Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 Read online

  He hesitated, and she could feel the heat of his glance radiating over the top of her head. “We belong together, I believe. We have known each other many months now as friends, but there is more between us, I think. Do you not see how we fit each other perfectly? I know that you must feel the same passion that I do. Do you not already feel it, the force between us here?” He put his hand to his heart, “when our lips touch?”

  “I…”

  “Do you deny it?”

  “No, I…I cannot.”

  “Aa, then we will marry here and now.”

  “No, I cannot do that, either.”

  “Why? Do you not see that if we do not do the right thing here, at this very moment, you could be ruined? The feeling between us, it is too strong to be long ignored. Is there something else that I do not know?”

  She balked at telling him the truth. Twice she opened her mouth to speak; twice she said nothing. She backed away from him, letting his arms fall from around her.

  What could she tell him? That she could permit nothing more than a simple yearning for him? That she could never marry him, no matter the passion between them? That she was prejudiced?

  She couldn’t very well tell him about the dream she had envisioned all her life, as yet unfulfilled. She’d not tell him, the man who had saved her life, that she could not marry him because she hadn’t yet attended a dance. That would sound petty, mean and fairly silly.

  Yet wasn’t it the truth? She couldn’t give up her illusions.

  She brought back to mind the balls her parents had thrown when she’d been a child, recalling the laughter, the gaiety. And she remembered her hope that someday, somehow, she would have all that. It might seem a foolish fantasy to another; for her it was real.

  That her life had become a tangle of misfortune, that her parents’ wealth had turned out to be barely enough to cover their debts, had all been hardships she’d had to face, alone. How could she explain that in the midst of all that pain, the agony, the only thing she’d had to cling to had been her dreams?

  She chanced to look up at Night Thunder, who stared back at her steadily, patiently awaiting her response.

  Finally, not knowing what to say, what to do, she began to tell him, “I am not Indian, you are not white. Our two ways are different. I would not fit into your world, nor am I certain I would want to. I cannot deny that we appear to have a…a feeling for one another, but it will pass with time, don’t you think? I respect and admire you, but it can go no further than that.”

  “It already has gone further than—”

  “No.” She held up her hand, silencing him. “It has not. Not yet. If I were to marry you, soon I would be bearing your children, and if that happened, I could never again be a part of my own society.”

  “Is that so terrible? I vow that I will do all that I can to make your life pleasant.”

  “Aye,” she said, and she smiled slightly before she continued. “But I would still be unhappy. For there is one thing you could never give me that I would be missing for all the rest of my days.”

  He didn’t say a word, and his silence seemed to encourage her to continue. She looked up toward him quickly, giving him an erstwhile glance, “Do you promise not to laugh at me, if I tell this to you now?”

  “I would not laugh.”

  She sent him a suspicious look, but when she saw that he appeared serious, she said, “A dance.”

  “A dance?”

  She nodded. “When I was a little girl, I used to watch my parent’s gaiety at the balls, at parties. I loved it, and my mother always promised me that someday I too would attend a ball. I can’t remember how many times she told me that it would be there that I would meet my future husband and that we would live happily ever after.”

  Night Thunder stood staring at her for several moments before he asked, “And is this where you met that man you were to marry?”

  She sighed. “Oh,” she said, her gaze faraway, “you mean, my fiancé? No, I did not. But when he returned, we were planning to throw a ball that would announce our engagement. It never happened, though, because he was lost at sea, and then…”

  Night Thunder’s glance was warm, yet proud as he said, “I can give you this dance that you desire.”

  “No,” she said, “not the kind I need. This ball is the sort where all the women wear their best gowns, where their hair is powdered until it appears almost white, where the young gents go to flirt with the young ladies and to pick out their future wives.”

  “Humph. We have many such dances in my village.”

  “No,” she said, “they’re not the same. With our dances, there is always an orchestra playing.”

  “What is this?”

  “They are the very best musicians, playing the works of Mozart, Bach, and other composers, people who make music. Remember when you were at the fort and saw the people dancing, and some men were playing fiddles? It is something like that only so much better. The people at balls dance to a waltz, a minuet, a quadrille. And above them the candelabra are all aglow, filling the dance hall with so much light, one would think it was day.”

  Night Thunder’s chin had jutted forward, she noted, as he said, “And you think I cannot give this to you?”

  “No,” she commented, “I know you cannot.” She stared down at the ground.

  “And it is important to you, this dance?”

  She nodded, shutting her eyes, not believing that she was about to ask this, but she couldn’t seem to help herself as she inquired, “Could we have only an affair of the heart, perhaps?”

  “What is this ‘affair’?”

  “It is when two people…make love to one another without the commitment of marriage.”

  She snatched a brief glimpse up at him, only to watch him raise his eyebrows. “You would have me ruin you? Willingly?”

  “No, but I…but you saved my life, and I—”

  “Haiya, you think that I would force myself on you because of this?”

  “No, but—”

  “Is it this that causes you to come into my arms?”

  What should she say? Should she answer honestly? “No,” she said, “it is only because I cannot marry you, but I seem to feel strongly about you and we have to share a sleeping robe, and…” she stared quickly away from him.

  “Know this,” he said, gently putting a finger beneath her chin and bringing her face around to his. “If we make love, it will be no affair. I would protect you. If we make love, you will be my wife in every way. The others already think it. All we need do to make it so is to do it.”

  “Oh,” was all she could say.

  She took a deep breath and stared up at this man’s features, the starlight emphasizing his cheekbones, his straight nose, his full lips, his dark hair that strayed into his face in the slight breeze, and she was not at all hard pressed to admit that he appeared, at this moment, handsome beyond mere words. Truly, he would make some girl a wonderful husband.

  She winced at the thought. She knew she could never marry this man, but the thought of him belonging to another, as he was certain to do if she did not take him, was less than appealing. At last, looking up at him, she asked, “And what about you? Do you truly want to marry me?”

  “I have asked you. Do you doubt that I would honor you or my word? Surely you do not question that I want you.”

  “No,” she said, “I have no qualms about that. I know you would do your best. But do you love me?”

  For an answer he took a few short steps forward and pulled her into his arms, where he proceeded to kiss her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, even the crooked part in her hair. And she might have melted right then and there in his arms; she certainly wanted to. But she didn’t. Not when even having a tryst with this man meant marriage to him.

  She persisted, however, asking, “Well, do you?”

  His look was that of a man deeply impassioned. “What is it that you ask me?”

  “Do you love me?”

  He sighed heavily. “I would honor you and protect you and keep you by me always.” Suddenly he gave her a half-cocked grin as he asked, “And do you love me?”

  She backed away from him. “You did not answer my question.”

  He followed her progress with a step or two forward as she took a few more paces backward. His arms reached out to try to hold her, and he said, “I answered it as honestly as I could. I will always admire you.”

  She avoided his arms and took a few more steps away from him. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “What is not?”

  “Honor Admiration. It’s not the same thing as love.”

  “I did not say that it was.”

  “Then you don’t love me.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Oh!” Was he trying to anger her? She stamped her foot. “You talk in circles. I know already what you have told me. I’m asking you to tell me what you haven’t yet said.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am avoiding these words. Yet maybe you are not so wrong. I cannot tell you true because there is something else I should tell you, something you should know about me. It is not a woman’s place to ask, nor a man’s duty to confide. Yet though I do not understand why I feel that I should tell you this, I fear that I must.”

  Rebecca became suddenly still.

  He continued, “There is another in my camp, a woman, who waits for me. For all of her life, for most of mine, we have been pledged to one another. Our parents made the pact that we must honor. Such is the way of things.”

  “Pledged?” she asked: “As in, vowed to marry?”

  “Aa, yes,” he said.

  “Then you love her?”

  “Perhaps. I do not know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head. “We have always been promised to one another. But I have never kissed her as I kiss you. I have never felt with her the passions I feel with you.”

  “Why have you never kissed her?”

  He jerked his head to the left, Rebecca observing the strange display that had to be a purely Native American gesture. “Because,” he said, “the young, unmarried women in our village are closely guarded, and being alone with them is not permitted and—”

  Rebecca snorted. “That is no excuse. If you’d wanted to kiss the girl, you would have done it.”

  “No, it is not that way. I…” He glanced down at the ground, then up at her, his look sheepish. “Perhaps you are right.”

  She gazed away from him. “What would happen to her if you married me?”

  “She would not like it.”

  “No, I don’t reckon she would.”

  “It has always been planned that she would be my sits-beside-him wife.”

  “Your what?”

  “My sits-beside-him wife. The woman who sits with her husband in council.”

  “Ah, your wife. She will not like it, then, if you marry another, and she might hate me.”

  “It could be, but still she would be bound to honor her pledge to me, and I to honor mine to her.”

  “But how can you, then, ask me to marry you, if you must keep your promise?”

  “She would be my second wife.”

  Rebecca backed away from him. His second wife? She took another step behind her and stumbled, brushing away his hands as he made to help her. His second wife. Suddenly she felt silly and stupid. Why hadn’t she remembered this aspect of Indian life? Indian males took more than one wife. It was a well-known fact.

  “Let me ensure that I understand you correctly. You would plan to marry me…and her?”

  “Aa, yes, but not right away. You and I would come to know one another first. It is only right.”

  “It is not right.”

  That statement had him bringing up his head.

  “First,” she said, “how can you ask me to marry you when you cannot even tell me that you love me? Yes, you would do your duty to me, but I cannot say that pleases me. Not when I would be wanting the warmth of affection from the one I’d be calling husband.”

  “I did not say that I do not love you.”

  She held up her hand between them. “Second,” she said, “there is the matter of more than one wife. My society does not permit such things.”

  “Does not permit it? Your people would have a wife grow old before her time because her husband cannot afford to keep two or more wives to help her with the work?”

  “No,” she said. “Our society does not permit it because it is considered a sin.”

  “A sin?”

  “Our God forbids it.”

  “Haiya,” he said, pausing slightly, “so you are telling me that if I marry you, I can take no other?”

  She nodded. “Aa, yes, that is right.”

  She glared at him stubbornly; he, back at her. They stood there for several more seconds, staring at one another: he amazed, she determined.

  At last he said, “I am pledged to marry another.”

  “So you have told me.”

  “I cannot break my vow without bringing dishonor to myself and to my family.”

  “I understand that.”

  He scanned her face quickly, staring deeply down into her eyes, as he said, “I want you.”

  Her stomach dropped. There it was. Raw, impassioned emotion, clearly stated. And despite herself, her heart responded to him as though he had declared his undying love to her forever. At least, she admitted to herself, he’d had the courage to speak of his desires aloud.

  “You want…m-me?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  He nodded.

  “And you want her, too?”

  “It is not the same thing. I must take her as a wife. It is different.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, “but the result is still the same. The truth is that you belong to another, even if that marriage has not yet come to be.”

  “There is a difference.”

  “There is none.”

  He took a step toward her and said, “You want me, too.”

  She wished she could deny it. Oh, how she wanted to tell him it was not so, that he could go and throw himself off a cliff. But she couldn’t. So she stared away from him, off into the darkness of the night. At last she said, “I could never marry a man who takes more than one wife. My God forbids it. So do not press me on this any further.”

  He was silent. So was she. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, his gaze locked with hers. She did the same.

  “Haiya,” he said, then again, “Haiya.”

  She remained unspeaking, supposing that he could find nothing more to dispute in what she’d said.

  “Haiya!”

  Rebecca glanced down at the ground.

  “Tell me now, this is what you want, truly?”

  “Aye,” she said, nodding, “it must be. If not for this, then because of my dreams of a dance, of my future husband.”

  He drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh, before he said, “We will have to be careful, then, because the passion burns deeply within us and we will need to stay away from one another. I will not have this ‘affair’ with you, not when the others already believe us to be married. What would you have me do? Lie, with you here, with my own people, pretending to be man and wife, when I know that you would go back to your own kind as soon as I return you to the fort? I have told enough lies. No more. I will do my best to remain as far away from you as I can without drawing others’ suspicion onto us. Yet there will be times when we will of necessity have to lie close together to make others believe we are married. It will not be easy for us, I think.”

  “No,” she said, still afraid to look him directly in the eye. “I don’t believe it will be.”

  “Humph. So be it. Come, little Rebecca, I think we had better have that swim. And perhaps we will be wise to take a cold bath each night. Maybe it will help us to remember our…differences.”

  “Aye,” she said, but she didn’t wait for him to say more on the subject or to escort her to the stream. Turning away from him, she fled into the cold depths of the water, savoring the sting of its icy currents as though it alone stood as a reminder of their dissimilarities.

  She only hoped the waters would work a miracle.

  Chapter Seven

  Though he tried to resist, Night Thunder studied Rebecca as she bathed within the dim glow of the starlight. He admired her spirit, the way she acted, the way she looked with her hair falling to her shoulders like so many rays of a golden sunset. Her figure was slight, perfect; her breasts high and pert; her waist small; her hips femininely curved; her legs long. And he could not forget the way she had felt in his arms—soft, slim, and warm. Her sweetened womanly scent lingered in the air and on his skin, as though it alone were intent on tantalizing him. He felt a stirring within his loins, but worse, he acknowledged a yearning within his heart.

  Aa, his heart.

  He gritted his teeth until his mouth ached. He could not have her. How many times, before he finally returned her to her people, would he have to remind himself of this?

  Her skin had darkened while she had been held captive, he noted. It made her face and arms appear much darker than the rest of her body.

  She didn’t remove all of her clothing to bathe, either, and he watched as she attempted awkwardly to cleanse herself through her clothing.

  It was not an easy thing to observe, her bathing, not without his body—his very shadow, as his people called the life force within all men—responding to the sight of her. He must, however, quench the feeling. He turned his back on her, the only action he knew which might put her out of his mind.

  But it was not to be. His ears had not been closed to the sound of her and he could heard her movements, the splashing of water, the soft gurgle of the creek’s current; it made him imagine how she might look with the water falling over her delicate skin.

  He gritted his teeth and wondered if she had spoken the truth. Did the white man’s God truly forbid a man to take more than one wife? It seemed a ridiculous practice to Night Thunder, yet if he were to trust his own observations of Rebecca, he knew that she did not lie.

  Still, he couldn’t help wondering why this was so. Always within a village there were more women than men. Would the white man, then, grant the right to bear children to only a select few women? It seemed an unusually cruel thing to do.

  -->