by Karen Kay
Though she was too innocent to understand his meaning, she smiled up at him.
“But tell me, are you suggesting what I think you are?” he asked, and if his voice were a little seductive, he could not very well be blamed for it. While he had brought her to the peak of her pleasure, he had yet to meet his.
“Yes, I am.” She glanced down at him. “I believe, however, that you still have on too many clothes for where my thoughts tend.”
He gazed downward. “So I do.” As he sat up, he began to tug at the strings that held his breechcloth and leggings in place. “This is, indeed, a lucky day for me.”
Her laugh was soft, feminine, completely sensual, and he felt himself stir to life more vigorously than ever.
At last he had untied the strings that held up his breechcloth and leggings, and the soft buckskin fell gently onto the blanket of their mat.
He then came down to lay over her, and using his forearms, he kept himself from leaning into her.
Her glance skimmed down to that portion of his body that declared him male, then she looked quickly back up at him, and with eyes slightly rounded, she said, “I know I said this once before, but…you are big.”
This time he did laugh. “Only at times like this. Come, it might be easier for you if I were to lie down by your side.”
She nodded, and she scooted over to make room for him. “May I…may I touch…you…there?”
Ah, how he enjoyed this. “It is my hope that you will.”
His grin was one of complete happiness as he brought his weight to the side of her, aware that he was finding more and more reason to love this woman.
Then she touched him, and his seed practically burst from him.
“Should I kiss you like you have done to me?”
“I would be most honored.”
She didn’t appear to need further inducement, for she began to make love to him at once, running her fingertips over his face, his neck, down to his chest. He groaned with appreciation, pleased to observe that the sounds he made seemed to give her confidence.
Onward and downward she proceeded. Now it was his turn to squirm, for even this simple action nearly drove him over the edge.
But then she was scooting lower, her breasts touching him in so many intimate places. He sucked in his breath, hoping for control. And then she touched him there, first with her fingers, then with her tongue. He moaned, jerking upward involuntarily.
Oh, how he would love nothing more than to bury himself into the soft warmth that was hers. But of course, given her condition, he could not.
Odd, how no sooner had the thought occurred to him, than she was taking the whole of him into her mouth, running her tongue gently up and down his shaft. At that moment, he forgot all about burying himself within her. This was quite enough.
In fact, all at once, he pulled himself out of her mouth and emptied his seed against her abdomen.
His spirit soared, for he realized a very deep secret. Only a woman genuinely in love with a man would perform such a duty.
She loved him.
She didn’t have to tell him, she might never tell him. It was enough to simply know. And like a crazy man, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.
“Hmm,” he said, as he rolled to her side, keeping her well within his arms. “Hmm, I have only this to say to you, my wife. Cante’kiyusa.”
“Oh? What does that mean?”
“It means that for good or for ill, I hold you in my heart. I give you my love, and I hope that in the future I will earn yours.”
She didn’t respond, but then, he hadn’t expected her to.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lightning crashed above her, around her, the acrid scent lending the air the sickening odor of poisonous gas. She stood defenseless in the middle of the prairie. Thunder sounded from all directions. It cracked the eardrums, it tested one’s courage, and she cowered before its power. A man—or was he a god, for he was half blue, half gray—stepped toward her.
He was laughing. “I will kill him,” said the god.
“No!”
The god laughed. “I have bested better than he.”
“No!” she cried again.
“Go back from whence you came. You are not wanted here; you do not belong here.”
Lifting her chin, she said, “I belong with my husband. I always will. It is you who is out of place. Go!”
“I belong everywhere,” said the god, “for I am the Thunderer.”
She could think of nothing to retaliate, since this was obviously the truth. She did the only thing she could. She yelled out, “Why do you wish me to go?”
The Thunderer said simply, “Because you are a danger to me.”
“I? I? How can I be a danger to you? You, who are a god?”
The Thunderer laughed. “You will have to discover that for yourself. Or perhaps I should kill you, first.”
He lifted his hand to do so…
Suzette gasped and sat up as though shot from a gun. She was alone.
Where was Black Lion? Was he all right? Was he in danger?
Sunlight streamed into their shelter from between the cracks in the branches. Her pulse was racing, and she inhaled pine-scented air on a deep breath, calming herself.
Glancing around the environment, she took stock of where she was. She was not out in the open, and she was not confronting the Thunderer. She was in a shelter. There was no storm here, and no reason to be concerned.
The dream had seemed very real. But it’s only a dream, she told herself.
Still, her emotions were running rampant, urging her to do something—to leave here to find Black Lion, if only to ease her mind that he was all right.
As if she had conjured him up by her thoughts, Black Lion appeared at the entrance of their shelter, squeezing in through the tight entryway. Seeing her sitting up and alert, he said, “Hau, it is good you are awake, for this day is a pretty one and…” He frowned at her. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong. It is only that I am happy to see you.”
“Happy?” His look at her was doubtful.
“Yes, I am happy,” she defended, then she sighed. “But I am hungry. Have you any pemmican or water or something else to eat?”
He nodded and reached for the food, which he always kept in a rawhide bag. He gave her a handful, a prize she gladly accepted.
“Hmmm, this is good. Did you make this?”
“Hiya, no. Rabbit Leggings made it.”
“Ah, Rabbit Leggings again.”
“She is the wife of my friend, my kola, Two Bears.”
“Two Bears? But I thought you were Two Bears. Are you not also known by this name?”
“So I am, when I am with the Wild West Show. But I am known there as Two Bears only because I took his place with the show. It was Two Bears who was under contract there, not I.”
“Indeed?”
“My friend was too ill to make the journey with the show over the water. He asked me to go in his place and pretend to be he. It is the only reason I have been allowed to remain with the show. People think I am Two Bears and that I am married. Those who are from my tribe, the Hunkpapa Lakota, and who know the truth, keep their silence.”
“Indeed,” she repeated, though she was certain her look at him was one of caution. “Then what you are saying is that Rabbit Leggings is married to Two Bears, but that person is not you?”
“Hau. Hau.”
“And you expect me to believe this?”
“I do.”
She exhaled slowly and cleared her brow. “I do not understand what magic it is you hold over me, but I am inclined to believe you. Come, sit here beside me. I have had a bad dream, and I think I should tell you it, since you were a part of it.”
He did as she asked, and having seated him
self beside her, he offered her more pemmican. “I will listen to this dream, for dreams can be wakan, holy.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “It is rare, however, that a woman would have a dream that is wakan, though it does happen occasionally.”
“Then it is only for the men of your tribe to experience this?”
“Hau, hau. This is so, but perhaps it is only so because a woman rarely seeks to dream, whereas a man must.”
“He must?”
“Hau. Since men go to war and their lives are often at stake, a man will seek to have an advantage over his enemies. He will sacrifice and attend to ritual in order to experience a sacred dream, for these tell him how to have power over his enemies. Most often an animal or some other form of life will take pity on the one who has sacrificed so much and will offer the power of his species to the man.”
“Then a god, himself, rarely speaks to one who is having a dream?”
“Again, it is rare, but it does happen. Have you had a spirit dream?”
“I…I cannot tell, though I seriously question it. Without doubt I have had many a bad dream in my time, and I am certain that is all this is. Still, it involved you, and I was afraid, and—”
“Eat first,” he interrupted her. “If it is a spirit dream you have had, let us honor it in the right way and speak of it in a council. To do otherwise could cause the dream to lose its power, or to recoil upon you.”
“But it is not for myself that I worry.”
“I understand, but let us say no more about it until we have eaten.”
She swallowed the pemmican he offered. “Where have you been?”
“I have been backtracking to see if we are being followed.”
“And are we?”
“We are.”
“Pray, that is bad news. I would have thought they would have given up after a few days.”
“Perhaps most men might. But I think it is the Long-haired Show Man himself who follows us, and he is a scout of some merit. Perhaps he, too, favored your grandmother.”
“I would like to think so, but it is a well-known fact that Mr. Cody has a fancy for opera singers as a rule. Perhaps he objects to losing two at the same time.”
“Maybe this is so, but this does not alter the fact he is following us, and I must keep his progress well within my sights.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She took another bite of jerky. “Did you sleep well?”
He didn’t answer. Rather, he tore off a bit of jerky with his teeth.
She frowned at him. “You do sleep, do you not?”
“I rest.” He took hold of another piece of dried meat.
“Yes, so you have said, but there is a difference between resting and actual sleep. Do you sleep?” she persisted.
He continued chewing over his meal as though it were particularly tough. At last, he said, “Once we are away from the danger that the Long-haired Show Man presents, I will sleep more.”
“In other words, you do not.”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you stay with me, remaining awake, while I slumber, then?”
“Sometimes I do,” he answered after a time. “Other times I backtrack to erase our trail and to spy on the men tracking us. There are four of them. Soon I hope they will give up their search.”
“I too. And when that happens?”
He glanced up at her, sending her a most endearing leer. “Then we might engage in more of this morning’s pleasantries.”
As his gaze raked over her, she was suddenly reminded she was still quite naked.
He fingered the blanket she was using to cover herself, pushing it down her arms. “Perhaps before our council, there is time for another matter of importance. And since the white man’s scouts are a good distance from us… Have you had enough to eat?”
She smiled. “Of food.” She raised her gaze to meet his.
He considered her look momentarily, then he stole a kiss from her upturned lips. “But,” he whispered against her mouth, “you are hungry for something else?”
“I think you must be able to see my thoughts.”
He grinned at her as he pulled the blanket from around her completely, and setting it beneath her, urged her back onto it. “Or perhaps you see mine.”
Whatever was the truth of the matter, it was of little concern to either of them, since it appeared they were both hungry for the same thing. It was several hours before they were anywhere near ready to attend to the council.
Physically satiated, and lying with his wife in his arms, Black Lion let his gaze dance off the sunlight pouring through the cracks in their ceiling. His spirits soared, and he realized he had never felt such joy.
Without doubt, the carnal release was satisfying, but when such delight was coupled with the fact of love, the fulfillment turned from mundane to extraordinary, unlike anything he had ever known.
Love had to be the cause of such joy. Like an exquisite piece of music, love made the erotic as delicate and flawless as a fine-tuned melody. Never had he loved a person more.
Yet, he wondered if the two of them could make a happy life together. There were so many circumstances against them: culture, mind-set, daily ritual, not to mention the prejudice that would surround them always. Could they find happiness in such an environment?
Glancing at her now, he watched her sleep, memorizing the look of her dark eyelashes against the dainty flush of her skin, noticing as well the rhythmic rise and fall of her breast. Her long, dark hair was spread out over his arm, and her full lips begged for a kiss, but he dared not partake. His duty was to scout and to protect, and he still had much work to do this day. If they were to hold a council, he must ensure that the white men were still a full day’s journey away.
With one more loving look at her, he left their shelter to attend to his duty.
It was late afternoon when Black Lion returned to their tiny haven. Expecting to find his wife asleep, he was pleasantly surprised to discover she was awake and dressed. He smiled at her and slid into their dwarfish housing. “I am happy to see you.”
She returned his greeting in much the same manner. “I have been worried about you. I assume you went to scout on those men who are following us?”
“I did.”
“And are we still at a safe distance?”
“We are.” He crawled toward her, taking a position next to her. “And now we have some leisure, I think, to hold that council, unless you object.”
When she indicated she had no disagreement, he produced his pipe from within the parchment bag he carried. “Is this your first Indian council?”
“It is.”
“Waste. Then let me explain the ritual, so you do not wonder about some of the ceremonies. First, the Red Man does not hold council without the pipe, for this is the way we communicate with the Great Spirit.”
When she nodded, Black Lion continued. “Once the pipe is lit, we ask that the Divine Ones listen to our words, and so we offer the sacred smoke to the Sky, to the Earth, to the Four Winds and to the Great Spirit, hoping each one in their turn will hear our words. We use piiksiistsimaan. This is the Blackfeet word for the sacred substance we smoke. It is not tobacco as the white man raises it, but rather a mixture of tobacco with bearberry, red-willow bark and the leaves of the sumac. It is a sacred substance used only in ceremony.”
Again, she nodded.
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Waste.” He lit the sacred mixture in the red-stoned pipe. Once the proper respect was shown to the sacredness of their council, he took several puffs from the pipe. Then he offered the pipe to Suzette.
Suzette accepted the sacred article from him. “You want me to smoke?”
He nodded. “Hau. You…smoke…”
She did as he instructed,
coughing a little with the first puff. He gazed at her with some concern, but mostly with admiration, for it was endearing to watch her, even though it was obvious this was her first smoke.
But she said not a word. Instead, she returned the pipe to him.
Accepting it back from her, Black Lion began their council. “We smoke the sacred tobacco, offering our prayers to the Creator and to our Mother the Earth so they may hear what we say. In accepting the pipe, you should know that one commits himself to a sacred oath, one that promises what is said in this council is the truth, and no alteration. Once the pipe is smoked, no lies must ever fill the air where a council is held, for one is speaking before the Creator, and to lie would be as to curse oneself. Do you understand?”
Suzette nodded.
“Waste,” he said. “It is good. Now is the time for us to discuss your dream. It might be a sacred dream or it could be an ordinary one. Let us determine which it is. Can you tell me of it?”
“Yes. But first, Black Lion, I am urged to tell you I fear you are in danger.”
“That is true. I am in danger. We are in a country that is hostile to any Indian.”
“No, I do not fear that you are in jeopardy from Buffalo Bill, his scouts or other white people. Rather, if my dream is to be considered, I believe you could be in peril from a mystical being, a god.”
“The Thunderer?”
She nodded.
This surprised him, though he tried to keep the look of astonishment hidden from her. As he had said to her before, it was rare enough for a woman to dream as the men did. But to dream of the Thunderer…
If this were true, hers was no ordinary dream. Such a vision was also dangerous for its beholder, since to dream of the Thunderer was to become a Heyoka, a backward person.
A Heyoka did everything topsy-turvy. He washed in sand, was dirtied by water, spoke the opposite of what he meant. He even walked backward. Indeed, to an Indian heart, to dream of the Thunderer was an occurrence no man dare ignore, lest he be struck dead.
Black Lion said none of his thoughts to her. After all, maybe he jumped ahead of himself. Perhaps it had been no more than a simple nightmare.
