Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (12 page)

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.

It was true that sometimes a man took on a jealous wife, making his and the rest of his family’s life a misery. But such incidents were few. Usually the first wife welcomed each new addition to the family, more than willing to share her workload with another—as well as her husband. Such had been the way of things within his tribe since “time before mind.”

She had asked him if he loved her and he had purposely dodged her question. He hadn’t known what to say, and yet as he had watched her, memorizing the way her golden hair fell around her shoulders, the way her amber-colored eyes lit up with passion, he’d debated what to tell her. It was then that he’d realized: he might already love her.

It had come as a revelation to him. All these months he had supposed he was merely attracted to Rebecca. She
was,
after all, pleasing to the eye, and of a pleasant disposition.

But he’d been growing closer and closer to her all the while, without even realizing it. At first he had admired her beauty, then he had recognized a kindred spirit in her and had admired her for it all the more. Now he had bridged the distance between them and had held her in his arms, had tasted her sweet nectar. And he wanted more. Much more.

But he could have none of that.

In truth, he wanted her to be the first thing he awoke to in the morning, the last thing he held before he fell asleep at night. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her, to tell her of his desire for her whenever and wherever he pleased. He wanted to hold her through the night, to make love to her. And he wanted these things for many, many years to come.

Yet it could not be.

Not if she believed that she could be his one and only wife. He had made a pledge to another. He could not take back the vow. It would be the height of dishonor.

Yet had he ever loved Blue Raven Woman? He certainly had never felt with her as he did with Rebecca.

Of course, he could always force Rebecca to become his bride; he had the right since he had saved her. By all the laws of his tribe, she belonged to him, was his to do with as he pleased.

But he knew he would never force her into his lodge. If he were going to have her, he would have her with him willingly.

Which left him with a terrible problem. He wanted her, but he couldn’t have her.

The more he thought about it, the more he began to despair. How could he keep her near, yet have her so far? He would have to hold her and sleep with her each evening while they remained traveling. It would be the height of delight, yet also an exercise of pure misery.

He could not even take the cold bath with her now, not even to still his passion. Not if she were anywhere within his vicinity. If he attempted it, he was certain that not even the freezing water would hide his desire from her.

There was nothing for it. He would have to put her from his mind…somehow.

But as he listened to the sounds of the water splashing, there against her body, envisioning the image of her, he couldn’t begin to conceive of how he could stay away from her.

Taking a deep breath, and focusing his attention on the familiar scents of prairie grass and pure night air, he jerked his head to the left in a self-conscious gesture and sighed.

“That’s a lovely butte, now, isn’t it?”

Rebecca saw Night Thunder look briefly to where she was pointing. Their party had stopped earlier than usual to set up camp for the evening. “Will we be crossing that river that runs next to it?”

“
Aa,
yes.”

“I see. What is the name of the river, so that I might remember it?”

Night Thunder made a gruff sound, deep in his throat, before answering, “We call it
Onuhkis.
”

“
Onuhkis
,” she smiled. “What does it mean?”

“Milk River.”

“Milk River?” She glanced toward the river and frowned. “It doesn’t have the appearance of milk.”

He looked away from her. “It is not so named because of its likeness to milk.”

“Why do you call it Milk River, then?”

He shrugged before he asked, “Are you certain you want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask, if I didn’t, would I?”

His gaze came back to her as he caught and held her stare. And several moments passed before he voiced, “If I tell it to you, it is possible I might embarrass you. Be certain, then, that you are willing to hear this before you ask me to explain it to you.”

“Speaking in riddles, are you, Night Thunder? I’d not ask you if I didn’t want to know.”

He shrugged as though to say, “So be it,” and pointed toward the river. He said, “Do you see that butte that runs close to the river?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

“Tell me, then, what does the butte look like to you?”

“Look like?” She stared at it. “I don’t understand.”

“Look and use your imagination.”

“I don’t see…”

“A part of a woman’s body,” he encouraged.

“A part of a…oh,” she gasped, suddenly silent. A breast. It looked like a woman’s breast. As he had predicted, embarrassment swept over her. With the sun setting behind the butte, the shape was clearly outlined against the sky.

Despite herself, Rebecca became suddenly conscious of Night Thunder, of herself, of her own breasts straining against the material of her dress.

“
Onuhkis
means milk in my language,” Night Thunder was saying. “
Onuhkists
means breast.”

“Oh,” she said simply, flustered beyond belief.

“Say it,” he said.

“Say what?”

“Say the words.
Onuhkis
and
Onuhkists.
”

“I…I don’t believe that—”

“It is important that you learn my language.”

“But—”

“I think,” he said, giving her a sly look, “that you are afraid. Or is it because yours are fuller than even the outline of that butte, that you did not recognize the look of it at once?”

Had she heard him correctly? Had the man actually asked her such a thing? She should slap him. She knew it, and had she been in civilized society, she might have done just that. But this was not simply any man. This was Night Thunder, the man who had rescued her, the man who had been her friend for so many months. Still, he went too far.

Picking up her skirt, she moved away from him, saying at the same time, “I don’t know how you can be thinking that you have any right to speak to me in this way, but I can assure you that my…body parts are not yours to speculate upon, and I would appreciate it if you would keep your thoughts to yourself.”

He simply smiled at her. “I think yours are better than the look of that butte. Firmer.”

She gasped. “You have not even seen me—”

“At the river.”

“At the river you were not supposed to be looking at me.”

“I stood there that night, telling you that I would. Say them.”

“What?”

“Say the words,
Onuhkis
and
Onuhkists.
”

“Why?”

“Because it is important that you learn my language. And because if you say them, I will stop trying to embarrass you and bring color to your cheeks.”

She sent him a mock serious look. “You will?”

He nodded.

“All right,” she conceded. “If I must, I will do so.
Onuhkis
,”
she repeated once, then, “
Onuhkists.
”

“Which means?”

“I don’t think that I need to—”

“How do I know that you understand the difference between the two words?”

“Night Thunder, I think that—”

“If you say the meaning, I will stop tormenting you with the knowledge of how you look naked.”

“Naked? That is not possible. You have not seen me naked.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Did you not know that the thing you wear beneath your clothes disappears against your skin when it is wet?”

She drew in a deep breath and frowned at him. “Why did you not tell me about this sooner than now?”

He sent her a mocking smile. “I am Indian,” he said, “not stupid.”

She almost smiled, but she held herself back from doing so. The man was bold beyond belief.

“Say them,” he reiterated.

“All right, then.
Onuhkis
means milk, and
Onuhkists
means…br…brea…a woman’s bosom.”

“Humph,” he grunted, then grinned at her. “I will teach you my language while we are on the trail, for you must learn to speak it well. You will wish to talk with others besides myself once we come to my village, will you not?”

“Aye,” she said, “your village.” It meant she would come face to face with his fiancée. She groaned. “What is the name of the girl you are going to marry?”

“Is it important, since you are not truly to become my wife?”

“I think that it is. You are going to be telling the people in your camp that I am your wife. I am thinking, then, that I have the right to know who else it is that you intend to marry.”

He stared off toward the sunset for a moment, the humor leaving his eyes. Several moments passed in silence before he at last made to move away from her, having said nothing to enlighten her further.

“Night Thunder,” she called to him, reaching out to touch his arm, staying him. “I think I have a right to know.”

He stopped and glanced down at her hand where it brushed him, then back up at her face, before he responded, “Blue Raven Woman is her name.” He frowned.

Rebecca gasped, not because of the woman’s name; rather, because of the sudden tension she witnessed in Night Thunder’s eyes. From her touch? Or because she had asked about his dearly beloved? She had no time to ponder the question, however. Night Thunder had already turned from her and was striding away, leaving Rebecca to wonder what it was she had said or done wrong.

Her fingers still tingled with a life of their own, she noticed.

Another set of complications to add to her long growing list of problems: she was fast becoming enamored with this man.

And Night Thunder? He was clearly sensitive about his intended, which meant what?

That he loved her?

Why, she wondered, as she turned to watch him leave, did she have to care?

Chapter Eight

Night came swiftly. Rebecca sat around the small fire, a buffalo robe across her shoulders. Night Thunder reclined next to her, chipping monotonously at the point of a stone arrowhead. He seemed unaffected by her presence, entirely caught up in his work. Rebecca, however, could think of nothing more than the sleeping robe she would have to share with this man yet again tonight.

Except for an Indian sentry sitting lookout, all the other warriors had long since gone to sleep.

It was a quiet evening, save for the ever present sounds of the prairie. Off in the distance a coyote howled, answered by the wail of a wolf, while closer to them, a brook murmured in its haste to find a larger body of water, its rhythm seeming to keep time with the sighing wind rustling through the trees. These noises were somehow romantic. All were sounds she didn’t need to hear.

To add to her discomfort, the ever present breeze had become so cold this evening that she shivered as she sat within the confines of the robe, knowing warmth and comfort sat only a few feet away from her if she could only bring herself to go willingly into Night Thunder’s arms. But she couldn’t. Not when he intended to have two or more wives.

The earth felt cold beneath her, reminding her all the more that without Night Thunder’s body heat to warm her, she would get little sleep this night. Even the crisp scent of the air, in combination with the fragrances of dried grass, leaves, and sagebrush, conspired against her, bringing to her mind images of family and home; images of love.