by Karen Kay
Ho! His relatives, his clan, and their reaction to his choice in a wife, although filled with uncertainty, was not the problem that Lone Arrow feared.
No, it was something else that worried him. Something that went deeper than the color of one’s skin.
He did not trust her.
Why should he?
And he found himself wondering why a white woman would commit herself to an Indian husband. True, the two of them had a history together, which in itself was unusual. But in Lone Arrow’s opinion, her easy acquiescence was an oddity.
Perhaps his mistrust was ill-founded. Maybe her heart was sincere, as Big Elk believed it to be. But from Lone Arrow’s experience, he knew he had to be cautious.
After all, no matter the friendship his people had shown to the white man, such people as Nate Stormy and his ilk rarely regarded the Indian as being on the same footing as their white counterparts, in trade or even in treaty.
Why should she be different from the rest?
And yet, she was. Instinct told him this was so.
Lone Arrow frowned as he wondered if his intuition regarding her was clouded by desire.
It could be, he acknowledged, for he could not deny that he coveted her. Indeed, he was only too well aware that he physically ached with the need to be with her, to breathe in her earthy fragrance.
In truth, he craved her body beneath his, longed to watch the stirrings of passion take hold upon her countenance. And the image of her body, moving against his in the time-honored dance of love, as it had briefly done this afternoon, was practically more than he could stand.
Lone Arrow uttered a low, masculine sound, wishing he could curb his thoughts as well as he could master the yearnings of his body. But alas, he seemed to be as incapable of ruling his mind as he might be were he trying to change day to night.
“Will you tell her of your duty?”
Lone Arrow lifted his shoulders. “She will come to know of it soon enough,” he said.
“I have never understood,” Big Elk said, “why you have not yet married one from amongst us. You have many coups, though you are young. You are well respected. The right is there for you to do so.”
As was fitting, Lone Arrow thought for a moment before he replied. At last, he said, “I have known The-girl-who-runs-with-bears since I was sixteen winters old. She had been lost from her people and I found her in Ba-sa-wa-xaa-wúua, Our Mountains, The Big Horn. I led her to her people, and then went home to my own. Perhaps my spirit has been entwined with hers ever since then. Perhaps,” he said, “I have been waiting for her to return.”
Lone Arrow glanced at his friend, catching the fleeting look of surprise in Big Elk’s eyes. And then, as though in afterthought, he said, “Although perhaps not.”
And while Big Elk accepted this, Lone Arrow sighed. Truth was, he faced a major problem. One he had no means of solving.
For thousands of years, the Absarokee, or Crow people, had lived, hunted and subsided on this land. For thousands of years, Lone Arrow’s family had been granted the duty of guarding the treasure cave and all the riches within it.
That cave, the cache there, was not his own, nor anyone else’s, to do with as he pleased. Another people had once lived on this land—a very large people, and a small people, if the skulls of these ancient races were indicative of their size.
But no one touched their things. Not their stone arrowheads, not their gold, nor even their remains. To do so would be to court disaster, or at the very least bad luck.
Perhaps the god who lived in the Bighorn Mountains had once been the long ago peoples’ god. Unfortunately, there was precious little tradition amongst his own tribe that explained the god of the mountains, this old race or the things which they had left behind. No tradition, that is, except as had been passed down through Lone Arrow’s lineage.
In truth, he understood little more than this: the Bighorn Mountains and all within it were the realm of the mountain god. And as Lone Arrow’s father had done, and as his father had done before him, it was Lone Arrow’s duty to protect these mountains and the treasure cave.
That also meant defending them from her.
Yet, how could he do that when The-girl-who-runs-with-bears was so determined?
Once again, the thought occurred to him: if only he could trust her.
But he could not. The best thing to do would be to extricate himself from her and this situation, if only he could think of a way to do so.
Unfortunately, The-girl-who-runs-with-bears had secrets and designs that demanded Lone Arrow’s attention, even if he did not actively help her. And this alone, would bring him into constant contact with her.
Alas, the thought of this brought on the awareness of another dilemma.
However, at this moment, Big Elk rose to his feet and stretched. “It is that part of the day when one should seek his sleeping robes with the one he loves,” he said.
Lone Arrow nodded and waved his friend away, wishing at the same time that he hadn’t been reminded of their individual sleeping arrangements. It made him think of her…in that way…again…
Uttering a low guttural noise in his throat, Lone Arrow glanced up toward The-girl-who-runs-with-bears, sending her what was probably his most irritated look. Little did he anticipate, however, that at that very same moment, she would gaze back at him, catching the expression in his eye. He grimaced. For, as they stared at one another, she batted her lashes at him, twice.
Ho! What was this? His body responded to hers, in a most natural way…natural, that is, if they were husband and wife.
Lone Arrow stirred restlessly. Impossible. How could a single glance from her cause his pulse to race?
Worse, The-girl-who-runs-with-bears flicked her hair over her shoulder and wiggled, casually stretching her arms over her head, the action drawing attention to her breasts. Moreover, she sighed, her voice no more than a feminine whisper.
All at once, his blood pumped furiously.
Was she flirting with him? Openly?
Big Elk unexpectedly laughed, interrupting Lone Arrow’s train of thought. It also caused him to switch his attention toward the other couple. Big Elk had placed his robe around Pretty Moon’s shoulders, the effect blanketing the two lovers completely. Such was an Indian’s way of pronouncing to others that he wished privacy.
Soon Lone Arrow knew that these two would seek a more secluded place, leaving him alone with her.
What was he to do then?
Logic and an unswerving sense of duty urged him to wait, to put her at a distance. After all, as the old ones had often counseled, one must think before one acts.
Ho! That was it. He needed some time alone, to reflect upon his choices. Especially at a time when it appeared he had only two paths before him, both of them laden with problems.
Ho! Glancing above him at the star-studded heavens, Lone Arrow made a decision.
Thus resolved, he rose, and without so much as a single glance at The-girl-who-runs-with-bears, he strode out into the night.
So much for Pretty Moon’s lesson.
Carolyn watched Lone Arrow leave. As he disappeared, a flood of contrary emotions filled her. She wanted him to stay with her, pay attention to her, yet at the same time, she knew that something bothered Lone Arrow; she could sense it.
But what was it? And what could she do about it? That is, if she wanted to do something about it.
A series of giggles drifted to her from across the fire. Oh, dear. Pretty Moon’s husband had thrown a blanket over the two of them. Was this an attempt at privacy?
Carolyn debated what she should do. But then, with little to no warning, the two figures moved beneath that blanket, until it looked as though Big Elk had positioned Pretty Moon on the ground.
Dear Lord, was the couple going to make love right here, right now?
Embarrassment consumed Carolyn. She could not stay here.
There was nothing for it. She would have to follow Lone Arrow, no matter that he seemed m
oody and uncommunicative; no matter that he had ignored her rather obvious invitation.
But it was dark, much too dark away from the fire. It had been a long time since Carolyn had been required to face the dark wilderness on her own. At the thought, a shiver of fear washed through her.
There would be animals out there—perhaps snakes.
At that thought, a feeling of revulsion swept over her. Carolyn had always hated snakes.
What if she were to stumble over a rattlesnake?
More giggles issued from the couple beneath the blanket, and with them came the sound of clothing being removed.
That, more than anything else, decided her.
Coming to her feet, Carolyn left the camp, heading out in the general direction where Lone Arrow had gone.
Perhaps, despite the darkness, she might meet up with him. She could only hope, for her own sake, that it would be so.
Chapter Fourteen
The rustling of a leaf, the snap of a stick beneath her footfalls, made her jumpy. She could not see a thing. In truth, the dark reminded her of another time in a very similar place as this. A very hard time that had been for her, too, with fear her constant companion.
“Remember, do not fear the darkness. If you travel in it long enough, there will be sufficient light for you to see where you go.”
She heard Lone Arrow’s wisdom speaking to her through the language of sign from all those years ago. It was as though he stood beside her now.
“When you walk in the dark, you must overcome your natural fear. Only then can you develop an understanding of the living things around you.”
She was trying to do what he had taught her to do, but it was not easy. In her mind’s eye, danger lurked behind every rise in the land, behind every bush. What if she ran into a wild cat?
No sooner had the thought occurred to her than something materialized in her path. She froze.
“You must remain perfectly motionless if danger suddenly presents itself to you. And while the body pauses, you must think quickly, for you must devise an escape.”
The thing was right in front of her. It did not move. And Carolyn called upon every ounce of her strength to remain still. A cloud passed overhead, uncovering the moon.
As the light illuminated her enemy, she drew a deep breath. It was no more than a shrub bush.
Releasing her breath to calm her racing pulse, Carolyn stepped around the bush and tripped down a small ravine. She let out an involuntary shriek.
Drat! She should not have uttered a sound. As she knew from past experience, the night had “ears.”
She sat up and, getting to her feet, climbed out of the ravine. Alas, she had no more than found her footing, than she was hit by a force coming at her from the opposite direction. It was alive, and it grabbed her.
She screamed, only this time it was not a mere shriek. Nonetheless, it seemed to make no difference. Together, she and whatever it was fell back down into the chasm.
They rolled over and over, and Carolyn was too stunned even to cry out, though it might have been her last utterance…
He tumbled with her down the ravine, trying as best he could to shield her from the bumps and scrapings from the rocks and bushes. However, he was sad to note, as she toppled over him, he could not protect her completely.
Why had she screamed? Had she not seen him approach her? Certainly, he had not expected her to fall backward, nor had he anticipated this plunge into a chasm.
There seemed nothing he could do to stop their sliding, either, and as they shot straight to the bottom of the gorge, the best he could do was keep her on top of him. In some ways, the fall seemed to go on forever until, suddenly, it was over.
For a few brief moments, Lone Arrow lay stunned, trying to catch his breath.
It did not take long. Not when, coming to his senses, he found himself lying beneath her, with all her soft curves and her gentle peaks imprinted upon the hard length of him.
Ho! What was this? Like a drop of dew in the warmth of the morning sun, his resolve, so recently made regarding her, evaporated.
His blood rushed to the center of his body, making him more than aware of what it wanted.
He, however, knew he must keep his wits about him. He was aware of how this woman affected him, and he reminded himself that ethically he should not have anything to do with her.
But how was that possible when she lay against him, her position—with her legs straddling him—impossible to ignore?
Clearing his throat, he said in English, “Are you hurt?” To his credit, he refused to lift his arms to his sides, realizing that to touch her would be to undermine his determination.
She did not answer him at once. However, as she nodded, he felt the motion of her head, there against his shoulder. Then she was sitting up, trapping him beneath her. And despite himself, despite his conviction not to, Lone Arrow felt any antagonism he might have assumed toward this woman fade.
He groaned.
At that same moment, as if to tempt him more, moonlight crept out from behind a midnight cloud, its heavenly radiance washing over her in shades of gray and silver. He muttered a deep, low sound in his throat. Was he being tested by the Maker?
How, he wondered, was he supposed to resist her when The-girl-who-runs-with-bears looked more beautiful at this moment than any person, thing, or object he had ever seen?
Worse, she sat above him; her face was mere inches from his own.
This was possibly more than he could stand. Did she know what she was doing to him?
Without warning, she brought up a hand to smooth back her hair from her eyes. At once, his attention drifted down to the imprint of her breasts against her dress.
Again, he moaned. Again, he felt the frantic beating of his heart, as well as the answering rise in his groin.
She said, “I’m sorry, Lone Arrow. I couldn’t stay in the camp.”
And he found it impossible to answer her intelligently. In truth, his voice seemed not to work at all. And so he remained silent.
She continued, “I…I’m sorry. I tripped.”
When he continued his silence, she at last glanced down at him, looking as though she might like to study him as well. What she saw there, however, he might never know. All he was aware of at this moment was that she had moved, wiggling as though she attempted to rise to her feet.
It was, perhaps, more than he could take.
“Humph,” he grunted. He could not keep himself from uttering something. And he certainly hoped she would manage to get to her feet without his help, for he knew if he so much as lifted a finger to help her…
He shifted, but all he accomplished was arousal, as certain parts of his bare body came into further contact with certain parts of hers.
He froze. It had been a mistake to move so much as a muscle, for in doing so, a shock, much like that of a streak of lightning, bolted through him. And Lone Arrow found he had nothing on his mind—literally nothing else—except her.
He wanted her. He lusted for her. He needed her. Right now.
Yet he would not, he could not take her. Had this not been the very reason he had left camp?
Still, despite himself, he found his arms coming around her. And he thought, just once. Just once he would touch her, and then he would let her go.
He reached up to smooth back a lock of her hair, and in that instant, as he did so, he knew pure panic. Worse, as though his tongue belonged to another, he found himself uttering, “Your position does much to remind me that we have not committed the act that will wed us.”
She did not answer, not in so many words. However, she drew in her breath and let it go in a soft, high-pitched sigh, as though she agreed with him perfectly. At last, she said, “Yes.”
And Lone Arrow felt as though he might likely die. Such a simple word from her; such a bizarre reaction from him. And try as he might, he could think of no good reason that he should not have her, should not take her right here, right now.
Perha
ps as a last defense, he whispered, “This is not the time or place to come to know one another.” Contrarily, however, he brought her head down toward him as he lifted up, meeting her halfway.
Even when he knew it was wrong, he found his lips touching hers, softly, gently at first. A mere peck.
He should leave it at that.
But again, she sighed, and Lone Arrow found himself lost to the thrill of her touch. And as pure sexual excitement raced through his veins, he muttered a quickly spoken prayer to the Maker.
For good or for bad, he realized, he was committed to this; he was committed to her. For his own sake, and for hers, he had better make it good.
He kissed her lightly, softly, the caress doing much to tease her, when he whispered, “You must be prepared to feel hurt the first time.”
Her only answer had been a moan, and then he was leaning up toward her, taking her lips once more into his own.
Excitement swam through her veins and Carolyn squirmed against him, barely able to contain herself. What was this pleasure she kept reaching toward whenever he touched her?
She heard Lone Arrow’s low groan before he brought up a hand to grope beneath her skirts. That he was also brushing aside his breechcloth had the effect of exciting her, yet scaring her, all at the same time. And although she could not see that part of him, she did feel the expanse of him against her soft thighs, as she sat above him.
Dear Lord, he was big, and she found herself murmuring, “I am afraid.”
He barely answered her, uttering only a rasping sound from his throat. At length, however, he whispered against her lips, “I think that you compliment me, but do not worry. Your body is meant for this. It will hurt, but only the first time.”
She nodded and gazed down into his dark, dark eyes.
Carolyn wondered if her gaze mirrored the affection she felt. Could he see it? Could he sense it?
Or more importantly, would he even care?
