings that tied to his loincloth, the breechclout and his moccasins, so when he pressed her back against his chest she felt the contact of his muscular torso with her exposed arms. He slipped her dress up over her thighs. She shed the unwanted garment and soon he had swept it up over her head. She wore nothing beneath and so sat facing their fire and wondered if she burned hotter than the glowing embers. But she was wet, too, her skin damp, and the place between her legs ached. Was that normal? Her aunt had said that a woman’s body prepares for the coupling with a man. But Sky had not thought to ask how.
Behind her, Storm released the leggings and kicked away his moccasins.
“Turn around, Skylark,” he whispered. “I would see my bride.”
Now her skin went cold and then hot. Would he find her appealing? She had compared herself to other women at the bathing area. She was average height. A little skinnier than some, shorter than others. All the rest of her was ordinary. That was why, when she turned and his breath caught, she felt suddenly embarrassed.
She lifted one arm to press against her breasts, smashing them together, but covering her tightly budded nipples. That was when she realized that her breasts felt different, too. They were heavier somehow, full and very sensitive.
He reached and clasped her wrist and gently drew it away.
She watched him as his eyes cast over her like a net thrown over the water. Who would have guessed that even his stare could bring her to trembling?
“You are beautiful.”
She shook her head. “I am not.”
Sky slipped off her moccasins. She looked at Storm. He still wore his loincloth as he knelt before her. Her breath caught at the sight of him, poised and coiled in preparation to take her to his blanket. But he did not hurry her or press her down. Instead, he waited until she lifted a hand. She placed it on the wide, flat muscle of his chest and let her fingers glide downward. He shivered and she smiled, pleased to know that he also endured this internal storm. When her fingers reached his naked hip she paused, one finger resting on the tie that kept his breechclout in place. She lifted her gaze and met his. His mouth quirked, but the muscles at his jaw bunched as if his stillness cost him much. She lifted her brows in a silent question and he inclined his head just the slightest bit.
Sky tugged at the soft moose-hide waist cord and felt the knot release.
Chapter Sixteen
Storm could not stop the groan of pleasure as Skyla
rk’s cool fingers skimmed over his bare hip. No other woman had made his body sing the way this small woman did. Even the woman he had chosen as wife did not tempt him like this. He had selected Beautiful Meadow not because of her pretty face but because her father was chief and her uncle a powerful shaman. Now his ambitions to marry well had captured him like a rabbit in a snare. The more they kicked, the tighter the sinew grew until it choked him.
He glanced to the moon that had become his enemy. The near-perfect circle was waning now. It diminished with his time with her. How could he keep her and avoid breaking his promise to Beautiful Meadow? Would he really lose Sky forever?
He wondered, if he showed her how perfect they were together, if it would make any difference.
Her hand slid away, and he opened his eyes to see her staring down at him with wide hungry eyes.
“May I touch you?” she asked.
He nodded. He tried to stay still as she wrapped her small hand about him, but it was impossible. His erection jumped and his hip rose to meet her touch.
She gasped. He drew her up to meet him, pressing her naked body to his. The contact rocked him and she released a breath that sounded like a hum. Then he was kissing her and licking and taking small nips with his teeth along her neck and jaw. Her head dropped back. He moved downward, kissing and stroking her fine, firm breasts.
“That feels wonderful,” she murmured, and when he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked she gave a little shout and arched up to meet his eager mouth. Her fingers threaded in his hair and she pulled him even tighter to her breast. Now her hands moved over his back, her nails scoring his flesh and arousing him to greater lengths.
He stroked her belly and the thick dark hair between her legs, finding her wet and wanting. He toyed with her swollen flesh until she began to glide up against his palm. He moved faster and her breathing changed to gasps and moans. He slipped a finger into her body, sliding in and out in a motion he planned to repeat very soon to find his own satisfaction. Her eyes opened wide and she sucked a breath between her teeth.
