Seneca Surrender (29 page)
He said, “
Nyoh
, yes, it is wampum.”
Nyoh
, yes, it is wampum.”
“I don’t understand, sir. After all we’ve been through, I …”
This was not the response he had expected, and he asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Sir, what is it you are saying to me? Is this meant to be an insult?”
He frowned at her. “
Neh
, the opposite is true. I am showing you great respect.”
Neh
, the opposite is true. I am showing you great respect.”
“Then why have you suddenly decided to give me Indian money? Perhaps it’s not like this in your society, but in mine when a man gives a woman money after they’ve made love …”
At last he understood her meaning, and he said, “Wampum is not money. Is that what you think it is?”
“I do, sir.”
He shook his head in disgust. “I fear some trader has stuck you with a great misunderstanding. Wampum is not used as money. It never has been. The English, with his gold and silver coins, has assigned a value to wampum that is in error.”
“But I have heard that people will trade fortunes for it. So if not money, then what is it?”
“Its use,” he replied, “is to cure the mind of the madness of grief, to open the throat so that a person may speak openly and at free will, and it is given to take away the heartache of losing someone close to you. Come here.” He sat forward to gather her into his arms and bring her back in close to him. “It is my desire to help ease the fear and grief that your experience has brought you. This is the correct use of wampum.”
She sat silently for the space of a moment. “I understand, I think,” she said at last. “You were trying to help me, and I misunderstood. I deeply apologize, and I thank you for your consideration.”
He nodded.
“But now you have excited my curiosity. What exactly is wampum?”
“That will take some explaining,” he said. “If you will settle back here in my arms, I’ll finish washing you, and I’ll tell you about it.”
She did as he asked, and he began rubbing her legs with water and the sand from the bottom of the stream. He said, “There are three words that are used to banish what we of the Iroquois call the insanity of grief. Long ago, the two men who founded the Iroquois Confederacy sought to console a person who was consumed with grief.”
While he was speaking, his touch had explored higher and higher up on her thigh.
“Hmm … that feels good,” she said. “But tell me more. What are the three words?” Meanwhile, she shifted position so that his hand was captured between her legs, there at their junction.
He swallowed. “They are called the Three Bare Words, and they are the first few words that the Peacemaker spoke to Hiawatha in founding our Confederation. It is our Condolence Ceremony, which is performed with the intent of wiping away the insanity caused by grief, a madness that brings about endless fighting and war.”
While he was speaking, she had parted her legs slightly, and he was not slow on the uptake. He placed his hand on her where he knew she ached to be rubbed, and he gave her what she appeared to need. In response, she moved her hips against the pressure he was exerting, and with the magic of his fingers he began to love her.
“We can talk about this later,” he said.
As she moved her body against his hand, she murmured, “Yes.”
He sighed, and keeping his voice low and his fingers intent at their task, he said, “It has not been my intention to make love to you while you are still recovering from your fear. But if you want it …”
She didn’t answer all at one time, though her legs had parted wider and she moved in time with the rhythm of his fingers. She was laid out before him like a feast, and not only did he partake, looking his fill at her, but by his touch alone, he was bringing her to a release.
“Don’t you believe, sir, that making love is part of the healing process?” And though they were speaking all around it, the truth was that he was becoming very excited. Apparently she was, also.
He answered, “I believe it might be … if one is willing.”
Her hips were moving faster now against his fingers, and when she moaned, then whispered, “I’m willing,” he thought he might likely be the luckiest man alive. He groaned.
Her lips were still parted, and the invitation she provided would have required a saint to resist; he was hardly that. Slowly his head descended toward hers, and when his lips took possession of hers, she moaned while she squirmed hard against him.
It was a long, slow kiss, during which he repositioned her, settling her in front of him, with her legs wrapped around his waist. Then he came up onto his knees and holding her up by her buttocks, he settled her over his shaft. Slowly he entered her.
She was hot, she was wet; and so aroused was she, he sensed she was already close to her peak. It was an erotic position, and they made love as if their lives depended on it.
As he thrust into her, he said, “I think I died a thousand deaths when that Ottawa warrior slapped you.”
“I have never been so frightened.”
“Shhh. I know.”
They were working themselves up into a frenzy of sexual tension, and his thrusts had become fast, jerky and driven. He knew she was close to her pinnacle. And when she rose up to fully experience that pleasure, he met her with his own need, spilling his seed into her.
On and on the pleasure lengthened, extending way beyond the physical deed. And as he drifted back to earth, he came to realize that his life from this point forward would be different. He was not the same man he had been before he had met her. She was now as much a part of him as was his own identity. With her, he was whole.
As they continued to move against each other in the aftermath of love, he sat back on his heels, bringing her with him. He whispered, “I would do most anything for you.”
With her arms swung around his neck and her body intimately connected to his, she said, “I, too.”
Twenty
The love they created between them was pure, was good and was a little like magic. Perhaps, as she’d said, it was what was needed to help her to heal. He hoped it was so, for it was not within him to purposely bring her more heartache.
At present, she was wrapped around him. And he had little desire to unsettle her. And so with himself still firmly encased within her warmth, he began to finish the job of washing her body, starting with her legs and thighs.
In time, his manhood returned to its more usual state and when it did, he lifted her up above him slightly so as to wash her there, too. Then he rinsed the dirt from her arms, her breasts and her back. But when he came to her chest, he hesitated.
Setting her slightly away from him, he traced the slash that had been made by the Ottawa warrior and asked, “Does this hurt?”
“A bit,” she said, nodding.
He let off touching it to splash fresh water on the wound, then sneaked in a few massages of her breasts before he reached down into the water, his hand seeking the mud in the river’s bed. Grabbing a handful of it, he dabbed it onto the cut.
She jerked a little, then settled back into his arms, her own arms hugging him firmly around his neck.
Interestingly, she didn’t object to the movement of the cold water over her body or to the mud that he had spread over her chest. Rather, it seemed as if she’d fallen asleep. But he wasn’t done yet.
He would wash away her fear and her grief. Somehow, he would banish it from her mind. He only wished it were as easy as cleaning the body.
He said, his voice no louder than a whisper, “Are you ready for me to wash your hair?”
Her answer was a sigh. “Will it be cold?”
“I fear it will be, for I’ll have to submerge it into the stream.”
“Must we?” She gritted her teeth. “Truly, sir, you needn’t continue to wash me. I’m a big girl now and I can do the job myself.”
“You would deny me the fantasy of my dream come true? ”
She laughed, and the sound of it was as pretty as she was.
“Besides,” he continued, “if I hold you crossways over my lap, it might not be too cold.”
She sighed. “I think, sir, that I am putty in your hands for the moment. Do with me as you will.”
He growled. And when an answering moan escaped her lips, he almost lost his resolve. But then, with trusting eyes, she stared up at him innocently, and said, “Sir, I think I should tell you something.”
He raised an eyebrow in response, an encouragement for her to continue.
“It may or may not matter to you. But …” She hesitated. “I … I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Every nerve ending within his body suddenly screamed at him to do something, anything. He pulled her hard and fast against him, practically crushing her.
So lost was he for words, he swallowed several times before he was at last able to utter simply, “I, too.”
She backed up slightly from him, and said, “Did I hear that right, sir? Did you say that—”
“You did. I love you.” He said it simply.
She shifted until she was so close to him that he could feel the imprint of her breasts against his chest, then she said, “But what about Wild Mint and your promise—”
“I love you,” he said again, this time more firmly. “I have for many days, perhaps weeks, but until I saw you with those Ottawa warriors and realized I could lose you, I hadn’t had the courage to admit it, even to myself.”
Sarah sat up only inches away, presenting him with the glorious picture of a nude woman. Ah, what a fortunate man he was.
“And Wild Mint?”
“She will always have a place in my heart, and my duty remains as it has been for years,” he said honestly. “But it’s been fifteen years and … I have changed. No longer do I wish to join her in death. Indeed, I have come to know life, and it is a life I would like to share with you.”
“I, too, feel this way,” she said, hugging him tightly. “But we must face the fact that we are from two different worlds, sir. You know this. When we’re here, separated from the rest of society, it seems that it would be a matter of simplicity to create our lives with each other. But other people’s will sometimes gets in the way. And I am still an indentured servant, with five years left to serve. Surely, sir, you understand, for we have discussed this at length. After five years, I will be free, and without the worry of being found if I tried to escape, and then forced into service for the rest of my life.”
“Shhh.” He pulled her face in toward his until her head fit into the crook of his neck. “I know, but we have come here to wash away your grief, not add to it. Someday, we will have to face this, together. But for now, we are still married, if only because we have not yet had to part. And if we never part …”
He felt her smile, heard her slight chuckle there against his shoulder.
“We cannot fight all the battles that lie before us on this one day. It’s true that the moment may yet come when it appears we will have to part, but that it is not here now. We have time to prepare. Meanwhile, let us have this one evening without worry.”
She nodded.
“Now, it was not in my thoughts,” he said, “to make love to you here, now, in this stream. I think the shore would be a more comfortable place. But first we should wash your hair.”
“I am honored, sir, that you are thinking of my comfort,” she said as she changed her position yet again, so that instead of straddling him, she was merely sitting in his lap. “You have my best interests at heart, and I thank you. But, Mr. White Thunder,” she said, “if I am to wash my hair, then I should swim, and so should you. And, sir, forgive me, but I believe you have on too many clothes.”
He closed his eyes and smiled. What had he done to deserve such pleasure? He said, “That is easily remedied.”
He accommodated her at once, shifting position so that he could come up to his feet. He still held her firmly in his arms, but since he was now ambulant, he waded to the shoreline.
Once there, he let her down so that she was standing on her own, and as quickly as he could, he removed his leggings and the belts and straps that he wore over his chest and shoulders. But he left on his breechcloth, as well as several of his weapons.
“Mr. Thunder, you are not naked, as I am.”
“I am as naked as I can get,” he explained. “Until I am within the safety of a Seneca village, I cannot relax and leave my weapons behind me. This may be the Creator’s own valley, but there are those who do not respect even the Creator of all things. Therefore my tomahawk, my knives and my war club will remain with me.”
“If that be the case,” she said, “then I shall swim as I usually do—in my chemise.”
He nodded. “Though I fear it is not much protection,” he said, “for it is so flimsy that I can see beyond its threads to the treasure beneath. But if you desire it, I’ll get it for you.”
“That would be most kind of you.”
The tree where he had laid out her clothes to dry was not far, and he was back in an instant. He held the chemise out at arm’s length. “Is this what you need?”
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