White Flame (21 page)

Striking Thunder bent his head and nuzzled her neck. “Feel my fingers.” He increased the pressure of his rotations and stroked faster. “Feel what I give you.”

“Yes,” Emma cried. “Oh, yes.” Thought fled as need took over. There was nothing else. Only him. This. And like the night under the stars, her body shook with pleasure, seeking an end yet wanting it to go on forever. This time, when her hips jerked, once, then twice, she was
prepared for the loss of control as she found her release in a sunburst of color.

Slightly embarrassed by her reaction, she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on calming her ragged breathing, but Striking Thunder had other plans. Encouraging her to part her thighs wider, he slid one finger, then two, deep inside her. Sensitive to his touch, she arched her back. He withdrew his fingers. She moaned in protest.

He moved over her, settled his thighs between hers. His moan joined hers. “I need you. All of you.” He spoke the words against her mouth and slid his manhood across her where moments ago, his fingers had stroked.

Emma felt his male member against her, throbbing in time to her own racing heartbeat. She moved against him, oblivious to all but the aching need to touch and be touched by him. The friction of him sliding along the outside of her slick heat sent shivers of delight through her.

Striking Thunder supported his weight on his hands and threw his head back as if the contact were too much. Glancing up at him, seeing the look of pain mingling with need, Emma realized she affected him the same way. Heady with the knowledge, she reached between them and slid her fingers down his chest, over his flat belly to where his dark curls blended with her reddish ones. As he stroked between her moist lips, she caressed the tip of his velvety softness.

The pressure built.
More.
She needed more. “This is—it feels—”

“
Woitonpe!
Wonderful. Right. As it should be.” He took a ragged breath, then claimed her lips once more, his tongue thrusting in time to their hips.

Emma grabbed hold of him as her body began the incredible ascent for the second time, but before she found release, Striking Thunder lifted himself from her and settled himself more firmly between her thighs. She felt the tip of him probe at the junction between her legs. She moaned, feeling as though she stood at the brink of something incredible. Tightening her hold on his shoulders, she pulled him to her. Her hands roamed from his sweat-slick back down to his smooth buttocks.

A look of pure anguish etched his features. “Let me have you, flame of my body. Let me come into you, now.”

“Yes,” she whispered and braced herself for the pain she knew would follow. Beneath her fingers, his buttocks tightened and with one quick, smooth thrust, he slid past her barrier and deep into her, making them one.

At the piercing pain, her nails dug into him and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Murmuring soft words of comfort, he bent his head to her breasts and held himself still. Slowly, the pain ebbed and she became aware of only a sweet, pulsing fullness within her. He threw his head back. “Can’t wait. Move with me.” He pulled out then inched his way back inside.

Afraid to move for fear of more tearing pain, Emma braced herself. But there was no pain, only a growing ache that built with each slow stroke. As passion built, his thrusts grew harder, deeper until her own needs equaled his. The throbbing centered where they were joined and grew, intensified with each stroke, driving her further toward the pinnacle of pleasure she knew awaited.

“Now,
kechuwa,
join me.”

Striking Thunder’s features contorted. With one final, deep thrust, white flames of passion rippled through them, sent them soaring high on a tide of blissful surrender.

Striking Thunder collapsed beside Emma, pulling her against him, keeping them joined, unwilling to let her go. Nothing mattered. Only him and her, and he refused to consider the future or how he could let her go. He stroked her hair and listened to her ragged breathing. The only other sound was the occasional pop of embers. He didn’t get up to rebuild the fire. “You are mine now.”

Emma’s fingers trailed along his jaw. “I have to find Renny.”

He tipped her chin. Striking Thunder knew she was serious. She’d die trying to find her sister and while he admired her spirit and show of loyalty, he also knew just how close she’d come to succumbing to the blizzard. If he hadn’t found her… He banished the nightmare of those hours after he’d found her and his fear that he’d been too late. “You promised not to run away.”

A spark of resentment flashed in her eyes. The color deepened. Sitting, she pulled the buffalo fur around her and moved away from him. “I also said I’d find my sister. I meant it. I will do whatever I have to.”

Sitting on the fur he’d worn during his search for her, he studied her. “Even die trying?” Her reply wasn’t needed, nor was it given. “How will dying help her?”

Emma shifted her gaze from his. “I cannot sit and do nothing.”

Striking Thunder sighed. Standing, he moved to the fire and added more fuel. The time had come to bring the child to his village, both for Emma’s own safety and his own plans. The soldiers coming this close worried him. He had no idea if they would return or if they’d left the area for good. He couldn’t risk Emma leaving again.

The wind whistled past the entrance to the cave, sending a cold draft to disturb the dancing flames. Lost in thought, Striking Thunder struggled with what he knew he had to do. Though it meant putting his own people at risk to have them both together, he would fetch Renny. But what if Emma decided to run away and take the girl with her? He was fond of the child and didn’t want to see her life risked. He went back to Emma and slid beneath the fur. Reaching across the space separating them, he pulled her back to him. Stiff and protesting, Emma resisted.

“What would you do to get your sister back?”

She stilled and lifted haunted green eyes to his. “Anything,” she whispered.

“I will take you to your sister if you will agree to move into my tipi and stay with me until the time comes to release you. You must also promise not to take her from my protection and run away. I ask for your promise not to endanger her life.”

“I would never put her life in danger.”

Emma reacted automatically with indignation, as he’d known she would. He hated the pain his demand would cause but he needed her word. He lifted a brow.

Emma paled and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, I’ve done nothing but put her at risk since leaving home.”

Pulling her to him, he felt as low as a snake for making her feel worse than she already did. But he had to prevent her from ever doing anything so foolish again. If he hadn’t found her, she’d have perished in the storm. He pushed the terrifying thought from him. “Promise me this.”

Emma drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I promise. I’ll stay with you if you take me to Renny.”

Pulling her hands from her face, Striking Thunder lowered them to the mat of furs beneath them. “We cannot leave until the storm stops. The child is safe and protected. In the meantime, I think I know how we can pass the time.” Lifting up onto his elbows, he used his
tongue to stroke her from the tip of her breasts down to her flat belly. Her breathy moan told him she agreed.

Two days later, Emma and Striking Thunder left the cave to enter a world of white silence. Trees rose from the ground, their heavily laden boughs weighed down with snow. Above them, a crystal-clear blue sky greeted them and rising high, the sun provided a comforting sight.

Emma lifted her face to its weak warmth and breathed deeply of the fresh crisp air, grateful to find there wasn’t so much as a breeze. With no lasting effects from her experience in the blizzard, Emma followed Striking Thunder down the hillside, allowing him to help her when the ground turned slick with snow already melting. When they reached flat land, he pulled her to him. “Remember your promise.”

She tipped her head. “Remember yours.”

He leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself. Then he lifted her onto her horse. The animal had been sheltered near the cave in a thick stand of trees and seemed eager to move on. Emma was glad the mare had survived the storm. “I can’t believe I’ll see Renny soon,” she whispered, closing her eyes, finally able to rid herself of her last image of Renny screaming as she’d been torn from Emma’s arms.

“You will see her tomorrow.”

True to his word, Striking Thunder led them in the direction she’d been headed when the storm hit. As he didn’t seem to be inclined to talk, Emma thought back over the last two days spent in the cave. The time seemed dreamlike. Nothing more had been said between them about her father or even the fact that soldiers had been close. They’d spent their time huddled beneath the furs sleeping or making love.

Emma smiled in remembrance. She’d had no idea there were so many different ways to bring one to the brink of pleasure, especially with one’s mouth! She tingled between her legs just thinking about Striking Thunder’s insistence that kissing her there was acceptable. Oh, it
was.
It was more than acceptable.

Watching him as he led the way, her heart swelled. During their time in the cave, he’d been so gentle, so patient with her inexperience. Without a doubt, in these last two days, she’d fallen completely and irreversibly in love with her warrior.

And that admittance brought up questions like what to do about it. She didn’t know, but for now, she’d take what she could. They stopped to rest and eat. When it was time to go, Striking Thunder approached and helped her to her feet. But instead of releasing her, he pulled her close, a familiar glint in his eyes.

She glanced around. There was no shelter. “Not now? There’s no shelter.” Her voice ended on a squeak.

His lips curved into an amused grin. “Here. Now.” He slid her dress up over her hips, pulled his swollen manhood free, then lifted her onto him. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

Emma did and held on as he stroked them both to a fast and furious release. Afterward, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe how much I want you.”

Gently, Striking Thunder lowered her.
“Minseya, kechuwa. Minseya.”
He kissed her, long and slow.

Emma sighed. She didn’t know what he’d said but she loved the tender sound of it. After a moment, Striking Thunder stepped away, then fixed his clothing while she did the same. They continued their journey to Night Hunter’s village.

The closer they got, the more worried Emma became. She voiced her fears. “What if they won’t give her to you?”

Striking Thunder stared straight ahead. “They will give her to me.”

She wished she felt as confident. Her sister had been right when she’d accused her of being a bore. But what choice did she have? Raising a child essentially on her own was a huge responsibility. Recalling Star Dreamer and Striking Thunder’s reaction to her father’s abandonment, some of her guilt eased. Responsibility for Renny had been one unfairly thrust on her. But instead of the familiar resentment, Emma longed for a second chance. She’d gladly embrace being boring if it meant having Renny back at her side.

Thinking about her life, and having to go back to a strict, confining lifestyle, something deep inside Emma rebelled. Staring around her, she realized she didn’t want to return to that life and the same predictable routine day in and day out. There was no spark, no grand adventure to liven it—except Renny’s escapades. She shifted on the back of the mare, startled by her train of thought. What nonsense was this? She belonged in St. Louis. It was home.

Wasn’t it? Rubbing her fingers, she glanced down, forgetting she no longer wore gloves to pick at when she was uncertain or nervous. Of course it was, she chided herself. And if not there, certainly in some other town.
Or out here?
a small voice whispered.

Emma shook off the ridiculous notion. What was wrong with her? As if she could live in the wilderness, roaming from spot to spot endlessly! It was an absurd notion. When the time came, she’d return home to the secure world she knew so well.

But instead of representing happiness and security, the thought of once again taking up her old life made her feel caged. Yes, she’d have security, but freedom would once again be lost to her.

With nothing to do but think and ponder, Emma searched her heart and soul, confused by her conflicting emotions. She studied the scenery, looking for answers. It was so peaceful out here, a painting waiting to be captured on canvas. The rising tower of rock and trees awed her and when she lifted her face to that incredible sky, she wanted to spread her arms out and embrace it all. She wanted to be as free as the birds soaring overhead.

But she didn’t hold her arms out or jump off the horse and run just because the thought of doing so made her happy. Instead, she restrained herself. Her upbringing did not allow her the freedom to act in such a manner. Emma frowned. There it was again. That word.
Freedom.
Why did it keep popping into her head? In St. Louis she was free. A respected citizen. Here, she was a captive. No rights. No freedom.

No, that was not true. Since Striking Thunder had brought her to his village, she’d felt more free than she’d ever felt before. The differences came to her. Here, she was no longer hemmed in by what others said and believed. From her own personal experiences, she’d been able to draw her own conclusions and in fact, survival had forced her to do so. With Yellow Dog, her perceptions of the Indian race had mirrored those of society as a whole. He’d been a savage bent on harming others. But that perception couldn’t be more wrong with Striking Thunder or his people.

No one in the Sioux village told her how to think or act, and despite her status as a captive, her captors hadn’t forced her to do more work than any other woman. They were not like those of her own race who owned slaves and worked them long, cruel hours and considered them less than human. Striking Thunder’s people had treated her with respect and acceptance.

That was the key. Acceptance. They had accepted her for who and what she was, judging her only on her own merits. That was where her sense of freedom lay. Even her art reflected her freedom of choice—her subjects. She’d always yearned to draw and paint what she wanted, not what others told her was “ladylike.”

She wanted to run across the land with her arms outstretched, and she needed to give in to her temper occasionally and express herself. And most importantly, no matter where she went in the future, she wanted to take a stand and be herself.

Rubbing the mare between its ears, Emma smiled at the ever-changing landscape, the canvas on which she longed to paint herself and her dreams. In her mind, she painted a tipi—Striking Thunder’s—and inside, embraced by the warm glow of the fire, she sat with her family. In her arms, she held an infant to her breast and across from her, two black-haired children sat beside Striking Thunder, her husband. That was the image she longed to paint on the canvas of her future.

Acting on impulse, she slid down from the horse and sank into the melting snow. With a shout of pure happiness, she held her arms out and ran, twirling around and around, with her face to the sky above.

Striking Thunder watched Emma with a smile. He felt her wild abandon and understood. No one knew better than he the weight of responsibility and duty. Though he did not resent his position or the behaviors and expectations imposed on him, he occasionally longed to shed them and just be himself.

And right now, watching Emma, he wanted to join her. Her contagious laughter drew him, reminded him of his mother. He fondly recalled from his childhood how she had always laughed, and always his father had responded. How many men in his village so openly declared their love and affection for their wives? Not many would come home after a long day of hunting and take their wife to their mat, uncaring who knew.

His people still regarded his parents as a pair of young lovers.

He stopped. And why not? For the first time in his life, Striking Thunder understood his father and his need to come home and make love to his wife. Giving in to that same need to openly express what he felt, Striking Thunder set his bow and quiver of arrows on the ground and took off after Emma with a shout of his own.

He chased after her, she tossed snow at him and he retaliated by tackling her and sending them both rolling through the slush. Like children, they played, laughed and ran, unhampered by responsibility. By the time they resumed their trek, shoulder to shoulder, Striking Thunder felt lighter in heart and soul than he could ever remember feeling.

Early the next day, Emma and Striking Thunder were greeted by Night Hunter and two other warriors. Anxious, Emma followed the men into the village; it was much like Striking Thunder’s. Women stopped what they were doing to stare at her but this time, there was no hostility. They were curious, nothing more.

Emma glanced around for her sister, but didn’t find her among the familiar sights of women going about their chores and children running around. Where was she? Was Renny still here? Impatiently, she waited. After several minutes of talk and hand motions, Night Hunter left. “What’s happening?” she asked Striking Thunder.

Striking Thunder glanced down at her. “Your sister will be brought to us. We will wait here.”

Now that the moment was upon her, Emma felt afraid. She plucked at her fingers until Striking Thunder put his hand over hers. She read the question in his eyes and voiced the fear that had her stomach churning. “What if she hates me?”

He frowned. “Why would your sister hate you?”

Emma rubbed her arms. “For not protecting her.”

Striking Thunder sighed. “She does not hate you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Emma’s stomach tightened.