by Beth Trissel
“Not really. I had my way in most matters.”
“You must heed me or suffer. I wouldn’t see you suffer.”
“Nor I. Yet rebellion runs deep,” she said.
“Why resist me? You cannot prevail.”
“If I don’t fight, I fear to lose myself.”
He listened as the words spilled out, and then said, “You will.”
“What?”
“Lose. Yet gain much.” Again he brushed his lips over her face, unable to keep from savoring her. Wrapping her shapely body in his arms, he reclaimed her waiting mouth.
Her compliant lips returned his heated pressure and drove a scorching shaft of need through him. He also felt the desire he’d promised to kindle taking flame in her. “You just lost a little more of yourself,” he whispered.
“This loss I can bear.”
“What of this?” Shoka asked, and loosened her shift, coaxing it over her smooth shoulders.
He pressed his lips down her silken neck, like the rich cloth the priest had described to him, and followed the tempting curve. She shivered under his caress and goosebumps prickled her skin. He wasn’t stopping here. He was too near the milky white swells he had only glimpsed before.
She caught her breath as he tugged her shift lower and slid his fingers over her rounded breasts. Her nipples firmed like full ripe berries and the mounds filled his hands to overflowing, pushing up above his cupped palms. He closed his hungry lips around a plump nipple and lightly suckled it.
She stiffened, her voice an uncertain whisper. “Shoka—”
“Let me love you.”
Her chest rose and fell temptingly beneath him. “This isn’t fair,” she argued.
“No,” he agreed, nuzzling between her breasts and sliding his lips from one nipple to the other.
He could savor her fruits for hours…days. Everything in him wanted her, the wolf, the bear, the hawk, and most of all the man. He’d never release her to her uncle, or to anyone else, and would wrestle her away from Captain Elliot’s tenacious hold.
Let the heavens roar and the mountains tremble, he must have her or be tortured in the flames. She had pierced the cold sadness of his heart and brought him to fiery life. Only she could quench the inferno in his gut, or was it his heart? It was definitely his groin. Only this woman could ease his torment, even if only for an instant. He would take her to himself and the consequences be damned.
“I have longed to have you. I think you will not refuse me,” he said huskily.
Rebecca didn’t agree; neither did she push him away. Even if she’d tried, he would have been hard-pressed to relent now. She gasped as he stripped off her shift and tossed it onto the discarded pile; then she tugged at the edges of the blanket to close it around her nakedness.
He stopped her hands so that she lay before him completely disrobed and drank her in, from those wide eyes in her exquisite face, down over her lovely neck and shoulders, her full creamy breasts, smooth flat stomach, and seductively curved hips. He pushed himself back slightly so that he could also see the curly mound between her thighs and her long slender legs. She was wonderfully, piercingly desirable.
“I wish to look on all your beauty.”
“But John—”
“Is gone. You are mine now,” he said almost roughly.
Her eyes reproached him. “And you think I’ve been with many other men.”
He gentled his tone. “No longer. I only think you are so fair and wish for more light to better see you.”
“But John did not undress me entirely.”
Shoka smiled and bent back over her. “What did he do? Lift your petticoats?”
“My nightdress, thank you. He didn’t come to me for love in the day.”
“No? He lifted your nightdress?”
“Must you say it that way?”
Shoka nibbled her downy earlobe. “How else?”
“Very well,” she agreed with a shiver. “Sometimes he did. And when he chose not to, I had blankets to cover with.”
Shoka chuckled against the steady rain, laughter in the heat of the battle raging inside him. If he could better discern her coloring, he suspected he’d see her cheeks had flushed a pleasing shade of rose.
“You needn’t take on so,” she chided.
“You hid from your husband like a frightened rabbit. Why did he allow this?”
“I was afraid of men. You know the reason. John was careful not to alarm me.”
“Am I alarming you?”
“Yes!”
He took her much smaller hand in his and kissed her palm. “My heart, teakee, is yours. Do not fear to lie with me.”
“Now?”
In reply to her hesitation, Shoka pulled away his breechclout. His male organ was acutely extended. “You torment me. I cannot wait.”
Her eyes fixed on him and her mouth dropped open. “Oh.”
He smiled at her rapt regard. “You stare like a virgin. Yet you tell me your husband loved you well.”
She hurriedly raised her stare to his eyes. “He did. Gently, in the dark.”
“With you hidden under blankets in your nightdress?”
“And he took pains not to reveal his private parts.”
Shoka gathered her against him, relishing every inch of her soft body. “Is this not better?”
“Yes—no!”
He nibbled behind her ear in an enticing tickle. “Both? Which will you chose?”
She nuzzled her cheek against his then lifted her lips to his driving hunger and answered his fervor with open invitation. She offered no resistance as he pushed her mouth farther apart, her lips parting in melting surrender.
Tentatively, she touched her tongue to his, exciting a flaming riot inside him. He meant to be gentle and not to frighten her any more than she already was, but he couldn’t keep from pushing his tongue inside her mouth in deeper and deeper thrusts. When he finally released her lips, she fell back breathlessly on the skin, though not in fear.
He buried his lips in her honeyed neck and she trembled under his sensuous assault. He laid his head on her rising chest. “Your heart races.”
She closed her arms around his shoulders and slipped her fingers through his loose hair. “No doubt.”
He cherished her every concession, her every caress, and slid his hand down over her small waist. “So flat your stomach. Yet, this will change.”
“How? Will you feed me so I grow fat?”
“I will get you with child.”
“What handsome, clever children you would father. I would be glad for you to try,” she said wistfully.
He yearned to take her now, this very instant. He also wanted her invitation. “How glad?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask me to enter you,” he said.
“I’ve never invited a man to do this! ’Tisn’t ladylike.”
“Are you always such a lady, Peshewa?”
“Hardly. But to do as you ask, I couldn’t.”
He cupped his hand around her shapely bottom, spreading goosebumps there as well. “Today by the stream you asked me to hold you. Is this all you wish?”
She hid her face against his shoulder. “No, but, couldn’t you just take me?”
In a heartbeat, like a wild boar. It was all he could do to restrain himself. “Are you asking me to?” he persisted.
“I just thought you would, when you were ready.”
“I wish you to speak your desire. Do you need more?”
“I’ve plenty.”
She loosed a breathy gasp as he slid his fingers down between her thighs. “John did not touch me as you are.”
She closed her fingers around his wrist to try and pull his hand away. Shoka covered her grasp with his free hand. “Why?” he asked, and stroked the dewy folds between her legs.
She could scarcely seem to find her voice. “He was cautious not to distress me.”
Softly, though not too softly, Shoka slid his fingers over her tender bud and furt
her inside her. “Are you distressed?”
She sucked in her breath. “Not exactly.”
He stroked her in rhythmic circles. “Why try to flee?”
“Because—I’m not accustomed to—Oh God.”
“Lose yourself to me, Rebecca. And gain.”
She yielded to his skillful touch, quivering with the urgency that now possessed them both. Her will was no longer her own, but his, and she strained toward him, needing, wanting. “You will drive me mad!”
He blew lightly in her ear. “Why is this?” he teased.
“You know why. Come into me. I’m asking.”
“Finally. I was just about to take you.”
“Shoka—”
He brought his lips hard against hers, stifling her outcry. He was throbbingly ready. His innermost self rushed from the center of his being in a primal thrust.
His shaft fit perfectly in her oiled warmth. She gasped against his mouth at his sudden charge. He should have eased his swollen organ more slowly inside her to smooth her way. Battling the heady haze that fogged his mind, he drew partly out of her for a milder entry, but she arched into his body wanting more.
He surged back inside her, giving voice to his burning hunger. His groans of unbridled pleasure filled the cave alongside her softer moans as he plunged within her like a loosed stallion. He would pay for this ecstasy later, he had no doubt, but for now, all there was in the world was this unbelievable woman knitted to him and his all-consuming need.
She slid her hands down his back to his bare thighs, pulling him closer to her and lifted her legs, curling them around him. “Harder,” she pleaded, in rippling cries.
He obliged her. Never had he known such exhilaration.
Chapter Ten
Dry leaves crunching beneath Rebecca, she yawned and rolled over on the warm skin. Stretching her bare arms out from under the blanket, she opened her eyes to the gray gloom suffusing the low-ceilinged cave. At first it was difficult to focus her eyes. Likely the lingering effects of the brandy. As her vision cleared, she saw a campfire with fresh game sizzling over its cheery flames just beyond the entrance of the stone shelter. The meaty aroma made her ravenous.
She didn’t remember Shoka slipping from her side to hunt; she remembered nothing after falling asleep in his arms, exhausted but deeply, achingly satisfied. Memories of their passion swept back, warming her with fulfillment and embarrassment in one.
She curled her toes inside the snug nest he’d laid out for them. Had she actually begged him for more? What must he think and what on earth would she say when she saw him again?
She searched for her clothes. The sodden pile was gone. Wrapping in the blanket, she crept out from beneath the narrow opening. The shrouded trees were silent except for an occasional bird call and the dripping of rain from the leaves.
Men’s voices drifted down to her from somewhere up above on the foggy ridge. She was closer to the rocky overhang where the war party had sheltered than she’d realized. Perhaps Shoka was up there.
She studied the skinned animal skewered over the low flames. Rabbit, she guessed, but didn’t know if the browned meat was fully cooked or how to cut it without a knife. Her shoes were drying by the fire, though not her stockings.
Thirsty, she walked barefoot over storm-loosened rocks, wading through puddles to a boulder that wind, rain, and time had worn into a shallow basin. Slow-swirling tendrils of mist enveloped the trees as she knelt to drink the rainwater collected in its concave center then straightened uneasily. If anyone or anything came upon her, she was quite alone.
“Shoka should give me back my pistol,” she murmured, hardly aware that she’d spoken aloud.
“Who will you shoot?” he asked.
She startled, spinning around. “You! If you keep sneaking up on me, you’ll stop my heart.”
He smiled. “Your heart is strong. I heard it well.”
Heat rushed up her neck and flooded her cheeks. “About what happened between us, I fear I had too much brandy.”
He smoothed her loose tumble of hair. “Is it the brandy I should thank? You were wonderful, Peshewa.”
“So were you,” she whispered.
“Better than John Elliot?”
“Must you make me speak it?” She closed her eyes to Shoka’s near mythical allure, so like a legendary god’s. “John’s scarcely cold in his grave and here I am lying with his enemy. I don’t know which is worse, you being half-French or Shawnee. I feel such a traitor to him. To them all.”
“Perhaps you lie with me only so I will feed you and give you protection?” he suggested, his tone somber.
Her eyes flew open. “That’s not true! I love—” she halted in mid-flow, unwilling to make that momentous declaration. “I mean—oh, damn it all.”
He cupped her blushing face between his hands. “Rebecca, calm down.”
“But you can’t. We can’t.”
“You prefer to say I forced you?”
“Yes—no. You didn’t,” she conceded.
A red cardinal lit on a hemlock bough, cocking its head with a loud, ‘wheet! wheet!’ then flashed from branch to branch, peering and chirping.
“The red bird is claiming his place in these trees. I am claiming you. Here. Now.”
A riotous clash filled Rebecca at Shoka’s declaration. She wasn’t certain she wanted to be claimed and equally unsure that she didn’t. His piercing eyes seemed to see right through her and his nearness charged the very air around her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. I will do with you as I must.”
His unwavering assertion both thrilled and threatened her. “I should dress,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.
He smiled. “I prefer you as you are beneath the blanket. If you want your clothes, look there,” he said, and pointed.
She could just make out his shirt and her gown hanging from the lower branches of a silver-white sycamore and picked her way over the soggy ground to the mottled trunk. Her shift and petticoats also fluttered in the breeze.
One article was missing.
In sudden uneasiness, she craned her neck, staring up and up until she glimpsed her stays dangling far overhead.
“Oh, dear. My corset is well out of reach.”
“Why speak this? You said you wished to throw it away.”
“I meant to remove something from it first,” she said.
“What?”
She tried to appear nonchalant, feeling anything but blasé. “Oh, um…some coins.”
Shoka’s eyes widened. “Many?”
“It’s difficult to explain,” she faltered. “Promise you won’t be angry?”
He stalked toward her. “Why would I grow angry?”
The censure in his manner only increased her nervousness. “You didn’t promise.”
“Speak first.”
“You remember when I offered to pay you to guide me to Fort Warden? You refused, so I said no more, but—”
“You hid the payment in your corset?” he broke in.
“Quite a bit more than that, actually.”
“How much?”
She gave up and blurted it out. “I’ve sewn gold sovereigns inside.”
He stared at her. “Where did you get the gold?”
“From John before he left the last time. I think he sensed he wasn’t coming back.”
“You told me your husband had little fortune.”
“I never said he had none. John’s father died and left him some property. He sold it and gave me the money.”
The brooding from earlier in the day darkened Shoka’s face. “Why did you not tell me of the coins?”
“I intended to.”
“When?”
“Soon. Have you forgotten your plan to sell me? Was I to tell you then?” she countered indignantly.
Hurt clouded his eyes. “I took you to myself. Do you think to use this wealth to leave me?”
“I did. Not anymore.”
A measured bre
ath escaped him. “Then why this secret?”
She was in turmoil. A flood of emotions churned inside her and she met his question in silence.
“Do you fear I will take all you have to give and toss you aside?” he asked.
“Men sometimes do.”
“I am not those men.”
“I know my own heart, Shoka. I need to be certain of yours.”
“What must I do to gain your trust?”
“What must I do to gain yours?”
He held her hand to his smooth sculpted chest. “My heart beats for you, fair one.”
“It had better. All that I have belongs to you now.”
“I will not rob your coins.”
“Take them. Buy that rifle you wanted to sell me for.”
Shaking his head, he turned with a small smile. “I will get your corset,” he said, and swung himself up into the tree.
She watched him climb branch by branch toward the prize. “You really threw it up there.”
“I never thought to wish this garment back.”
Stomach fluttering, she waited, craning her neck to follow his swift ascent. He climbed out onto the distant limb. The branch swayed with his weight, sending a shower of droplets down onto her. Holding to the limb, he seized her corset and waved it at her triumphantly.
“Careful. Come down now.”
“One moment.”
“Toss it to me,” she said, reaching up her arms. The blanket slipped off her shoulders to her thighs.
“I wish to see this wealth first.” He edged back to the trunk and leaned against it while he studied the cloth. “You made slits and sewed the coins out of sight. Clever.”
Unsheathing his knife, he ripped through the stitches and exposed her cache. “There is more here than the cost of a rifle!” He looked down at her and the enthusiasm drained from his face. “You lost your cover.”
“You didn’t mind before. Why now?”
“My brother stands behind you.”
She stiffened as she felt Wabete push her hair aside. He ran his fingers over the scars that the fading light didn’t conceal.
“You have the back of a Negro slave. Who gave you this punishment?”
The old pain twisted inside her. “My father.”
“White men say Shawnee are savages, yet we do not mark our women, our little ones. A warrior who beats his own is frowned on,” he fumed, pulling the fallen blanket up around her shoulders. “Did you run from this cruel father?”
