Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 Page 4

  “Humph,” he grunted. “It cannot to be helped. It is the way of things. Perhaps we should both get some more sleep.”

  “Yes,” she said, “perhaps.”

  But neither one did. Though they both lay back down, each one seemed restless.

  At last, Night Thunder was the one to break the silence. He said, a hint of intimacy in his voice, “I will never forget the first time that I saw you. Do you remember it?”

  She hesitated. “Aye.” she sent him a startled glance. “You won’t?”

  “Saa, no. It had been the night of the dance within my camp, as my people were crowded around that white man’s fort where you and your friend were staying. We had finished a good trade with the white man that day and were celebrating with many dances.”

  “Aye,” responded Rebecca, “my mistress, Katrina, had gone to your camp to speak with your friend, White Eagle. And I had followed her, afeard for her.”

  “You looked as scared as a jackrabbit that night.”

  “Did I?”

  He nodded. “And I felt like a wolf on the hunt.”

  Rebecca chuckled, just a little. “A wolf?”

  “Aa, yes. Do you not remember that I gave you the feather from my hair?”

  “Aye,” she said, “and I also recall that by doing so, you made me dance that dance…”

  “Of the Sioux, Sina-paskan. It is a good dance, do you not think so?”

  Again she gave a small laugh. “Aye, it is that, now. But neither Katrina nor I knew that it was a kiss you and your friend White Eagle would be wanting from us.”

  “See now why I felt much as a wolf that night?”

  She grinned. “I do. But I gave you only a quick peck and ran quickly away. You must have thought I was a silly girl.”

  “Saa, no.” He shifted his head to glance toward her. “I did not.”

  She drew a deep breath and made her gaze meet his. “What had you been thinking of me, then?”

  He didn’t answer for quite a while. If anything, his expression grew more serious, and he continued to look at her, his eyes darkening with a disturbing emotion.

  “It is not important what I thought then.”

  “I think that it is.”

  “Do you?” he countered. “And what was your impression of me that first night?”

  “I…” she hesitated. She couldn’t very well tell him that at that time, she had thought him unusually handsome. What would he think of her? “I…I thought that you were…Indian.”

  He laughed. “We should get a little more sleep,” he said, “before my brothers from the Blood tribe return with presents for us. We will need our wits about us, I think.”

  He turned over, his buffalo hide covering slipping farther down, admitting to her perusal the smooth length of his bare back.

  A shudder fell over her spine at the sight of all that handsome flesh and she gulped, the sound of it seeming loud against the silence.

  “Aye,” agreed Rebecca. “I believe you are correct.” And she, too, turned her back on him.

  But she couldn’t help wondering. What had he thought of her?

  She didn’t know why, but she felt it important that she know. She would ask him again when they awakened, she decided. And this time, she wouldn’t be put off by him directing the same question to her.

  This she promised herself.

  Chapter Four

  A scratch on the tepee flap awakened them.

  “Ikkamssit,” Night Thunder’s word had barely been over a whisper as he spoke to Rebecca, “be quick.” He motioned her over toward him, telling her with gestures to lie next to him beneath his sleeping robe.

  She didn’t hesitate, either, and she hurriedly scooted toward him, more afeard of what would happen if she didn’t than if she did.

  “Piit,” he called out, no sooner than she had settled herself down beside him. “Enter.”

  She pulled the robe over her head and kept it there, as Night Thunder spoke to whomever had entered their lodge.

  She listened to the foreign conversation, comforted by the fact that the voice of the visitor did not belong to her previous captor.

  She began to relax. Night Thunder, however, sat up, the robe falling down around his waist, barely enough to cover that part of him which declared him male. And Rebecca instantly became aware of one startling fact. Night Thunder sat beside her, naked. Utterly, completely naked.

  She tried to look elsewhere, to think of something besides him.

  She couldn’t.

  And despite there being little light beneath the robe, despite her inability to see as well as she might, there were some things one simply couldn’t ignore. The sight of him surrounded her; the musky scent of him teased her. He smelled good…alluring.

  She drew a deep breath, but instead of the action calming her, his scent tantalized her and she felt her stomach turn over.

  But it wasn’t pain she felt. It was…what? Excitement? No, it couldn’t be. Yet…

  She spun onto her stomach and turned her head away, any concern she had for their guest, what he might think of what she did, evaporating in her effort to hold onto her reserve.

  She heard a chuckle, more foreign words, then the sound of the tepee flap opening and closing.

  A quiet moment passed. Another.

  “Come out now.”

  What was it she heard in his voice? Humor?

  Still, she didn’t move.

  “Do you like it beneath there?”

  What could she say? Rebecca had never felt more embarrassed in her life. Not only had she witnessed a naked man, she had responded to the sight of him as though she might like him to hold her.

  She held her breath and without budging, without in the least moving her head, replied, “Why did you not tell me that you were naked?”

  He paused and when he spoke, he said the words slowly, as though he were picking each one carefully, “There was not time. Besides, how else would you have me sleep?”

  “In night clothing.”

  Night Thunder gave a short laugh. “Night clothing? What is this night clothing? Do you expect to make me believe that the white man wears clothing in which to sleep?”

  “Aye.”

  Another chuckle. “Isn’t is enough that the white man hides his body from Sun during the day? Does he also cower from Old Woman, the moon, at night?”

  “Cowering has nothing to do with it. It would be only proper, I’m thinking, that since I am also within this lodge, you would sleep with some sort of clothing to cover yourself.”

  He gave her a low grunt that sounded more like disdain than acknowledgement. He said, “Sleeping in clothing is not something that I have known any of the men in our tribe to do. Why would you expect it of me?”

  “Out of deference to me. Out of modesty.”

  “Humph!” She felt him scoot further under the sleeping robe. Scowling, she at last felt safe in turning her head toward him, and as she glanced at him, he gave her a lopsided grin. He said, “Sleep you in your clothes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you not realize that they might smell bad and will look bad when you arise? Do you care?”

  “Of course I care. But I couldn’t take them off…not here with you. I wouldn’t…I only have this one dress to wear, now.”

  “Then do you not think you should take better care of it?”

  She drew in a shocked breath. “I would not sleep unclothed.”

  He turned over onto his back, a smile upon his face. “That is your choice, then.” He paused for a moment while he appeared to be thinking. After a time he said, “I would rather save my dignity for when I am around the others. What does it matter, after all? We are not sleeping within the same robes.”

  “Am I not here right now?”

  He chuckled before he sat up, and throwing the robe off, stood to his feet. “Come, it is time to arise. The others have prepared a feast for us. Ceremony and dignity are a great part of the customs of my people. It would not be
right if we do not join them and appreciate all they have done for us.”

  Rebecca knew she shouldn’t be looking at him. She knew it was a sinful thing to do. Yet she couldn’t help herself. How could she ignore all that hard flesh and masculinity? Especially when it was the sort of thing she had never had the chance to glimpse?

  Well, she couldn’t.

  Not when the way he stood emphasized the strength of his legs, she realized, as her gaze roamed upward toward his thighs. The powerful muscles she spied there seemed to accentuate his buttocks, and how male he looked in front…

  She inwardly groaned at what she was doing, what she was seeing, at that part of his body she was now scrutinizing. But she didn’t glance away.

  He reached down to pick up an article of clothing and her gaze followed him. His hands were brown, she noted, firm and strong, although his skin appeared to be smooth rather than rough-edged. His fingers were long, his nails seemingly white against the darker shade of his skin. Without being able to stop herself, she remembered how those hands had felt against her last night as they had massaged her, his touch soothing her, sending her to sleep.

  But she certainly wasn’t feeling sleepy now.

  He drew on his breechcloth and she knew that this action should have ended her perusal of his body. It didn’t, however.

  He stood before her, handsome beyond belief, and her gaze went to his bare chest…his well-muscled and powerful bare chest… She wondered what those muscles would feel like beneath her touch, what would be the texture of his skin? Hard and tough, or soft? She felt her fingers itch, as though if she didn’t control them, they would reach out and discover all that luxury themselves.

  She did control herself nonetheless, and she drew her hands together in front of her, almost wishing they were tied.

  She wasn’t finished with her inspection, however.

  Long, straight black hair fell down over his shoulders almost to his waist, reminding her that this was no civilized man. The top of it was tied back with a strip of buckskin which gave him an incredibly handsome appeal. His face had been browned by the sun, his lips full, his cheekbones high, his face almost a perfect oval, his nose long and straight. He would have been considered handsome in anyone’s culture, she came to realize, even if he did wear earrings: round shell-like earrings.

  But the jewelry detracted not the least from his masculine appeal. He was a warrior, proud and dangerous looking. And she was certain that there was not a white man alive who would want to meet this red man upon the trail, unless it was in friendship.

  It was then that her eyes met his, dark brown—almost black and—they were watching her.

  She hurriedly gazed away, embarrassed. He clearly had seen her scrutinizing him. What must he think of her?

  How could she have been so bold?

  Yet he said nothing, nor did he appear amused by her overt appraisal.

  “Are you ready to leave the lodge?” he asked, and she breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment Rebecca was glad that this man was not of the civilized world, that instead of calling attention to her brazenness, he seemed willing to gloss over what could only be a temporary departure from manners.

  “I…” she glanced down at the wrinkles in her dress, trying to remember a time when she had gone before others looking as mussed as she did now. She could not recall any such experience. Perhaps there was something to be said for not sleeping in one’s clothing. Still, it couldn’t be helped now. She said, “I suppose that I am.” She rose to her feet.

  If he were truly embarrassed by her tousled look, he displayed no such reaction. He said, “Follow me and keep close. You do not have to say anything, but…you might smile a little. The others may expect to see you showing a little happiness after our night together.”

  She nodded, and he threw open the flap of the tepee and stepped outside. Rebecca had no choice but to follow.

  The cool breeze of the morning greeted her as she stepped outside the tepee lodge. She inhaled quickly, the air heavy with the scent of smoke, of meat roasting, of pine trees and prairie grass. It smelled freshly sweet, clear and bracing. The invigorating scent even seemed to give her courage and she squared back her shoulders.

  The earth felt solid beneath her footfalls as she trailed after Night Thunder, the grass soft for being so dry. She looked around quickly, taking note of her surroundings, something she hadn’t really done last night.

  Above her and to the east, deep colors of pink, red, and blue spread out low to the horizon. To the west, snow-capped mountains rose dark and purple in the distance, their peaks a sharp contrast to the silver of an early morning sky. The spot where they had camped was sheltered in a grove of pine trees and cottonwoods, their tops looming over her. Ahead of her, Night Thunder strode forward to meet his comrades, his stride sure, unhesitant, as though he were every day in the habit of facing danger.

  Perhaps he was.

  She followed him at a more sedate distance. There was something unnerving about being the only woman in a camp full of warriors who had been on the warpath, even when those men no longer exhibited antagonism toward her.

  There was no drumming in the camp this morning, though from somewhere not too distant, a low baritone voice sang an unusual melody, the rhythm of the words seeming to keep step with Night Thunder’s movements.

  Night Thunder joined his people; she held back, not able to force herself to go in among them. To tell God’s truth, she suddenly wished, quite fervently, that she could shrink to perhaps a few inches tall, simply to disappear.

  But such was not to be. Night Thunder had glanced back at her, motioning her to join him.

  She gulped and forced herself to take one prolonged step after the other. Never had she known her footfalls could be so painfully sluggish. Even so, she wished she could move even slower. A warm wind suddenly swept into the camp, coming up from behind her, as though it, too, were conspiring against her, shoving her forward.

  “Oki, come on,” Night Thunder said, motioning to her. “There is no one here that intends you any further harm,” he told her in English.

  Wasn’t there? She wasn’t sure.

  Still, somehow she made herself move, if only because Night Thunder expected her to. Never could she remember having to place her fate, her very life, into the hands of another being; never could she remember feeling more apprehensive.

  She came up beside Night Thunder and he looked down at her. Suddenly he smiled. It was all he did; he didn’t place his arm around her, or hug her to him, as one might have expected him to if he were to instill her with confidence. But somehow his smile seemed enough.

  She gave him back a shaky grin, then quickly gazed down at the ground again.

  “Nit-ik-oht-yaahs-i’taki k-ikkaa o’too-hs-yi.” It was an older voice speaking, and Rebecca glanced up to see the aged man from last night staring at her, smiling.

  “He tells you that he is glad you have arrived,” Night Thunder translated.

  Rebecca nodded, and in a quiet voice, she said, “Tell him thank you.”

  “Iniiyi’taki,” Night Thunder said.

  “Ikimopii,” the older man said to her, gesturing toward her, making motions to have her sit.

  “He asks you to have a seat of honor,” again Night Thunder translated.

  “Where?” Rebecca asked. “Here?”

  Night Thunder nodded. “Aa, yes, sit here.”

  Rebecca sat down, placing her knees to the side as she came to the ground.

  Night Thunder squatted down beside her. “You did that well,” he said. “In our camp, the women sit with their knees placed, as you have done, while a man sits thusly.” He gestured toward himself where he sat, typically cross-legged.

  At any other time, Rebecca would have responded to a compliment such as this one with a smile. But she was too nervous; it was all she could do not to shake.

  Food was taken from the fire and passed to each warrior, then to her last. She didn’t care. She was too anxious to eat
, too overwrought to feel hunger, though it had been almost a fortnight since she had last eaten. Perhaps longer.

  “Oowat,” said Night Thunder, “eat.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “You must,” he said. “It would be considered an insult if you did not, after the warriors have gone to much trouble to bring it to you, and it might cause bad feelings.”

  “Please, I…I don’t think that I can.”

  “Aa, yes, you can.”

  She swallowed, the sound loud even to her, ears. Somehow, though, she found the courage to lift her head and glance around at the circle of men. Although no one watched her impolitely, she knew instinctively that all here were aware of her every movement.

  She picked up a piece of meat. “What is this?” she asked Night Thunder.

  “It is buffalo. Our warriors searched long this morning until they came upon a calf and his mother, I am told. You are being honored.”

  “Aye,” she said, “so you have said to me.”

  “Do you doubt it?”

  “Please understand, Night Thunder, I cannot help it.”

  A long pause followed her statement, Night Thunder apparently lost in thought.

  At length, however, after some deliberation, he said, “Know that so long as I live, so long as I draw breath upon our mother the earth, no one here will harm you.”

  She glanced at him quickly, but not fast enough. He had already turned his head away so that all she caught was a fleeting impression of what had been there in his eyes. She found herself staring at the man’s profile instead: strong, proud, his chin thrust slightly forward. She found him magnificent. He might be Indian, he might be someone she would never have thought a hero only a few weeks ago, but no mistake, this man emanated valor. Had he always? And if he had, how had it escaped her notice until now?

  She reached out a hand to touch his arm, a gentle, soft caress. She knew to do so probably went against some Indian etiquette she had little knowledge of, but she couldn’t help herself.

  She saw his body go rigid, felt the muscles of his arm stiffen, yet he made no attempt to remove her hand. In truth, what he did startled her all the more.