“They determined to kill this bear. But it could not be done easily. Each time the hunters tried to trap the bear, he escaped them, always climbing higher and higher into the white snows of the mountains. But the hunters were determined. With the help of their dog, Four-Eyes, they tracked the Great Sky Bear, heading always higher and higher into the mountains, until they finally found him and killed him. But once it was done, and they had feasted on his flesh, the bones of the animal reappeared and the great bear grew up again, and ran away, escaping them.
“Because the hunters could not afford to let the bear loose upon their people, they followed him. They continue to do so to this very day, so that he would not ever disturb our people again. Do you see the four stars there? ”
She nodded.
“Your people say that is the bowl of the dipper, but to my people, that is the Great Sky Bear. And the handle is the hunters. If you look closely, you can barely see the small star, there. That is their dog. With each season, the constellation appears differently in the sky, showing my people the way of the chase. Now, because it is autumn, the great bear reappears in the sky and the hunters begin their chase all over again. Of course, they find him, and kill him. And so it is his blood, dripping down from the heavens, that colors the leaves of the maple trees at this time of year. And the fat that drips from his meat is what makes the grass white.”
He glanced back up at the sky, and Marisa followed his gaze. Silence fell between them, until at last she said, “I believe that I like your story of how that constellation came into being better than the American version that originates from my own culture.”
He nodded. “I, too.”
As Black Eagle had related his tale, they had stopped at the side of a great oak tree. It was a large tree, and one she had always admired. Holding up the ends of her silken skirt, she stepped off the path, treading toward the tree, where, coming up close to it, she leaned back against it and turned toward him.
She bit her lip and exhaled. Moonlight, indeed, was this man's friend. As the silvery beams outlined the rises and falls of his face, she thought he was perhaps more handsome than any man had a right to be. He was tall, proud, incredibly male, and, the good Lord help her, she had never felt more female.
Sadly, he was also the exact sort of person her step-uncle would forbid her from.
Perhaps it was this that triggered that latent spark of rebellion, and she asked, “Sir Eagle, tell me. Do Indians kiss? ”
If he were startled by her question, he didn't show it. Instead, he stepped toward her. He answered calmly, “Of course.”
“But I mean, do they kiss, lips to lips, like the English do? ”
“I believe” he muttered, as he placed his arm against the tree, “that the English cannot claim complete ownership over something so common as a kiss. All human beings enjoy much the same thing.”
As he spoke, his head had descended so closely to hers, that she realized she could read his thoughts; it was an unbelievably intimate feeling, as though he had become a part of her. He wanted to kiss her. She knew it as surely as the fact that she wanted to be kissed.
Yet, he didn't do it.
It was wrong of her, so very wrong, considering who she was and who he was, yet she found herself lifting her face up toward his, and she murmured, “I have never been kissed.”
He didn't utter a word in response to her. Instead, he bent the fraction of an inch required, and gently touched his lips to hers.
Ah! At his touch, fire washed through her, the warmth of the sensation centering in on her lower abdomen. She swooned slightly, and her stomach lightened, then fell, as if butterflies had come to roost there.
The kiss deepened and she could feel her heartbeat race, not only within her chest, but high up in her throat as well. As the fresh scent of him filled her nostrils, her lips clung to his, and she thought she would never forget the clean and woodsy taste of him.
His embrace affected her strangely, causing her to feel as if she had come home; as if she had discovered a bit of heaven, and as every nerve within her clamored for more of something she could not put a name to, she realized she had never felt more alive than she did at this moment. She swayed forward against him, only to have him catch her in his arms.
Placing one of his hands against the small of her back, he urged her in even farther toward him, as close as her skirts would allow. And as his lips made a feast of her, he brought up his other hand to trail his fingers over her cheeks, her eyes and eyebrows, even around to each of her ears. Though his fingers were calloused, she realized that it didn't necessarily follow that his touch was any less gentle or that she objected.
Unexpectedly, his fingers trailed down over her exposed shoulders, and she moaned. She couldn't help it. It felt so good.
As if encouraged, his lips met hers again and again, and as his tongue slid into the wet recesses of her mouth, she felt as though her body were ablaze. She sighed, the soft sound of her voice high-pitched against his lips. In response, he shuddered against her, and she wondered if she were having as great an effect on him as he was creating on her.
She wanted him closer, and although his body was pressed up against hers as tightly as possible, he still seemed too far away. In truth, had there been a way to crawl into his skin, she thought she would have gladly done so.
As though inspired by her response, he lifted her up, her feet leaving the ground, and he pressed her back against the tree. His tongue played with hers, foraging deeper into her mouth, then more shallowly. Deeper again, then withdrawing, over and over.
She moaned. She could barely help herself, and she murmured, “What are you doing to me? ”
“I am kissing you,” he answered, as he lowered her, allowing her feet to touch the ground again. “It is nothing more than a kiss.”
“I think you understate the experience,” she said. “Why has no one ever revealed to me that to kiss is to find . . . a little bit of happiness? ”
He didn't answer at once, but her words seem to animate him, because his arms came around her, and he hugged her tightly. “Perhaps not everyone,” he said, “finds paradise in each and every kiss.”
However, as though to dispute his words, he touched his lips to hers again, and she found herself surrendering once more to his passion.
She whispered, “If you mean by that statement, that you do not feel the quickening of your heart the same as I do, pray do not tell me so.”
“
Neh
, I was speaking of others, not of you and me. I feel plenty. Perhaps a little too much.”
“Too much? Is there such a thing? ”
He shrugged, and despite her most sincere hopes, he backed up slightly. He said, “It is hard to know. But one matter is certain: There is a delicate balance between desire and control, and when a man is with a woman, he must be in full possession of himself.”
“Indeed? And are you in control now? ”
“
Neh.
The truth is, I barely have any control left.” He backed up a little farther.
She followed him, however, leaning forward and into his embrace. “Do not go away,” she complained softly. “I fear you are not close enough to satisfy me.”
He groaned. “I know,” he said. He was holding her with one arm and massaging her cheeks and her face with his other hand. Yet, he kept a slight distance between them as he continued speaking, saying, “But since this is your first kiss, I fear to provide you with what it is that I know we both desire.”
“Do not fear me,” she said.
“It is not you that I fear, it is the possible harm I might do you if I give you what it is you seek.”
“And do you know what it is that I seek? ”
“Is it not obvious? You are a woman. I am a man, and though our paths are surely different in this life, I think that desire between two people, once it touches them, respects no boundaries.”
“You speak of desire . . . ? ”
He nodded. “It knows nothing of cultures or the problems that might be created because two people who should not want one another . . . do . . .”
She brought up her white-gloved hand to press it along his shoulder. “Then you admit that you want me? ”
He nodded. “I do. But it is forbidden. We both know it. Therefore, one of us should think logically, and perhaps I am the best person to do so.”
“Yes. Yes.” She straightened. “Of course. I am certain you are right.”
He inclined his head.
“Yet,” her golden brown eyes sought out the dark brown of his, as she continued, “I ask for no more than one more kiss. Is it so very much to ask? ”
For a moment, he appeared tormented, but the look was quickly gone, replaced by a countenance that showed nothing as he said, “There is a danger in committing too many kisses. Perhaps you do not understand that danger, since this is your first experience. But I know what it is that may follow. Know that I am not immune to you. As you may remember, my admiration of you is great.”
“But, pray, you have already kissed me. Surely one more . . .”
He moaned. He leaned forward. She closed her eyes.
“Miss Marisa!”
The call, though spoken no louder than the cry of an eagle, was still blaring enough to shock Marisa. She inhaled deeply. Why did the world have to intrude? And at such a time? Wrenching her glance away from Black Eagle's, she looked back toward the house.
It was Sarah, who was hurrying down the path toward them. With the dry leaves scurrying hither and thither, and her skirts flaring out behind her, she presented an odd image, as though Sarah were running away, instead of toward them.
Marisa took one more deep breath, and answered, “I am here, Sarah. By the large oak tree, the same one you and I have sat beneath on many a summer day.”
Black Eagle stepped to Marisa's side.
“Ah, yes, I see you now.” Sarah slowed her pace as she approached them. Briefly her glance took in Black Eagle's appearance, which she studied for a moment before she addressed Marisa. “I fear that your step-uncle is furious,” Sarah said. “He has sent me here to seek you out and bid you to come back into the ballroom posthaste.”
“I see.”
When Marisa said nothing further, Sarah, still eyeing Black Eagle, went on to add, “However, if you would prefer to stay here, I can pretend I could not find you.”
“And have you incur my step-uncle's wrath in my place? ”
“It will not be the first time your uncle has shown me the edge of his tongue.”
“Step-uncle,” Marisa corrected.
“You are right, of course.”
Marisa swallowed hard. “However, I suspect that it will do little harm if the three of us return to the party.” Marisa took a tentative step toward Sarah. But Black Eagle didn't follow, and Marisa found herself gazing over her shoulder at him. “Sir Eagle,” she said, “will you not escort us back into the hall? ”
He didn't answer at once, and it took a few moments before he said, “
Neh
, no, I think not. Permit me to take my leave of you here.”
Her eyes sought out his, clung to his, and she said, “I am afraid we did not discuss the matter that was most pressing to you.”
“It will keep until we meet again.”
“And do you suppose that we will meet again? ”
“I believe that we shall.”
She glanced down, then back up at him. “I am not certain that I agree with you, sir, on that regard. You see, I leave Albany in the morning.”
“I know.”
“Ah, yes. So you have said.”
“It is about your journey that Iâ”
“If you will await me here,” she interrupted, “I will try to determine what it is my step-uncle seeks, and then, since you had little time to tell me what is in your mind, I would return here and hear you out.”
“Would that I could stay and await you,” he said. “But I, too, must leave. There is much preparation I must attend to.”
“Oh.” It was all she said, for the significance of what he was saying became clear. She would never see him again.
Without willing it, emotion welled up within her. It choked her.
It was strange, she thought. The sensation of being let down was almost unbearable, and a part of her rebelled at the idea of never again being able to see or speak to this man.
Yet, what had she expected from him? An undying exclamation of love? A willful agreement to put all else in his life, save her, aside?
They barely knew each other. It was unheard of.
Yet, the sense of rejection was strong. To her credit, however, well-ingrained manners came to her rescue, allowing her to rise above such negativity. She smiled as she presented Black Eagle with her gloved hand, and she said, “I . . . thank you for . . . I thank you.”
He took her hand, held it a moment, and as his dark eyes stared deeply down into her own, he smiled at her. It was a crooked grin, yet so very endearing that it tugged at her heart. She wrenched her gaze away from his.
“Come Sarah,” said Marisa as she spun around and presented Black Eagle with her back, “let us go and see if there is anything I can do to appease my step-uncle.”
And Marisa had no sooner spoken the words, than she was gone.
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Black Eagle watched her departing figure. Perhaps he should have insisted on telling her that he would, indeed, have the pleasure of her company in the very near future. But Black Eagle had been uncharacteristically tongue-tied; he was also very aroused.
Mayhap this was his defense. Had she stayed longer . . .