"No," she informed him. "Very little surprises me any more."
He offered her a dry smile. "You do have your own home in the West now, you know. The tipi is yours. If we were to divorce one another, it would remain yours."
"Does one easily obtain a divorce?"
"Very easily."
"And not so among the whites!"
He shook his head, staring into her eyes, and wondering what thoughts really played within her mind. Tonight she M-emed strangely vulnerable. Perhaps it was the golden ilow of her blond hair over the doeskin of the dress. Per- liups it was the shadowy light within the lodge. Perhaps it was even the fact that he had caught her asleep, that she hadn't had time to gather all her defenses against him. He knew that he was going to touch her. Knew that he wanted her that night, that he would have her. And in the same ineath of hunger, of rising passion, he knew that he wanted in hold her as well, throughout the night. Cherish her.
Protect her. From whatever it was that she had needed to escape. From the fears she would not admit. The past that had driven her here.
"No. Divorce is extremely difficult among whites."
"Yet you are among the Sioux."
He laughed softly. "Yes. A Sioux would never conceive of obtaining a wife unseen, that words on paper could make i woman a man's wife."
"The Sioux would surely have a point," Skylar murmured.
"Perhaps," he murmured, amused. "But then, a Sioux can acquire a wife just as strangely."
"How so?"
"If a man's brother dies in battle, he is obligated to take on his brother's wife. Or wives."
"And if he already has a tipi full of his own?"
"The tipi gets fuller. Of course, both parties must find it n satisfactory agreement, and a wife may thank her brother- in law, applaud his sense of responsibility, and choose to >'o along on her own. As sometimes happens."
She was watching him very gravely.
He leaned down on the ground next to her, stretched out on his side, and propped himself up on an elbow. "Had you and your sister been Sioux, I'd be acquiring a second wife right now." He wondered if she might betray a sliver of jealousy. Her silver gray eyes continued to study him quite seriously without the least hint of inner turmoil.
"I did tell you that you might like Sabrina."
"If you say so, I'm convinced that I will."
"Are you considering more than one wife?" she asked politely.
"I didn't want one, remember?"
"But now we are among the Sioux. Since you are burdened with one you don't want, you might be considering taking on a second wife you do want."
"And you would share the tipi?"
She smiled sweetly. "Never. I would be long gone, Lord Douglas."
"What if I chose not to let you go?"
"We're in Sioux country. You'd have to let me go."
"I beg your pardon?"
She flashed him a quick smile. "I am learning Sioux ways. A very great warrior is too important a man to be bothered by a woman. A Sioux leader as respected as yourself would have to allow his wife to leave if she chose to do so. Your pride would surely dictate that you not be disturbed by the comings or goings of someone so inconsequential as a wife."
He grinned, watching her, shaking his head. "Perhaps that is the Sioux way. But don't forget, my love, that men are men—red or white—and that passion and jealousy are human traits. Dangerous, combustible traits. And on this you may rest assured: in my mixed-breed way of thinking, white or Sioux, wives can be troublesome. I cannot imagine more than one—at a time."
Her lashes swept her cheeks; she was still smiling. Then she suddenly stared at him with a pained curiosity.
"You had a Sioux wife and she died. What—happened?" she asked him.
He sighed, unwilling to dredge up the memories now. "Smallpox."
"I'm so very sorry." "It was a long time ago."
"Still, you seem to be in pain. I am truly sorry."
"And I told you," he said, wondering why he was growing so irritated, "it was a long time ago." Yet the last time lie had lain in a tipi with a woman, it had been with Sea- of-Stars. She had been learning to speak English because she'd been aware that he was a different man with property in the white man's world, and she had wanted to be all things to him. She hadn't wanted to visit Mayfair until her linglish was fluent, but she'd happily listened to him talk about his home, his father's property in Scotland, anything iliat interested him.
"I could take a walk," Skylar suggested. "Perhaps you'd like to be left alone."
"What?" he demanded, startled.
Sea-of-Stars was gone. He had loved her for her gentleness. Yet he suddenly realized that he'd never felt as pas- ionate about any woman as he felt about Skylar. The two women could not have been more different. Sea-of-Stars had been as dark as Skylar was fair. Sea-of-Stars had believed that whatever he said was right, whereas Skylar would fight tooth and nail for her right to have her own opinion. He had indeed loved Sea-of-Stars; he had suffered Iii-1 loss and the loss of their baby greatly. For a long time, In- had dwelt in bitterness and somewhat relieved the pain of his grief by casting himself into the current conflict between the Sioux and the U.S. government. Sea-of-Stars had hren part of a different time. Life itself had seemed shaded in pastels and comfortable earth tones, the colors of the ji.mss and the trees, the hills and the sky. Now life itself wined much more vivid, the color of blood, and the crim- m>ii flow of the tide that was destined to run around them. I ikewise, it seemed, his emotions regarding Skylar were i«<|imlly vivid. From the moment he had first seen her, she liml both angered and aroused him, and each of those strong •motions had only intensified since then.
Skylar stood, the white buckskin dress with its beautiful embroidery hanging in soft fringes to her calves. Her feet
were bare. Her hair was tousled. The firelight played upon all the vivid colors that were here: gold, silver—even white. Shades of crimson and sunset were cast upon her. The night was cool, yet a certain warmth was captured within the tipi. He rose to stand before her, a brow arched.
"The tipi is yours," he told her.
She flushed with a half smile. "Yes, but I can be generous, living among the Sioux."
"There are some matters of generosity I haven't quite learned myself."
She arched a brow.
"If you were to walk from here, where would you go?"
"I... walking!" she said simply. "Perhaps to your grandfather's, perhaps to see Willow or Sloan."
"I think not. I could not dream of being generous with a wife."
Her eyes narrowed sharply. "Generous in what way?"
"My friends and family must find their own women."
"Don't you dare be wretched," she warned him. "I'm out here at the very ends of—"
"Civilization?" he queried.
"Amid hostiles, and you're the worst of them!" she assured him.
"Want to lose a nose?" he taunted.
"Want to lose something worse?" she countered quickly.
He laughed aloud, arching a brow high once again.
"I'm trying to be decent," she assured him. "I believe you're feeling the pain of your past tonight. I'm trying not to intrude on your memories. I didn't mean to come into your life, hurt you worse—"
"You didn't mean to come into my life—or have me in yours?''
"You twist everything!" she accused him. "I was trying to leave you alone—"
"But I don't want to be alone." He wasn't quite sure what it was in his tone, or perhaps even in the way that he looked at her, but he somehow disturbed or startled her.
She took a step backward, tripped over the sleeping robe, i iihI landed hard on her back and buttocks upon the hide- Nlrcwn ground. Not one to lose an advantage, he quickly I * >unced on top of her, straddling her hips. The buckskin ilress had slid upward when she fell so that his thighs em- I'i need bare flesh. The soft brush of her blond triangle leased against his own flesh made bare by the briefness of Ins breechclout
. A shudder ripped through her, yet she Glared up at him quite defiantly as he smiled, threading his lingers through hers before pressing her hands to the earth liy her side. He leaned low, his lips just inches from hers us he asked her politely, "Now, just what was it you in- lended for me to lose?"
"You think you've got me down, don't you?" she queried.
He looked at his position and hers. Shifted slightly. Felt the rub of her flesh, her softness.
"Quite frankly—yes."
"Your time will come."
"I'm planning on it," he assured her.
She shook her head and sighed with exasperation, but Ik i eyes were bright, filled with laughter as well as irritation as she tried to ignore the sensuous fire that was being loked between them. "I was truly just trying to give you nine to think—"
"I don't want to think."
"Ah! That's right!" she murmured, staring defiantly into Ins eyes. "You like—" She hesitated, swallowing. Every ounce of sensation within him must have been vividly clear io her at that moment. "—the nights," she finished a little breathlessly. Then added, "Even in a tipi."
"Especially in a tipi. I love the scent of the earth. The led of the night. The fire so close that you lie right beside II, feel its heat on your flesh ..."
Mesh ... God, he could feel her flesh!
"Isn't... isn't there some sort of a taboo against such ilungs while you're in the midst of important mule discus- sions?" Skylar queried sweetly. She shifted slightly. The dress rose higher.
"Though there are many things I find exceptionally admirable about my mother's people, I am also quite glad at times to be white. Sioux braves believe that intimacy with their wives weakens them when they are about to go into battle. Before they leave on a war party, they abstain from sex and go through various purification rights. Often, when I'm among my Oglala brethren, I try to do as they do."
"Do you?"
He smiled at her, moving his hand from hers to draw a strand of hair from her face. "Ah, don't sound so anxious, my love! You see, a meeting is quite different. There is no war party being planned for the moment. And if there were ... the white half of me just wouldn't feel the need for abstinence."
"No?" she whispered.
"No." With his free hand he removed the breechclout and tossed it away.
He was probably lucky it didn't land in the fire.
Didn't matter at the moment.
She mattered.
He shifted his position, thrusting his knees between her thighs, lowering his face very slowly to hers, meeting the silver glitter in her eyes all the while. His mouth touched hers. He ran his hand down the length of her thigh, from her knee to her buttocks, shoving the buckskin dress still higher, caressing the soft, firm flesh of her derriere, lifting her. He thumbed the soft portals of her sex, teasing, stroking, parting. Thrusting. Finding the perfect place.
He had ceased kissing her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Her breath came in ragged bursts. She tossed and writhed, set her hands upon his shoulders to push him away, to stop the seductive movement of his fingers. Her eyes opened and he smiled, as pleased as a wildcat with its prey. He shoved her knees higher, shifted his weight once again, and thrust within her with the fullness of his sex, sinking until she had taken him completely inside her, hold- ing there as their eyes locked, and smiling once again be- lore beginning a slow, torturous movement, building, blinding, becoming thunder, hammering in his ears, Ihroughout him. His body quickened, stretched, reached, and seemed to ... explode.
Long moments later, when his heartbeat and breathing had slowed to something of a normal rate, he rose from her side, stripping off his moccasins and leggings, and tugging gently upon the garment she had smoothed back down over her hips. "That dress is really beautiful," he said, running his finger over her cheek, then down upon the embroidery a the bodice. "Deer Woman's work?"
"Yes," Skylar said.
He leaned close to her. "I'm glad that you accepted the present so graciously. But you needn't wear a dress into a sleeping robe." He smiled, thinking that the Sioux sleeping robe, a huge blanket that swept around the body bringing comfort and warmth, was a wonderful invention. Two in a robe were incredibly intimate. He caught her about the waist, lifting her, drawing the gown carefully over her head and folding it before setting it aside. She sat, watching him gravely, at long last seemingly comfortable with him in her nakedness. The low-crackling firelight played upon her shoulders and breasts, bathing them in the soft crimson fire. I ler hair was touched by it, too, her breasts, half-shadowed by the dance of the fire, peeked out from swirls and waves of golden hair. Silver eyes studied him gravely from the classical perfection of her ivory features, so out of place among the Sioux, yet so strangely in tune with the setting.
"It's quite amazing," she told him.
"What's that?"
"Your tender care of that beaded dress!"
He reached out, drawing her down beside him. She of- lered a token resistance, sighed with impatience, and allowed him to press her back down against the soft hides and furs that made their bed.
"Deer Woman worked very hard on that gown."
"What if a good, honest, hard-working maiden aunt had
worked very hard on the black gown you so quickly destroyed the day we met?''
"Had there been a good, honest, hard-working maiden aunt to make you such a gown, she'd have never allowed you to take off into the wild, wicked, uncivilized West without her."
"Someone worked long and hard over that gown."
"Did you want me to rip this one off you?"
"No, of course not, Deer Woman worked very hard—"
"I rest my point. No maiden aunt."
"No, no maiden aunt."
"Just a sister?" he queried. Angled at her side, he stared at her face, watching her hesitate in response to the question.
"Just a sister," she said.
He watched anew as the fire rippled within the tipi, touching the walls, the pictographs there, touching Skylar, splashing their curious red-gold display of color upon her body. It was certainly warm enough in their snug home here, but she shivered. He set his hand upon her hip, drawing her more tightly against him, casting a leg over hers to offer greater body warmth. He could have drawn one of the large, fur-trimmed sleeping robes around them. He chose not to. The flickering flame that cast waves of light and shadow and color upon her form fascinated him.
"Just a sister," he repeated. "Did you and she spring from the earth? No parents?"
"My father died a very long time ago. My mother more recently. Not long before your father's death."
He was quiet a moment, but his curiosity about her past was piqued once again.
"I'm sorry. It must have been very painful for you."
"You—you can't imagine."
"But I can."
She turned to him suddenly, intense, passionate. "I swear to you, I did nothing to hurt your father. He knew that my situation was painful; he just wanted to help. I believed with my whole heart that he needed me, that I could help him."
"Skylar, I want to know about your past."
She looked away, shaking her head. "My father died a long time ago; my mother more recently. I have my sister. We needed a new life. I never meant to hurt anyone."
"That's not my question at the moment—"
"I have nothing more to tell you."
"Damn you, Skylar—"
"There is nothing more to tell! There's nothing more anyone needs to know if you just believe that I never meant to hurt your father, that I cared for him. I swear—"
"Skylar, stop it; I believe you."
She searched out his eyes, not seeming to trust his words. Her own were huge, silver orbs, almost magical in the night. He tried to focus on them. They were like mercury, fascinating. Just as the delicate beauty of her face was captivating. But the night and firelight had their own compelling magic. His eyes fell, focusing on her breasts.
She began speaking again, hesitantly, then qu
ickly. "I'm sorry as well that you had no idea ... that you were forced into this without even knowledge of it. I—"
"Skylar, stop."
"But I—"
"Skylar, it's all right."
"Is it?"
"Skylar, I am completely resigned—"
"Ah, yes. You like the nights."
He managed to focus on her eyes, arching a brow. "Indeed!" he whispered huskily. "I like the nights!" In a fluid movement, he brushed the fall of her hair from her breast, his palm sliding over the nipple before he brushed it with his tongue and teeth, sucked it with his mouth. She shuddered, her fingers digging into his hair. Passion, satiation, and desire were so strange. He had just made love to her. With vehemence, hunger, and energy. Touched a shattering peak. Drifted from it. He should have been satisfied. But the slightest movement of her flesh beneath him seemed to awaken him. The simple scent of her, the taste of her aroused him anew. The least shift of the silk of her hair against his flesh ...
He moved his caress down the length of her body, but her fingers tugged tightly into his hair, drawing him up. She came to her knees, meeting him thus before the fire. She captured his face between her palms, found his lips, kissed him. Her tongue skimmed over his lips, slipped between them, sent wildly lapping flames down to a pit deep within his loin, sent those flames shooting out into his limbs, his sex.
He crushed her against him. Again, every little touch, brush, caress, seemed magnified. He ached for her lips to fall against his shoulders; they did. He hungered to feel her wrap her fingers around him; she did. He threaded his fingers through her hair, drew back her head, kissed and caressed her throat, her breasts, the valley between them, the expanse of abdomen below them. Fire played. Their flesh grew slick and glistened with the rise of heat and desire. He lowered her. Licked her, stroked her. Aroused her, awoke her. Shuddered violently with the vivid feel of her fingers, her hands upon him in return. Her lips, teeth, tongue, rhythm, caress. He met the misted, shimmering silver of her eyes.
"I like the nights," he whispered softly. Then lowering his lips against her ear, he told her what it was he liked about the night, each word erotically graphic, bringing a fresh crimson glow to her cheeks and the ivory silk of her supple form. He turned her, kissed her nape, her shoulders, her spine. This vertebra, the next... the next. She trembled, whispered unintelligible things in return. His arms swept around her, drawing her against him, impaling her with the one movement.
No Other Man Page 26
