White Dawn (6 page)

Frowning, she stared at the warrior. He wasn’t what she expected. All during the night, he’d been kind, his voice soft and tender as if reassuring a child. Each time she’d awakened to find the taste of tears on her lips, his touch had been gentle. He’d held her, stroked her head, back and arms until she fell asleep once more. Despite the circumstances, Emily had felt safer in his arms than she could remember feeling in a long while. Yet this savage, for all his gentle handling, was still an unknown.

Her stomach rumbled again, reminding Emily that aside from that bit of dried meat last night, she hadn’t eaten in some time. Wrapping the buffalo robe around her shoulders, she cautiously sat up.

The savage didn’t look at her or acknowledge her presence. “Thank you for sharing your fur,” she began. Removing it, she laid it a safe distance from the fire. Turning, she discreetly tried to pull up her bodice. The sound of ripping cloth stopped her. It was useless to try to make her dress more modest, so she gave up—before she lost the dress and was down to just her threadbare shift.

Holding her hands out, she warned them, all the while eyeing the sizzling meat on the fire. Juice dripped into the flames and sizzled. Emily licked her lips, feeling faint with the need for food. “You speak English?” she asked, recalling how he’d talked to her last night. Though she couldn’t remember the words, just the soft, reassuring timbre of his voice keeping the nightmares away, she was sure he’d spoken to her in English.

He grunted something in a strange language. Puzzled, Emily shook her head. She could have sworn he’d spoken to her in English. Maybe it had been a dream, she thought. Maybe she’d dreamed that he’d talked to her for most of the night. Leaning forward, she pointed to herself. “My name is Emily.” She spoke slowly. When he glanced up at her, she jabbed her chest. “Emily.”

Still no response. So she studied him. Last night she hadn’t been able to see him in detail. Her gaze slid over his bare shoulders, and she noted that he wore his hair long and loose. One strand fell over his shoulder, drawing her gaze down to his muscled chest. She scanned the rest of him, skimming past the only bit of clothing he wore to note that his thighs, bare to his groin, were enormous. His legs, long for a savage, led to a tapered waist, broad chest and bulging arms.

He glanced up at her. Embarrassed to be caught staring at his naked flesh, Emily felt heat infuse her body. But he didn’t seem to notice, and he held out a stick of meat. With another thank-you, Emily reached out to take the tender morsel. As she sat back, she found his gaze on her breasts, and she found herself wishing she had kept her shawl or suffered the suffocating warmth of the fur robe. As if he sensed her concern, he averted his gaze.

After the morning meal, he walked away, through the trees. Emily waited. He hadn’t taken his pouches, so she knew he’d be back. When he reappeared, his hair was wet and she realized he’d gone to the river to bathe. He indicated that she could go. She shook her head. He shrugged as if to say it made no difference to him whether she bathed or not. Truthfully, Emily would have loved to have done so, but there wasn’t a chance she was undressing with him so near.

He picked up his pouches, rolled the fur robe and tied it with a long, thin strip of leather. Emily stood, uncertain. Was he leaving? The thought of being alone again frightened her. Between him and the wolves, she’d learned just how vulnerable she was with no weapon to defend herself. And if she came across another Indian, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to save herself.

At least this one had treated her well. Panic hit at the thought of being abandoned to make her way alone. Though she didn’t know him, it seemed to her that this gentle savage was her only chance of surviving.

In that moment, Emily realized that she’d rather deal with what she knew than face the unknown. She stepped toward him. “Take me with you. Don’t leave me alone,” she begged. As she spoke, she couldn’t quite keep the fear from her voice.

His gaze impassive, he uttered an order:
“U wo!”
He motioned for her to come to him.

Grateful, yet fearful, Emily did as bidden. The Indian handed her the pouches, rolled up his fur and shirt, and turned to pick up his bow and arrows. Emily shouldered her burden and fell into step behind her unlikely rescuer.

The gentle warmth and soft greens of spring gave way to the sparkling heat of summer. Sitting atop a ridge, Emily watched the radiant gold-and-crimson sunset spread like clover honey across the horizon. Below her, determined not to be outdone, matching seas of knee-high grass rippled in the breeze like liquid gold racing to meet the setting sun. Meadowlarks added to the beauty with their golden melody.

Never had she seen a land so dominated by one color, yet comprised of so many hues, shades and textures. Sunflowers, the flower of a cactus, tawny-coated animals, all blended in with the scenery; yet each stood out, offering the observer a beauty not found anywhere else. Even the night seemed to compete, from the dazzle of stars to the cold, green-gold lights that flashed across the dark sky.

The richness of this land took her breath away. From where she sat, miles and miles of it lay open to her seeking gaze. Spying a large golden eagle soaring across the sky, she sighed. Oh, to be a bird and soar across this wonderful world she’d adopted as her own! She had no idea exactly how many days she’d wandered the land with her Indian savior, and she didn’t care. For the first time in her life she felt truly happy and free.

Breathing deeply, she stretched her arms high overhead, rejoicing in the feel of air caressing her bare skin. Reaching back, she removed the leather thong holding her hair away from her face. Combing her fingers through her heavy braid, she released the confined strands to the playful tugs of the afternoon breeze.

Clad in her thigh-length shift, she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, bringing her hands slowly down, her fingers lightly brushing against her sides. Then she held them out, slightly behind her, as if they were wings and she a bird in flight.

Giggling softly, she opened her eyes and twirled in small circles, well away from the ridge, her hair swirling around her. The grass beneath her bare feet felt
so
different from the green grass of spring; its long stems, bent over, cushioned her feet like a thick carpet, and its ripening heads caught between her toes.

Sinking down, she rested her chin on one upraised knee. Never in her life could she recall being able to sit and enjoy the afternoon. Not even as a child. If there were no chores to be done, then she’d been expected to read the Bible or pray. According to her father, idle hands and minds led to sinful thoughts and actions.

Soaking up the last rays of the day, she wondered how anyone could believe that time spent enjoying the beauty of God’s earth could be considered sinful. For her, it was another aspect of her newfound freedom.

Freedom. The word tasted sweet on Emily’s tongue. Never had she realized just how much her life had lacked. She’d been a prisoner to her father’s demanding beliefs, a slave to society’s rules, and even held hostage by her own body—afraid to do anything for fear of attracting attention and the ire of Timothy Ambrose.

But out here, none of those things mattered. It was just her and the simple world around her.

No pretense.

No falsehoods.

Just the two of them and all this. It was a world she never wanted to leave. A long shadow fell across her. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at the warrior watching her. Like everything else around her, he too was golden—from the breadth of his shoulders down to his tapered waist and strong legs. Even the taupe skin below his breechclout and his dark eyes reflected the different earth tones surrounding them.

“You’re back,” she greeted him happily, jumping to her feet. Seeing the dead rabbit he held by the hind legs, she held out her hand.

Drawing the animal away from her, the warrior sent a silent question with his eyes. Emily grinned, knowing what answer he sought. Over the past week, she’d experienced her second monthly flow, which meant she wasn’t allowed to touch anything he touched, including the food they ate.

She recalled her embarrassment when her bleeding had started. Out here there’d been no way to hide it, and he’d quickly made a sign that she was to be secluded while in that condition.

Truth to tell, it had been just fine with her. She’d quickly adjusted to being taken care of. In fact, it had felt good to learn that for that one week, as had happened, nothing was expected of her. No chores. No traveling. Just time to sit and reflect. Going to him, she put her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s all right. I’m done.”

He smiled back, reached up and took a strand of her hair, rubbing its softness between his fingers. Emily knew he loved her hair, and of all things, he had probably missed combing, touching and rubbing it during her time in seclusion.

She reached over to take the rabbit from him. He shook his head, dropped the animal and swept her up into his arms. Laughing, she circled her arms around his neck and rested her head in the strong curve of his shoulder, relishing the male scent of him, the warmth of his bronzed skin against her cheek and the strength and security she felt in his arms.

She herself had missed
this:
his touches, the way he made her feel special, wanted and loved.

The first time he’d kissed her, she’d been scared that he had been about to rape her. But he hadn’t forced her. He’d been gentle and patient. And at last, she’d given herself to him freely. At first it was because she felt she owed it to him; repaying his kindness in saving her life with her body had seemed a small price to pay. But now she loved him, heart and soul.

Wanton. Sinner. Whore.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind.

Daughter of the devil. Satan’s spawn.

The words still hurt. She hadn’t been any of those things, but now? She didn’t know.

Yet she didn’t care. Forcibly, she put thoughts of her father from her mind. This was far too beautiful an afternoon to spoil it with memories of a miserable childhood, and she preferred to just forget about that last day with her parents and pretend it had never happened. It was easier and less painful. But deep down, Emily knew she’d never forget, just as she knew that day had changed her forever.

She stared up at her golden warrior and felt the glow of warmth and happiness. He took her back to the spot where she’d sat waiting for him and gently laid her down on the still-flattened patch of grass.

While he discarded his breechclout, Emily pulled her shift over her head, baring herself to him. It warmed her to see his eyes feasting on her flesh. Lying back, she held out her arms and welcomed his weight over her. Soft, tender murmurs filled her ears, making her feel beautiful. And when he was poised at her entrance, waiting for her to open to him, she felt cherished.

Loved.

Slowly her knees fell apart, and her legs lifted to draw him to her. With a deep sigh, he entered her, then together they flew through the air as one, breathing as one, reaching ecstasy as one. “I love you,” she cried when the world around her spun out of control.

A long while later, after she’d dressed, Emily set to cooking their meal. Every so often she glanced at her warrior. He watched her. He touched her. But he didn’t speak to her. Yet that was all right. She talked enough for the two of them.

“I missed cooking for you.” She grinned and ran an appreciative eye over his body.

“I also missed touching you,” she added. His gaze met hers, his eyes darkening as if he understood, but he didn’t speak or return the words she wished he could. Yet the heated look in his eyes spoke louder than words.

“You understand by my tone, my voice. I know you do.” She went to him, knelt before him and touched his face, running her fingers across his high cheekbones and lightly over his lips.

“I love you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me.”

Her warrior set his arrow and knife down and pulled her onto his lap, where he rocked with her. “The food,” she protested with a laugh.

The food waited.

Swift Foot resumed his arrow making but his attention kept wandering. His gaze strayed to Emily, to her hair. Those white-yellow strands still mesmerized him even after all this time. When she glanced over at him and smiled, heat settled in his groin. From deep within, he vibrated with a need so strong his hands shook. How had this happened? All his efforts to hold her at bay and keep his distance had failed. Even worse, he delayed his return to his people by staying with her.

A sharp pang in the center of his chest grew. He turned his eyes to the ripening land barely discernible in the dimming light. Unrest and worry clouded his mind and filled his heart with dread. He felt as though he stood on an unstable ridge, the earth crumbling beneath his feet.

The peace he’d found with this woman, the relationship they shared was in his mind like that between
Wi
and
Hanwi.
Sun needed Moon to be complete. Without both of them, the world would not be the same. He closed his eyes, trying hard to suppress the emotions raging inside. But he knew deep in his heart that without Emily he would not be the same—just as he knew that soon this nice little world he’d created and shrouded himself in would come to an end.

Trying to keep his mind from his troubling thoughts, Swift Foot attempted to concentrate on making new arrows. He placed the quill of a feather in his teeth, grabbed hold of the top and pulled one side of the feather out, down and back, using constant pressure and speed to prevent ripping the vane.

Emily walked past, her hips swaying, her hair swinging, drawing his hungry gaze to her. His attention on her and not the feather, he went too fast and tore the vane. It was the third he’d ruined. Disgusted at his inability to concentrate, he tossed the feathers aside and gave up. Instead, he forced himself to face his future.

The truth could no longer be denied. Or hidden. Or avoided. Already he’d been gone far longer than he’d planned. His people would be worried, for he was to be their next chief as soon as his ailing uncle stepped down. His tribe was small, and many of their strong warriors were gone, killed in battle. They needed a strong leader. They needed him.

The council had recognized the need of their people, yet they also worried that Swift Foot was too young, too filled with the restless abandon of youth despite his many achievements. Fearful that their tribe would soon be wiped out, they’d agreed to his becoming chief—on one condition: he must marry a woman of their choosing. By doing this, they ensured he’d be settled and ready to focus on the demands soon to be placed upon his shoulders.

Too, marriage to a woman belonging to another clan of the Hunkpapa tribe would strengthen his own. Normally the male left his people to join his wife’s, but because of their dwindling numbers, the two clans had decided to band together, both under his leadership. The council had made their choice. The arrangements were made. All that remained was his return, and then both clans would be his—and would count on him to find a way to end the war between his tribe and the Miniconjou. The two Teton Sioux tribes had been at war all of Swift Foot’s life. It was time for the rift to be mended, and it was Swift Foot’s duty to do so.

The trouble was, he didn’t want to wed a stranger. Not only had he found the answer to his haunting dreams, he’d found love. Swift Foot loved the white woman named Emily. He wanted to take her back with him.

A test.
He tried to block his emotions by remembering that this time with the woman was nothing more than a test. The spirits tested his honor, his worthiness to assume the role of chief.

Gripping his knees with white-knuckled hands, Swift Foot mourned. War and the death of his parents had shaped his life and determined his future. He had to remember who he was, and
what
he was.

Remembering why they’d died gave him some strength to resist the temptation to bring the woman back with him. Yet remembering the nights spent in the woman’s arms, the feel of her, the taste of her, the love he felt for her, tore his heart in two.

Tipping his head back, Swift Foot lifted his hands to the deepening sky to pray for strength. His hair brushed the exposed flesh of his buttocks as his upper body swayed in prayer. Love hadn’t brought his parents happiness, only death and years of spilled blood.

He thought of the man and woman he’d never known. In order to marry his mother, Swift Foot’s father had rejected the woman he’d promised to take for wife—the daughter of a Miniconjou chief. The scorned woman’s tribe had declared war on his Hunkpapa clan, and when he had been only a babe, they’d killed his parents. They would have killed him had they known of his existence.

Swift Foot’s lips twisted grimly. They now knew he lived, had grown to be a great and feared warrior. That gave him some satisfaction. Yet war between the two tribes continued, a vicious circle of revenge. The selfish act of his father continued to cost the tribe much, and with each new death, the dishonor of his family weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Somehow he had to find a way to restore peace. And honor. If he did not, the two tribes would end up destroying each other.

Swift Foot sighed. He’d accepted with little emotion the arranged marriage his clan demanded. It was his duty to follow the orders of his elders. At the time, he hadn’t understood the emotion called love that had made his father risk so much. But now he did. Now, in love with a woman with hair the silvery color of a full moon, he understood. His soul wept for what could not be. His heart cursed
Iktomi
for his cruel joke. To taste love, then to have it ripped away—how could he bear the pain?

Shifting, he watched Emily cook their meal. She’d learned fast and seemed eager to please. And she did please. More than he’d have thought possible.

Again, he was forced to remind himself that love didn’t matter. Only honor. He loved this white girl, and wanted to hold on to her as long as he could, but with Hawk Eyes—the new chief of the scorned Miniconjou tribe that sought to kill his people—Swift Foot knew what he had to do. He could no longer delay their parting.

Guilt ate at him. Each day made it worse for them both.

She was not his to claim forever, as his father had once claimed his mother. Even taking her home as a slave for his wife-to-be was out of the question. His people would remember his father’s actions, and they would doubt him.