Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (17 page)

Chapter Eleven

The fire crackled and spit red-yellow sparks as it burnt the dry cottonwood and grasses that fed it.

Rebecca inhaled, and the sweet scent of buffalo grass reached out to engulf her. Fascinated, she stared over toward the man who sat opposite her, on the other side of the fire, the faint light from the flames throwing the man’s high cheekbones into prominence. He had captured his black hair into neat braids at each side of his face, strips of red rawhide holding them in place. One separate braid fell down his back, she knew, though she couldn’t see it.

She fidgeted, staring at his lips, as she recalled how it had felt to be held in his arms last night; how exciting his kiss had been, urging her on into a world of passion she’d only dreamed existed. Not even her fiancé had made her feel that way. It was a hard thing to admit.

Would Night Thunder expect more kisses from her tonight? More lovemaking? Or perhaps more important, would she give them to him?

The thought made her blush. She couldn’t submit to him again. Last night had been different. Last night they hadn’t thought to live through the night…

Realizing where her thoughts were going, she glanced away from Night Thunder, hoping he didn’t possess the kind of “medicine,” as he called it, to be able to tell what she was thinking.

She cleared her throat. Try as she might throughout this day, Rebecca had realized that she could not condemn Night Thunder for what had happened between them. Not believing they had any future, the two of them had simply followed their instincts. Besides, if she condemned him, wouldn’t she have to denounce herself, as well? What she hadn’t considered, and possibly what he hadn’t, either, was what would happen if they lived. But again, they hadn’t been thinking clearly.

She gazed back at him, sending him a fleeting glance.

Oh, dear, she gulped nervously. He was surveying her now in much the same way that she had been doing to him earlier. She fidgeted under his steady regard.

Was it her, or was his appearance tonight more exotic than usual? It was almost as though he had made an effort to make himself look more appealing to her. Had he?

She let her gaze travel over him, trying to determine what it was that was so different about him. Was it the shells that he wore? Shells which, fashioned as slim hair pipes and strung together with large trade beads, hung down each side of his face and onto his bare chest? Or was it the more rounded shell earrings which dangled from his ears? On a civilized man the effect would have looked ridiculous, perhaps even feminine. Night Thunder, however, appeared far from effeminate. He exuded more masculinity than any man of her acquaintance, civilized or savage.

Her gaze fell away from his face and she found it hard not to examine his bare chest, all the hard muscle and sinew, with no chest hair to mar its perfection. His shoulders were broad, his waist slim, tapering down to a flat stomach upon which rested the belt which held up his breechcloth.

His legs were long, his leggings tight, the bulge in his breechcloth more pronounced than…

Her stomach dropped.

She tried to think of something else; truly she did. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from wondering how he would look without that breechcloth.

She almost moaned aloud at her thoughts, but she managed to keep the reaction to herself.

Still, she hadn’t been able to see the full effect of him last evening when they had made love, had only felt the rigid solidness of him, and she couldn’t help but speculate, how he would look when fully aroused. She had never before witnessed a naked man.

She almost gasped at the erotic meanderings of her thoughts, and biting her lip, she tried to keep herself from contemplating any more about it, about him. Yet she couldn’t stop herself as she glanced once more toward that breechcloth, and she swallowed convulsively when it appeared that the swelling down there had grown even larger. Quickly, she glimpsed away from him, away from that part of him, and stared upward, toward the stars.

“Humph.”

She heard him make the sound, but she ignored him. The man was dangerous—to her composure and the idea of how she should be conducting herself. She needed a moment in which to settle herself, and she took a deep breath, keeping her sights firmly away from him.

But his baritone voice split through the silence of the night, momentarily startling her as he asked, “Do you worry that I will make love to you again tonight?”

She gasped. The man was certainly direct.

“Or do you worry that I will not?”

Embarrassment consumed her, and she drew the buckskin robe she’d been given in toward her, trying to bury herself within its folds. Had her worst fear come true? she wondered. Had the man read her thoughts? Did he know that she wanted him?

She took her time answering him, although when she did speak, her words rang out clearly, carried toward him on the wind. “You
should not ask me about such a thing,” she said, her voice, she noted, lacking the hard edge she had hoped to instill in it.

But he didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at her. “I would dare much, it would seem, with my
ohkiimaan.
”

“O-ki-m…what does that word that you said mean?”

He gave her a half smile, his look sheepish, as he replied, “Wife.”

“Wife?” She gave him a quick look.

He nodded. “Wife.
Ohkiimaan,
wife.”

She pulled at the robe as though she were trying to settle it better around her shoulders, and unconsciously she jutted out her chin. She said, “I am not your wife, make no mistake.”

“Are you not?” he countered. “Do you forget that we have come together as man and wife? I do not wish to call you by the name my people give to a woman who comes to know a man intimately to whom she is not married. So tell me, if not wife to me, then what?”

“I…” she choked. What could she say? This was not a topic she wished to explore, talk about, or examine in too close a detail. She decided to change the subject. “What about Blue Raven Woman?” she asked.

He didn’t respond immediately, and his silence made Rebecca stare up at him. She frowned. His smile, and the gentle teasing which had lit up his eyes only a few moments ago, had faded. She almost wished she hadn’t asked. At last, however, he uttered, “
Aa,
yes, so that is what is bothering you. Say then what you mean.”

She gulped. “I…I meant,” she stuttered, “well, if you are married to me, then you wouldn’t be able to—”

“I must make Blue Raven Woman my wife, too. Nothing about that has changed.”

“Except that we…that I…” she hesitated. What had she been about to say? But he was right. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known. She said, “Then I am not your wife. I could never marry a man who is already married, nor one who must marry another. I would bring on the wrath of my God. Besides, in my society, two people are not joined in marriage until they are declared man and wife by a person of the cloth.”

He thrust out his chin. “What is this ‘person of the cloth’?” he asked.

“A man of our church, a holy man.”

“
Aa
,” said Night Thunder, “a holy man. Is it only in this way that a man and woman can be ‘joined’ in your tribe?”

She nodded.

And he grunted, while a dangerous glint lit up his eyes, causing Rebecca to shiver. “That explains much. Tell me, Rebecca, is it because of this that the white man will join with one of our women and leave them as though they mean nothing to him, when the white man returns to his own country?”

Rebecca sucked in her breath. “Has that happened?”

“Many have noticed that those men who take an Indian wife without the words of the Black Robe leave her. But those who bring a Black Robe to our village and take with them the words of this man treat our women as one would expect a husband to do. We have not understood why this is so. We have only seen that it is.”

Rebecca stared at him, speechless. What could she say? If what he claimed were true…“Then it is a terrible thing that my people have done to yours.”

He appeared to digest her words in silence. But then, all at once, he asked, “Is it this that you desire? Should I find a Black Robe that we might take his words? Would this make you feel that you are my wife?”

“N—no,” she stammered, “I…it would not make any difference. The same problem still stands between us. My God does not allow a man more than one wife. And you are already committed.”

“Is your memory so weak that you cannot recall the physical union that joins us as one?”

“Of course I remember. How could I not?”

“Then you wish to take the consequences?” His gaze seared into her own. “You could be with babe.”

“Unlikely,” she said all at once, although maybe a little too quickly.

“Perhaps you are right,” he answered. “But have you thought what you would do if you have become in this way?”

“I’d have to return to my own people.”
And move someplace where no one knew me,
she finished to herself.

“And cause my own people think that I could not capture enough horses or hunt enough meat to feed both you and the babe?”

“They would think that?”

“
Aa,
yes,” he said, with a nod. “They would. Tell me,” his eyes shone with a gleam of intelligence as his gaze burned into hers, “how would your people treat you, the mother of a child born without its father?”

“I…I…” Why did he ask her such tough questions?

“Vow to me,” his voice brooked no relenting, “that the child from our union will be left with my people if one has been made between us.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Vow it.”

“I will not.”

“I would not have my child grow up not knowing his father, being made to think he is an oddity in your tribe because he is different.”

“And do you think that I would have him growing up without his mother?”

Night Thunder seemed to absorb this, and then suddenly grinned. “
Aa,
yes,” he said, “then you must take me as husband.”

She sighed.

But his features remained determined. “Treat me then as your traders treat our women. Pretend you that you are married to me and you can enjoy all the rights of a sits-beside-him wife. But when I take you back to your people, you can leave me if you wish. I do not like it, but it could be done.”

“You would allow me that?”

“A child would stay with me.”

“No,” she said, “I could not do that.”

“Some white men have done this to our women and any children of their union, more times than I can count.”

She glanced away.

“Come, now. Be my wife in truth and stay with me. Then you will do honor to yourself and to me.”

“And Blue Raven Woman?”

His gaze bored into hers as he said, “My second wife. It cannot change.”

But Rebecca was just as determined as he, and she said, “Neither can I.”

He raised his chin. “Will your people allow you the honor of becoming one with a man, then, without marriage?”

She sent him an annoyed look.

“Will they allow you this, without ruin?”

When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “Say to them that we are married, then, and know the truth of it in your heart.”

She rose, pulling the robe around her shoulders. The devil take the man. Why did he have to keep going on and on about it? She gazed at him briefly, there within the firelight, hard pressed to remember a time when she had felt more frustrated with a person.

“I am going to bed, now,” she said, and kicked dirt into the fire, pretending she was trying to put it out, when really what she needed was a good way to vent her futility. Before she left she added, “I cannot do as you ask. Just as you have honor you must follow, so too do I. Do not press me on it further.”

Amazingly, he held his peace, though she knew in her heart that this was only the beginning of many such entreaties. She felt certain he would not rest until he had gotten what he wanted from her.

There was no other path for her. She would have to start planning her way home. She had to leave this place, leave him. It was the only way to hold on tightly to what she believed.

She only wished she didn’t feel quite so dispirited about the prospect of it.

Chapter Twelve

Night Thunder stared at Rebecca as she slept next to him—her body cuddled up close to his; his responding to the nearness of hers. Although she rested, although he knew he could not take the sweet promise of her again, he still could not help remembering what she had felt like beneath his touch a few nights ago…how quickly she had responded to him, how he had rejoiced…

He frowned at his thoughts and brought his gaze upward, his glance studying the starlit sky, his mind troubled.

They had finally settled on a pattern these last few nights, she going to bed before he did, and he following when he was certain she was asleep. It had proved to be successful. Somewhat…But he worried.

What had he done that one night not so long ago? What had he done to her? To himself? It didn’t matter that he had thought to die that night. Nor did it matter that she had consented. He was responsible for what had happened between them, and he knew he had placed her in a vulnerable position.