Cheyenne Captive (13 page)

He broke off a straw, trailed it down her face to her full lips. “You know we can’t live out here alone. Why do you say that?”

She sighed, brushed away the straw as it tickled her skin. “Because of last night,” she answered. “Because I can’t get enough of you and don’t want to share you with anyone.”

His eyes were hot and intense as they swept over her. “You don’t have to share me with anyone. As long as I feel you want me, I’ll never again make love to another woman.”

She looked deep into his eyes. “You’ll not take a second wife as the Cheyenne do?”

“I couldn’t satisfy two women if the other wanted me as you did last night.”

“I want you now,” she whispered and felt the flush creep up her neck and she glanced away, shame-faced.

“Take off your shift,” he ordered.

“Now?” she looked at him. “But we just last night—”

“Your wanting me feeds my own desire,” he answered, “and I find suddenly that I ache for you again. Take off that shift or shall I grab you and rape you as I would a captive?”

“I’m your captive, your Cheyenne captive,” she answered. Summer pulled the deerskin shift slowly over her head and stood naked for his appraisal.

She saw his eyes darken with urgency and desire. “We both know differently, but I shall humor you,” he said as his eyes studied her ripe body. “Turn slowly around, slave, and let me enjoy looking at that which gives your master so much pleasure.”

She had a sudden fantasy of being a slave girl on an auction block being put up for bids. Taking a deep breath so that her firm breasts jutted out, she pivoted slowly, favoring her sore ankle.

He leaned back on his elbows, frankly appraising her naked body. She could see the pulse pounding in his neck and the heightened color of his face. “Now, come here, slave girl,” he commanded. “Your master wants you.”

She stood looking down at him, liking the way he studied her. “Do I please you?” she asked coquettishly.

“You know you do.” He reached up, caught her hand, and pulled her down on top of him. “You’re going to be dessert after breakfast,” he murmured against her lips.

“Whites don’t have dessert after breakfast,” she answered primly as she closed her eyes.

“I had you after supper, remember?” He nibbled the corner of her mouth. “We are going to make our own rules from now on. We will have each other any time we feel like it; we will look into each other’s eyes and be unashamed to say it.”

“Say what?” She sat astride his body, leaning back on her hands, blatantly teasing him with her arched breasts.

“You know what I want you to say, you small, sly vixen.” His mouth bent to nuzzle her breasts. “Say it!” he commanded.

She threw her head back and gasped with pleasure, her long hair trailing across his legs. “I—I desire you, master. Your Cheyenne captive wants your body ever so much!”

His hands were on her thighs now and she could feel his manhood rising hard against her velvet softness.

His big hands grasped her small waist, pulling her toward him. “Lock your legs around my waist,” he whispered.

He must have seen the surprise in her eyes, the sudden flush of her face at the idea. “I can take you deeper this way,” he commanded. “And that’s what you want, to be taken even deeper than before.”

“Oh, yes!” she sighed, moving so that he entered her as her legs went around his waist. His arms went around her body, stroking her back as his mouth opened, encouraged her to put her small pink tongue within as he sucked gently. Her arms went around him, touching the whip scars on his back as she pressed against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest. She loved the hard friction of his chest against her sensitive nipples.

Her tongue was deep between his lips, wanting to go deeper as he plunged into her.

His hands were beneath her naked bottom, stroking, caressing, pinching.

And then her need was so great she could think of nothing else but plunging her tongue deep in his sucking mouth, grinding her body down on the pulsating dagger that impaled her womanhood. A great, shuddering spasm swept over her thoughts, her emotions, her mind. Her body was in charge, unashamedly answering its own primitive needs as any female in a savage wilderness.

Her body exploded in spasms of fulfillment and they clung to each other as she felt him tense and release within her. Time stood suspended.

When it was finally over, she clung to him, sobbing softly. “I—I don’t know why I’m crying,” she sobbed. “I—I don’t know why.”

He held her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe as he kissed her tears away. “Many women have wept in my arms,” he admitted. “It is a sign of complete surrender.”

She was abruptly jealous at the images that came to her mind and she jerked away from him and stood up. “You reduce me to a begging, weeping female, like a mare of your large herd, rubbing herself against a stallion.”

He stood up, pulled her against him roughly. “I said there would be no others for me anymore as long as you want me to be your man. This stallion is here to service you any time you want him.”

“I—I feel ashamed to admit my body needs you.” She tried to pull away but his arms held her tightly against him as his lips brushed hers.

“You’re my woman, Summer. I want you to desire me with nothing held back. I want to see your hunger for me in your eyes, have you come to me desiring my body while throwing all your inhibitions away. This is a once in a lifetime passion for us both!”

“I love you so much,” she whispered, kissing him again. “I want this to last forever....”

“It will last as long as both of us love each other equally.” He kissed her mouth and sighed. “And now, Little One, we really must go back. Everyone will wonder where we are since they surely saw the smoke of the forest fire. My uncle’s family will worry that I am hurt or dead.”

As she dressed, he kicked dirt over the small fire, made ready to leave. He mounted the big stallion and pulled her up to ride behind him.

She put her arms around his slim waist and felt his lean hips against the vee of her thighs as she sat close to him. She leaned against his naked back, rubbing her breasts against him as they started off.

Iron Knife chuckled. “Don’t do that,” he chided. “We really must get back to the village.”

They rode back along the path through the woods that she had taken yesterday. Summer pressed her face against his broad back, liking the male smell and warmth of his brown flesh.

Yesterday, I was a naive, silly girl, she thought. Today, I am a woman. I have been taken by a stallion of a man who loves me as passionately as I love him. My man will mate me until I am heavy with the son he desires and then give me another, and another . . .

They rode the rest of the way in silence, but Summer sensed something was wrong as they finally arrived in camp late in the afternoon and dismounted in front of the tepee. Pony Woman scurried up to them and Summer felt the old aunt’s sharp eyes take in everything—the torn clothes, the wounds of yesterday.

Pony Woman gave the familiar Indian greeting, “
Hou!
” and then launched into a flood of hurried Cheyenne.

Summer watched Iron Knife frown at the woman’s words and he asked several questions in the Indian tongue before turning to her.

“There is yet more trouble,” he said to Summer. “Some think the old chiefs have gone too far. Those who have been whipped and some of the other young hotheads who itch to fight the whites are making plans to ride out of the camp tomorrow morning.”

He gestured toward the lodge. “Wait for me. I must discuss this with my uncle and the others. They hope to dissuade the angry ones so they will not leave.”

“Don’t you want to put on a shirt first?” Summer asked in English, knowing the old woman’s eyes saw what Summer wore, saw the scratches and wounds on Iron Knife’s bare chest.

Without a word, he went inside and came out wearing fringed buckskin, hiding all the marks and bruises except for the cut over his eye.

She reached up to touch the cut and spoke again in English. “You were hunting deer yesterday with the others, remember? I think you fell during your hunt and cut your face.”

His eyes caressed her and the look told her more than words ever could. “I think you are right,” he said, gesturing. “Now, wait inside for me.”

She nodded and limped into the lodge as he left in long strides, his fat little aunt running to keep up with him.

It was more than an hour before he returned, and in the meantime she had built a fire in the fire pit and roasted a haunch of deer he had hung up from yesterday’s hunt.

Summer shared it with him when he returned, his face dark and angry as storm clouds. She remembered now what Angry Wolf had said to her about the Dog Soldiers leaving and thought she had forgotten to tell Iron Knife about it. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Now, judging from his angry face, it must be very important.

After they finished eating, she gathered up the scraps to toss to the many rangy dogs that hung around the encampment.

“Is the news so bad?” she asked finally.

“It is much as I feared,” he sighed, settling himself to gaze into the fire. “The peace-talkers can do nothing with them. Some young braves have been waiting for just such an excuse as this to ride out. Not all the Dog Soldiers are going, but those who do take some of the others from many warrior societies.”

Summer frowned. “Where will they go?”

“They will join up with the old renegade band that roams, claiming no allegiance to either the north or the south bands of Cheyenne. This group goes back twenty years to the time when Porcupine Bear was banished for murdering Little Creek and took his outlaw Dog Soldiers with him into exile.”

She paused, thinking how close to banishment they were themselves. “Does it really matter if they go?”

“Of course it matters,” he answered irritably. “Our great people as a group are growing weaker all the time. It is enough that we are already split into two groups, following the great north and south herds of buffalo without the renegade Dog Soldiers forming their own militant band.”

She watched his high cheekbones in the firelight, willing herself not to reach out and caress his face, knowing this was not the time for it. “Do the outlaw Dog Soldiers cause much trouble for the tribes?”

He nodded, staring into the fire, “They will not abide by the treaties or listen to the council of the old chiefs. They think they are a law unto themselves so they do as they please, attack wagon trains, raid the white farms and settlements. Then the stupid bluecoats, not knowing one Indian from another, retaliate against the peaceful groups.”

“Can you not explain to the soldier colonels about the renegades and that the chiefs cannot control them?”

“The soldiers want to kill Indians. The great White Father in Washington orders them to kill Indians whenever there is a raid. We cannot get them to listen when we try to explain. Sometimes, we fight even if we do not want to.”

A thought came to her with sudden clarity. “You yourself have fought the soldiers even though you speak peace?”

He nodded slowly, his mind seemingly far away. “Two years ago, the outlaw Hotamitaniu were raiding up and down the Smoky Hill, the Republican, and the Platte rivers. The whites sent a bluecoat chief they call
Bull o’ the Woods’ to hunt them down.”

“That’s Colonel Sumner of the first Cavalry.” Summer brightened. “I met him at a political dinner my father gave several years ago.”

He did not seem to hear her as he sat lost in the memory. “It was the very hot month,
Hiriutsiishi
, the Time of the Rutting Buffalo, last year that the troops finally stumbled on this band. We were camped on Solomon’s Fork, hunting buffalo, when our scouts brought word that the soldiers were coming. We knew nothing of the Dog Soldier raids, but we knew mounted cavalry meant trouble for any Indian in the area.”

She watched his mouth tighten. “Why did the Cheyenne not flee the place?”

“Many of us argued for it; we did not want trouble with the soldiers. We only want to live and hunt in peace. But some of the younger men care nothing for Crooked Hand Fitzpatrick’s treaty; they called us frightened women.”

He paused, remembering. “Two medicine men, Gray Beard and White Bull, said they had a strong magic that would make the whites’ bullets useless against us. Our men grew excited about this magic of having bullets strike harmless against our bodies. We were also very tired of always running, always being blamed for something we did not do!”

Summer frowned. “Surely with your background among the whites, you must have realized that this was superstitious nonsense. There is no magic that protects against bullets.”

He raised his scarred face slowly and looked at her. “No, I did not believe it at first. But how could I ride away and leave my friends to fight alone? One who owns the
Hotamtsit
, the Dog Rope, is expected to die in battle.”

Summer’s eyes turned toward the long strip of buffalo hide, scarcely as wide as a man’s hand that hung from a lodge pole. It was ten or twelve feet long and ornamented with feathers and porcupine quills done in bright red and yellow native dyes. A sharp, red-painted stake hung from one end. What was it Gray Dove had said?
The bravest of the brave ... only four Dog Soldiers in the society wore this badge of honor.