Native Gold (38 page)

Her eyes filled with hot tears, blurring the dogwood blossoms and the chartreuse ferns and the sun-sparkled creek into a messy palette of watercolors. She was hurt and embarrassed. And though she knew in her heart Sakote had done nothing to deserve her anger, she wanted to hurt him back.

Salvaging the shreds of her dignity, she flung her hair over her shoulder and tried to control the wavering in her voice. "If it’s the Konkow way, then perhaps I should try to learn. Whom do you think I should play the pleasure games with next—Domem or Bercha?"

Sakote scowled with displeasure, and she knew she’d hit her mark.

They didn’t speak all the way back to the village.

Sakote frowned into the flames of the night fire. Mati’s distant laughter—made for another man—was as annoying as the taunting jabber of the blue jay.

Why had Mati mentioned his tribal brothers, Bercha and Domem? Was she interested in them? Had they spoken to her? How had she learned their names? His scowl deepened. He didn’t like this turn in the path.

Earlier today, when he and Mati had played the pleasure games, they’d been caught up in the joy of their bodies. He’d been convinced she cared for his spirit as well. But now he wondered if he was wrong, if it wasn’t so. Perhaps it was only that she’d never played the pleasure games before. Perhaps he wasn’t sacred to her at all.

He sighed. He could never understand the mind of a woman. Their ways were a mystery to him. He could hardly figure out his sister, who was Konkow. How would he ever untangle the twisted thoughts of this
willa
?

Sakote narrowed his eyes at Bercha, who sat across the fire. The youth’s handsome face glowed in the orange flame. He was two leaf-falls younger than Sakote. He was strong. His shoulders were as broad as the oldest cedar in the woods, and he could shoot an arrow all the way across the clearing. But he was not as good a hunter as Sakote.
He’d
never been honored by dancing in the rafters at the
simi,
deer ceremony. Besides, Bercha was in love with another. Sakote was certain of it. So why would Mati want to play the pleasure games with him?

He shifted on his haunches, looking past the circle of faces until he found Mati’s, shining white like the
poko,
the moon. Laughter brightened her eyes as Domem told the tale of mean-spirited Skunk, who’d caused acorns to stink so that women would have to work hard to make them edible. Domem told the story in the Konkow tongue, but his wrinkled nose and crossed eyes were easy enough to understand.

Domem had always been a good storyteller. Perhaps that was why Mati liked him. But he was never serious. He entertained the children, but the elders didn’t respect his counsel. They said Domem had his mind in the mist, that he was always dreaming of fish, never catching them. Why would Mati want to play the pleasure games with someone so childlike?

No, he decided, pressing his lips together. She shouldn’t play the pleasure games with Bercha
or
Domem. His mind made up, he rose from the fireside and beckoned her with a motion of his hand and a questioning lift of his brows.

Outside her
hubo
, it took him a long while to gather his thoughts, especially when the moon painted her hair in glowing waves and the touch of her sun-warmed skin was still fresh in his memory.

"I’ve been thinking," he told her.

"Indeed?" It was only one word—a fairly meaningless word—but Mati made it sound as cool and distant as the stars.

He wished Mati could speak his tongue. Konkow was so much simpler, more direct. English seemed like the language of Henno, Trickster Coyote, who might whip around at any time and bite him.

"On this matter of the pleasure games."

"Ah."

"I’ve decided that if it isn’t the way of your people,
akina
, you shouldn’t play the pleasure games."

"I see." He didn’t like the look on her face. It reminded him of Towani’s expression when she was about to spin a web of words to trap him. "But I don’t agree. If I’m to dwell among the Konkows, then I should learn the ways of
your
people." She looked past his shoulder toward the fire, where the children continued to giggle at Domem’s silly antics. "I think Domem might be willing to..."

He grabbed her by the shoulders, harder than he meant to. "Domem..." Then, confused by his own roughness, he loosened his grip. "Domem is...foolish and simple."

"Hmm," she said, thoughtfully scratching her cheek. "And Bercha? He’s as handsome as the devil, I must say, and—“

Sakote let out a growl of exasperation. He shoved a hand back through his hair. How could he make her see?

He sighed and gazed down at her. Mati’s eyes shone like pebbles at the bottom of the creek. Starlight glazed her hair to the color of sun-dried grass and poured like acorn milk over her shoulders and across her breasts, places he knew now, places that made his fingers tingle to recall.

He knew the truth, deep in his heart. He couldn’t bear to think of anyone else touching her. Now. Or ever.

Still, he was reluctant to tell her. If he confessed his love, he had to be willing to make a promise of commitment to her. And once he made that commitment, he’d be left with two choices. He would either have to defy the elders, who’d say Mati was bad luck, or he’d have to leave the village.

It was too soon to make such a difficult choice. It was customary for a serious Konkow suitor to spend weeks in courting—speaking with his intended’s father, bringing gifts to her family, playing the pleasure games with her, bringing her a deer to prove his ability to provide for her.

He’d known Mati such a short time. Yet he’d already chosen her. His dreams had shown him the way long before the white woman had even come. They belonged together, Sakote and the white eagle.

He took a steadying breath and commanded her gaze with his own. "I don’t wish you to play the pleasure games with anyone else."

The cold glare in her eyes shivered like icicles melting in the sun, but mistrust lingered there. "Really? While you continue to consort with Haikati and Yalalu and...and..."

"No." He frowned. What was she speaking about? He’d never played the pleasure games with Haikati. Haikati’s heart belonged to another. And Yalalu was his uncle’s daughter. Most of his encounters had been with girls of other Konkow tribes. And they all faded in his memory when he thought of coaxing Mati’s beautiful flower to blossom and remembered the touch of her smooth white hand upon him. "I don’t wish to play the pleasure games with anyone else. My heart is with you. My spirit is with you."

Despite Mattie’s best intentions to remain aloof, Sakote’s words made her heart flutter.

All evening, he’d seethed with blatant jealousy. Every time she glanced at Bercha, Sakote curled his lip in disgust. While the rest of the tribe laughed at Domem’s story, Sakote furrowed his brows. True, his jealousy had soothed her damaged vanity, if not her bruised feelings. But this...this was unexpected.

She looked into his eyes—darkly beautiful as they mirrored the black expanse of the heavens above—and she saw the truth. His heart
was
with her. He didn’t know the sugared phrases gentlemen used while courting. He offered none of the empty flattery and poetic comparisons that wearied a woman’s ear. But his simple words and his steadfast gaze were far more eloquent than anything she’d ever heard in a parlor.

Her heart went all soft. "You’re sure?"

He lifted a brow in question. "Have I not said so?"

She almost smiled at that—it never occurred to Sakote to lie—but instead, she let her gaze drop to his mouth. Ever since this afternoon, when they’d indulged in things that made her blush to remember, she could think of nothing else but touching him again. Her body felt drawn to him, like iron to a magnet. And this close, where she could see the soft glow of the moon in his eyes and inhale the sensual aroma of his skin, that tug was almost irresistible.

"I don’t want to...be...with anyone else either," she admitted, her voice a wisp of sound.

Relief relaxed his features. He tipped her chin up and smoothed the worry from her brow, then framed her face gently in one hand. She held her breath.

His hair swept like a curtain across her cheek as he bent to kiss her. He tasted of mountain balm tea and the sweet corn flavor of yellow-jacket eggs, but mostly he tasted of Sakote, that wonderful, indescribable ambrosia she’d grown to crave. She drank deep, weaving her fingers through his silky locks, slipping her hands under the edge of his buckskin cloak to trace the surging swell of his chest.

She longed to toss the cloak off of his shoulders, to tear the breechcloth from him, to see and touch and taste all that she remembered from the waterfall. Her own clothing felt like a tight cocoon from which she might emerge a glorious butterfly. But not here, not in the village, not in plain sight. Children still laughed around the evening fire. Young women flashed coy glances at young men across the flames. And though Sakote’s great body shielded her from their view, she knew the elders cast disparaging looks in her direction.

She held him close when he ended the kiss and whispered against his mouth before she had the sense to stay silent. "Stay with me tonight. Please."

He stiffened, and for an instant she feared she’d been too aggressive. But then he clasped her head to his chest, near his rapid-beating heart.

"Are you inviting me to…stay in your
hubo
?" he murmured against her hair.

“Yes.”

Sakote felt as if his heart would swell and burst. Mati wanted him. She accepted him. And at this moment, nothing else mattered.

He wouldn’t think about tomorrow. Tomorrow always brought a new sun that lit up a new path. For now he thought only about tonight, a night blossoming with promise, a night he’d remember all of his days. He thought of the sacred stream they’d cross together tonight, he and Mati.

He grasped her hand and let her lead him into her
hubo
.

It was dark except for a few slashes of starlight along the ground left by gaps in the roof. Sakote would have preferred firelight. He wanted to see Mati, to look into her shining eyes as he pleasured her, to see her lips blush from his kiss, to watch her face as her body finally exploded like stars over a waterfall.

But there would be time for that later. Tonight they’d travel in darkness. Tonight was only the first step of the journey.

He navigated by touch, kneeling, then swinging his cloak over the reed mat and mound of pine needles that made Mati’s bed, softening the nest. Mati’s skirts rustled as she knelt before him. He could no longer hear the storyteller’s muffled voice, only the rasping breath of their two hungering souls.

"It’s dark. I can’t..." Mati whispered.

Her hands stumbled across his chest, and he caught them, anchoring them against his ribs.

"See me with your heart," he murmured.

She sighed, and he ran his thumbs gently over her eyelids to close them. Closing his own eyes and trusting his instincts, he reached out for her lush tresses, her soft cheek, her delicate jaw. She began to caress him as well, gliding along the muscles of his bare chest. Her hands felt so small upon his body, and yet he could feel their magic all the way down to the place where his man’s-knife awoke.

He widened her jaw with his thumb and covered her open mouth with his, imagining the breath of his spirit flying from him and into her. He moved his lips in a gentle feast, tipping his tongue to hers, so wet and warm that he couldn’t help but compare this blossom to her tempting woman’s-flower. The thought wrenched a groan from him, and she answered by twining her arms about his neck.

He loosened the laces he’d made for her at the back of her dress, and the garment slipped from her as easily as the sigh slipped from her lips. The filmy gown beneath, sheer as a butterfly’s wing, threatened to tear in his eager fingers, and he wondered if he had the patience to take care with the thing...and with her.

His hand found its way along the pulsing vessel of her throat, and then stole lower, wrinkling the frail fabric that made a poor guardian of her bosom. Her breast curved perfectly into his hand, as if it were made for him. As he swept his palm over the insubstantial garment, she moaned, and her nipple rose to meet his touch.

His blood raged now, making
whit-tum-tumi
, thunder, in his ears. His mouth hungered for her. His man’s-knife demanded sheathing.

But he wouldn’t be led by his desires. He was a warrior. He was strong. He was a good hunter, because he possessed both strength and patience, and he must use those now.

Very slowly, so she wouldn’t be frightened, Sakote tugged loose the ties of her underdress, and then pressed Mati back upon the fur-covered reeds. And though the air was chill, he burned as he opened her chemise with his teeth and lowered his head to suckle at her breast.

Mattie felt as if a bolt of lightning coursed through her body. She arced to meet his mouth as the sweet current struck and echoed on and on. Soon, like a jealous twin, her concealed breast longed for his touch, and after a while he rewarded its yearning flesh as well.