Wild Splendor (14 page)

Lost heart and soul to this adorable man, Leonida began running her hands over his powerful chest, reveling in the mere touch of him. Lower her fingers wandered, and she smiled to herself when his stomach muscles quivered as she touched him ever so lightly when seeking out the fabric of his breechclout. When she had been held against him, she had felt his arousal even through her dress, and it made her seek out that part of him now, to touch, to caress.

When she finally reached his breechclout, she did not stop her exploring. Her heart pounding, she slipped her hand inside it, hearing Sage's gasp of pleasure against her lips as she soon wrapped her fingers around his throbbing member, moving them on him slowly, ever so slowly.

Sage slid his mouth from her lips and kissed the hollow of her throat, becoming mindless from her skillful ways of pleasuring him. He smiled to himself, realizing that he had taught her well. Even now, as she stopped long enough to slip his breechclout down his thighs, he knew what to expect next from her.

But he did not want that sort of pleasuring just yet. He wanted to touch her all over, feel the heat of her passion rise as he caressed her body with his tongue and fingers. Then he would accept her lips on him, wherever and however she wanted to pleasure him. Now it was
her
turn to be awakened fully to how much he truly loved her—would always love her.

With the urging of his hands, Leonida stepped away. Her pulse began to race as he slowly disrobed her, his hands reacquainting themselves with her newly revealed flesh a portion at a time, enjoying teasing her. He could see the rapture building in her eyes, and in the way her breasts heaved, as he finally bared them to his feasting eyes.

Leaving the dress resting around her hips, Sage cupped her breasts in his hands, letting their weight rest within his palms. His thumbs circled the nipples, causing Leonida to close her eyes and sigh.

When Sage knelt over and touched his tongue to one of the nipples, he drew a groan of ecstasy. Leonida placed her fingers at the nape of his neck and urged his lips even lower, her whole body pounding as if it were one large heartbeat, with that which she was encouraging him to do.

He answered her plea by slipping her dress down to the ground. Then he knelt before her, gaining access to the center of her passion. Spreading her soft down of hair apart, he touched his tip slowly to her swollen nub, sending a shiver up and down Leonida's spine. She urged him even closer to her and sighed languorously when he complied and gave her a loving so intense, she felt as though she might faint.

Just as she almost soared into the clouds with the intense pleasure he was giving her, he placed his hands on her waist and drew her down on her knees before him.

Pulling her to him, he kissed her with a feverish heat, his every nerve ending raw with the building passion. He removed her headband and tossed it aside, then twined his fingers through her hair and held her lips tightly against his. Back onto the cushion of the rabbit-fur cloak he urged her, soon spreading himself atop her.

Their bodies strained together hungrily as he sought entrance with his throbbing member. He sucked in a wild breath and eased his lips from hers as he thrust himself deeply into her and began his smooth, even strokes, her rhythm matching his as she lifted her hips to meet him.

Leonida could not keep her hands off him. Her heart thudded within her; she felt growing sensations that left her breathless. She smoothed her fingers over his back, and down to his buttocks, and then around so that she could get an occasional feel of his manhood.

When he stopped suddenly, she gazed up at him with a silent question, then followed his bidding when he urged her to move to her hands and knees. She shuddered with desire when he entered her again from this position, his hands reaching down and around, kneading and teasing her taut breasts.

A delicious tingling heat was spreading within Leonida as he molded her even closer to him from behind, making it so that he could fill her more deeply with the wondrous, continuing thrusts.

Just when she came close to the height of the languorous feelings that spilled through her when she reached the ultimate splendor, Sage withdrew from her.

Leonida turned again, to stretch out on her back, wondering why he had stopped.

And then she knew.

He straddled her so that she could give him the pleasure that he had denied her earlier. She leaned up on an elbow and loved him with her lips and mouth until she realized it was enough. She knew by the reactions of his body, and by the way he was moaning so pleasurably, it was time for them to find paradise together.

Sage moved over her and parted her legs with a knee. The fires of his passion became known quickly to Leonida as he plunged deep within her and his mouth closed hard upon hers. She placed her fingers on the nape of his neck, urging his lips closer. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking them together at the ankles, riding him as his strokes sped deeper, deeper.

His steel arms enfolded her. She could feel his hunger. It matched hers. She was almost beyond coherent thought. The euphoria filling her was more than ever before, so wonderful, so beautiful. She was floating, floating.

Sage's senses were reeling as he continued to move his lean, sinewy buttocks. He buried his face next to her neck when he felt the pleasure mounting. His fingers bit into her shoulders as licking flames swept through him, igniting the blaze that fired his passions. His whole body quivered when he felt release so close.

He kissed her again, this time softly, her lips parting as his tongue probed. Then everything seemed to explode within him, sending great splashes of warmth throughout him. The sensations seemed to be searing his heart, his very soul, matching Leonida's own passion as she clung to him, her body shaking against his.

Afterward, Sage rolled onto his back beside her. His chest was heaving. His breath was coming in short gasps.

Leonida felt drugged with passion, her chest heaving from the aftermath of what seemed impossible, intense pleasure.

She turned to Sage and kissed him, her mouth soft and passionate against his. He lifted her atop him and urged her to lie down on him, reveling in the touch of her soft body and large breasts against his.

“I will never get enough of you,” he said huskily, his dark eyes hazy with passion. “My wife, you will desire your husband as much?”

“Always,” Leonida whispered.

Her breath was stolen when he put his hands on her waist and hurriedly placed her on the soft cloak again and rose over her. She closed her eyes in rapture as he entered her, overwhelming her again with his skillful, torrid ways of loving her.

Chapter 17

Where'er she speaks,
My ravished ear no other voice than hers can hear.

—G
EORGE
L
YTTELTON

 

 

Leonida had not known the toll it had been taking on Pure Blossom to cook her daily meals and generously share them with Leonida, Sage, and Runner. Not until today.

Even though Pure Blossom had insisted on cooking the meals before, she had sent word that she could not prepare any meals today, that she was not feeling well enough.

Leonida was kneeling beside the fire in her hogan, feeling awkward as she stirred the large pot of stew that she was preparing for the evening meal. Sweat poured down her face in silver streamers, and her hair hung loose and damp across her shoulders. Even as well as she was, she felt the strength draining from her body as the heat from the fire combined with the heat beating down upon her from the sun-drenched domed roof of the hogan.

Guilt plagued her for having allowed Pure Blossom to prepare the meals. But she kept reminding herself that Pure Blossom had insisted. Sage and Leonida had allowed it only because they agreed that this made her feel happy and useful.

Resting the wooden spoon in the pot, Leonida put her hands on her aching back and rose slowly to her feet. Besides cooking, she was learning other ways of being a Navaho wife. She carried water from the creek daily, as well as gathered wood wherever she could find it. She had not allowed Runner to accompany her, always fearing the cliffs and the danger they posed to a small child who did not know the meaning of the word “danger.”

Fanning herself with her hand, Leonida moved away from the fire and went into the bedroom she and Sage shared. Her heart pounded even now at the remembrance of his lips and hands caressing her to heights of joyous bliss she had never thought possible. She wished that he were here now to rekindle their lovemaking of only a short while ago, before Runner awakened and came into their room, his stomach growling from hunger.

Wiping his eyes sleepily, Runner had looked so innocent and sweet as he waited for them to stir from their bed. Sage had playfully pulled him into the bed with them, and Runner had been oblivious that they were naked. Sage said it was best to allow him to see their nudity as a natural way of life, to see nothing in it that might embarrass him.

A sound of scampering feet and giggling drew Leonida from her thoughts. She spun around just in time to see Runner and Adam come into the bedroom. Runner's eyes were dancing as he gazed up at her.

“See Adam?” Runner said, smiling broadly. “Pure Blossom made him a breechclout. Does he not look Navaho now, like me?”

Stunned, fearing Sally's reaction, Leonida gasped, then knelt down before Runner and Adam and placed a hand on Runner's shoulder. “Honey, I know that Pure Blossom meant well,” she murmured. “But I don't think that Adam's mother . . .”

“No, Adam's mother does
not
approve,” Sally said, bursting into the hogan, her face red with anger. “I saw Adam running toward your hogan dressed—dressed as a savage.”

Sally grabbed Adam's hand and jerked him away from Runner's side, then up into her arms as she turned to stamp away. “I was wrong, Leonida, to offer you my friendship again,” she said across her shoulder, her voice breaking. “You might want to turn Trevor into a savage. But never will I allow you to even get near my son again.”

Adam was crying as he was carried from the hogan. Runner went to Leonida and wrapped his arms around her legs, his tears pooling in wet spots on her blue velveteen skirt. “She's mean,” he wailed. “She's mean. I'm no savage. Go and tell her I'm no savage.”

Although Leonida expected no less of a reaction from Sally, she still found it hard to accept. She wove her fingers through Runner's thick black hair, then bent down and lifted him into her arms. As he straddled her with his legs, his arms clinging to her neck, he continued to sob against her bosom.

“I'm sorry that had to happen, darling,” Leonida murmured, rocking him back and forth. “You aren't a savage, nor is Adam just because he wears a breechclout. Nor is your new daddy a savage. That word is ugly, Runner. Never should it be used in the same breath as Sage. He is more civilized than most whites I have known.”

“My new name is savage, though?” Runner said, leaning back and gazing with red and swollen eyes up at Leonida. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Some of the other children who were my friends while I lived at the fort called my name savage when they heard that Sage had assigned me a Navaho name.” His lips curved into a pout. “I want to be called Trevor again.”

Leonida was torn. Here was a child having to adjust to the loss of a mother, as well as many other new things all at once.

Yet she saw the importance in his not giving in to those who wrongly tormented him. In truth, Leonida felt that perhaps the children were jealous of the special attention that Runner was getting in the Indian village. Jealousy fired much ugliness among people, children as well as adults. It was up to her to make sure that Runner knew the difference between jealousy and sincere feelings and learned how to react to both when confronted by them.

“Darling, I think your new name is beautiful, and I don't think you should toss it away just because of what a few children said to you about it,” she tried to explain, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “Do you think Sage's name is savage?”

“No,” Runner said, sniffling. His trusting eyes gazed into Leonida's. “I like his name. It is Navaho like my name, Runner? It is not a savage name?”

“I like his name also,” Leonida said, smiling at him. “And yes, it is Navaho. Now you tell
me
. Do you think it is a savage name?”

“No,” Runner said, his eyes innocently wide.

“Nor is your name, Runner,” Leonida said matter-of-factly. She drew him close and hugged him. “Now let's not hear any more talk about not wanting a new name, or about the word ‘savage.' Run on outside. There are plenty of other children that you can play with if Sally keeps Adam in his lean-to.”

As Leonida put Runner on the floor, her gaze stopped at the breechclout. She saw it as nothing short of precious in the way it fit his tiny body. And his skin was becoming tanned, soon perhaps to be the same shade of copper as the skin of the other Navaho children.

She so badly wanted life to be fair to him. He had lost so much already, and at such a young age. She hoped that Sally would see the wrong in her behavior today. Runner was just a child.

“I wish I could play with Adam,” Runner said, taking Leonida's hand as they left the bedroom. He looked trustingly up at her. “Do you think I'll be able to play with him again? He likes me. I know he likes me.”

Leonida walked Runner on to the door, then knelt down before him. She put her hands on each side of his face and drew his lips to hers. She gave him a kiss, then drew him into her arms again. “Yes, Adam likes you,” she murmured. “And I'm sure he'll play with you again. But not today, honey. Play with the other children today.”

Runner nodded, then eased away from Leonida and left the hogan.

Leonida sighed as she got back to her feet. She eyed the steaming stew, realizing that it needed stirring again. As she went and knelt before the fire, she was not aware that someone entered the hogan. She jumped with a start when a movement beside her revealed that she was not alone.

Dropping the spoon into the stew, Leonida scrambled to her feet. She sighed and smiled down at Pure Blossom, who stood with her arms filled with freshly made bread.

“Pure Blossom, you weren't supposed to be working over a hot stove today,” Leonida scolded, glancing from the bread up at Sage's sister. Her cheeks were sunken. Her eyes were dark pits. “You were supposed to be resting. It's extraordinarily hot today. Even I feel weakened from the heat.”

Pure Blossom leaned shakily toward the floor and placed the bread beside the fire. “Pure Blossom happy cooking and weaving,” she said softly.

Leonida placed her arm around Pure Blossom's waist and helped her back to a standing position.

“Pure Blossom same as dead if she does not do what makes her happy,” Pure Blossom said, breathing hard. “Please not fuss over me. Please?”

Sighing, Leonida nodded. “All right,” she said. “I promise not to fuss over you. But please try not to do so much, especially in this sort of heat.”

“I promise,” Pure Blossom said, giggling. She coughed into a cupped hand, then turned toward the door. “Now Pure Blossom goes home and rests.”

When she teetered, momentarily losing her balance, Leonida went to her rescue. She placed an arm around Pure Blossom's tiny waist and steadied her. “I'm going to walk you home,” she said in a determined voice. “I'm going to see to it that you get into bed.”

“You are fussing over Pure Blossom again,” she said, smiling up at Leonida.

“Yes, I guess I am,” Leonida said, returning the smile. “And I see that you are allowing it this time.”

“Yes, it is easy to,” Pure Blossom said, getting more winded the more she struggled to walk. She leaned into Leonida's willing embrace as they stepped out into the blinding sunshine of late afternoon.

Then they both stopped and stared at the approaching Indians on horseback. Leonida realized quickly that they were not Navaho. “Pure Blossom, who are they?” she asked as Sage and several of his warriors left an outdoor council to greet the mounted visitors. “What tribe are they from? How did they know to find the stronghold so easily?”

Pure Blossom twisted her face into a frown. “They are Kiowa,” she said, her voice practically a hiss. “They come and trade for our blankets and wool from our sheep, and even fruits from our gardens. They are few in number now, and they hide also from the wrath of the white man's pony soldiers. The chief of this small band of Kiowa is Chief Four Fingers, a man I have despised since the death of my parents.”

“He's responsible?” Leonida whispered back, her eyes following the chief, who was leading the others closer to Sage and his waiting warriors.

“All we knew was that renegades killed our parents, but Pure Blossom suspects Four Fingers is somehow responsible,” she said sourly. “He brought their bodies to the village. He said other renegades killed them.”

“Why would you not believe him?” Leonida asked, watching the hefty, middle-aged Kiowa chief dismount. He suddenly turned to her, closely scrutinizing her. A chill crossed her flesh, and she felt as though he was undressing her with his eyes. Although he was a handsome man, Leonida felt nothing for him except a keen fear. His eyes were not friendly. They were cold and guarded even as he turned away and reached a hand of friendship out for Sage to accept.

“So often he is known to be a man of forked tongue,” Pure Blossom said. “He has found only a measure of friendship with the Navaho since the white settlers came to this land that once belonged solely to the Indians. My brother, Sage, saw it was wise to keep alliances with other tribes of Indians in case war broke out between the whites and our people. In numbers the whites might be defeated. The Kiowa added to that number. So they are important now, but only until their alliance is no longer needed. Then my brother will send them away, enemies again.”

“They were once the Navaho's enemy?”

“Yes, and it has never been an easy or trusting peace.”

Leonida was surprised when Pure Blossom wrenched herself away and began walking boldly, and with much more energy than she had had moments ago, toward the assemblage of Indians.

“Come,” Pure Blossom said over her shoulder. “We join the council. Sister and wife of Chief Sage are allowed.”

Leonida hesitated for a moment, unsure that she should, or even wanted to, then she rushed ahead and walked beside Pure Blossom. Her gaze never left Chief Four Fingers as Sage offered him a seat on a spread blanket in a gesture of friendship. When the Kiowa chief crossed his legs and then placed his hands on his knees, her eyes widened as she stared at his left hand. Its thumb was missing.

“How did he lose his thumb?” Leonida whispered, leaning closer to Pure Blossom so she would be the only one to hear.

“His story is that it happened as a child,” Pure Blossom whispered back, “when he tried to free an imprisoned raccoon that had gotten ensnared in a white man's steel trap.”

She cast a bitter look toward Leonida. “It is one of his forked tongue tales,” she hissed. “I am sure he got it in a cowardly act, not a courageous one. It is impossible for Pure Blossom to see anything about him that is likable—or trusting. I have warned my brother to guard his words carefully while talking to the Kiowa chief.”

They had reached the blanket. Leonida felt out of place as the Kiowa and Navaho warriors turned their eyes to her and Pure Blossom.

But following Pure Blossom's lead, she sat down on the blanket; Sage's sister gave her the spot beside Sage, on his right side. The Kiowa chief was on Sage's left. When he leaned out and stared directly into Leonida's eyes, she felt a foreboding in the pit of her stomach.

She looked quickly away from him, afraid, herself trusting him no more than Pure Blossom did. It was there in his eyes, the way they gleamed, that he was untrustworthy.

“You are aware that the white pony soldiers, led by Kit Carson, are perhaps dangerously close?” Sage said, trying to draw Chief Four Fingers's attention away from Leonida. Sage wished that Pure Blossom had not joined the council this time, bringing Leonida into the center of attention also. Yet he was glad to see Pure Blossom showing revived energy. It gave him hope that perhaps her end might be delayed.