Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 Page 7

  “I know, but…”

  “Annisa,” he said, “all right,” and gestured toward the robe. “You will lie down first.”

  “No, I…I think I would rather lie down after you.”

  He shrugged and began to undress, a gleam in his eye. With great preamble and a slow smile, he took the bow off his shoulder, setting it down beside the robe. Then, looking over to her and ensuring her gaze was carefully glued to his, he released his quiver of arrows; they, too, fell to the ground.

  With precise care, he removed his sheath and knife next and bent down, placing the items carefully beside his robe; it was the only time he looked away from her.

  She stuttered, “Wh-why do you set your weapons beside you, thusly?”

  He looked over at her, a half smile curving his lips. He said, “In case an enemy attacks during the night, I will need to grab my weapons quickly. I place them as I do every night so that I might take possession of them rapidly if I have the need.”

  “Even when you are in your own camp you do this?”

  He nodded. “Aa, even then.”

  He straightened up, and with a teasing glimpse at her, removed his moccasins, first one, then the other. His hands came to his waist then, and with a ridiculous smile upon his face, his fingers began to fiddle with a string of rawhide at his belt.

  She should be the one to look away; she knew it. Yet she couldn’t.

  He gave her a cocky grin before releasing first one tie on the belt, then the other. Rebecca gasped, yet she didn’t glance elsewhere.

  With a soft thump, his leggings fell to the ground. Bending, he set the articles of clothing neatly to the side.

  She swallowed nervously.

  He straightened up and looked at her as a cat might observe a piece of string. She became more than aware that the only thing remaining on him at the moment was his breechcloth and that belt upon which it rested.

  His hand went to the belt.

  She held her breath. All she seemed capable of doing was watching, waiting.

  He grinned at her and gestured toward the buffalo robe. He said, “Take your position first, I will follow.”

  “M-must we?”

  “It is expected. We are being watched.” It was only then that she remembered the others in their party. Glancing around, she saw that though every single warrior who was sitting nearby was silently attending to some matter close to hand, none appeared to be watching them unduly. But Rebecca knew their politeness was only superficial.

  She muttered, “Surely you don’t think that I would undress in front of them…in front of you.”

  “I do not ask you to do any of that.”

  “Good,” she said. “See that you never do.”

  He grinned broadly, and she thought it odd that he seemed in such good spirits. He said, “There will come a day when I will rejoice to hear you take back those words and beg me to undress you.”

  She gasped. “How dare you! I thought that you were…that I was…that…we are not truly married and you should not feel you can take liberties and say such things to me—”

  He held up a hand, the simple action silencing her. “Is it always your way that you talk too much?”

  “I—”

  “But,” he said, again silencing her, “you also speak truth. If you would like, I will scold myself for teasing you.”

  “Oh,” she said, “is that all you are doing now? Teasing me?”

  He grinned. “Aa, yes, so it is, young Rebecca. I only tease you. Now, hurry and get beneath the robes fully clothed if you must. I will follow you.”

  “But are you not going to remove your…” Her words fell away as she realized what she had been about to say.

  He frowned. “I am disappointing you?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Too bad,” he said. “I was beginning to enjoy the idea of having your eyes upon me here.” He pointed to that private area of his body and at the same time removed the breechcloth he wore.

  Rebecca, gasping, decided to debate with him no more. With hardly a thought, she jumped forward, and picking up the top buffalo robe, fled beneath its folds.

  Chapter Six

  The problem arose in the middle of the night. Rebecca awoke to find herself cuddled up next to Night Thunder, his arms around her and her face against his bare chest. She tried to move; it was impossible, his arms had tightened around her.

  She attempted to go back to sleep; she couldn’t. The warmth of him, the sweet, musky scent of him made it impossible to think of anything but his state of undress. It prevented her from putting him from her mind.

  And worse, she began to ache in secret places she dared never mention. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples taut. Worse yet, down there, between her legs, she felt…what? Stimulated? Wet? Heaven forbid.

  Oh, truth be told, she wanted his kiss with a yearning need.

  “Night Thunder,” she whispered, attempting to break the spell he held over her. Pushing against him, she tried to gain some distance from him, if only a fraction of an inch.

  He merely moaned, however, and drew her in closer toward him.

  She sighed, venturing to back away from him once more, but it was impossible. She could not match his strength, which kept her held tightly to him.

  What was she to do? She could feel his breath against the top of her head, soft and warm, feel the slight rise and fall of his chest. His legs had become entangled with hers, too, which certainly didn’t aid her cause, and his hips pressed in closely against her stomach.

  At least he wasn’t in the manly way, she thought, surprising herself with her musings. But instead of the idea giving her comfort, as it should have, it only served to bring to mind a vision of that portion of his anatomy, the mental image of his nude body being quite a vivid one.

  She squirmed restlessly. Unfortunately, she was more than aware of what it would take to quench that restlessness.

  Again she sighed and tried to turn over, to present her back to him, but she failed once more.

  “Omaopii,” she heard him mutter in his sleep.

  What did that mean?

  “Be quiet,” he uttered in English a few moments later. “Lie still.”

  She groaned and whispered back to him, “How can I, when you hold me too tightly? Relax your grip, Night Thunder.”

  He only snorted and pulled her in further toward him. “You will need the extra body heat,” he muttered in a low voice. “It is a cold night. Besides,” and here she heard a little humor enter into his tone, “we want the others to think you enjoy my closeness to you, is that not true?”

  She could not deny what he said, but she didn’t want to let him know her true feelings, so she remained silent.

  “If you like,” he went on to whisper, “I can take you down to the coulee beneath this butte and let you bathe under the branches of the cottonwood trees, a refreshing, cool bath. Would that help you?”

  “No,” she said, “it most certainly would not.”

  She felt him shrug before he said, “Perhaps I could do with a cold bath, too.”

  She froze. What did he mean by that remark?

  Suddenly she felt a tautness where his body touched hers—there at her tummy—and she suddenly understood exactly what he meant.

  “Night Thunder, I thought we weren’t going to—”

  “I cannot help it. I am not trying to be this way. You are a beautiful female, and when you wiggle like you are against me, I—”

  “Sh-h-h.”

  “Why do you stop me from saying these things? There is nothing wrong with how my body reacts to yours. There is much that is right about it.”

  “It is not right. We are not married.”

  “A matter we could set straight at this very moment. Others think we are married; it would take little on our part to make it a truth.”

  “But I thought you did not want to marry me.”

  “I do not believe I told you quite that. I do not think it would be a good thing for either of us, that is true. Marriage between us would be hard for you because you are not Indian and are unused to the ways of my people, but it would be difficult for me, too. Difficult—not impossible.”

  “No, I don’t see how it is possible at all.”

  “Consider it well, Rebecca. Do you feel how your body responds to mine, how mine desires yours? And this is only the first of several nights we will have to spend this way together…some people never have this readiness in a marriage, and yet we do not even try and it is there. Perhaps we should think of it.”

  “No, I…you could wear your breechcloth to bed.”

  “And do you think that would help?”

  “Aye,” she replied. “I do. Please, I’m sure of it.”

  “Then I will do it and we will see.”

  “Aye,” she said, “please.”

  A few silent moments passed, an uncomfortable silence.

  He broke it. “Do you want that bath?”

  “Very much, yes,” she answered.

  He chuckled. “So, too, do I. Let us go to the coulee, now when there is no danger of a war party catching us and where the others cannot watch us, as well.”

  “Aye,” she said, and together they made their way to the valley.

  It was a clear night, though the moon shone with little light to guide their way.

  A nighthawk squawked in the distance and the locusts filled the night with their own peculiar humming. A chinook had blown in, bringing with it a warm breeze to whisper over her skin.

  A thousand, no, a million stars glittered overhead with a brilliance unseen and unheard of in the east. Rebecca gazed upward, amazed to see how close the stars appeared to be. She held up her arms as though she might reach them, and Night Thunder, seeing her action, gave her a cool grin.

  He said, “My country is beautiful, is it not?”

  She nodded. “It most certainly is.”

  They had come upon the stream, the clear water which ran there reflecting the shimmering stars overhead and the outline of the willow trees which ran along its bank. Had she ever seen anything more beautiful? She thought of her own beloved Ireland, yet never having witnessed its shores, she couldn’t have said whether it would be worthy competition to this place or not.

  She drew a deep breath, and looking down, dipped her big toe into the fast-moving water, screeching a little at the frostiness of the stream. She glanced back at Night Thunder where he stood behind her. “It’s cold,” she said.

  “Aa, yes. That is what we want. What we need, the both of us.”

  “I see. Will you turn your back?”

  “Must I?”

  “Aye, you must.”

  She couldn’t see his features plainly, yet when he spoke to her, there was a hint of humor in his tone. “You have seen me without my clothes. Why should I not witness the beauty of you, too?”

  “Because that is different and you know it,” she answered. “Turn your back, now.”

  Laughing slightly, he faced around, though he said, “I will not always be able to stay with my back to you throughout your entire bath. I must stand on guard for you because there are animals that sometimes like to come to the water and drink in the evening. Some of them are dangerous.”

  “What sort of animals?”

  “Aa, there are elk, some deer, maybe a bear or two, or a wolf. But the most dangerous animal of all is the man who is standing here watching you.”

  She gasped. “There is a man here?”

  “Aa, yes, there is.”

  “Night Thunder, why aren’t you—”

  “And he is watching you very carefully.”

  “He is? Night Thunder, I—” she gasped, until it dawned on her exactly whom he meant.

  “You tease me, I think,” she said. “It is all right for that man—you—to be here, so long as you do not look at me.”

  “Aa,” was all he said.

  She made sure he was doing exactly as she had instructed, and seeing only his back turned toward her, she began to remove her clothes. She set them aside, at a distance not too far from shore, yet not too close. She didn’t want her things to get wet. The night was cool, for all that there was a comfortable wind, and she wanted the clothing dry so that it might warm her after her bath.

  She had removed her dress, her slippers, and her petticoat, and was down to only her chemise when he asked her, “Why are you not already married?”

  She hesitated a moment. “I almost was once.”

  “Almost? What happened that you are not?”

  She stared off in the distance, seeing without really taking note of the willow and cottonwood trees on the far shore of the stream. She said, “He was a sailor.”

  “A sailor?”

  “Aye, a sailor. That is a person who makes his living by navigating boats on the water, taking things to and from other places. It is a good way to earn a living, but a dangerous one. We almost had enough money, enough goods set aside to buy our own place. It was only one last run he had to make at sea before our marriage. I never saw him again. He was drowned off the coast of North Carolina,” she hesitated, amazed at the sob which threatened to tear at her throat, even after all this time. “Th-that’s a place far away, in the east.”

  “Humph,” he said. “The Water People took him, then?”

  “The what?”

  “The people who live beneath the water. One must be ever careful not to anger them, lest they take your life when you do nothing more than bathe or swim.”

  She nodded. “Aye, I suppose you could say that the water people took him.”

  “Then do not fret. It is said they live a good life underwater.”

  This time she couldn’t help it. She sobbed. And before she could utter another sound, he had turned around, had taken the few short steps necessary to reach her, and had taken her in his arms.

  “I should not have asked,” he whispered against her hair. “I should have let you tell me about it when you felt that you could. I am sorry I caused you to think on this thing.”

  “It…it is nothing. Do not fret. You have done nothing that warrants an apology.”

  His chest moved as he chuckled, and he asked, “You think not?”

  She didn’t understand him. But soon, feeling the length of him as he stood so closely to her, she became more than aware of him and how little they each wore. She didn’t move away, however. She knew she should if she were to protect her dignity, but she didn’t want to; his embrace felt too good.

  She could not think clearly and she found herself asking, “Oh, Night Thunder, do you feel it, too?”

  “Aa.”

  “And what do you feel?”

  “How good you are in my arms,” he answered. “How much I want to hold you. How much I want to do other things to you, with you.”

  She sighed. “How ever did this happen to us?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, bending his head slightly, he kissed her—something, despite herself, that she’d been desiring him to do all evening.

  She kissed him back, too. How could she not?

  It was not a gentle kiss, although it started out that way. But it escalated—quickly. After all, they had already had a taste of one another. Instinctively, now, they knew what they wanted.

  His hands came up to hold her face as he let his lips encompass and take over hers. She moaned. One of his hands caressed her cheek, the other moved down to her neck, while his lips foraged hers. Her arms slid around his shoulders, grabbed onto his neck.

  His tongue swept into her mouth. And she melted. Saints be praised, she melted. Her fiancé had never kissed her this way. This was…heaven. She moaned again.

  Or had he?

  His lips moved down to a sensitive spot on her neck and she felt her knees buckle under her. But he held her up. She almost cried aloud from the pleasure of it.

  His lips came back to hers and she felt a need to devour him, body and soul. She couldn’t get enough of this, of him, and it was too much to consider where this was all leading. Instead, she settled in closer to him.

  He groaned before he said, “Do we marry, then?”

  She had trouble understanding him, though he spoke in English. She asked, as though she had never heard the word before, “Marry?”

  “Aa, yes, do we marry?”

  Though she understood the words, she still couldn’t quite comprehend what he was asking her or why. Feeling dizzy with need, she asked, “Marry? Why would we marry?”

  “Because I am about to love you, and in my village, when a man loves a woman in this way, either he marries her and makes her his sits-beside-him wife, or he ruins her. I do not wish to ruin you.”

  Marriage? Ruin? She tried to think clearly, but her mind was a blur. “Night Thunder…I…don’t know what to say. I am not certain I meant to marry you. But it seems I’m not acting like myself at the moment…” She chanced to look up at him. “I would like you to kiss me again, though.”

  What was she saying, inviting him on like this? Yet she couldn’t seem to help herself, not when they stood together as they were.

  He stared down at her; she, back up at him. Moment followed long moment as they stood saying nothing, though the look in their eyes communicated what remained unsaid between them…respect, trust, desire, love…love? Where had that thought come from? She didn’t love him, did she? She couldn’t love him.

  Still, if it wasn’t a love of sorts that she felt, what was it? Admiration? Respect?

  As he lowered his head toward her, they kissed again, hungrily, coming together and embracing one another as though their bodies were magnetic. He ran his hands up and down her back while hers traced the contours of his bare chest.

  He shivered, breaking the kiss between them, and raising his head only slightly, he said, “I will make a good husband to you. I will be kind, I promise.”

  “Aye,” she said, “I know that you would.”

  “Then let us make the vow between us now.”

  She swallowed, the sound of it noisy even to her ears. “I…I cannot.”

  “I do not understand. Why can you not?”

  “I…” She cast her gaze down. “I cannot tell it to you.”

  “But you want me?”

  “I—” She broke off.

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