Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (9 page)

“Unwise? How can this be?”

“Have you never noticed what happens when a man eats to his fill at this hour? When a man rises, that is when he should eat. He goes out and hunts. He feels good. Strong. Powerful. He kills much game, provides for his family. The sun rises and if he has not consumed enough at the start of the day and he decides to satisfy his hunger, he eats until he can eat no more. Then he feels suddenly tired. He can’t keep his eyes open. He falls asleep and maybe he is in enemy territory. The enemy finds him and kills him, or if he is lucky, he simply fails to hunt enough game, returning home to the frowns of his wife and children. There he lies and tells those close to him that there is little game to be found. No, you eat at this time of day if you dare; the Indian does not.”

Rebecca digested all he said in silence. Hadn’t she often observed in herself and in others a sort of lethargy which set in after the noonday meal? Perhaps there was a bit of wisdom in what Night Thunder said. “Then we will keep traveling throughout the day without the least amount of food?”

“
Aa
,”
he answered her, “tomorrow you must take care to eat more in the morning and to eat well.”

“Aye,” she said, “that I will.”

The day was a warm one, the air clear, fresh, invigorating. Scents of wild sage and buffalo grass filled the air while the occasional squawk of a hawk could be heard from high above them. She looked upward, her hand shielding her eyes from the brightened sun. The hawk circled once, twice, his movements reminding her of a miniature ballet.

She smiled. It was an odd feeling, this sensation of contentment which began to sweep over her. What had caused her change of viewpoint? The environment? The plains? Or was it simply the presence of this man, Night Thunder, beside her? No matter, she began to understand why it is said of the adventurer that once he begins, he will never again be content with a more sedate life.

They set up camp that evening on a high butte overlooking the prairie. With no fire lit, they ate a supper of dried meat and stale bread. It seemed an unusual place to make camp, Rebecca thought. Gazing down from her spectacular view, she could see a deep valley far below them, the coulee seeming to beckon her with a lazy shelter beneath its shady willows and cottonwoods. There were groves of these huge trees, all standing tall beside a clear stream of pure running water.

She mentioned her thoughts to Night Thunder.

“Humph,” he responded, “our scouts spotted a Cree war party today. They are not too close to us, but we do not want to put ourselves into a position that would be hard to defend. If we were to camp in the valley down there, an enemy could more easily surround us and render an escape impossible. Here on this butte, it is safer; we can spot the approach of an enemy and have a better chance of getting beyond his reach, if he were even to see us. But because we light no fire, and the party is distant from us, the chances of that happening are not very good.”

She had simply nodded to him and had glanced again into the coulee and the surrounding plains. She had once heard that the plains should be likened to a place of desolation. But seeing this place, she disagreed. Life teemed here, everywhere. Over to the left and in the distance grazed several buffalo; over to the south several antelope romped; on a distant bluff a wolf and its mate moved; and in the valley stood a herd of elk. She had never witnessed such abundance.

Material gain might be the only thing missing here. But if one had little use for the riches of the world, this place stood as a sort of haven for freedom, for the wandering soul. Perhaps it was the environment which began to disabuse her of the idea that fear and apprehension reigned the plains.

The evening passed quickly into night, the sun setting with a foray of pinks and golds, casting a reddish glow over the brown plains, making it appear as though the land and hills were nothing more than a reflector for the magnificence in the sky. Stars began to appear one by one; first in the west and soon more overhead.

It was dark by the time Night Thunder set out their sleeping robes, reminding Rebecca of what was yet to come. She had hoped to somehow avoid it, but she became more and more aware, as she watched him, that eluding their sleeping arrangements would be impossible.

She stood by nervously, watching him set up their place on the ground, far away from the others. Was she really going to have to sleep next to him again—throughout the entire night? She wasn’t sure she could do it and still keep hold of her dignity.

If she were to be honest with herself, losing her dignity was not all that she feared. She wasn’t certain she could sleep next to the man without becoming…aroused. She blushed at the thought.

The man made her feel all soft and warm inside. And something else…

He set the buffalo robe on the ground, and giving her a speculative glance, he commented unnecessarily, “This is where we will sleep.”

Rebecca nodded.

“You will sleep in your dress, then?”

Another nod.

“It will be mussed.”

“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.”