by Jenna Kernan
“Something is happening,” she said.
“As it should. It is good. Let it happen.”
“Yes?” she gasped, still uncertain.
“Yes.” He nodded and her eyes dropped closed as she lifted her hips to meet his hand. He wanted to kiss her there, but he would be patient. Her first time should be full of pleasure because a happy woman will return.
He planned to make her happy. So happy that she would never want to let him go. He had to change her mind until she wanted him so badly she would stay and be his wife.
Her release began with a high whine at the back of her throat that blossomed into a cry to break with the contractions that squeezed his fingers with rippling waves. The sensation was so erotic that he almost lost himself right there. That would not do. He wanted to feel her all around him.
Sky collapsed back against the bedding, floating in the lethargy he wished they shared.
He lay beside her, hot and wanting, gently stroking her belly and the outer curve of her breast. His fingers danced over her shoulders, memorizing the line of her collarbone until she began to touch him with greedy hands.
“There is more,” he said.
She met his steady stare.
“I want it,” she whispered.
He rolled on top of her, using his knee to spread her legs. She knew enough to plant her feet and bend her legs, letting him settle between her strong, soft thighs. He drew a ragged breath, trying to take control of that which no man ever completely mastered. She was too sweet and he was too ready.
A thought occurred to him and he paused. If he gave her a child it would be hers. He would lose both her and their baby. He stared down at her, realizing that instead of making her want him, he had accomplished just the opposite. He did not think he could let her go.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I was just thinking...what if there is a child?” he asked.
Her eyes widened and her mouth twitched. He knew then that she wanted his child. But not him.
He felt as if he might cry.
“If you give me a child, I will cherish it.”
But she would raise their child alone or with another man who would make her his only wife.
He felt the need then to make her his in the only way he could.
She looked down between them, at her body ready for his. He wanted to make her his wife in all ways. Watching her, feeling her hand as it stroked down his bare thigh in invitation, was one of the most erotic moments of his life.
He eased gently into her slick, wet folds, but his medicine woman was too impatient. She wrapped her strong legs around his middle and rose up to meet him, taking what he would readily give. Her head fell back and she gasped. He held still, waiting for her to withdraw or move.
Please, let her move.
She did. Away and back, up and along.
She captured her lower lip in her strong white teeth as they moved as one. Her eyelids fluttered shut and then opened wide. She met his gaze with one of wonder and he thought that if he died right now, this instant, his only regret would be that he’d only had her once.
Then her head tossed from side to side as she arched. An instant later her cry came deep in the back of her throat and her body began to contract all around him. The sensation was otherworldly and he came with her in a rush of heat. He collapsed upon her and she gripped him tight. She moaned a protest as he turned to his back but quieted when he gathered her against him and let his fingers caress her back in light feathery strokes. She nestled close. He watched her eyes close, and her breathing deepened as she fell into slumber. He followed her into the land of dreams and slept more soundly than he ever remembered.
Storm woke to the sunrise with the clouds above them bathed in hues of purple and magenta. The light of the day stole across the ground until it touched her face. She held one of his hands with both of hers and her cheek pressed to his upper arm. Her mouth was pursed in slumber, and her cheek was flushed from their lovemaking.
Another day gone, he realized as the regret tugged at him.
He did not wish to wake her. But he had to return to prepare for the raid.
“Sky?” he whispered, squeezing his hand about hers.
She made a sound of protest, unwilling to leave her dreams.
“Sky. Look.”
She opened her eyes and made a sound of wonder as she saw the clouds changing by the moment in the rising light.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
The early sunshine filtered down through the trees. It would be a bright sunny day and already the birds and insects flitted about their camp. A dragonfly landed on a stone beside their gutted fire and then flitted off. It was a good sign. Dragonflies represented water and life. Much better than the owls who usually followed him.
He rolled to his side, so they lay nose to nose. She smiled. His gut twisted at the mix of joy and sorrow she brought. He had to find a way to keep her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She grinned at him and blushed. Then she stretched and her brow wrinkled. “Oh, my muscles are stiff.”
He nodded. “You are not used to that sort of riding.”
She rolled to a seated position and giggled. “That is so.”
He excused himself to say his morning blessing to the sun and to wash. He heard Sky moving about the camp and walking to and from the stream for water. When he returned she had the pemmican ready and two horn cups of icy water waiting.
After the meal, Sky began to break camp. He found her at the stream, filling their water skins. Frost trotted along with him, but, instead of catching frogs, he sat beside his master on the mossy bank. Sky watched his dog and him with interest. She tied the opening of the skin to keep the water from draining away and then came to join them.
He looked across the lake, watching the swallows darting up and down as they caught bugs over the water. The sunshine glittered on the surface in sparks of light. He shook his head and directed his gaze to her.
Beside him Frost whined and lay down with his head resting on his paws.
Sky drew a long breath, pressing her generous mouth into a line of grim determination. He felt the first trickle of unease in his belly spread to grip his heart.
“How are you feeling, Storm?” she asked.
He tried to answer that he was well. But, instead, he stared at the shafts of sunlight that glittered like mica on the surface of the water. Frost barked. Beside him, Sky shouted and pushed at his shoulder. But the water held him tight.
Chapter Seventeen
Night Storm felt it coming this time. That was why Frost had been barking. Storm knew he should lie on his side. But the water before him shimmered, and he almost felt as if he stared up at the sun from beneath the water.
He could feel Sky right behind him, yet her voice came from far away. Her hands covered his eyes and he felt himself drifting. The vision he saw now was of men, creeping through the tall grass along the river, there where the women of his tribe were bathing. They waited and watched. He knew them as enemy, Sioux warriors, a small party. And he knew the women, his women, of the Black Lodges—the wife of Fire Horse and his two older daughters Yellow Bird and Pond Flower. But they did not see their enemy. The raiders waited until all but three had gone up the hill. Then they sprang upon the women, who were taken with hardly a sound. The warriors dragged away their prizes into the grass and toward the horses, more than they would have brought. That meant they had somehow taken women and horses in broad daylight, and the dogs and their scouts had seen nothing.
The vision faded to blackness and Storm saw slivers of light. He blinked, realizing that something warm and soft pressed to his face. He lifted his hands and found two more hands already covering his eyes.
He tried to speak and found he
could. “Sky?”
“Yes!” The relief in her voice was obvious. “Storm, can you hear me?”
She did not remove her hands from his eyes. “Yes. Of course.”
She laughed.
“Did I fall again?”
“No! You did not fall.” She kept one hand tight over his right eye and slowly removed the other. She peered around him. “Can you see?”
He looked at the lake and realized the sun was higher now, because the light did not break on the surface in a shimmering band.
“Clearly,” he said.“I had a vision. But I did not fall. I knew you were there with me the whole time. But I could see other things. How did you do this?”
“Frost knew the spell was coming. You were staring at the water again. It was as if the water had captured you. I could not get you to turn your head or look at me and I could see your face go slack. So I covered your eyes to block the water from your sight.”
He took her hand. “And I did not fall.” His voice held astonishment.
She shook her head.
“Why did I not fall? Why did covering my eyes keep the moth madness from consuming me?”
“I do not know.”
“But how did you know to do this?”
She shook her head, seeming as bewildered as he.
He looked to the ceaseless motion of the lake brushed by Tate, the wind spirit that blew over the earth and in and out of a man’s body. The wind of Tate was the breath of life, the same force that stirred the leaves and brought the whirlwinds. Tate was a great spirit and there was power in the stirring waves, dangerous power. Storm quickly looked away. There was some magic there in the dancing water.
Storm turned to look at Sky’s beautiful smiling face and jubilant expression.
“I had the vision and did not fall.” He took her hand. “Perhaps that means we can control this.”
She squeezed his hand and giggled. “Perhaps.”
He stared at her in wonder. “How did you know what to do?”
“I didn’t. I just knew it was the water that had charmed you somehow, so I shut it out.”
Unfortunately, he could not take her riding and raiding with him. He thought back to the night of the violent thunderstorm when the mighty Thunderbirds had sent much lightning crashing to the earth. There had been no lake then. Yet he had been captured. His head still ached, dully, and he could not think as he wished. Was it Tate, the spirit of the wind, that gave him the moth madness?
Then the vision flooded back and he stiffened abruptly. He started to rise and she pressed him down.
“Wait.”
“I cannot wait. There are Sioux warriors in our camp. Or they will be there soon. I saw them.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am certain. They are coming or they are there.”
“But you nearly had the moth madness. You must rest.”
He straightened. “I am a warrior of the Black Lodges. It is my duty to protect my people.”
“But...”
“We must go.”
* * *
They galloped back to camp. The journey that had taken them much of yesterday flew past on the back of his charging horse. Storm wore his right eye shielded beneath a bit of buckskin tied with sinew and Frost ran, tongue lolling as they went.
She believed his vision held meaning, but neither knew if the raid he foresaw would take place today or had already taken place or might occur in some far-off moon. Storm did not lower her to the ground when they reached the village from the south, below the bathing place. Before them the horses of the tribe’s herds had scattered far along the opposite riverbank. It would be easy to steal the ones who wandered the farthest from the boys who were lax in their duties guarding the horses.
Storm shouted to them to gather the horses into a group and he sent one boy to find Fire Horse and bring him.
He let Sky slip to the ground here, on the shore closest to the village.
“Should I raise the alarm?”
“If I am wrong or if I have the wrong time, what will we say?”
She stared back at him, as uncertain as he felt.
“Go home,” he said. But she did not. Instead, she ran toward the woman’s bathing area, keeping above the cattails and reeds that lined the bank. At this season the grasses were well over her head and she knew they made good cover for a private bath, but also for the enemy to sneak up upon the women unawares.
She reached the bathing area to find many of the women had already left. Several stood on the bank of the river using bits of soft tanned buckskin to draw away the water from their damp skin and then ringing them out to use again. There were five still bathing. She did not know them but saw an older woman beside two younger ones. Was that the family of Fire Horse?
She looked to the opposite bank and saw the grasses move. Something was there. Two more women left the water, so only the three remained. Just like his vision, she realized, and the hairs on her neck prickled.
Sky clutched her skinning knife and called to the women to come out. They paused and turned to her, their conversations ceased. She motioned frantically and their expressions went from calm and cheerful to worried as they trotted in her direction, using their arms to paddle toward the shore.
The first cry came from behind her. She swung about to see Night Storm leading a charge, with his lance lowered. Beside him rode his father and another man who carried a war club with a spiked piece of metal across the shaft.
The women now screamed and rushed toward the men. At the same time four Sioux warriors leaped to their feet and ran from the river, in the direction of the grove of cottonwood on the far bank.
They reached the grove, where she assumed horses waited, as the warriors of the Crow splashed across the river and up the far bank.
The women ran screaming back to the village, and soon more men flooded the riverbank. Most were on foot, but they carried their weapons and hurried across to assist the three in the vanguard.
Sky waited for what seemed eternity, there on the bank of the river beside the others who had come to wait and watch. Bright Shawl introduced Sky to Velvet Dove, Fire Horse’s wife, and his two daughters, Pond Flower and Yellow Bird. Yellow Bird was crying.
“How did you know?” asked Bright Shawl.
“I—I saw the grasses moving on the opposite bank.”
Bright Shawl cocked her head. “That might have been only a village dog. And Night Storm said there were intruders. I saw father mount his extra horse.”
“Owl magic,” whispered Pond Flower.
Sky met the woman’s eyes and felt the trickle of dread at her look of absolute horror.
Bright Shawl quirked a brow at Pond Flower and took hold of Sky. Before Bright Shawl could press her for answers she did not wish to give, the men returned in triumph carrying the bloody trophies of war. These enemies would not be able to haunt the living, Sky realized with some relief, because their spirits would escape through the hole in the tops of their heads where their hair once grew.
She greeted her husband, who no longer wore the scrap of leather over his eye. He pulled her up onto his horse for a hard embrace and a lingering kiss. At last he drew back and she nestled into his arms, her cheek pressed to his. He turned them back to the tribe’s herd, having wisely decided not to join the scouts who even now searched for more enemies.
“It was a vision of the future,” she said, hugging him fiercely as she whispered into his ear. “You are a far-seeing man.”
It was a great gift, to be able to look forward and see what was to be. Such a gift should be shared. But when she drew back it was to find that Storm was not smiling.
“Do not say so,” he said.
“But you must tell your chief and your shaman. Why, you are a shaman, too!”
“But...but...your gift.”
“A curse.”
“Not a curse. You saved them.” She pointed toward the river. “You touched the spirit world. You saw what was to be.”
“I saw the evidence of raiders on our journey home.”
She drew back to arm’s length and stared in shock. Was that what he would say? Then she recalled her lie about seeing the grasses move, which she had, but only because she was looking for raiders because of Storm’s vision.
“Storm, you must tell your chief.”
“Sky, Thunder Horse has his ear. Our shaman is already threatened by your healing skills and he is angry with me for taking you before marrying his niece. What will happen if I tell the chief that I have visions?”
“He will...” Her eyes rounded. “You will be a threat to Thunder Horse.”
He nodded at her understanding.
“He is powerful and he will fight to keep that power. You must tell no one of what has happened.”
“But you are...”
“A warrior. That is what I am. It is best for me to get you to your people and for me to leave the Black Lodges with Beautiful Meadow. That will keep you safe.” He glanced back toward the village. “I wish I could stay. But I must go on this raid.”
“But you just had...” She paused. He had not had a fall exactly and seemed in perfect health. But that was only because she had prevented it somehow. But on the raid he would be alone. “You must not look at water.”
He nodded. “Sky, if I can feel the storm rising inside myself, I can close my eyes or cover my face. If I can control this, then I can ride, hunt and raid again. I can bring many horses and enough buffalo robes to make a large lodge.
“But to deny your gift. It is wrong.”
“If you have healed me, then I can return to my path and you can return to yours.”
“You could marry Beautiful Meadow.”
His face was grave as he nodded. “Yes.”
