Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (18 page)

His problem now was that he still must honor his vow to protect her, yet he did not know how best to do that.

He could not break his promise to Blue Raven Woman. And yet if he did not do that, if he did not renounce that pledge, he would not be able to keep Rebecca with him, something which was fast becoming vital to him.

When he had made love to her, he had vowed to become a husband to her, to care for her and love her all the rest of his days. He had told her that he would give her all that he was, all that was in him to share. Yet it wasn’t enough, and he knew it.

He had to change, to compromise, as so did she. He knew it, but how could he do it? Surely not by sacrificing his honor or that of his family.

And Rebecca: would she change her mind about Blue Raven Woman once she met her? He doubted it. It wasn’t only Blue Raven Woman that stood between them, not in truth. It was Blue Raven Woman
and
the wide chasm between his beliefs and Rebecca’s. It was
this
that he did not know how to bridge.

He could not ask Rebecca to cease thinking as she did. He could sooner capture a star from the heavens. Weren’t all men—and for that matter, all women—free to believe as they saw fit?

He would also not ask her to be less than she was. Such would be the action of a fool. But he could not allow himself to become less either.

What, then, was the answer? To let her go? To take her back to her people and pretend that she did not mean anything to him?

He did not know or understand the wisdom of what he must choose, and as he lay there pondering, he heard the faint sound of a drum. At first he drew in a deep breath, relishing the soothing beat of the rhythm.

But then it came to him…a drum? Far in the distance? Quickly, Night Thunder glanced toward the man who stood sentry over their camp, the man sitting unflinchingly and unaffected by the sound. And though the noise grew more distinct as voices, raised in song, joined it, no one in the camp awakened, no one appeared to hear it, even when the sound grew louder and louder.

He listened closely to the words of the singing, heaving out a great sigh when he recognized the speech pattern as what he and Rebecca had heard, a few nights previous. He groaned. The shadows of the dead. Had they come to haunt him again? Were they following him?

Rebecca turned over suddenly, her head seeking out Night Thunder’s shoulder, her arm going over his chest. She stirred restlessly, but still she slept on. Would the call of the shadows awaken her?

As if she were attuned to his thoughts, he felt the flicker of her eyelashes against the bare skin of his arm.

It took only a few moments, then, before he heard her quiet voice. “I hear drums. Singing, too,” she whispered.

“
Aa
,”
he acknowledged, “so do I.”

She quickly glanced around their camp. “Why do the warriors still sleep?”

“Would you have them go out and do battle with the shadow of those who are dead? With those who they cannot see?”

She became quiet, seeming to think over his words. Suddenly she drew back her arm from where it rested on his chest, as though only now becoming aware of their intimate pose. Scooting away from him, she asked, “The ghosts are back?”

“
Aa,
yes.”

“Do they follow us?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. I only can tell you that it is the shadows of the dead that we hear.”

She glanced toward the Indian sentry. “Does he not hear all the noise?”

“
Saa
, no. It is few who can hear their words.”

“But I can.”

“
Aa,
yes, it is true.”

“What does that mean?”

Another shrug. “I do not know what it means. But I do not think it is bad.”

She glanced toward him, fear, clear and vivid, flashing within her eyes. “I am afraid.”

He reached out toward her. “Do not be. If they meant harm, they would have done it when we were most vulnerable.”

“That night?”

He nodded.

She scooted back to him, put her head once again upon his arm, and pulling up the sleeping robe over her shoulders, hid her face.

“I know I have been arguing a lot with you of late, but,” a smile lit her voice, “I should tell you that I do appreciate you rescuing me. Have I told you this?”

“
Aa,
yes, but not in words,” he said, humor in his tone. “Every night when you lie down next to me you tell me this.”

“No,” she said, “I do not mean that. Since our talk the other night, you have not pressed me any further to take you as husband. Nor have you made any more…attempts…I mean, you have not tried to…”

“Make love to you?” he supplied, saving her the embarrassment of saying the words.

He could hear her gulp. “Aye.” she nodded.

The feel of her silky hair against his arm made him remember other things about her: the smooth texture of her bare body against him, the softness of her touch, the moistness of her response.

He felt himself stiffening in reaction to his thoughts, and he shifted, that she might not know the amount of effort it took him to act as a man should with a woman not his by marriage.

She asked, “Are you regretting, now, that you…that we—”

“I cannot regret something that made my heart happy.”

“It made you happy?”

“
Aa
,”
he whispered.

“Then why do you not do more than…” She suddenly turned her back on him, scooting away. “Forgive me. I can’t imagine what I was thinking. You must think me a hussy.”

He followed her, his arm going over the indentation of her tiny waist. He brought his lips to her ear as he said, “I do not know what this ‘hussy’ is. But the two of us are not married, and I would not dishonor you any further than I already have. It is not regret that I feel in my heart. Never regret.”

The singing, the drums in the distance, became even louder, if that was possible, and Rebecca turned over so that she lay under him, his face practically touching hers. He breathed in the clean, pleasing scent of her, her feminine fragrance reaching out to him and embracing him.

He must hold himself back from her. He must, he must, he must…

But he couldn’t help himself. Not here, not now. Not under the silvery glow from the beams of Old Woman. He kissed her, then, his sweet Rebecca, her lips soft and responsive beneath his.

Aa,
pure medicine. She was as irresistible as the call of the great mystery, and it had been so long since he had tasted her.

She kissed him back, too, her response immediate, and she threw her arms around his neck, bringing him down more intimately toward her. His heart soared.

One of her breasts lay beneath the touch of his hand. She was fully clothed, but it didn’t matter. His fingers traced the femininity of her, the image of her naked body not far from his immediate recall.

His tongue traced the outline of her lips as his breath mingled with hers and he heard her sigh.
Aa,
reluctant captive, he thought, the feelings between us are strong, powerful. How could he deny himself her sweet body?

He couldn’t, and his mouth closed over hers as he kissed her with the depth of a man consumed. He tasted her, his tongue sweeping deeply into her mouth, thrusting and retreating, mimicking lovemaking.

Still, a part of him remained emotionally distant, as though to remind him of…what? It seemed so right that he love her. He wanted it; she did, too, if her reaction to him were any indication. He tried to remember, but the reasons why he shouldn’t do what they both desired, the same arguments he had been pondering to himself all evening, fled, as lingering shadows flee the light of Sun. He couldn’t think right now; he could only recall that he had promised he would be a good husband to her.
Aa,
yes. He would ensure it.

Husband? Promise?

Slowly he drew himself away from her, taking his weight onto his arms, his gaze seeking hers. In her eyes he glimpsed passion; in her arms, a certain refuge. Surely what he was contemplating doing wasn’t wrong, was it? Didn’t they both want it?

But wasn’t it his duty to protect her? The argument waged on in his mind. And, he realized sadly, the person she needed protection from the most was, at this moment, him.

He threw himself away from her all at once, coming to lie on his back, trying to still the rapid beating of his heart and his ragged breathing.

He made himself remember he could not marry her. He was already committed to another. Rebecca had already refused him. How could he have forgotten so quickly?

Her breathing was as disturbed as his, he noted with satisfaction; and her whisper was just as breathless as she asked, “Did you mean it, the other night, when you said that you loved me?”

He almost groaned. Women, he thought. Why could they not let a thing go? Didn’t she know that he needed time to bring his body under control, not have more talk about it? Probably not, he answered his own question. She had been an innocent when he had taken her.

And though he felt not the least bit calm, he answered her sedately, “
Aa,
Rebecca, I have a great feeling for you, here, in my heart.”

“As I do for you.”

He groaned. He didn’t need to hear that. Not now. Not when she lay so close to him. Not when he still breathed in the scent of her womanly response.

He sat up. He had to do something or he might…“Rise up now,” he said in a low voice. “Rise up and let us go and talk to these shadows that follow us that we might determine why they are here.”

He chanced a look down at her, thinking to see fear come over her because of his suggestion. Hadn’t she been afraid of what she called “ghosts” several days previous, even a few moments ago? Yet he witnessed no concern now, finding himself staring instead at the glow of passion, still shining brightly within the amber depths of her eyes.

He shuddered. How was he supposed to maintain control when she appeared so desirable? When she had that look of hunger in her eye, the expression one might expect to find within that of a newly acquired wife?

She was
not
his wife, he reminded himself.

He leapt to his feet. He had to move. He had to do something before he lost all sense. He had promised himself to keep his honor with her. That meant he had to ensure she remained pure…and away from him.

Without another glimpse at her, he set a pace toward that place where the noise originated, more than aware that she followed him.

He came right up to the shadows of the warriors past. And perhaps more strongly than he might have if he hadn’t been seeking a way to vent his frustration, he shouted at the gossamer figures, “Why do you come here?”

Not one of those shadows looked his way. Not one acknowledged him. Not even when he stepped into the line of their dancing, the flimsiness of their shadows passing through him. He didn’t flinch from them, either, even as the coldness of their touch penetrated to the depths of his being.

But he did shout at them again, screaming, “Say now what it is that you want from me!”

No one stopped, no one looked at him, nothing changed, except perhaps that the countenance of one of the shadows…
aa
, yes, one of the shadows, perhaps a wise man, seemed to be glancing right at him.

Night Thunder tried again, this time directing his attention to the wise man. “Do you see that I am not afraid of you, old man? Do you see that I try to talk to you, even though you are not among the living? Do you see that I am here? Tell me then what it is you seek from me.”

Though no words were spoken, the old man waved his arm and an old woman appeared before them. Stepping forward, she surprised Night Thunder by what she carried on her arm: a dress made of snow-white antelope skin and decorated with hundreds of elk tushes, the kind that used to be made before the white man had brought the trade beads to this country. She held white leggings, heavily fringed and made of deerskin in one hand, while she clung to moccasins, sewn with fancy quills, in her other. Over her shoulder, the old woman had draped a summer robe, made of elk skin and without any hair, though dew-claws had been left on it.

The old woman’s image walked toward Rebecca and, before Night Thunder’s eyes, with a mere touch of the woman’s hand, Rebecca became swathed in the beautiful clothes and robe.

What was this?

He recognized that type of clothing. It was…wedding finery.

He grimaced. What did this mean? Rebecca wasn’t one of his tribe, that she should be so honored. To be dressed thusly on one’s wedding day, to be given such an honor, had been always reserved for those fortunate few from among his tribe, those few who came from prestigious families. Why Rebecca? Why him?

The old gentleman’s dewy image, the one who had caught Night Thunder’s gaze, arose all at once and with what appeared more earthly feet than mist, came to stand before Night Thunder. And as though his image was a flesh body, not a ghostly one, he spoke in the ancient tongue of the Blackfeet. “Take her hand in yours.”

After only a moment’s pause, Night Thunder did exactly as he was bidden.

The shadowy vision then continued, “From this night forward, your paths will be as one. From this time until your earthly trail has ceased, know that each one of you will comfort the other. No longer will there be need of loneliness, for from this time until your breath upon our mother, the earth, has ended, you will have each other.”