Proud Wolf's Woman (16 page)

One after the other, he worked at his task, washing her after he removed each sticker, carefully spreading ointment over each place. It took too long, yet not long enough.

At last he had finished, and still he hadn’t felt her where she longed for the contact. She lay still, wishing, hoping, aching. And though she little knew it, a moan escaped her throat and, involuntarily, she moved her hips, not much, only a little.

But it was enough.

“Ne-ve’-neheseve,”
he groaned just before he caressed her, his stroke fleeting.

But it came back again, his fingers, his hands brushing her up and over her buttocks, one hand finally centering over one soft mound of flesh, then squeezing.

Julia sighed, the sound more a high-pitched moan.

“Eaaa,”
she heard his soft exclamation, sounding as though he were in pain, and she felt the touch of his fingers on her; then his lips were there, too, kissing the wound better, his lips, his touch roaming farther afield while his fingers dipped ever closer and closer to that spot that…

He touched her there, and Julia murmured a soft reply.

She shouldn’t do it. She knew it. She had just decided she wouldn’t do it, and yet… His touch felt like warm velvet against her, his fingers searching, and Julia could no longer hold back.

She fretted. She sighed, but with a slight wail of relief, she did it. She opened her legs…just a little, allowing him the access she had earlier denied him.

And when she groaned aloud, she no longer heard herself.

Neeheeowee, however, registered every soft whimper, its effect devastating to his tight control, and, with his own groan of frustration, he prepared to give to her all she could need.

Chapter Seven

Neeheeowee was almost beyond control. He’d had to bend down too closely to her in attending to her. And too many things about her filled his senses; the sweet, erotic scent of her, the smooth feel of her skin, the sounds of her quickened breathing, her moans. He could envision the taste of her, and he longed to run his tongue over the soft flesh there, if only to experience the flavor of her skin. Was it sweet, salty, spicy? How would she respond to him?

Just wondering about it set his head to spinning. And then she moved—only a little, but it was enough.

She was aroused.

The knowledge sent him over the edge. She wanted his touch, and Neeheeowee was past the point where he would deny her.

He looked down at her. She lay before him, her feminine beauty fully exposed to him, and he would not have been a man had he not stroked her, giving to her all he felt she desired.

Up and over her buttocks, down lower and lower, his fingers trailed a path around and into the sweet recesses of her body. And then, she did the unfathomable. She opened her legs—just a little. And unable to help himself, Neeheeowee bent to her, kissing her skin there, the wound and then more—he had to know more. He traced his tongue over the path where his fingers led, up over her back, down lower and lower.

She moaned, the sound as erotic as if she had begged for his touch, and Neeheeowee could think of nothing at this moment save the ache in himself, the ache in her.

She spread her legs, again—only a bit, but it was more than enough for him.

Neeheeowee let his fingers trail down toward that area of her body demanding attention, touching her softness there, exploring her body, his touch as vibrant as if he had lived all his life for this one moment. And when she opened her legs even farther, he removed his breechcloth.

He would make it good for her. He would…

What was that he felt there? Curls of hair?

He ran his fingers up farther toward her stomach, his touch exploring her every crevice along the way. Yes, it was hair he felt in that region of her body. He knew the white race to be a hairier race of people than the Indian. He had seen it in their men’s faces; but he would never have imagined discovering such a protective covering in this region of a woman’s body, for Indian women had no such markings. He remembered seeing Julia naked in the stream that once, but he hadn’t registered it all then.

How far did these tiny curls extend? He wanted to see them, he wanted to touch them, he wanted…

She whimpered and Neeheeowee looked down at himself, at her, and all at once sanity returned to him:

Saaaa!
What was he doing? This was Julia—an honorable guest. Julia. And he was ready to use her as though he were some animal in heat.

He let out a cry of frustration and withdrew from her, taking with him his touch, his passion, his curiosity. He sat up, giving her backside one final squeeze before he came up onto his knees.

He groaned, aching for her, wanting her, still knowing that he could take no further action. For of one thing he was certain: He had no intention of keeping her with him, of making her a permanent part of his life. He couldn’t.

Not now. Not in the future. Even if he made love to her. He would still return her to her people, which would do what for Julia? What if their union brought about another life? Mightn’t it alienate Julia from her people?

He thought back to what the grandfathers had taught him so many years ago, their words running over and over in his mind. Wasn’t it true, they had said, that a woman pushed too far into passion, could not return? That it was up to the man to call a halt to the lovemaking before it went too far? That it was up to the man to preserve her honor?

Neeheeowee shut his eyes, all at once disgusted with himself. Hadn’t he been taught these lessons from the time he was a small child? Hadn’t he been instructed that to take a woman without the sanctity of marriage meant only to disgrace that woman? That a man should do this only if he meant to bring shame upon the woman?

Neeheeowee despaired. He did not wish this for Julia. Never.

Yet, here he sat, naked; there she lay, naked, her body aching for his, and it was his action, his failure to control himself, that had caused her this. Without thought, he’d almost taken from her that which a woman holds most precious.

Neeheeowee stood up all at once, barely daring to look at Julia. He scooped up his breechcloth lying on the ground close by and moved around to face her.

“Hena’haanehe,”
he said to her, motioning in gestures that he would go no further so that she would understand he would not bring dishonor to her.
“Nohoomanahtsestse,”
he said, then, “put on your blanket.” He motioned with his hands, throwing a buffalo robe to her at the same time. And with one last look at her, at all the beauty of her, he turned and stalked away.

And if his walk were a little crooked, perhaps a little pained, he could only hope she didn’t see it.

Julia had never felt so embarrassed.

Not only had she offered Neeheeowee the use of her body, he had turned her down! Never could she remember feeling more the fool—more used.

“What happened?” she voiced her thoughts. “Why did you turn away? Did you find me undesirable?”

No,
that couldn’t be.
Julia had seen the outline of his body as he’d left, leaving her in no doubt as to his own state of arousal.

“So what happened?” she asked, receiving no reply except that of the lonesome whine of the wind.

She didn’t know, she just didn’t know, and as she eased up onto her knees, pulling her dress down in the process, she determined that he would not have another chance to dishonor her. She would pretend he meant nothing to her…even if it hurt her to do it. With intuitive insight, Julia thought her withdrawal from him might do just that.

Grimacing at her thoughts, she lay down to rest, and if she didn’t sleep well that night, she was at least comforted by the fact that Neeheeowee spent the night in the most restless fashion she could ever remember.

Served him right.

And with this unpleasant thought, she turned over, pulling the blanket with her, seeking in sleep the solace she had hoped to find elsewhere.

It had been a wet spring so far that year, and for this Neeheeowee was glad. At least there was still water there at the lower end of the Cimarron River. And Neeheeowee, knowing what lay to the north and east of the spring, drank gladly of the milky white substance that oozed into the deep hole he had dug from the river’s dry bed. He filled his water bag to overflowing with the unusual-looking white water and, gazing back at Julia, gestured her over toward the spring. But she didn’t respond, nor did she come forward, and Neeheeowee, looking back at her, debated what to do.

All at once he frowned, twisting his gaze away from her with a jerk of his head. His breathing quickened, his pulse raced, and moisture beaded up over his forehead. He shrugged.

What was he to do about Julia? About himself? The soldier town where she lived was still a moon, maybe more, away, and he realized that if he didn’t do something soon to curtail his response to her, he would not be able to ensure that she would arrive there with her honor still intact.

What was he to do? His action, only a moment ago, had been innocent, yet his gaze, quick though it had been, had looked at her, at all the beauty of her, and his body had responded as though he could make love to her right now, in this spot.

And it was worse: The ache within him was spreading farther and farther afield, the hardening of his body demanding attention. Neeheeowee set his lips together. This craving for her was becoming too constant a companion these past few days, ever since that night he had attended to her, and Neeheeowee had begun wondering if his groin would ever return to its more normal size. As it was, he felt nearly crippled over of this sensual appetite he felt toward her, and he wondered if Julia knew of his discomfort.

He gazed over to her now, realizing his mistake at once, for his body responded with newfound excitement, that area of his body causing him such pain growing larger.

But he couldn’t help it. She looked good, beautiful, and he stared and he stared at her, from the bottoms of her moccasins up farther, over her gown of elk skin and beads. Unable to deny himself, he found his glance lingering there where the beads on her gown, set in round circles, hovered over her breasts.

A force hit him in the gut, and he shot his gaze up to her face, outlined by her dark hair blowing back in the wind.

She looked wild, she looked potent, she looked…Indian.

But Neeheeowee knew she wasn’t. He shook his head and turned his gaze away, attempting not to remember the exact differences in race that were hidden so well beneath that Indian garb.

He silently chastised himself. Why could he not put aside this lust for her?

He looked back to what he was doing, and taking one last drink of the chalky white substance called “water,” he motioned Julia forward once again. But she didn’t move, and he set his gaze back to her, studying her features more thoroughly.

She glanced at the awful-looking stuff in disgust, causing Neeheeowee to wonder about her. Didn’t she understand that there weren’t many places at this point along the river where water could be found, even if dug? Didn’t she know the barren straits that lay ahead of them? The land his people called “land of no water”?

He supposed she might not, even though she had lived close by to this country for at least seven years, perhaps longer. But then, being a woman, maybe she had never traveled this far south and west.

He frowned. It would be his duty to educate her, it being no easy task since they neither one seemed able to deny the passion that sprang up between them whenever they were close.

So far it was a circumstance they mutually avoided. Still…

He glanced over to her, carefully masking any thought or emotion from his expression. Again, he motioned her forward.

“Mahpe,”
he said, gesturing toward his water bags. Then, shaking his head, he said,
“Hova’ahane mahpe ese’he-tsexe-heseme’enese notama,”
and motioning toward the north and east, he tried to make her understand there would be no more water until they hit the big river where all streams flow into it, the river the white man called the Arkansas.

Still she did not come forward, nor did she drink the water, and Neeheeowee struggled to determine what to do. He would not force the water upon her; he could also think of no way to make her understand, which left him little choice. He would have to prepare another water bag, since she would soon come to learn why Indian and white man, alike, drank from this spring, despite the water’s awful appearance.

Straightening, he stepped over to the pony, pulling another bag from his parfleche, and taking it back to the spring he’d just dug, he began to fill it with the white-colored water. Hopefully it would be enough to see both the pony and Julia through this next stretch of land that the Mexicans called the
Jornada,
a desert march.

He could only pray it would be so. At least, he thought with slight self-disgust, the march up ahead would keep his thoughts from Julia, a condition he would more than welcome.

Also, the hard journey might help to relieve this pressure in his groin, the ache there becoming worse and worse each day.

Yes, he would welcome the hard march, yet he would make the journey across the
Jornada
as quick as possible. He would have to, he thought as a scowl crossed his face. He would have to because until he reached the end of the
Jornada,
there would be no further opportunities to take a cold bath.

And with Julia’s presence ever beside him, a cold bath was fast becoming more and more a necessity.

Chapter Eight

“Pawnee Rock,” Julia said, looking out upon their campsite which ran from a tree-lined stream up to what was the highest point on this, the flat, boundless plains. Julia knew this place, recognizing Pawnee Rock by its sheer black walls rising a good fifty feet above the flat, endless prairie.

“Did you know,” she asked of Neeheeowee even though she knew he couldn’t understand, “that this place is named for a fight that took place between the Comanche and Pawnee, where the Comanche wiped out a small, but terribly defiant group of Pawnee.”