by Jenna Kernan
He ignored his mother’s warning and pushed Raven toward Spotted Fawn.
“Go,” he said to Snow Raven. She glanced back at him with eyes that told him what she thought of this. He had not freed her from the trader. He had only made her a captive to another.
But she went to Spotted Fawn without a word. He stood straight as the anger gripped him. He watched Raven take her place behind her new mistress. Why couldn’t he pull her back? Why couldn’t he tell his mother that he would not be ruled by her or by any other?
In that moment he recognized that Raven was not the only captive here. He was a prisoner to his ambition and the expectations of his tribe. He must choose a Sioux woman and have children and raise them to hate the Crow, just as he had been raised.
Now he knew that he did not want this. He wanted the impossible. He wanted Raven.
But he kept his face stern. Spotted Fawn positively glowed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled. It took him several moments to realize that by giving her such an elaborate gift he had as good as said aloud that he would court her. Next she would expect him to play his flute in the evening as the stars were growing bright and stand wrapped with her in a blanket outside her father’s lodge.
“I thank you for the gift. Kicking Rabbit will be of much help as we make meat after the hunt.” Spotted Fawn motioned to Raven. “Pick those up and follow me.”
Raven glanced at him and then did as she was told, lifting the goods belonging to Spotted Fawn and trailing behind her new mistress.
It was better, he told himself. She was free of the trader and his mother.
The trader watched Raven go and then heaved a heavy sigh that made Running Wolf want to knock him to the ground. Running Wolf knew exactly what the trader had intended to do with his captive. It took a moment to recall that he had the same plans. But unlike the trader, he would not take her from tribe to tribe. Would Yellow Coat have eventually brought her back to her own people? What would her brother have traded to free her?
When Raven was out of sight, he turned his attention to his mother to find her glaring at him with a venom he had only rarely glimpsed. He knew what she wanted, what she’d always wanted—for him to kill Crow warriors. Only now, apparently, she also wanted him to kill women.
Well, he would not do it and he would not let her do it. Not with a knife and not by slowly starving her to death. Raven was better off with Spotted Fawn. Wasn’t she?
Chapter Twelve
Raven followed Spotted Fawn to her lodge. As she walked, she fingered the tiny nick in her rabbit-skin dress, the one just below her left breast. This was the hole cut by Running Wolf’s mother when she’d pressed her skinning knife so hard against Raven’s chest that she had sliced the leather and broken the skin underneath. It was a tiny nick, but Raven had no doubt that Ebbing Water would have loved to thrust the knife into her heart.
What had stopped her?
Perhaps only that she would have to explain to her son. This was how Raven had awoken this morning. Ebbing Water’s knife and her signal that Raven should be silent. Once they had moved clear of the place where Running Wolf still slept, Ebbing Water let loose a string of the ugliest curses Raven had ever heard. She’d called her every foul name she could think of and traded her away from her son.
Raven had followed Spotted Fawn with a heart that ached like an infected tooth. What had she expected, that Running Wolf would leap to her rescue and stand up to his mother before every woman in the village?
Only a fool would do such a thing. But that was exactly what she had longed for.
That made her the fool.
Spotted Fawn took her into the lodge of her father’s second wife, Laughing Moon. Because of Raven’s presence, Spotted Fawn did not simply duck into the opening to the tepee, even though the flap of hide was open. Instead, she called a greeting and announced them.
They waited until they were invited inside. Raven followed Spotted Fawn within and set the goods Spotted Fawn had gained where directed. Then she sat in the place of lowest rank, closest to the draft of the door.
Laughing Moon seemed delighted to have Raven. Both women chattered on about the meaning of this offering. Apparently a captive was an unusual present for a warrior to give his intended.
“She will be of much help tomorrow,” said Laughing Moon. The chief’s new wife was pretty and round in the face, with a high forehead and light brown eyes. Her young daughter, Gathers Sticks, sat watching Raven with large dark eyes while her mother deftly braided her hair into twin ropes and smoothed the stray ends with grease scented with sage.
“And she can fetch water for us.”
When Spotted Fawn turned back to Laughing Moon, Raven saw the smile vanish and her face go hard. It seemed the chief’s young wife was not so happy as his daughter to have her here.
“I think that she should earn her place beside the fire.”
Spotted Fawn turned and gave Raven a questioning look.
“She is still Crow, and I do not wish to have her slit our throats while we sleep.”
Spotted Fawn lifted a hand to her neck. “If you say so, Laughing Moon.”
Spotted Fawn waited until the work was done before sending Raven outside without a sleeping robe.
That evening she could hear the voices of the warriors as they met with the old chief in the council lodge that sat beside the lodge of his wife and daughter.
Raven sat in the dark, hugging her knees to her chest, wishing for the blanket she no longer had. Though the walk was short, Laughing Moon had been sent to help her husband home, for Iron Bear was feeble.
Spotted Fawn appeared a moment later.
“I give you this, so it is yours now.” She held out a small buffalo robe that likely once covered a two-year-old calf. These yellow hides made the best lodges and were not often used for sleeping, but Raven accepted it gladly.
“Also, this is your water bladder and some dried meat.” Spotted Fawn handed over the items and their hands touched.
“Many thanks. Small kindnesses are the greatest of all.”
Spotted Fawn stood beside her lodge, looking down at Raven. The glow of her fire made the skin a lovely golden hue.
“Would you really slit our throats?”
“Not yours,” Raven promised.
Spotted Fawn laughed at that. “A good start, then.”
Spotted Fawn did not argue with her father’s new wife, but she did manage to see that Raven had food and a hide to stay warm. Was she kind or just protecting her new possession?
Raven wrapped herself in her new robe. It smelled of cooking fires and leather and home. She fought back the sorrow that threatened to overtake her thoughts.
Laughing Moon appeared with Iron Bear, walking at his side, supporting some of his weight as he shuffled along, pausing to cough and spit. Running Wolf followed behind them and walked within a few steps of her.
Neither Laughing Moon nor Iron Bear saw her. But Running Wolf did. Their eyes met, closing the distance separating them, and he held on until the tepee blocked him from her sight.
She shivered as she thought of the intensity of his stare and how hard it was not to follow him. What was this longing to be in his company?
She listened to the murmured voices. Spotted Fawn. Laughing Moon. The old chief. And finally Running Wolf. The night was bright with stars, and now that she had a sleeping skin she was warm enough. So why did she not lie down to rest? Why did she inch closer to the place where she knew he sat? It was pitiable, her efforts to be near him.
Still, he had saved her again today, kept that white devil from taking her from the village. She knew what that man had planned, had seen it in his eyes. The thought made her sick. But when she imagined doing that same thing with Running Wolf her body tingled and pulsed with need.
The council lodge f
lap opened and men stepped out. Raven retreated farther into the shadows between the two lodges.
Time passed. She dozed, coming awake from some unknown instinct. She looked up to see him standing over her.
“You,” she whispered.
“I should not be here,” he said as if to himself.
In response she threw back the buffalo robe that covered her, revealing herself to him. She heard his intake of breath as he dropped to his knees.
He wore only his breechclout, and she could see the soft leather stretching with his arousal.
“You saved me,” she whispered.
“I captured you.”
“I would have you capture me once more.”
“We have no future, you and me.”
“We have tonight.”
Raven rose up on her knees to face him and looped her hands behind his neck. His arms came around her as she pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her, and it gave her courage.
She reached to his hip to release the cord that held his breechclout in place. Her hands stilled as he stroked the soft skin of her hips, exploring her body, becoming familiar with the round curve of her bottom and the slope of her spine.
Raven rocked against him, her hips meeting his. Only the scrap of soft leather separated them, and it did nothing to disguise his need. She pressed firmly against his erection. He sucked in air between his teeth. Then he did capture her, his hands controlling, holding her in place, deepening the contact of their hips.
* * *
Running Wolf breathed in her scent as his blood zipped through his veins, faster than any arrow. Her hands now cascaded up and down his back in feathery caresses that drove him mad. He’d have to step away to release the barrier that separated them because she seemed to have forgotten her mission to free him. He struggled against his need to take her right here outside his chief’s lodge, a few steps from the woman he was supposed to be courting. Should he take Raven away, somewhere they would not be disturbed?
He recalled stumbling on more than one couple in the tall grass when the spring afternoons turned warm and the insects buzzed from blossom to blossom. Now he was the bee and she the delicate flower. Would she open her petals and let him taste her nectar?
He longed to stroke between her legs to see if his touch excited her, but he let her explore his shoulders as her hot breath heated his flesh. She drew their hips apart and then thrust, bumping against his arousal. The signal could not be misconstrued. She wanted him and he needed her. Tomorrow, in the daylight, they must return to their roles of captive and warrior, but tonight he was hers.
Raven’s hands looped about his neck and she leaned back, giving him a fine view of her breasts, full and round in the blue moonlight, her dark nipples tight and hard. He draped her over his arm, whispering to her secret words of wanting and of her power over him.
He wished he could spend each night of his life caressing her firm bottom and nuzzling against the soft pillow of her breasts. As he took one tight nipple into his mouth and drew, he felt the perfect bud draw tighter.
She was as malleable as hot clay. As he sucked, she fisted her hands in his hair, and made soft mewing sounds of need that drove him mad. He pulled her back to an upright position and she fell against him. He took a moment to release the knot at his hip and drew away the breechclout.
She stared first at his face and then her gaze slid down. He remained still for her perusal, but it was hard. He wanted to please her, excite her, drive her to madness and make her his own. But it all depended on her. Would she accept him?
Of course she had seen naked men. But had she seen one aroused and trembling with desire?
He certainly hoped not.
She reached, and before her fingers even closed around him, his erection jumped in anticipation. She gripped him with a firm hold and slowly pulled, letting him slide through her fingers. He closed his eyes to savor the soft velvet of her touch. She stepped toward him, pressing his pulsing flesh against the softness of her belly with her palm.
Was it that she was forbidden that made her touch so exciting?
When he opened his eyes it was to see her staring up at him with an expression of need. She smiled and he did, as well.
When she moved away it was to stretch out before him. Her body glowed, pale in the dark shadows of the lodge.
Her torso was narrow. Her stomach flat with a slight doming at her sex. He stared at the triangle of dark curls. Unable to resist, he dropped to his knees beside her and slid his hand over her hip and down into that nest of tight curls. She whimpered as his fingers slipped between her legs. Raven drew up her knees and then let them splay, welcoming his touch.
Running Wolf stretched out beside her, nestling close against the warmth of her body. She rolled to her side and rubbed her bottom against his erection as he stroked her slick, warm flesh. Raven rocked, pressing back to him and rubbing against his hand.
The mewling sound in her throat came again, and she could not seem to catch her breath.
He’d never taken a woman of his tribe. He had never wanted a woman badly enough to make an offer to her father, until now. He was certain that Snow Raven was also a novice at this game, but somehow she was willing to allow him where no man had ever been. Perhaps, like him, he left her with nothing but a need too great to be denied.
He closed his eyes, knowing he should stop—knowing he would not.
They had no future. But they had tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
Raven lifted her head, offering her mouth, and he slanted his over hers. Her lips were soft and warm, her tongue pliant. He pulled her tighter. Running Wolf thrust his tongue over hers, showing her what he meant to do to her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. Her cry of need muffled.
Did she know what she was doing? Did he? She was a captive, an enemy, and none of it mattered. All that mattered was his need to please her and to make her his own.
But taking her would not protect her. In fact, if any discovered them, it would place her in even more danger. How could he protect her from all the threats she faced? His mother, Spotted Fawn’s inevitable jealousy, Red Hawk, who wanted her dead, and the men in his tribe who wanted her as a common woman.
His need put her at risk. He knew it, and his hand, the one that made her blind with need, stilled. He began to pull away and then she captured him, trapping him and guiding his fingers until they slipped inside her passage. His hands moved, one stroking the sweet slick folds between her legs while the other moved rhythmically inside her. All the while he rocked his hips against her, his erection pressing to her lovely round backside. But he waited, wanting her to know the joys of release.
She rocked faster. He matched the pace she set.
Then from her throat came the low moan. Raven arched against him, while deep inside her body the rolling contraction moved over his questing fingers. The next time she reached the crest of this mountain, he vowed to be inside her.
She went slack in his embrace and he held her, dipping to scoop her up in his arms. His first thought was to run with her, away from his tribe, away from his people.
But that was madness.
Despite what she had told him, that she wanted a man who would look to her needs above all else, he could not be that man. He could not abandon his tribe for a woman. True, he might someday move from his clan to the clan of his wife, but his wife would be Sioux. She must be.
Her breath still rasped, but her body was calm as he held her close.
How could he make Raven Sioux?
He recalled that Spotted Fawn had lost a sister. The baby had been born without a heartbeat. She could adopt Raven, bring her into her family. And if Running Wolf married her, he could also marry the sister of his wife. That way he could protect Raven and he could stil
l make the chief happy, become the next chief himself.
He knew what she wanted, longed for. A man who would look to her needs before his own and before his people.
He could not. But he could protect her.
Raven opened her eyes and reached for him as he slid a knee between her legs. She spread her thighs for him, eager, he thought, for their coupling.
He reached between them, feeling the sweet slickness of her need. He would keep her, make her his in the only way he knew how. But would she accept him? Would she be pleased to become Sioux?
“Raven, will you stay with me?”
“Yes.”
“Not just for tonight.”
“If I was free, I would choose you, keep your lodge and bear your children, Running Wolf.”
He closed his eyes at the meaning of her words, the ones spoken between a wife and her husband. She chose him.
She gave a soft moan of need and lifted her hips so that his fingers sank deeper into her body. She threaded her fingers in his hair and tugged, bringing him closer.
She wanted him. He didn’t care why. He would take her, protect her. Love her. And somehow he would bring her into his life. A captive. A second wife. He did not know. But he accepted her because he could do nothing else.
He moved his hands upward, and this time she did not stop him. He wrapped both arms about her and pulled her tight against the length of his body. His head fit beside hers and her back warmed his front.
“I will protect you,” he said.
She gave a soft moan and she turned her head. Their mouths pressed tight, sealing their promises.
His hands roamed up and down, over her breasts, the soft skin of her belly and the strong, firm muscles of her thighs. She twisted so they lay face-to-face on their sides. Then she stroked his chest with featherlight caresses. He gasped as her fingers danced lower, collecting him in both hands and measuring the length of him.
He had been ready for her since the first moment he had seen her, but he wanted this to be perfect. He would not hurry. He would show the control he needed to so that she would know what life would be like with him, even if she must share him with another. She would be his favorite, though he could never say so aloud.
