by Karen Kay
They started playing in the late afternoon. Most often these parties were held in the daylight hours since, without the garrison’s full complement of soldiers, the gates had to close at sundown. But it was summer and the sun wasn’t due to set for quite a while yet, giving the party-goers ample time to enjoy themselves.
From her vantage point on the stage, Kristina looked out over the fantastic sight before her: the soldiers dancing with their partners, the traders swinging their Indian wives around, and the spectators laughing and jigging to the music. Because the festivities were held outside, the sun shone down upon the revelers, accenting the women’s colorful finery and the men’s gleaming pride.
Through all of the rich distractions, Kristina’s gaze singled out Tahiska as he stood toward the back of the crowd. He lingered in the shade of a building, his two friends on either side of him. Fingering the rabbit’s foot hanging from her neck, she caught his eye and smiled. She wished with all her heart that he might return her greeting, but she knew he wouldn’t. Neither he nor his friends relaxed when they were in the fort.
Tahiska watched Kristina. In her yellow dress, with the sun picking up the golden highlights in her hair, and the guitar cradled in her lap, she presented quite an image. She was such a petite figure, yet she possessed a strength that was unusual for a woman. He wondered if the white men were aware of this. Even now, he watched as the men tried to hide her at the back of the stage, yet she outshone any other person upon the platform and she did it all with such unassuming ease.
She amused him. Tahiska remembered her in the colonel’s quarters before he had come to respect her. He had been correct to question the wisdom of permitting a woman to council, but Tahiska now realized his actions had been double-edged. His responses to her had been out of control from the beginning. Even at first, he had wanted her. And he had not been able to contain his body’s reactions to her. When in council with an enemy, composure was imperative. Tahiska could not afford to lose sight of this.
But when he thought of it now he was glad the mistake had been made.
Though he acknowledged his body’s response to her proximity, he knew he was driven by a sensation deeper than desire. He admired her. She had integrity, courage, and intelligence. She challenged him. She was unpredictable and thoroughly compelling. He wanted her. If he ever did take her, he wondered if it would quench his thirst for her. He did not think so. He had a feeling he would be wanting her for many, many moons.
Kristina set her guitar aside. Realizing she desired Tahiska’s company more than the sound of music, she had decided to go speak with him. She wanted to be near him, to touch him, to amuse him. Actually, she wished to kiss him, but she couldn’t do that. She could, however, teach him to dance. He was so naturally graceful that she was sure he would learn quickly. Then she could enjoy the pleasure of his arms around her.
She stepped off the platform, but before she could take more than a few steps, Kenneth Wilson was before her, asking her to dance.
She wanted nothing to do with Kenneth Wilson. She brushed past him, barely acknowledging his existence.
He pulled her back forcefully. Spun around till she glared in his face, she smelled the liquor on his breath. He’d had too much to drink. “Come on, Krissy,” he begged, his words slurred. “Julia’s so mad at me she won’t dance with me, and look at her out there with that other soldier. Hey, I’m real sorry about this afternoon, damn Injuns!” Kenneth’s grip on her arm was so tight, Kristina had to lean in closer to him, just to relieve the pain.
“Dance with me, Krissy. Show her you’re not mad at me. It’s the only way she’ll forgive me.” Kristina couldn’t have cared less if Julia ever forgave him. And though she tried to pull free, Kenneth’s grip was too strong. She twisted this way and that but she only succeeded in pulling herself in closer. She was well and truly stuck if she didn’t want to cause a scene.
He hauled her to the middle of the dance floor and turning her into his arms, proceeded to dance. Kristina was horrified. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Kenneth; he was harmless. But after this afternoon, she didn’t think she would ever be able to stand the sight of the man again. And she could not extricate herself from this situation without creating a scandal. She glanced over to where Tahiska stood. Her face drained of color. He was gone.
Tahiska was never sure just what hit him. One moment he was admiring the white woman, desiring her in every way, the next, he was wishing he’d never see her again.
He had seen her step off the platform. He had decided he would seek her out since he wished to learn this dance that allowed for touching. The next thing he knew she was dancing with that soldier, his arm around her waist, her hands embracing him. And it wasn’t just any soldier. To say that he was jealous would not do justice to the emotions raging through Tahiska.
It wasn’t just the identity of the man she danced with that upset him. Tahiska had no way of knowing that dancing to the white man was casual. He didn’t understand it. To Tahiska dancing provided the opportunity to express inner feelings. It was never casual.
When he danced, it had meaning, purpose. So Tahiska could only assume the white man’s dance expressed love. He would never have guessed that it meant nothing.
And Tahiska, seeing Kristina in the arms of that soldier, knowing it meant that the white man loved her, had claimed her, could not endure it. Before his very eyes, as he had taken a few steps toward her, Kristina had betrayed him. It was more than he could bear. He now retraced his steps and with a few words to his friends, quietly slipped out of the fort.
Kristina worried over Tahiska’s absence. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. Had he recognized Kenneth from this afternoon? Yes, she was sure of it. Her gaze scanned the buildings within sight, but she knew she wouldn’t find him. Her senses told her he was no longer in the fort.
She had no choice but to finish the dance with Kenneth, but once it was done, she excused herself and walked to the spot where the Indians had stood. She didn’t know what she hoped to find there; it was only that this sense of foreboding would not keep quiet. Hadn’t Tahiska recognized her unwillingness to dance? She stood where the Indians had been, looking at the dancers, feeling more and more unease.
She glanced at the gates and back at the dancers, and as her stomach knotted fiercely, she bolted toward the livery.
Tahiska lay with his ear to the ground. He felt the vibrations of the lone pony approaching long before he heard the horse or saw Kristina’s figure upon the plains.
He glanced at his friends.
“She comes.”
Wahtapah grunted.
Neeheeowee shook his head. He was laboring over an arrowhead. “I do not know what you find attractive in the white woman. She is so pale.”
Tahiska was pacing by the side of the fire. He said nothing.
Wahtapah, who sat close to the fire, regarded his friend. “Love,” he murmured, turning a slab of meat over the fire.
“Who talked of love?” Tahiska demanded. He pivoted, ceasing his constant stalking. “I have said nothing of this.”
“Did you notice, my friend,” Wahtapah said, ignoring him, “that she appeared unwilling to dance? And even if she were willing, did you not see that many of the white men danced with several different white women?”
Tahiska said nothing. He had not seen this. “I thought not,” Wahtapah continued. “Perhaps we should have asked the meaning of this dance.” Although he did not glance at his friend, Wahtapah grinned before saying, “I’ve never seen you in such a state, brother. And I am glad to witness it. It is time you found love. Though many young women could be fond of you, I have never seen you form a serious attachment. And unless some of the widows in the village change and no longer welcome you in their lodge at night, you may never show more than a passing interest in an innocent maiden. I think that perhaps this white woman will bring you happiness.” Bent over the food, Wahtapah grinned and repeated, “Love.”
Tahiska glared at
his friend. “You speak foolishness. I have not mentioned love. Only you have done that. What say you now? Besides, you do not worry anymore. Kokomikeeis waits for you.”
“Thanks to you, my cousin,” Wahtapah interjected.
“I do not know why an Indian maid will not do for you,” Neeheeowee complained. “Indians are so much prettier and sweeter. These white women are too complex.”
“Perhaps.” Tahiska halted his pacing and stared into the fire.
Wahtapah rose and came to stand in front of Tahiska.
“My friend,” he said. “You have misjudged her, I think. If you thought me guilty of something, would you not ask me about it first? Don’t we allow even the condemned to speak? Ask her what is the meaning of this dance. She will tell you. And perhaps she did not even wish to dance.”
Tahiska stared at his friend. It was true that he had not noticed the other white people dancing. Could he be wrong? He had seen only Kristina. Perhaps his friend was right. It is possible that he had misunderstood.
“You speak wisely, my brother.” He smiled. “I have let my feelings run away with my reason, I think. I will talk to her.”
Wahtapah nodded, smiling.
Neeheeowee shook his head.
Tahiska paid no attention. He could hear her horse upon the prairie. Soon Kristina would come into sight.
“I will go and see her,” he declared and darted from the camp.
Neeheeowee watched him go. “If it were me, I would not court the white woman.” This stated, he picked up another arrowhead.
It was early evening when Kristina dashed out of the fort. The sun was still high, but the scent of dusk was settling in throughout the plains. The air had changed, promising a coolness yet to come; the prairie was silent, so still, that Kristina imagined she could hear her own thoughts.
But she had little time to contemplate this. She had to see Tahiska. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. She glanced at the sun. There was little time to find him. In only a few hours the fort would close its gates and she had to be back before then.
She knew generally where the three were camped, but they could have moved. Indians often did.
She espied him after a half-hour’s ride. He wasn’t even close to the camp. He stood high on one of the green swells in the prairie. He was armed with bow and arrows, and a lance. He looked dangerous.
He waited for her.
She sped her horse toward him, her bonnet flying behind her, her hair, freed from its confinement, blowing back from her face in long, honey-colored curls.
Her horse whinnied and tossed its head as she pulled back on the reins Tahiska didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even blink as she halted not more than a foot from him. He grabbed the reins and focused his attention on the horse.
Turning his back on Kristina, he spoke to the horse in his own language, petting it, never looking it in the eye, yet soothing it after its reckless run.
At length, he spun around to face her.
They gazed at each other. Nothing was said for several minutes, giving Kristina ample time to study him.
He was still dressed in all his finery, looking proud and bold; and Kristina thought she had never seen anyone more startlingly handsome.
His long hair fluttered back in the wind, the eagle feather entangled with the black strands as though a part of the mane itself. Blue-black highlights with an occasional reddish glimmer shone in his hair against the dim, pinkish light of sunset. He still wore the bone breastplate, elaborately decorated with blue, red, and yellow porcupine quills. And around his waist, flapping in the ever-present prairie wind, was his breechcloth, also intricately sewn with beads and porcupine quills. She could see the hard outline of him there beneath that scanty article of clothing, and though she knew she should look away, she couldn’t.
He was utterly beautiful, utterly handsome, utterly wild…
He still hadn’t spoken to her, staring at her even as she examined him. He also didn’t help her off her horse, making her wonder if this were yet another example of their differences in custom. But she didn’t ask. Instead she returned his stare, which kept her securely placed in the saddle, at least for the moment.
Several more minutes passed where they both did nothing more than look at one another. No words, no signs, nothing. And Kristina, unused to Indian etiquette, had no way of knowing that Tahiska bestowed upon her, just by his silence, all his honor, his respect. Though she might have spoken, instinct told her that she must not speak till he, at length, desired to talk.
Finally he drew the horse’s reins into his hand and turning, led the mount and rider down the prairie swell to a lone tree.
There the Indian hobbled the horse, fastening and unfastening the ropes around the pony’s feet until he at last seemed satisfied that the animal was securely fixed. He then turned his attention to her. He gave her a puzzled glance before signing, “Why are you still on your horse?”
“I…” Kristina gazed at him in alarm. Did he really expect her to dismount on her own? She glanced down at her skirts, wondering if she could do it without exposing herself to him. She didn’t think she could. A little stunned, she took a moment before replying, “It is our custom that men help women to dismount.”
If she had expected Tahiska to hesitate in offering to help her, she was indeed, mistaken. With a warm smile, he eagerly stepped toward her, his hands spanning her waist, and she fell into his arms.
All at once she was assailed with feeling. With his body pressed close to hers, his clean scent filled her nostrils. Her heart began to race, her stomach seemed to twist, and she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal against her.
He kissed her, a hungry, searching kiss. She returned it as though she had suddenly come alive, unaware until he abruptly ended the kiss, that her feet touched the solid earth beneath her. As he rested his chin on top of her head, she noted with great satisfaction that his breathing was as ragged as hers.
“I fear,” Kristina whispered in English, “that I have hurt you.” She lifted her head then, bringing her lips again to his. Tahiska shuddered at her touch. And Kristina, responding to him, moved closer until all at once, Tahiska pulled her further into his arms, deepening the kiss. Kristina had never felt this way in her life.
Everything about him was right. The way he held her in his arms. The scent of him, his breath mixing with hers. The feel of his skin, the taste of his mouth. She couldn’t get close enough. Each thrust of his tongue into her mouth sent her moaning with frustration until he finally opened his mouth to her and let her taste him.
The pleasure, as she met each thrust of his tongue, was exquisite, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted him closer, which was odd since their bodies were already pressed together so closely that scarcely an inch separated them.
He coaxed her to her knees, as he sank to his. Discarding his bow and quiver, he struggled with the breastplate till he had removed it as well. Then, he enveloped her in his warm embrace.
Shyly she skimmed her fingertips over his chest and thrilled to the sound of Tahiska sucking in his breath. She trembled as he ran his hands over her breasts and tugged impatiently at her clothing.
Sensing his frustration with the unfamiliar garment, Kristina began to remove the dress herself, unbuttoning the bodice. But Tahiska quickly mastered the art of buttons, and soon had the dress rolled down to her waist. His astonishment was apparent in his expression when he encountered another article of clothing beneath.
Tahiska smiled. “Perhaps the white woman has no flesh beneath. Is this her secret?”
Though Kristina didn’t understand the words, she smiled, too. She started to remove the undergarments herself, but Tahiska was disinclined to allow her to continue. He played with her, touching her everywhere through her clothing until Kristina thought she would die if he didn’t touch her flesh.
As though he read her thoughts, he slipped the camisole off, exposing her breasts to the freshness of the air.
Kristina reveled in
the feeling of freedom, but still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Eagerly, she directed her gaze to his, drawing in her breath as she glimpsed the raw passion Tahiska could no longer hide.
“I burn with the need of you,” he said, then signed it quickly so that she would understand him. “You stir such passion in me that I wonder how I ever could have thought myself wise in the ways of love.” He gazed down at her breasts. “They are perfect,” he stated in Lakota, his hands massaging her there, not signing his meaning. “They are round like nature’s perfect circle, soft as the down on a mighty eagle; their color imitates and surpasses even the splendor of the wild rose. Kristina,” Tahiska’s voice trailed away and he switched to sign language. “You please me.” Briefly, his fingers caught at the necklace falling softly between her breasts. Then in sign, “This is good. You are good; our passion, perfect.”
He rubbed his body back and forth across hers then, and she luxuriated in the feel of his hard flesh against her. Her moan of delight escaped her without conscious effort and in one fluid motion, he pushed her back against the grasses beneath the tree.
He settled himself gently over her and, urging her with the pressure of his knee, she spread her legs to accommodate him. Her skirts and his breechcloth still separated them, and she nearly went mad with longing to feel him against her completely. She instinctively arched her hips toward him and had the absolute pleasure of hearing him moan softly, but, despite his obvious impatience he made no overture to remove their clothing. Instead he prolonged the titillation and kissed every part of her bare flesh—from her eyes to her throat, down over her shoulders, each arm, and finally to each breast. She twisted and cried out until finally he lay flat against her, their breathing ragged.
He drew himself to his elbows and, smiling down at her, kissed her gently, his teeth nipping at her lips. She tried to pull him down toward her, but he resisted, rolling away from her instead to lie in the grass beside her, his breathing rapid and uneven.
