Soul of a Crow

by Abbie Williams

  The fiddle sang joyously for us.

  Malcolm ordered, “Sawyer, set down your bride so’s I can dance with her.”

  Sawyer let me back to Earth and I waltzed with Malcolm, mindful of my long hem. Flower petals scattered everywhere, falling at our feet as Malcolm spun me with his usual enthusiasm.

  “Who’s gonna catch the flowers?” Malcolm worried between songs, nodding at the bouquet. “There ain’t no ladies!” He yelped gleefully at Boyd, “Me an’ you’s gotta fight for it!”

  Boyd laughed, plucking a string with his right thumb while turning a peg on the instrument’s neck. He said, “I’d give an eye tooth for a pretty little woman of my own just now, that’s God’s truth.” He winked at Sawyer and said, “You best claim your bride for a dance before Malcolm wears her out. Soon as I sweeten this note, I got a waltz all set for you twos.”

  “Lorissa Davis, come be in my arms,” Sawyer invited, and Malcolm surrendered me to my new husband.

  The fiddle sang for us as we danced, and I understood that I would not trade this ceremony for the fanciest church wedding on Earth. I well knew what waited out beyond the prairie—sprawling towns and thriving cities, hundreds of thousands of people in the Eastern lands; the vast, wild, and far less populated territories loomed in the West, but at this moment it seemed unfathomable that any of that wide, exuberant, and dangerous world even existed. There was this place, there was right now, and nothing else mattered.

  I implored, “Say it once more…”

  “Lorissa Davis,” he repeated, knowing exactly what I meant. The joyous satisfaction in his eyes was mirrored in my own. And then I realized something else.

  “You’re a good dancer,” I marveled, my voice with a note of teasing accusation, and he grinned, both of us thinking of our evening with the Spicer family in Missouri, before we had admitted our feelings to one another.

  “I said I didn’t dance much,” he reminded me. “Not that I couldn’t.”

  “Sawyer James Davis,” I chastised, and his full name was sweet on my tongue, as always. “Whatever will I do with you? Perhaps I will address you thusly when I am angered with you.”

  He lowered his eyelids just slightly and at once I saw him braced over my naked belly as he had been during last night’s thunderstorm. He said with honey in his tone, “I won’t give you cause to be angered at me, darlin’. You are so beautiful, Lorie-love, that my knees are outright weak. You think I’m teasing, but I am not.”

  I looked deeply into his eyes and sent forth a clear and detailed picture of what I wanted to do with him, as soon as possible, and then I was the one smiling so knowingly as he swallowed hard and cast a glance at Boyd and Malcolm.

  “Remember…” Sawyer said to Malcolm, and that was all it took for the boy to nod importantly, scoop my flowers from the ground, and race without a word in the direction of our camp, clutching the wilting bundle.

  “Lorie-girl, give me one more hug,” Boyd ordered, drawing out a final note on the strings. “I am the least romantic fella that ever lived an’ here I am with tears in my damn eyes.”

  I hugged Boyd tightly and then he bear-hugged Sawyer, who murmured, “Thank you, cara d’aois.”

  “You are most welcome, old friend,” Boyd replied, clapping Sawyer’s back with two energetic thumps. “Lorie, the boy an’ I have elected to give you two a bit of privacy this evening. We moved our tent a goodly distance.” He kicked Sawyer’s ankle with these words, and Sawyer grinned and flushed, I could tell even in the twilight.

  The sky had given over to darkness, star-spangled and magnificent. Malcolm raced back, out of breath, and informed us, “All set.”

  “We’ll see you two by daylight, then,” Sawyer said formally, and swept me neatly into his arms.

  “G’night, you lovebirds!” Malcolm yelped.

  Boyd collected up his fiddle and resumed playing “Sweet Liza Jane” as Sawyer carried me to Whistler, who waited patiently for us. We paused at her nose and Sawyer leaned to kiss her between the eyes. He whispered, “Lorie and I are handfast now. She’s my wife. What do you think of that?”

  Whistler nickered, bumping her nose against him. Held in Sawyer’s arms, I lay my cheek upon her warm hide, absorbing the familiar scent and feel of horse. It was a smell as dear to me as any I knew, made fathoms more precious by the fact that this horse loved my husband and had kept him safe for years, had carried him to me.

  Sensing my thoughts, Sawyer whispered to her, “Thank you for bringing me to this night, mo chapall daor. For bringing me to my Lorie.”

  “Oh, Sawyer,” I whispered. His eyes glinted with tears. Whistler nudged my side with her long nose, and I laughed, even as tears fell upon my cheeks.

  “Come,” he whispered, softly kissing my lips. “Let me help you up.”

  He lifted me to her back before bracing his hips and climbing behind me. Once settled, he gathered me close, rocking his hips to set Whistler in motion, while I shivered as his touch glided around my waist to the warm silk covering my belly. Our horse turned smoothly for the camp, as the Carters called heartfelt good wishes, and Sawyer gently swept the hair from my temple and kissed me there, setting ablaze my skin.

  I leaned against the broad strength of him, running both hands over the length of his strong thighs, braced around me. I felt a trembling within him as I continued stroking along his legs, thrilling me. He closed his teeth gently over my earlobe and murmured, “This dress is so soft, and yet your skin beneath it is softer still, and so warm…”

  I grasped his right hand, lifting it to my lips before transferring it to my breast. He exhaled in a rush and caressed me through the silk, my nipple swelling against the material. The campsite came into view, lanterns lighted; our tent shone with welcome. Sawyer nudged Whistler into a canter, dismounting almost before she halted, collecting me into his arms. I opened my lips to take deeper his sweet, stroking kisses, more inviting than anything previously known to me. We broke apart long enough to duck into our tent; Sawyer entered just behind me and cupped my upper arms, whispering against my temple, “I wish I had a feather bed in which to place you just now, darlin’.”

  “No,” I insisted, turning to bring my throbbing heart to his. “I want this moment exactly as it is, here on the prairie. This is just how it should be, truly.”

  He nodded acknowledgment of this truth, slipping his hands over my ribs, anchoring about my waist. He kissed my lips and chin, my jaw, lingering, sensuous kisses that stole my breath. I clung to him. He studied my face, whispering, “I’ve dreamed of making love to you so many times.”

  “Don’t make us wait any longer,” I begged.

  He took us immediately to our knees upon the bedding, where I curled my fingers into his loose hair, spreading it over his shoulders. His eyes were dark with passion, his palms gliding down my arms, fire flaring along my limbs in the path of his touch. He whispered, “If you only knew how you look just now. The way your cheeks are blooming, and the love and wanting in your eyes.”

  “Hurry,” I moaned in response, caressing him firmly through his trousers. “Help me from this dress…”

  Sawyer began unbuttoning at once. I tried to assist, impatient with urgency, though we both laughed, between deep kisses, at the maddeningly slow process. The moment the dress was open enough to slip forward, Sawyer gently freed me from it. My head tipped back, exposing my throat, which he bent to kiss, my shoulders and collarbones, each by turn, suckling kisses that made me moan and lift against him, though he moved lower with deliberate slowness, inhaling against the skin between my breasts, his thumbs caressing my nipples, which were round as pearls, aching for his touch.

  “You smell so good,” he said, cradling his cheek to my heartbeat, breathing hard, his arms around my waist. “You taste so good, Lorie-love,” and his tongue was upon the peaks of my breasts, calling forth deep pulsing sensations lower down, waves of tightening that made me gasp. Sawyer straightened just long enough to tear the shirt roughly from his body. He was so stron
g, so solid, his skin taking on a golden cast in the lantern’s glow to match his eyes and his hair, as though I was about to make love with a gorgeous creature not quite of this earth.

  “Sawyer,” I demanded in a gasp, the silk dress spreading to a puddle around my knees as I reached to yank open his trousers.

  He kicked free of them and caught me against his naked body at last, taking me to my back, where I twisted and writhed in attempt to be closer to him, running my calves along his waist, along the sides of his hips, trembling beneath him as he caressed me, shallowly and then at last within. Soft cries of pleasure and love, the sweetness and heat of him as he stroked me, his teeth closing lightly over my earlobes, my lower lip, my chin. He claimed my mouth, his tongue delving deep, as were his fingers below. His hard length urged at the juncture of my legs and he begged, “Touch me.”

  I reached fervently to take him in hand, my body convulsing to feel him against my skin at long last.

  “Now, please, now,” I ordered, and he groaned as though I’d caused him physical pain as he linked our bodies and surged fully within me.

  “Lorie,” he gasped, remaining perfectly still, reverent, for the space of a heartbeat, our foreheads lightly touching, before my insistent urging propelled him into motion. His voice was low, hoarse with emotion, as he breathed, “How I love you.”

  I kissed his neck, his chest, my legs spread beneath him, hips thrusting to meet his deep strokes. I clung to him and was soon beyond all sense, wild, wordless sounds of joy flowing between us. His body called forth responses from mine that no one had before. Love transformed the act into something glorious, its true nature laid bare to me at last in those moments with my new husband.

  Just the thought caused my body to spill over, tightening around him as he groaned and I tilted my hips to take him even deeper. He twined my loose hair in his fingers, our kisses lush and deep, wet and sensual, as though we could never give or take enough of one another. Our souls meshed between us, crackling together in bursts like heat lightning, and though it was just beyond the limited ability of our eyes, I could sense that he felt it, too, the joining that leaped far beyond the physical. Time ceased to mean anything as our bodies intertwined and curled and plunged as one, carrying us somewhere unexplainable, past all words.

  I only knew that it was as it should be; it was right.

  Much later, as dawn cast its first light into our tent, we lay still, sweating and exhausted, our limbs tangled together. I understood that if the world somehow ceased to exist today, or if we were meant to die this very afternoon, then the hours of last night would make everything worth it. I rested, warm and blissfully sated, as he stroked soft patterns between my shoulder blades. Just as I was about to surrender to sleep, I spied for the first time the bouquet from our handfasting, neatly arranged into a tin cup of water and positioned near the bedding, surely by sweet Malcolm.

  Love could pierce a heart in a thousand places at once.

  Sawyer murmured and shifted his left leg gently between both of mine, his eyes closed, arms locked around me. My nerves were still feverish with the intensity of our loving and though he had just left my body, in spite of the tenderness, I craved him back within. I reached to draw his leg flush between mine, closing my thighs around it, sending small surges of pleasure through me. He smiled sleepily and I rocked my hips against him. He opened one eye and the right side of his mouth lifted higher into a lopsided grin.

  “Come here, darlin’,” he said, low and soft, but with determination. “Come here to me.”

  So saying, he drew me under him, my arms winding around his neck as his beautiful hawk eyes smiled down into mine. It hurt a little as his solid hardness, his length, filled me again. But I would have him, he was now mine in every way, and I wanted nothing more on earth. He claimed my body with utter sweetness and moved slowly, drawing out with deliberate strokes before gliding back within, as we kissed without end. When he shuddered in release and then fell still, tears of joy for everything we had found together trickled over my temples. He licked them away, before kissing me one last time. And then we slept.

  - 10 -

  Probably we should get up,” I said much later that day, though everything within me rebelled against the thought of leaving our warm cocoon. We were both naked as the days we’d been born, sprawled together on the bedding. So far neither Boyd nor Malcolm had returned to camp; Sawyer explained that they were hunting, allowing us the remarkable privilege of a brief honeymoon.

  “You will stay right here with me,” he ordered, his eyes glinting with warm teasing, yet imploring me at the same time. He confessed, “There’s a part of me that’s terrified this will all be a beautiful dream. I’ll wake up and then I’ll die from longing to get back to the same dream.”

  I rolled atop him, my hair spilling all over us, and regarded his dear, handsome face. He lounged on his back, both pillows and one forearm braced beneath his head. His eyelids were at half-mast, content and lazy, and he looked so good that perhaps he was being conjured by my fancy. Between us there existed an ever-increasing sense of wonder—a discovery of one another on levels previously unimaginable to either of us. The strength of our loving, the joy that surged so freely between us, only served to heighten this awareness, this intimate intensity and keen-edged delight, born of the knowledge that we were now allowed to touch and join with no inhibitions, with no restrictions. And, oh—how we had joined. The magnitude of our joy cast aside all worries, all fears—at least for this day.

  Much better than any dream, I told him with my eyes.

  He grinned and slipped a warm hand around my backside, adding, “It’s very realistic, I’ll concede that.”

  “Sawyer James,” I scolded, curving into his touch. I pressed my breasts more firmly to his chest and asked demurely, “Will you kiss my nipples again, please?”

  His grip tightened and his grin deepened. He blinked once, and then replied in a voice sweet as clover honey fresh from the comb, “Well, since you said ‘please.’”

  I giggled, squirming as he pinned me flat on my back, kissing me just as I’d asked, as softly as though skimming a feather over my flesh. I shivered and moaned, “That tickles.”

  In response he bent lower and ran his tongue lightly along my belly, teasing my navel, as I laughed helplessly and twisted beneath him, before moving back to my breasts, opening his lips as my laughter became soft moans.

  “Please,” I begged, lifting my hips in adamant invitation. “Please, please…”

  “That I should make you beg,” he marveled, my fingers buried in his golden hair. He lamented, “I am no gentleman,” stroking softly between my legs.

  “Sawyer,” I demanded, breathless, and his half-wicked grin, the one to which I had rapidly grown accustomed, ignited fire anew in my soul. He licked a path upwards between my breasts, at last claiming my mouth. I reached down and clutched him none too gently, impaling myself as he groaned against my lips. I rolled him to his back, which he allowed, his hands gliding over my hips as I straddled him, letting my hair surround us in this beautiful world we had created with just us two.

  We had made love countless times since last night, but my craving of him, my intense preoccupation with him, saturated me past all reason. There was, within me, an impassioned desire for the absorption of all details relating to him, those large and those seemingly insignificant, each mattering equally to me because I loved him, body and soul.

  The shape of his strong hands and long, capable fingers, the pale half-moons at the base of each of his nails, the lines etched into his palms, which I explored by the lantern light, teasing him that I could follow the path of his destiny, there scribed.

  The bones that contoured his handsome face, and the way it took on a fierce, almost stern, expression before he spilled over inside me.

  The soft, husky sound of his voice, murmuring to me in love, and passionate desire; the caress of my name upon his lips.

  The shape of his long nose and firm chin, jaws
stubbled with a day’s growth of beard.

  The arch of his wide shoulders, to which I repeatedly clung, as the hours of the day melted past.

  His strong, muscular legs, the curve of his buttocks beneath my grasping hands.

  The salty taste of his sweat, licked from his chest and his neck, the texture of his skin beneath my fingertips and tongue, where he was scarred from battle—the rough puckering of a healed musket wound on the outer edge of his left thigh, the imprint of the blades that had once opened his flesh—one upon his lower right ribcage, the other his jaw.

  The dark hair that moved in a slim, straight line down the center of his lower belly, the darker hair between his legs, and the musky scent of him there.

  The rigid firmness of his cock in my mouth, smooth and yet hard as a buckeye, sleek against my tongue.

  The way he cradled me close time and again, whispering, “That’s it, darlin’, my sweet, sweet darlin’,” as I gasped and held fast to him, pelted by sensation, the cresting waves that shuddered over me at his powerful, unceasing motion.

  “Don’t stop,” I heard myself beg many times, and his answering smile, his assurance that he would never stop.

  Much later, the long afternoon sun stretched through the translucent canvas, tinting the interior the mellow shade of old whiskey; we had not eaten a bite all day, sated completely upon our loving. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since we bound our hands. Happiness of such enormity was also a terrifying thing, but I had allowed myself to bathe within it since last night, held it greedily and without let-up to my heart. No matter what happened from here forward, life could not rob me of today.

  Tomorrow I could not control.

  Oh dear God…

  A snagging in my heart, a clenching in my gut—surely I was imagining the sense of time running out that chose to beat at my thoughts just now. Sawyer slept on his back, snoring lightly, but at the sound of my distress he turned to me, eyes still closed, bringing me closer. I was afraid, after all of our easy teasing and laughter, the intensity of our repeated lovemaking, that I was about to cry. He stroked my hair as I’d seen him stroke Whistler’s hide; he was a man who loved with complete devotion, with his whole heart.