Native Gold (36 page)

Using Sakote’s arm to steady her, Mattie took a step toward the rock.

"Wait!" he warned.

Mattie peered down. A salamander wriggled across the wet stones at her feet. "Don’t worry. I won’t step on it."

"You must hold one hand behind your back."

Mattie frowned. What did he mean?

"If you step over a salamander," he confided, "you must hold one hand behind you, or you’ll be cursed with back pains."

She glanced sharply at him, and she could tell at once that he only half believed what he said. It was a Konkow superstition then, like throwing salt over your shoulder.

She obliged him in exaggerated fashion, taking a giant step over the little creature and perching atop the granite boulder.

Sakote removed his own moccasins and hung them upside down on the maroon branches of a manzanita. Then he reached for her foot.

Her damp shoe squeaked as he tugged the laces apart and seesawed it from her foot. She wiggled her toes while he removed the second and placed the shoes alongside his on the bush. How small they looked beside the big moccasins, and how uncomfortable.

He guessed her thoughts. "Your toes are unhappy. When we return to the village, I’ll make moccasins to make your feet smile."

They were smiling now, she thought. He’d cupped one of them in his hand and he began to massage it, spreading her toes and running the wide pad of his thumb along the arch till she groaned in ecstasy. By the time he finished the other foot, she sagged on her elbows atop the rock, her eyes closed in pleasure, her head nodding back in the brindled sunlight, content as a well-scratched hound.

He was so quiet, she almost didn’t notice when he stretched out beside her on the boulder. She opened one eye to peek at him. He had such a noble profile, with his high cheekbones, his arched nose, and those deep-set eyes, now lidded as he basked sleepily in the sun. A half-smile touched his lips, and she wondered what amusing thoughts crept through his mind. He
was
Neptune, with his hair splayed across the rock and his skin adorned with crystal gems of dew. Now and then a silvery drop would roll off one of his splendid muscles to disappear into the black and white pattern of the granite or to join the tiny pool formed by the hollow of his navel.

Mattie bit her lip. She wanted to touch him. Her cheeks flamed as her thoughts flew on against her will. She longed to lick the droplets from his chest. She imagined the taste—the metallic tang of the water, the clean evergreen flavor of his skin. She wanted to nuzzle his wet hair, to feel the strands like watered silk upon her cheek. And she longed to follow the contours of his body with her palm, gliding over his wide chest, across the smooth plane of his belly, around the hipbones protruding above the edge of his low-slung loincloth.

If it was possible, her blush blushed then, for in the sopping state of his meager garment, his hipbones weren’t the only thing protruding. With an internal squeak of panic, Mattie slammed her eyes shut and lay back on the rock, knocking the back of her head on the hard granite. She tried to lay quiet, but her mind raced a mile a minute, and it was a long while before the sun lulled her out of her stiff posture into a light doze.

The sun had risen a full fist higher when she awakened to the skittering of something between Sakote and her, something that halted beside her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a gray lizard pushing up and down on its front limbs. She would have gasped and leaped to her feet, but Sakote’s hand snapped out like lightning, capturing the tiny dragon.

"Ah, Sister Lizard, have you come to visit the white woman?"

He braced up on one elbow and peered at the reptile, whose head peeked out from between his thumb and first finger. Mattie sat up cautiously, edging out of harm’s way. She wondered how long Sakote had been awake, how long he’d been watching her.

"I think you’ve frightened her," he murmured.

"How could I frighten her? I was sleeping," Mattie said defensively.

He smiled. "I was speaking to the lizard."

Mattie opened her mouth, then clapped it shut. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I’m not frightened."

He swung his hand toward her. "Do you wish to hold her then?"

"No!" she answered all too swiftly, earning a toothsome grin from Sakote.

"It’s all right, little sister," he soothed, stroking the head of the lizard, which now wriggled in his hand. "She means you no harm."

Mattie shuddered. She hoped Sakote wasn’t like the naughty schoolboys who liked to drop frogs onto girls’ laps.

He sat up, cross-legged, on the boulder. "I’ll tell you a story," he said, "to ease your heart."

She glanced up at those wickedly innocent brows. "All right, but I’m not sure..."

He chuckled softly.

"Don’t tell me," she said. "You were talking to the lizard."

He grinned. "Sister Lizard likes my stories."

She rolled her eyes, but settled herself, cross-legged like he was, on the rock, so that they sat almost knee to knee. She liked the Konkow stories, too. By the campfire, Sakote had translated for her, and she’d learned about the creation of the world by Wonomi and Turtle, who’d dug up the clay of the earth. She’d heard the legend of the first man, Kuksu, and his woman, the morning star, who was made of red earth and water. And she knew the way Oleli, Coyote, had introduced death to the Konkow. They were tales she would never forget.

"This is the story of how Oleli stole fire."

Mattie’s lips twitched. Sakote truly
was
speaking to the lizard, frowning intently down at the thing nestled in his hand.

"Oleli, in his travels to Histum Yani, the mountain of Wonomi’s sweat lodge, discovered there a people who had fire. They cooked with this fire, and kept warm by it, and the fire lit up the darkness of the night. Now Oleli knew how the Konkow, the people of the valley, suffered in the time of
ko-meni
, how they feared the cold and death of winter, so he told the Konkow he would bring the fire to them."

Sakote’s low voice was musical and breathy, like a wind blowing through the glade, part of nature, and Mattie sighed as his words wafted across her ears.

"Oleli waited until the Fire People were sleeping, and he stole a part of the flame. But the Fire People woke and chased Oleli to the bottom of the mountain. One of them reached for Oleli’s tail, and burned it. Today you can see that the tip of Coyote’s tail is still white."

Sakote glanced up to see what Mattie thought of this, and she gave him a dubious smile. Then he turned the lizard over in his hand so its pale belly lay exposed. As he spoke, he began to stroke the creature with his fingertip.

"At the bottom of the mountain, Oleli flung the fire away from him. But the other animals had come to help, and so Squirrel caught the flame and carried it on her back, fleeing from the Fire People by leaping through the trees. After a while, the flame burned her back, too, so that her tail curled up. And so it has been ever since."

All the while he told the tale, he kept stroking the lizard, which lay blissfully on its back.

"Squirrel then threw the flame to Chipmunk, but Chipmunk was too frightened to run. The Fire People reached out for him and clawed at his back just before he could escape. And to this day you can see Chipmunk’s stripes from their claws."

Mattie felt hypnotized herself, watching Sakote work his magic on the lizard. Before, the reptile had twitched and wiggled in his hand, but now it lay docile, as if it were perfectly natural to bask in the palm of a man’s hand.

"Chipmunk tossed the flame to Frog, but the Fire People grabbed Frog by the tail. With a great leap, Frog tore himself free, but he left his tail behind. And so it is that Frog has no tail."

Mattie watched Sakote’s finger, stroking so lightly, so carefully along the belly of the little creature, and she suddenly yearned to feel that touch upon her own skin. Her eyes grew strangely heavy, and she squirmed at the disquieting bent of her thoughts.

"Finally, Frog cast the flame onto Wood, and Wood swallowed it. But no matter how they tried, how much they sang and shouted and struck it, Wood would not give the flame back to the Fire People. And so the Fire People returned to Histum Yani."

She wasn’t listening to the story anymore. All she could think about was the brush of Sakote’s fingers and how she wanted them upon her lips, on her cheek, caressing her throat, and, God help her, slipping lower.

"Now Oleli knew how to get the flame out, and so he returned to the Konkows and showed them how to do it—by rubbing two sticks of Wood together. And that is how Oleli stole fire.
Akina
."

Mattie blinked as if coming out of a dream.
Akina
. That meant the story was done. Sakote had stopped petting the lizard, and it lay quiet in his hand now.

"Sister Lizard likes my touch," he murmured.

Mattie’s tongue felt brandy-thick. Sister Lizard wasn’t the only one, she thought. Mattie stared at the beautiful savage, at the fall of his silken hair about his shoulders, the golden angles of his face, the soft sparkle of his eyes, and felt a rush of undeniable desire.

He held her gaze for a moment, amusement smoldering into something else, something dangerous and unpredictable, before he looked away. He carefully set the lizard upon a small rock, then returned his attention to Mattie.

"Did you like the story?" he breathed.

She nodded, but she was too full of longing to smile.

He leaned forward, his knee touching hers, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she shivered at the intimate gesture. He left his palm upon her cheek and gently but willfully commanded her gaze.

"You wish you were Sister Lizard," he whispered.

Mattie’s face flushed, and she gulped.

His thumb traced her trembling lips. "Don’t be afraid."

She wasn’t afraid. At least not of him. She was more frightened by her own feelings. She felt as if she was about to render the most wondrous portrait, and she didn’t know where to begin.

Sakote wanted to make a kiss with Mati. Her mouth was as warm and sweet as the honey of
kawkati
, summer, and he thought he’d never fill his hunger for that taste. But Mati was afraid, quaking under his palm even more than the lizard. He must be patient.

"Your skin is smooth and pale like the white deer," he told her, brushing his knuckles over her cheek, letting the soothing music of his voice work its enchantment. "And your hair, it catches the colors of the sun." He rubbed a strand of it between his fingers, and then he circled the rim of her ear with the tip of his finger. Her eyelids flagged, and her soft sigh sent an unexpected bolt of desire through him. He raked both hands through her hair, capturing the damp tresses, smoothing her forehead with his thumbs, watching the fluttering of her nose and the parting of her lips. By Wonomi, he wanted to make a kiss with her. Now.

His breath came heavy in his chest. Mati’s eyes drifted close, and he pulled her closer, inclining toward her until he felt her breath upon his mouth. This kiss was warm with sun and as sense-stealing as the white man’s whiskey. Sakote felt the world slide and tilt as he closed his eyes to savor the nectar of her lips.

Her small hands touched the hollow of his throat, where his heart beat strong, and then he felt her fingers curl upon his chest as their tongues mingled. She half-moaned, half-sighed into his mouth, and low in his belly, he tightened like the sinew of a bow.

Without releasing her lips, he rocked forward and, cradling her head, lay her back along the boulder. He rested on one elbow, freeing his other hand to work its magic on her. He trailed the back of his fingers down her throat, between her breasts, over her belly, soothing her with the same motions he’d used on the lizard. Her clothing was thinner than a moth’s wing, and he could clearly see the sinuous contours of her body. It was driving him mad, this patience. His man’s-knife stood stiff and ready. It didn’t understand the hunter’s vigil.

But again and again he moved his hand over her, sometimes the tips of his fingers, sometimes the flat of his palm, each time slipping lower and lower, nearer the source of her woman’s pleasure until she arced with longing toward his touch. Then he tugged loose the ties of her underdress and parted the sheer white petals until her fair flesh gleamed in the bright sunlight. She made small motions of protest, but when he grazed the bare skin of her bosom with his fingertips, she stilled in surrender.

By Wonomi, she was softer than the finest doeskin. Her nipples were small and pink, like manzanita blossoms. He wanted to make a kiss there, too.

He let his hand trace her quivering belly until it nestled at the top of her woman’s curls, and listened while her breath grew sharper, swifter. Then he bent to nuzzle her throat, placing kisses upon the pulsing line to her heart as she gasped softly near his ear.

Again, he stroked her with his palm, this time close to the crest of her breast, and he made a trail of kisses along the bone of her shoulder. She shivered as his hair brushed across her, and he smiled wickedly, sweeping his head intentionally, lazily, back and forth across her torso, lashing her slowly with his hair until her nipples hardened to delicate points.

He groaned at the sight. His heart pounded against the basket of his chest till it hurt. His belly knotted. His loins ached. He could endure no more.

He bent to close his lips around a delicious nipple, sighing at its sweetness. Mati flung her arms wildly about his neck, arching into the palm of the hand that cupped her below. He sought to pleasure her, parting her delicate flower to fondle the bud within.

Mati gasped, a sound of wonder and dismay all at once, and Sakote was surprised by both. He froze. Did she not know this pleasure? Surely the young men of her world had shown her...

But Mati was a white woman. Perhaps, as Noa had told him, it was true that the whites didn’t play pleasure games.

His doubt quickly vanished as Mati strove against him, her face alight with joy and yearning. His smile of triumph became a grimace of pain as his loins swelled with need. But he made the dance of pleasure for her, moving his practiced fingers nimbly over the petals of her womanhood, like the gentle rain upon a spring flower.