Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (28 page)

Night Thunder frowned. It could be true.

And if so, what was the meaning of it? What did it have to do with Rebecca?

Nothing, he answered his own question. It could have nothing to do with Rebecca.

Rebecca was white, not Blackfoot; she hadn’t been here when his father had been alive. What could her presence here now possibly have to do with his tribe? With him?

As though in answer to his question, a feather fell at his feet—a golden eagle feather.

All at once, the entire proceedings of the dance stopped. The drums and singing, the dancers and dancing, everything ceased as one and all became aware of the feather lying on the ground in front of Night Thunder.

It was an omen. Such was bad medicine….or good… Still, nothing could be done until the proper rites had been recited over the feather, lest bad luck follow all who sang and danced.

A medicine man from among them advanced forward to perform the appropriate ceremony.

But before he bent to the ground, before he began the appeal to the spirits, the wise old man stared at Night Thunder. His eyes narrowed, and he said in a voice only Night Thunder could hear, “The spirits are with you, my boy. Determine, you must, what it is that they need from you, what it is they want. This feather,” he said, pointing to it, “is for you. Say I a prayer over it, but it belongs to you.”

The fact that the medicine man had just spoken in the old tongue of the elders, the fact that the man had obviously witnessed the presence of the spiritual world here this day, did not surprise Night Thunder. He acknowledged the wise old man with a nod.

But before a ceremony could be done, before the medicine man knelt to the ground, a swift whirlwind caught up the feather and whisked it high into the air, throwing it to and fro, until it came to drift back down to the earth, landing before…Rebecca.

Perhaps it was only Night Thunder who could see the shadow of the old man place the feather on the ground before Rebecca. Perhaps.

The old medicine man, however, glanced at Night Thunder and said, “Why have you not said to me that your wife has much medicine?”

“I did not know it.”

“Did you not? And yet she sees the spirit as only you and I can do.”

Night Thunder jerked his head swiftly to the left.

“I will have to think long about this,” said the old medicine man.

Night Thunder remained silent, although he acknowledged the wise old man with another nod.

The medicine man turned and strode toward the feather, toward Rebecca. Kneeling down in front of it, he said a prayer over it, for those here today, for Rebecca. But although the ritual demanded the safe return of the feather to its Indian owner, this one time the medicine man deviated from ceremony. Holding the feather out to Rebecca, the old man placed it into her hand.

Night Thunder saw Rebecca peer at those around her, at the faces of all those assembled here, and he knew at that moment that Rebecca belonged here with him. There was purpose—a reason—for her to be here.

His heart grew light, and the very essence of who and what he was took wing and soared. His being filled with a sense of eagerness he had not felt in a long time.

It didn’t matter that he knew not for what purpose Rebecca had been given to him. It only mattered that she could remain here…with his people…with him.

With great certainty, too, he realized that he could no longer continue his plans to marry Blue Raven Woman.

His life had become entwined with that of Rebecca’s. And if she objected to the other woman as a second wife, Night Thunder would have to find a way to end the old pledge, regardless of how others in his village might judge him.

Chapter Nineteen

Afternoon turned to twilight, twilight to night. By the time Night Thunder entered their lodge that evening, Rebecca had returned to their home, had hung the golden feather from the tepee lining, in plain view.

Silently Night Thunder stood to his full height within the confines of the tepee, and after only a slight pause, came forward to stand before the golden feather. Delicately he ran his fingers over it.

He said to Rebecca, “You know that the medicine man has honored you greatly by giving you this?”

Though the words of his language contained many harsh guttural sounds, Night Thunder had unconsciously imbued a soft inflection into his speech, his voice full of gentle consideration.

Rebecca appeared to respond to it, too, though she didn’t speak. She simply nodded.

He asked, “You saw the shadow of the old man today?”

Another nod from her.

He gave her his full attention then, and brought his gaze up and over her. A tortured kind of anxiety kneaded away at his insides, but he kept his features carefully blank, as befitted the stoicism of his race.

Haiya,
how he wanted to tell her of his decision this afternoon, his change of mind. He wanted her to know of his realization, of the conversation between him and the shadow, so that she might feel more comfortable here with him.

But he could not relate the whole of it to her. Not yet.

Tradition and social custom demanded he settle the matter first with Blue Raven Woman and her family. Moral obligation dictated he keep his own counsel until the details of the estrangement with the other woman were determined.

Still, no manner of rigorous training could keep him from desiring to comfort Rebecca, to tell her all that was in his heart. He might not be able to say the words, but he could let his actions speak for him, and he smiled at her with a sincerity that was as beautiful as it was honest.

He said, “Today you looked more fair than anyone of my acquaintance.” Unwittingly, he raised his chin a notch. “Today you looked more Indian than white. You looked as though you belong here, but think not that it is this alone that makes you beautiful.” He came to squat down beside her and ran his fingers over her cheek. He continued, “It is the essence of your spirit, the goodness of your heart, I think, that causes the blood in my veins to surge. It is not often that while here in camp we may be alone, so let us take and keep this night to ourselves, to remember it always.” He swallowed, before he entreated, “Stay here with me.”

And though he had been speaking of the evening yet ahead of them, he let the double-edged meaning of his words stand there between them.

She must have felt it, too, for she shut her eyes and bent her head into his hand, where it still remained on her cheek. She rubbed against it tenderly, and he knew strong emotion filled her spirit.

Still, she said, “I…you know I welcome you home.”

“
Aa
,”
he said, “home.”

“Still,” she said, “you know that I cannot stay here forever, and I…” She couldn’t finish.

Admiration surged through him; admiration for her strength, her spirit, and her weakness. He said, “I understand.”

She opened her eyes wide and stared at him. She asked, “You do?”

He nodded.

She jerked her head away, staring out toward, the tepee lining, and she said, “Oh, Night Thunder, what are we going to do now? You know how I feel about you, yet you know also that I cannot stay here for long.”

“
Aa
,”
he said, “I understand.” How he desired to tell her all that had transpired this day, all the knowledge that burned deeply within him, and it was only the strictness of his Indian training that kept him from saying to her what he knew she needed to hear. Still, though he could not speak the words, he tried to comfort her and said, “I would ask you to trust me. I would do all that I can to keep you from hurt, you know this?”

She nodded.

“Then you must trust me. I promise you I will find a way to keep you here and make you happy.”

She looked back at him, her look tortured. “But I could never be contented if you marry Blue Raven Woman.”

“I know this.”

“Then how can you say—”

“Trust me.”

“But I—”

“I promise this to you. I will find a way.”

She wanted to argue with him, he could see it there, reflected in her eyes, but she held her peace.

Haiya,
had he ever known anyone more beautiful, anyone whose courage inspired greater strength within him, anyone who tried his imagination more than she did? He decided that he had not.

Haiya,
he wanted to show her the vastness of his love, too. Slowly he admired the gentle curves of her body, while images of how she looked naked filled his mind.

He reminded himself dutifully that this was a Sun Dance camp and that he had certain obligations and rites to uphold, to perform. Wasn’t there a dance of the
Kuk-kuiks’,
the Pigeons’ Society, this night? He should attend. He knew it.

But suddenly nothing else mattered.

He loved this woman, and his heart demanded that he show her his devotion. Plus, he could not recall any strict rules on
not
making love to one’s wife when in the Sun Dance camp.

Haiya,
it was true: there was nothing that need stop him from his desire, nothing. He took Rebecca in his arms.

Aa,
sweet medicine, her skin felt as soft as the finest buckskin, and her breasts pushed against him, driving him quietly crazy. He lay her beneath him, the downy softness of a buffalo robe cushioning her backside.

He became instantly ready for her, too. But, he realized, such things meant little to him at this moment. He wasn’t certain when it had happened, but his own needs had become secondary to hers. She was all that mattered.

He wanted her to know his love; he wanted her to savor it, to believe in him, never to doubt the depths of his feelings for her.

Though he might not be able to tell her with words what she wanted to hear, at least with his body he would communicate all that was his to share within his heart. He would keep telling her in this manner until there could be no uncertainty in her mind.

She responded to him, too, he noted. She touched him, the action of her fingertips sending shivers up and down his body. Her lips nibbled at him, raining kisses over him, onto his neck, his chest, on downward toward his stomach. He sucked in his breath. Sweet medicine, he didn’t know if he could endure such pleasant torture.

She moved further down his body. What was she doing?

He wasn’t left long to ponder it. Imitating what he had done to her, she reversed their positions until he lay beneath her. Mischievously, she sent him a quick smile before she bent to him, taking the whole of his swollen stiffness into the soft recesses of her mouth.

Instantly the warm moisture of her touch filled every part of his body, and though he stoically tried to keep his reaction to a minimum, he could barely hold back the sound of a moan which escaped him unheeded. He shut his eyes that he might cherish the pleasure of it, of her more thoroughly, but it was useless. Dizzying sensations overwhelmed him.

She ran her tongue over his swollen flesh and the movement sent a tingling clear down to the arches of his feet. A frenzied excitement began to ache within him and a fire flicked to sudden life.
Aa,
how he yearned to return the gesture to her. The thought of how he would love her filled his consciousness until it became almost impossible to hold himself motionless. At last, he could stand it no more and he reversed their positions, placing her so that she lay beneath him once again.

He brought his hands up to roam over her breasts, while he arranged himself between her legs, her femininity at last revealed to him.

He bent to her, his tongue discovering her, as she had so recently done to him.
Aa,
the intoxicating taste of her. How he loved her. Joy burst within him as her gentle whimpers, her soft, high-pitched moans, reached his ears, its effect almost pitching him over the edge of his reserve.

But he held himself back. While her sweetened reaction was so very good, he still desired more. He yearned for her, for who and what she was. He needed to be one with her, to feel the warmth of her, the essence of her being, entwined with him.

She jerked and he could feel her body tripping on the edge of the precipice where he had taken her. He hurried her on toward it, his actions giving her wings to soar, while he, in turn, savored the exotic taste of her.

He could not remember ever being so stimulated by a woman, and he knew in his heart that it was love, pure and simple, that gave such intensity to their pleasure. This was no mere sex act. What he felt, what she felt, came from the heart, from the joining of two people together, to share in each other’s lives forever.

He let her linger in the misty ecstasy of her pleasure for a while longer before he came up onto his forearms over her, the warmth of his gaze touching her everywhere.

His eyes met the golden essence of hers and he smiled; she returned it wholeheartedly.

He said, “
Kitsikakomimmo,
I love you.”

And she replied, “
Kitsikakomimmotsspoaa-wa, aisskahs,
you are loved, always.”

His stomach tightened to hear her say it, and with no more than a quick glance downward, he joined his body with hers.

Aa,
he smiled as she opened to him, the softness of her flesh welcoming him as though he were returning home. His pleasure increased, if that were possible, and he began to move within her, though he never again looked away from her. As though mesmerized, they stared into one another’s eyes, tender smiles passing from one to the other.