The Last Warrior

by Karen Kay

  “My chest? Now?”

  “Now would, indeed, be a most fitting time.”

  He smiled at her slightly. He could not very well help doing so, and he said, as though in challenge, “If I take off my shirt, will you lower your dress for me that I may also see your bosom?”

  Her eyelids lifted to reveal the blue depths of her eyes, which stared up at him so innocently. She whispered, “Do you dare me to do it, then?”

  “If you are to see me without my shirt, then I think it only fair.”

  He was playing with fire and he knew it, for he had no intention of undressing her…or did he? As though struck by a tomahawk, a realization came to him.

  What was wrong with him? There was more than one way to give and receive satisfaction. Yes, the old ones had spent many hours lecturing the young boys on the duties of a husband, but that didn’t mean he had to be stupid about it.

  She was his wife. She deserved pleasure, as did he. There were other ways of making love, and the thought of those ways almost sent him spiraling out of control. But again, he held himself in check.

  “My wife, I will show you my chest, if you like, but realize if I do this, there will be no going back for us. Once we begin going down this path—”

  He had no more than started speaking when she threw herself into his arms. “Would you stop talking?”

  “Hau. I can stop talking.” He gently lowered her back to the ground, whereupon he followed her down. “It is cold.”

  “I am not cold,” she uttered.

  “Still, we will place your cloak over you, for I intend to see you naked.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I may need your help, for the white man’s clothes confuse me, and white women wear so many of them.”

  She smiled at him, and he smiled back. “I do not think that will be a problem.”

  “That is good,” he said. “That is good.”

  Kneeling beside her, he removed his shirt, and Suzette stared at him as though he might have been a Greek statue, rather than flesh and blood. One thing was certain: He rivaled those Greek specimens as to the image of the ideal man. Firm muscles met her vision, a view completely unhampered by the unsightliness of hair. Light and shadows danced over his silhouette, causing her to wonder, was it simply her perspective of him? Was it the way the moonlight shone on him? Or was he truly beautiful?

  Here in the deep shadows of the place where they had said their vows, the moment seemed somehow sacred. Perhaps it was only right that they should consummate their marriage here.

  Exactly how this deed would affect their future life, she could only speculate. In sooth, such reflections didn’t seem important. Right now, all that mattered to her was him and the way he gazed at her as though he adored her.

  She whispered, “I think you are beautiful.”

  He shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “You…you are the one who is beautiful. I have always thought so, from that first instant I saw you. Though our first words to one another might have been said in anger, this does not make a man blind. And I have much admired your physical beauty. Perhaps it was not in jest that I proposed to you on that day. Maybe I was wise in ways I do not understand. I can only now thank the Above Ones for giving me the sense to suggest what I did to you. But come, I am much ready for this, as you are, too, I think. And I have yet to undress you.”

  “Yes.” She sat up, and turning slightly, she presented her backside to him. “I will help you. There are buttons at the back of this dress. I think you could undo those easier than I.”

  “Hau.”

  She felt his fingers against her, and she shivered as tingles raced over her skin.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she replied. “I am…wanting this…very much, I think.”

  At last it was done, and he lowered the front of her gown, but far from being naked, there were yet other layers of clothing to be considered.

  “It is a chemise and a corset,” she whispered, “but these I can easily remove.”

  “I am glad of that. This one piece of your clothing looks unmovable to me.”

  “There are hooks and ties that hold this garment together, and you may have to help me again, for the ties are at the back of the corset.”

  “Hau, I see them. They are quite tight. Ah, now I understand why the white woman has an uncannily tiny waist. She is helped.”

  “Indeed.” Suzette grinned and glanced at him over her shoulder. While working over the lacing, he returned her smile and placed a kiss along her cheek.

  At last, it was done, and Suzette felt the relief she always experienced upon the relaxing of her corset. But the garment looked as though it were glued to her, for it continued to hug her curves. At least it did until he released her from it, pulling the clothing away from her body.

  Then, still kneeling at her back, he reached around to caress her breasts, showering her neck with kisses at the same time. She sighed, leaning back into him and opening herself up to him. “Oh, what you do to me.”

  He mumbled, “And what you do to me.”

  “Hmm…” she purred. “But I wonder, what would it be like to experience the solid contours of your chest up close to mine? Its rigidness against me?”

  “Hau, let us discover this.” He turned her around to face him, pulling her in so close to him their bodies might have been one.

  The sensation was achingly exquisite, and she twisted in his arms, back and forth, up and down, as though she would imprint his image on her. He moved with her, rubbing his body next to her, as if they both were involved in the sensuousness of dance.

  He growled, the sound low in his throat, and she moaned, then murmured, “Your skin is a superb shade of brown—do you see how it looks against the paleness of mine? I wish I were as brown as you. The color is delicious.”

  “Hiya. You are perfect as you are. I would not have you change for me or for anyone or anything.”

  “How you flatter me.”

  “No flattery. Truth. But I think we talk too much.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the bud of her breast.

  He growled, the sound reminding her of his namesake. Moreover, hearing it aroused her, sent her insides into a frenzy, and casting back her shoulders and head, she offered herself to him, as though she were a feast.

  Indeed, he did partake, first suckling on one breast, then the other, his hand kneading the one mound while his lips and tongue relished the other. His free hand slipped down to her pantalettes, pushing them down, until they pooled at her knees.

  Still kneeling before her, his fingers found that throbbing place—down there, at that so very private junction between her legs. She moaned. In reaction, the rigid form of his sex jerked against her stomach. Ah! She moaned again.

  “You are ready for me, I think.” He lowered her to the ground, threw her cloak over them both, and added, “Open your legs for me.”

  It was not within her to argue with him, and she obeyed him at once. But instead of joining himself with her as she had expected, he brought himself down over her belly, rubbing it and spreading kisses over each part of her as his range of activity kept centering lower and lower over her.

  “What is this you are doing?” she asked, not really caring, for it felt delectable. Merely, she was curious.

  He said quietly, “We must not seek our pleasure in the regular way men and women love one another, for harm might come to you or the babe. Rather, we will indulge in a different form of lovemaking that will give us both much pleasure, I think. You will see. Lie back.”

  As she did so, his kisses crept ever so slowly downward. At last, his tongue found her throbbing need, and she jerked upward with the pleasure of it.

  “Oh, my goodness!” she groaned, sighing in complete pleasure. And she really didn’t need him saying “Spread your legs farther” to do so. It seemed th
e most natural deed in the world.

  He kissed her there between her legs, his tongue taking over the duty of what might be considered the more natural pattern of lovemaking. So intense was the sensation, she thought she would surely spiral out of her head. She twisted against him, seeking release.

  But what release that was, she was uncertain. Surely, she had enjoyed lovemaking with William, but it had been nothing like this. Yes, it had been pleasant, but not so acutely exhilarating. As Black Lion continued his ministrations over her, she wiggled and twisted, her body seeming to know what to do, until something began to build up inside her.

  What was this? This had never happened with William. And then it built, and it built, and she was reaching a place, a plateau, then tripping over the edge of it. She groaned with the experience, she moaned, and tiny whimpers sounded from her lips.

  The pleasure went on and on until suddenly it was too much, too sensual. She jerked away from him, coming to lie still beneath him. Her breathing was erratic, and her body shivered in pure ecstasy.

  He had come up onto his forearms over her, resting his weight against his elbows. Grabbing hold of some snow that littered the ground, gently he washed his lips. Then he grinned at her.

  “What was that?” she murmured between gasps. “I never experienced anything like that with William,” she said in all honesty.

  “Did you not?”

  “No. That time with him was pleasant, yes, but this was…this was…”

  Black Lion jerked his head to the left. “He was more than a fool, then, to seek his pleasure without giving you yours. I am glad I am the first to show you the real enjoyment between a man and woman. Very much.”

  “Yes.” A thought occurred to her. “But you? You haven’t met your pleasure, have you? Let me return the gesture.”

  “That would, indeed, be fitting, but I fear it is unnecessary.” When he came up onto his knees, she was treated to the view of a very aroused male. However, taking hold of her hand, he pressed it against him privately, and she was startled at the firmness of him. “It has been too long since I have been with a woman, and as you can see, I have already met my pleasure.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, intrigued, but somewhat disappointed. The thought of doing to him the same that he had done to her was quite arousing. “Maybe yet this night? Later?”

  “Hau,” he said with a moan. “I will anticipate that with much pleasure, Little Blue Eyes.”

  “Little Blue Eyes?”

  “It is the name I gave to you that first day we met. You were wearing blue, and the blue of your eyes was startling to me. I have never forgotten.”

  “Little Blue Eyes,” she repeated with a smile. “I like it. I like it very much, I think.”

  “Then it is what I will call you from this day forward. Little Blue Eyes, wife of mine.”

  Coming down over her, they shared several rare, sweet and elegant kisses. Scooting his weight to the side of her, it was not long before they had both drifted off to a well-earned nap, her cloak gently imparting them both with a warmth they hardly needed.

  Black Lion jerked awake. What was that? Something had roused him. Had it been the crack of a twig against a footstep?

  Alert now, Black Lion remained absolutely still, although his mind raced. If the whites discovered him and his wife here, wrapped as they were in each other’s arms, there would be little point in announcing the fact they were married and committing no crime. Actions could be taken that could harm, while questions might be asked later, perhaps much too late…for him.

  Gently, he roused his wife awake with a kiss, then placed a finger over her lips to keep her from speaking out. He whispered against her ear, “I have heard something in the forest, and I fear we may no longer be alone. You stay here, dress yourself as quietly as you can, then hide in the bushes. I will leave here to go and investigate whether someone is here, or whether we have been joined this night by an elk or a deer.”

  She nodded.

  After grabbing hold of his jeans, he pulled them on, then slipped his feet into his moccasins. He didn’t bother with his shirt or his jacket, for when scouting, whether it was warm or cold, clothes were an encumbrance. As soon as he was dressed, he became instantly the scout. Lowering himself to his hands and knees, he slithered noiselessly away.

  First he searched for clues over the ground close by to them. When he found nothing, he scoured farther afield, his investigation taking him through the bushes and the brambles in the forest, over its rises and falls. Expanding his awareness outward, he let his mind extend into the environment around him, seeking anything unusual in the natural order of things. But he could discern nothing.

  Finally, he saw what he had missed before, there by a stream. A broken twig and the imprints of a doe. He let out a sigh of relief.

  It would seem that for now their secret was safe.

  However, he had no more than relaxed his guard when another detail came all too vividly to mind: You must keep to your purpose. Do not become distracted by ways of the flesh. Though you are married, you, your people, must be willing to sacrifice pleasures of the flesh.

  The voice was loud in his ears, as though his spirit protector were here with him now. He frowned. Why was he recalling this now? It was not like him to forget the warning. A man did not ignore his vision.

  It did, however, cause him to question: Was he distracted? By his wife?

  No, that didn’t feel right, plus he didn’t think his wife was a mere distraction. Rather, what had happened tonight was completely natural. Although, in truth, he would have to admit he had forgotten about his vision, at least for the time when she had held him in her arms. But what man wouldn’t have done the same?

  Remember a man who ignores his dreams merely exists, and much trouble will come to him.

  So had spoken his elders.

  “Eya!” he uttered the word aloud.

  Was he not permitted a brief diversion? She was his wife, and as such, she deserved a husband who would initiate her into the ways of married life. What he had done was not a vice.

  Yet he couldn’t shake the idea that he might have erred.

  Quietly, he played his own devil’s advocate.

  As his tribe’s champion, he was not as free as other men. Indeed, until he had accomplished his task, he was bound by the needs of others. But did those needs include abstaining from relations with his wife?

  No. No man need do that.

  Yet, should he even be married, when he had yet to accomplish the task before him? In truth, until he had met his wife, nothing else had ruled his life. Previously, his romantic encounters had been pleasant, yes, but certainly not as important as his responsibility to his people.

  Perhaps this was what was causing his doubt. Somehow, in some way, she had become as important to him as his own people.

  How could he have let that happen?

  How could she have become the center of his thoughts, when his duty to his people was, as yet, unfulfilled?

  Could it be that she had medicine, strong medicine? For when he was with her, thoughts of his tribe, his duty, his obligation disappeared, as though they were mere obstacles to something greater. Nothing, except her, mattered.

  This was not good. Not that she had done anything wrong. She had merely been female, acting in the role of his wife.

  Rather he recognized that the fault was his. Was a man not supposed to face the rigors of living with a firm resolve? Indeed, as the old ones would say, a man should not be swayed by the physical pleasures of life, nor be cowardly in the face of danger. Instead, he should show fortitude, and perhaps in this instance, abstinence.

  Abstinence?

  The thought was not a pleasant one. Was it even possible to be married to his wife and abstain from the pleasure of her beauty? Even when she so sweetly teased him with it?

  You must ke
ep to your purpose. Do not become distracted by ways of the flesh. Though you are married, you, your people, must be willing to sacrifice pleasures of the flesh.

  Damn! He cursed softly to himself, then sighed. Whether it was possible to forego the intimacy of marriage or not, he knew he had to try. But how?

  Should he refuse to see her? Impossible. Not only was she his wife, he could very little deny that she was also a part of the remedy for his people. After all, was it not her voice from his dreams?

  Here, indeed, was a dilemma. One that could create bigger problems. What to do?

  Should he tell her? Would she leave him if he did?

  The truth is that I want only the fact that I am married legally, so that my child is not born out of wedlock. But beyond that, I want nothing. I will require not a thing from you, not even your presence in my life, for once the child is born, I fully intend to return to England.

  There it was, then. He already had the answer to his question. But might she not have changed her mind about him, especially after tonight?

  The truth was, from the beginning, when she had declared her intentions, a very male part of him had taken up the challenge. Essentially, he had scooped up the dare so easily, he had inadvertently made it his plan to cause her to change her mind.

  It was an intention he still possessed.

  It would appear she distracted him too greatly from his duty. Yet, if he were to keep her with him, he should be ready and willing to satisfy her physical need.

  Unless…

  If he could induce her to love him, perhaps the erotic nature of their life together might become unimportant.

  However, could he make her love him?

  Maybe. He already possessed her passion. Was love not the next stage?

  Did he love her?

  For all that the question was natural, it still startled him. But he was quick to recover; it was a pointless debate.

  Whether he loved her or not, he did desire her, and therein was the root of the problem. He could not have her. At least not until such a time when he had released himself from this nearly impossible duty.