Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (13 page)

Things she dared not remember. Not now.

Soon she would have to go to bed with this man. Soon she would have to feel the warm pressure of his body next to hers. And too soon, she knew, she would hear the call of his body to hers.

Idly she wondered why the knowledge that the man had a woman waiting for him in his camp didn’t dampen her desire for him. It should, shouldn’t it? Yet it hadn’t. To tell the truth, his integrity in wishing to do the right thing by her, within the confines of the beliefs of his culture, caused the opposite effect: she admired him.

But she would never let him know it. To do so might mean more danger to her heart than she cared to contemplate.

She knew he was waiting for her to go to bed. Patiently, with no attempt to rush her, he waited. Yet she couldn’t make herself say anything to him or force herself to move.

She felt petrified. But soon his silence began to irritate her.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

He stopped his work, looking over to her before he said, “Because it would be bad manners for me to go to the sleeping robes and lie down before you.”

She groaned. “Even if I want you to go?”

He nodded. “Even then.”

She inhaled deeply. “I can’t lie with you this night,” she said at last. “When we began our journey, I thought I could do it so as to avoid a problem, but now I don’t think that I can.”

“Humph,” he said, and nodded. “I thought as much. It is why I believe we should both go to bed fully clothed, as you once suggested.”

“I don’t think I can do it even then.”

“I will not try to…violate you, I vow this to you. Now that we understand one another, and our differences, we know that we can never come to be man and wife in truth. It would be wrong, then, of me to tempt you, and I will not do it. Will knowing this make it easier for you?”

Would it? She would still have the warmth of his body against hers, the scent of his skin to inhale with each breath, the feel of his arms beneath her head to cushion her. Plus, he would have to contend with the same things from her. Could he really ignore her so easily? Somehow, she didn’t like the idea that he could.

“I’m not certain that I can sleep next to you. Maybe if I were so tired that I would have no choice but to fall asleep at once. Maybe then.”

“
Haiya
,”
he said, “I can do no more than I have already offered this night. Perhaps tomorrow I should try to make you walk farther than today so that you will be too tired to think of anything else but sleep.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t help us tonight.”

“Possibly you are right. But maybe we should walk now. Will that not tire you enough to sleep?”

“Perhaps.”

He set down the arrowhead and said, “Let us do it.”

Without another word, he arose immediately and set off ahead of her, his footsteps making little noise against the grasses. He didn’t look back at her, either. Was he assuming, Indian-like, that she would follow him?

She did, too. Shaking the stiffness out of her legs and holding the buffalo robe firmly around her shoulders for warmth, she ran after him, her own pacing making enough noise for the two of them combined.

It was a beautiful night. The breeze was cool, but the moon shone above them as a tiny sliver of light, the stars twinkling like shimmering jewels set against a backdrop of black velvet. The prairie stretched out before her, seemingly to infinity. She felt a part of all this, somehow; a part of the magnitude of the universe. It was a good feeling, one that she could not remember having felt before this moment.

Would she have come to think this way if she hadn’t been stolen away by these Indians? Not a pleasant thought, yet it remained as a possible truth. She thought of her old life, of the drudgery of the meager existence she’d known since her parents’ death over five years ago.

Katrina, though, had offered to pay Rebecca’s debts in exchange for her services as maid and her company on this trek into the wilderness. Only Katrina had offered relief.

Rebecca owed a debt of gratitude to Katrina. Without her, Rebecca would have never had the opportunity to come to know this place, to know Night Thunder.

She glanced up, realizing that Night Thunder’s path had changed, his footfalls leading them to the river where the water ran smooth and fast, gurgling in its hurry. They crossed over the water to the other side, then back again, the river being narrow enough to step over in parts. Willow trees dotted the bank on each side of the water, the smell of their leaves scenting the air. Rebecca let out a gasp as a white-tailed deer flitted in front of them, heading for the hill which hid the stream from the prairie. Huge cottonwoods, their bark worn thin from where buffalo had rubbed against them, stood as though they were solitary sentinels on duty. Off in the distance a herd of antelope poised near the river, their hoofs making a solid thud against the earth as they fought for position to drink at the stream.

Night Thunder led her to the hill, climbing up onto the plains, where she stood looking toward the heavens in awe, so grandiose loomed the starlit sky above her.

“Looking up like this,” she said softly, “gives a person the feeling he is the only living being on earth, doesn’t it?”

“
Aa,
yes, it is so. But we will go back into the coulee a soon as we pass the antelope down there.”

“I see,” said Rebecca, gazing back at Night Thunder. “But tell me, why is it that we are skirting around them from up here?”

“To go among them now would startle them and make them stampede,” he said. “If there were an enemy nearby, it would betray our presence to them. I do not believe there is an enemy here near us, but why should we take the chance?”

“Aye,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her and she caught her breath. Why did he have to look so handsome? And why did she have to notice things about him, like the way the moonlight shone on his hair, the way his skin glistened under it, the regal way in which he walked, in which he held himself, as though he had the grace of a panther? She glanced away hurriedly.

“All day long,” she said, a little out of breath, “we’ve been avoiding or killing rattlesnakes that we run across in our path. Isn’t it feasible that we could come across one?”

She could see his head nod as he agreed with her. “That is always possible,” he said, “but do not fear. It is why I go ahead of you. So that if we do run into something which is harmful, it will get to me before you, giving you a chance to escape.”

“And leave you alone?”

“I would hope that you would. Sometimes,” he said, “it is necessary that the woman escapes to safety while the man stays to fight. Women are very important in our village, since without a mother, a child has little chance to survive.”

“But without a man to provide for them,” Rebecca argued, “a woman would find it hard to raise that child. Therefore, you are just as important to that child’s future as the woman and should have as much consideration.”

She could see him shrug slightly as he continued to tread ahead of her. “The tribe would always ensure that a woman has food and clothing if her man is killed,” he said. “The woman and child would never go hungry, nor would they want for anything.”

“Is that so?” she asked, not adding that in white society, the woman and child would have to provide for themselves in a world where only the men survived well; that the woman and child might not subsist at all.

He asked, “Is it not this way for the white man, too?”

Rebecca shrugged silently, knowing he wouldn’t see the gesture, yet unwilling to condemn her own society.

“Besides,” he continued, “I have rattlesnake medicine, if we find we have need of it.”

“Rattlesnake medicine?”

“
Aa,
yes.”

“You mean, medicine that will cure a bite?”

“
Aa,
yes.”

“There is no such thing, one has to dig and suck the poison out.”

Night Thunder laughed. “I will not argue the point with you. Just know that I have the medicine with me if we should have cause to use it. I have seen it cure snakebite.”

“But there is only one way to—”

“Hush!” He suddenly halted and held up his hand for her silence. Rebecca almost ran into his back.

Suddenly, though, he straightened up and turned all around him, scanning his environment.

“What is wrong?”

“Sh-h-h.”

“What is it?”

“A war party—four, maybe five or six.”

“A war party? But I thought you said…I hear nothing.”

“Do you know how to listen?”

“I…Couldn’t it be the warriors from our own party?”

“Traveling at night? This is Blackfoot country, we have no need to journey during the time when Old Woman must shine, but our enemies do.”

“Old Woman?”

“The favorite wife of the Sun. You call her the moon. Hush!” He held up his hand.

She gulped. “What can we do?”

“We must hide. I am not enough to stop them by myself, and there is no time to return to our camp. Quickly.”

She hadn’t noticed it, but off to the side of the stream, down in the coulee, there were several dead cottonwood trees: one on its side, another with part of its trunk cut or worn out. Was that tree hollow? Night Thunder hurried her toward it as though it were.

If it were hollow, she wondered, was it big enough to hide them? Even then, if it was, wasn’t it also possible that something else might have taken refuge in it? Some animal, perhaps?

She had no time to ponder it. The tree had a large cavity, and Night Thunder gave the inside of it a cursory glance, placing her within it while he gazed out upon the countryside. Then, seeing her settled, and with one final scan of the horizon, Night Thunder slipped in beside her.

The tree was barely big enough for the two of them, and of necessity they stood together, chest to chest, legs to legs, stomach to stomach. If she hadn’t known the feel of this man before, she certainly did now.

Immediately the scent of rotten wood assailed her and something small and indefinable crawled up her arm. She gave a slight jump.

Night Thunder’s arms tightened around her and he gave her a silencing look. He murmured, “You must not speak out no matter what happens, do you understand?”

She nodded.

He pulled her more closely into his arms—so close, she could hear the rapid beating of his heart, feel the warming touch of his breath against her ear. All at once, another fragrance stormed her senses, too: his scent, clean, fresh, undeniably male, perfumed with the sweat from his skin.

This was too much, she realized, his presence too intoxicating, and it was more than she could do to remain still. She wiggled, but Night Thunder quickly brought her under control, his arms tightening around her as he gave her another warning look.

Finally she heard it, the sounds of people—men—moving across the prairie. Dimly at first, but then with more and more clarity, they came toward them.

How could Night Thunder have heard them before? Did he have some kind of sixth sense?

She listened to the men talking and her heartbeat sped up to an incredible pace. She put her head against Night Thunder’s shoulder and hid her eyes, as though that action alone would shield her from harm. It was odd, too, because though she felt frightened, she also experienced a sense of safety: being secure, here with Night Thunder to protect her.

The enemy was close now. She held her breath, afraid that even her breathing would be heard.

Suddenly a moccasined foot came into view and she held back a gasp, barely. Night Thunder’s arms pressed around her and he glanced down at her, warning her again to silence.

As she gazed up at Night Thunder, an Indian, painted fully in black and carrying spear, arrows, and knife, appeared in her view, his back toward them. She opened her mouth to scream, but at that same moment, Night Thunder’s lips suddenly closed over hers, silencing her.

Perhaps it was because her senses were already heightened; perhaps, also, were Night Thunder’s. Whatever the cause, a minor explosion occurred within her.

She felt like weeping. If she had found him irresistible before, she found him doubly enchanting now.

He pulled back from her, away from the kiss—for only a moment—as though she had bitten him. He stared at her, there in their private world of rotted tree trunk, and nesting animals. Though it was too dark to see, she knew that if she could, she would witness shock within his eyes. It had to be. She felt it as well.

The other Indian disappeared, almost as though she had dreamed him, and Night Thunder took her lips again with his, only this time his mouth plundered hers, much as man immemorial has done in claiming his bride. His tongue swept into her mouth, dipped, and tasted before he pulled back to trace the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue…around and around, over and over, until neither of them could stand it and he fell again to ravaging her mouth.

Had she groaned? She knew she shouldn’t. Yet she didn’t seem able to help herself.

She could hear the talk of the enemy outside, but her fear evaporated as sensual excitement took hold of her. Night Thunder’s mouth made love to her—stimulating, strenuous love—and her body, pressed in closely to his, ached.