Native Gold (45 page)

The yellow-haired man—Swede, Mati called him—scratched his head. "Well, I’ll be damned."

As always, Hintsuli, cautious as Bear charging into the stream, raced toward Mati, giggling and falling into her embrace, merrily burrowing his face in her skirts. Beyond Hintsuli, Sakote’s mother walked sedately in her finest deerskin cloak.

All around him, the miners stood like rabbits frozen in the stare of a wolf. He lifted one corner of his mouth into a smile. Surely they’d seen Konkow women before. Perhaps it was only that they’d never seen so many in one place, or maybe it was that other thing Noa talked about—the way the Konkow women didn’t cover their breasts—that disturbed them.

"My son’s spirit is at peace?" said his mother by way of greeting.

Sakote smiled. "They’ve made Mati my
kulem
again in the white way."

His mother studied the faces of the miners. "These are good
willa
?" she asked.

"They are good
willa
."

The other white woman of Paradise Bar, Granny, trudged up behind him, grumbling like an old she-bear. "Don’t you boys got any manners at all?" She nudged him aside and stretched her hand out toward Sakote’s mother. "How-de-do, ma’am. My name’s Beatrice Elizabeth Cooper, but most folks call me Granny."

Sakote told his mother to give the woman her hand. Her eyes went wide as Granny pumped her arm vigorously up and down, but when the white woman finally let go, there was a twinkle in her gaze to match the stars.

"Come on, boys," Granny brayed. "Introduce yourselves."

His mother learned the hand-shaking ritual quickly, and some of the braver women of the village joined in as well. And though they couldn’t decipher the words of the miners, they understood well their hospitality when the white men offered them boiled ham with beans, oyster soup, and what was left of the peach pie.

The Konkows had brought no food to contribute, but a few of the women gave strings of clamshells and feather ear ornaments to the miners.

The Konkow warriors, swiftly learning the custom Noa called toasting, grew more and more companionable, and soon they started up a hand game. The man named Frenchy took a keen interest in the game, though he lost much to the warriors, gambling away a brown glass bottle, six matches, and a small nugget of gold.

When the sun went to sleep, the miners built a huge fire. The man with the small black hat, Tom, began to make a song, blowing into a strange
yalalu
made of metal. Another miner joined him, making music upon a wooden box fitted with strings like a hunting bow. The sound was wondrous, and soon the people of his village started dancing and spinning before the fire. Noa and Towani joined their arms and began the skipping, turning dance of the whites, and before long, the white men and the Konkows danced together until they were breathless.

Because no celebration was complete without storytelling, Domem began to tell a Konkow tale. Sakote translated for the miners. He told the story of the foolish Konkow woman who abandoned her baby to chase after a butterfly. The butterfly turned into a man who led her to a valley filled with butterflies, and she became dazzled chasing them. The man abandoned her there, and she was lost forever in the valley.

Not to be outdone, Tom stood up and told a story filled with magical creatures—tiny bearded men with pots of gold and great lizards that breathed fire. Hintsuli had never sat so quietly for so long.

Sakote stifled a yawn, and his mother, sitting across the dwindling fire, smiled at him. She leaned over and spoke to her husband. The headman nodded, then rose to speak.

Sakote translated his message of thanks and peace to the white men. Then the Konkows left Paradise Bar as silently as they had come.

When Sakote carried her across the threshold of the cabin, as the miners had told him was the custom, Mattie blushed. It wasn’t from the thought of being carried in such a fashion in front of the men. It wasn’t even because of the bed that waited in conspicuous invitation. But as soon as he nudged the door open, Mattie remembered the sketch staring blatantly down from the wall.

Sakote grunted as he spied it by the light of her flickering oil lamp. Then he kicked the door closed behind them, shutting out the prying eyes of the miners.

"Who is this fierce warrior that hangs over the bed to frighten my
kulem
?"

She smacked him lightly on the chest. "You know it’s you, Sakote."

His half-smile told her that indeed he knew, and that he was pleased,
too
pleased that it was hanging in such a place of honor.

He set her down, took the lamp, and moved to take a closer look. Then he frowned. "This face is hard and angry."

"It was the first I saw of you. I drew it from memory." She came up beside him and ran a finger playfully along his arm. "And as I recall, you
were
hard and angry. I suppose you thought the wild and wicked white woman might hurt your helpless little brother."

Mischief glimmered in his eyes. "Wild and wicked? No. You were frightened. And willful."

She smirked and crossed her arms. "Frightened? I wasn’t frightened in the least," she lied.

"No? You
should
have been." He answered her with such a smoldering gaze that it made her knees wobble.

Her reply came out a hoarse whisper. "And I’ve never been willful in my life."

"Never?" His eyes never leaving hers, he placed the lamp upon the table. The shadows of the room danced and then settled. Without a word, he began to slowly strip off his clothes. A self-assured smile played upon his lips as he moved languorously, like a cat, clearly relishing the idea of seducing her in this way, one garment at a time. He managed to tug the coat down over his shoulders and past his elbows, but once he reached his forearms, the sleeves inverted and bunched around his wrists, trapping him. He scowled.

Mattie’s lips quivered as she tried valiantly not to giggle. Sakote’s eyes narrowed, and his chest rose and fell with an impatient sigh as he struggled against the cloth bonds to no avail.

Finally, Mattie took mercy upon him. She worked the coat back up over his shoulders and helped him slide out one sleeve at a time. When he would have ripped open the shirt, sending buttons flying everywhere, Mattie intervened, unfastening the garment with greedy fingers.

One glance at Sakote’s pleased face told her he had no intention of letting her stop. With quivering hands, she gingerly unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down over his lean hips. She gasped at his blatant display of arousal, and his answering chuckle came from deep in his chest.

"See what you’ve done," he purred, "willful woman."

Mattie didn’t feel willful at all. She felt as weak as a lamb.

How Sakote managed to undress her in turn without tearing the gown, she didn’t know, for the way he stared at her, his eyes molten with desire, made her limbs go as limp as boiled cabbage. Soon she stood before him, naked, unashamed, filled with longing.

He touched her first with only his eyes, like an artist preparing to paint her.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured, "like the aloalo blossom."

Her cheeks warmed with pleasure, but then the corner of her mouth drifted up in a smile to mimic Sakote’s. "And what’s an aloalo blossom?"

A guilty twinkle lit up his gaze. "Noa says it’s the most beautiful flower in Hawaii. He says it’s..." He screwed up his forehead to think. "Dang purty."

Mattie fought back a grin. "Dang purty?"

He nodded. Then he reached out a hand to brush her hair back from her neck, and all thoughts of levity left her. His fingers felt warm and sure upon her skin, and she closed her eyes to savor the sensation.

His hand slipped around the back of her neck, and with gentle pressure, he pulled her closer. His other arm crossed over her back and completed the embrace. She groaned with the ecstasy of flesh against flesh as her cheek brushed the hollow of his shoulder, her breasts pillowed against his chest, and she felt the blunt desire of his man’s-knife against her belly.

His lips found her forehead, and his warm breath misted her face as he trailed kisses along the line of her hair. The pads of his fingers branded her, moving languidly over her body, first as lightly as a breeze, then with the strength of a river current.

She opened her mouth, and he came to her, teasing her with delicate flicks of his tongue, drawing her lips between his own, then enveloping her in a kiss so deep, so complete that she wound up draped around his neck like one of those monkeys she’d seen clinging to the trees of Panama.

She moaned. Her breasts tingled with yearning, and the throbbing between her legs intensified to an aching need. His body was so hot, so sleek, so strong. His long hair fell upon her face and softly lashed her bosom as she drank and drank of his kisses, insatiable.

She would have sunk to the floor, made love to him on the rough planks of the cabin at once, but he wrapped his arms about her and lifted her to the bed.

"Tonight I’m the husband of the white woman," he explained, his voice rough with lust. "Tonight we will join here."

She opened her eyes to slits and gazed at him as he loomed over her on the bed. The lantern’s glow lit up his face, accentuating the wide set of his cheekbones, the proud arch of his nose, the lush lashes that swept his cheek as he tossed his head back and closed his eyes in brief prayer to his Creator. Ah, God, he was handsome. A wave of joy washed over her as she thought about the child she carried within her, the babe who would bear its father’s beautiful features.

And then her tender thoughts fled as he lowered himself to her, leaving her breathless. The weight of his body pressed her gently but firmly into the mattress, and the heat of him sent a roar like fire through her head. His hands cupped her face as he opened her mouth to entwine his tongue with hers, and she sank urgent fingers into the supple muscle of his back. His hair tumbled forward, blotting out the light of the flame until he flung it aside to whisper in her ear. This time he didn’t speak to her in his native tongue. This time she understood every word.

"Don’t leave me again, Mati, my beautiful wife," he murmured. "It makes my heart sad. Don’t leave me."

His words, so simple, so forthright, touched her deeply. She answered him around a sudden thickening in her throat. "Never."

He bathed her face with kisses then, until the knot of her emotions dissolved into giggles of delight.

When his kisses slowed and moved lower, beneath her chin, in the hollow of her throat, across her bosom, she sighed and arched toward him. He chuckled low, kissing his way around her breasts, laving her lavishly with the soft underside of his tongue, then finally took her nipple into his mouth.

Restless, she writhed beneath his onslaught, shivering as the back of his knuckles skated along her ribs on their stealthy path toward the burgeoning desire centered between her legs. His fingers tangled in her curls, brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, dipped into the dampening crevices of her womanhood. To her mortification, she longed to shove her hips up against him, to press that part of her into his palm, his thigh, any piece of him.

He kissed his way across the spot between her ribs where her heart throbbed, dipping into her navel, then along the ticklish recesses of her hips. But when he moved even lower, she sucked in her breath and made fists of her hands. Surely he didn’t intend...not by the full light of the lamp...

He grazed the skin of her thigh with his teeth, and she smothered a cry. His breath was warm upon her. His lips were soft. And his tongue...

She bolted up with the intensity of his touch, shocked and amazed and so full of that single incredible sensation that she grew blind and deaf to all else as his tongue danced over her flesh. If she screamed, she never heard it. If her expression revealed her untempered passions, she never realized it. There was only Sakote and her and a whirlwind of fire spiraling out of control.

Then, for one wonderful, terrible moment, she couldn’t breathe. And didn’t care. Her fingers snarled in Sakote’s hair, her mouth gaped open, and her eyes flew wide in astonishment. Like an eagle, higher and higher she seemed to rise on a wild wind of desire until she rose so high that her feathers ruffled in the thin air and she dove, shuddering, toward the earth.

"Sakote!" she cried as her body bucked violently from the bed.

But he rode her down, staying with her, guiding her, comforting her until the spasms subsided and she settled gently upon the mattress again.

She wanted to avert her eyes. She was ashamed of her unconstraint, of what he might have seen. But he wouldn’t let her turn away. His eyes full of earnest wonder, he captured her head between loving hands, demanding her gaze, and blessed her with a single absolving kiss.

Sakote licked his lips. He liked the taste of Mati in his mouth. And he liked the feel of her in his arms, especially when her spirit left her for that dangerous moment to soar among the clouds. It filled him with pride, for it meant she trusted him. And it filled him with desire as well.

His man’s-knife poked at her already, rude and impatient. But she didn’t appear to mind. And even that warmed his heart.

"Oh, Sakote," she breathed, and his name had power upon her lips. "I want you."

He saw her swallow and knew it had been hard for her to say. Maybe it wasn’t the white way to speak of such things. But she was changing, growing closer to the way of the Konkow, to the way Wonomi had made her.

"I want you, too, Mati."

Then, watching her eyes smolder as he did so, he eased his man’s-knife slowly into her. Sweat trickled down his cheek as he forced his body to forbear. But when he at last joined completely with Mati, her gaze of pure passion drove him to abandon patience.

He mated with her gently at first, but soon the movement became a dance of their spirits’ making. The ropes of the bed squeaked as they thrust together with more force. Mati moaned beneath him, firing his blood, and the growl of the bear came from his own throat in answer.

His man’s-knife swelled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, overcome with lust. Sweat dripped from his brow, and the cords of his arms tensed like the sinew of his bow as he held his body to keep from crushing Mati. All at once, the world stilled, and Sakote felt as though he floated on the smoke of the dream pipe. He saw a vision, as clear as the water of the creek. Mati sat before an evening fire, laughing, with a baby in her arms.