She just looked at him, an unexpected warmth flooding her system. “You say that we made a vow together?”
“Aa,
yes, we did.”
“And will you tell me now what it was?”
He hesitated.
And she stated matter-of-factly, a thought coming to her as easily as if she had known it all her life, “We made a vow to be together, didn’t we?”
She wasn’t sure how she had become aware of this sudden knowledge, but know it, she did, and she really didn’t need his,
“Aa,
yes, it is so,” to confirm her realization.
At length, she spoke again, saying, “Shouldn’t you have told me this as soon as you found me and discovered that I was engaged?”
“From that time forward, after the flood, we have traveled down different paths, and when we first met again, we barely knew one another. How would I have said this to you? Besides, it was not until recently that I remembered it.”
All at once, an unpleasant thought crept into her mind, and she almost held her breath as she asked, “Have you ever married, then? I have heard that Indians are allowed more than one wife.”
Again, he hesitated before he spoke. “While it is true that Indians are allowed more than one wife, there is only one sits-beside-him-woman, usually a man’s first and favorite wife. How could I marry another when you were to become that woman?”
She let out her breath. “You have not married, then?”
“Saa
, no,” he answered, “and it has recently occurred to me that it is perhaps our early vow to one another that has been the reason I have not been interested in the married life…that is, until now.”
That statement had her glancing up at him, critically. “Until now? Then you…?”
“I gave you my vow.”
“But I am betrothed to another.”
“And as yet unmarried.”
“But I wouldn’t want you to try to marry me only because we once vowed it to one another,” she said. “We were too young to know any better, and besides, I would want you to marry me because…” She stopped. What, for goodness’ sake, was she about to say? That she wanted this man to marry her because of…what…? Because he
felt
something for her? Did she want him to love her? She, who did not believe in the emotion.
He prompted her, “Because…?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, “never mind.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I already feel something for you.”
What? Did the man read thoughts?
She chanced a quick glance at him. “You do?”
He smiled, the gesture a heartwarming, half grin. He said, “I do.”
She surveyed him there as he knelt before her, the moonlight playing over his foreign, if all-too-handsome features. She inhaled the musky scent of his skin, the mint flavor of his breath reminding her of the first time she had spoken with him. Suddenly the distance that separated them seemed much too large, and she cried, “Oh, White Eagle,” throwing herself into his arms.
“Shhhh.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I spoke your name again. I keep forgetting.”
He nuzzled his face into her hair. “It is all right, I give you permission to use it now.”
“You do? And does that make a difference?”
“Aa,
yes, it is so. My people believe that to speak one’s name takes away a part of that person’s spirit. Because of this, only a few are ever given permission to utter another’s name aloud, although even then, few exercise that privilege.” He ran his hands up and down her spine, the action sending shivers racing through her body.
“But you give me permission to use it now?”
“Aa.”
“Thank you,” she said, the heat of a flush filling her face. Another thought occurred to her. “Did we promise one another anything else?”
Again an impish grin graced his face, the same expression that was becoming a much familiar sight, and he said, “Only this,” and his lips brushed over hers in a light caress.
Her stomach dropped in response, turning as though she had suddenly taken ill, and it was as much as she could do at the moment to simply utter, “I hardly think that at our young age, we would have—”
“You are right, we probably would have promised each other this,” he said, a mere moment before his head came down over hers, and he kissed her fully, with a sense of urgency, his hands sweeping up into her hair, pushing back the strands of her locks; then, gently he caressed her cheeks and her neck, while the magic of his kiss never abated.
Desire raced through her more powerful than any emotion she had ever experienced, and it was all she could do to sit up straight. In truth, had he not held her, she might have collapsed.
And she kissed him back, passion reaching out to take hold of her; after only a few moments, she had forgotten all else but him, the feel of his lips on hers, the urgency of wanting…more.
So when his hand reached up, under her nightgown, there to smooth over the calves of her legs, up higher to her knees, her thighs, she only sighed, welcoming the embrace.
He took off her robe and pushed at her nightgown, up over her legs, up further.
She almost cried out. How was this possible? She had never felt these overwhelming sensations, never realized they existed.
The strength of her emotions intensified. He lifted the gown over her hips, touching her in that place most intimate to her.
She swooned.
Soon he left off his caress, taking her gown and sending it upwards further, up and over her head, until she sat before him as vulnerable as the day on which she had come into this world…naked.
And he just gazed at her. He didn’t touch her, he just stared, as though he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him was true.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and immediately, a warmth began to spread all through her.
He didn’t undress himself, as she’d thought he might; instead he bent toward her, taking one of her rosy nipples into his mouth.
This was too much for her. Did he know what he was doing to her? And dramatically, she wondered if she might not survive the headiness of so much excitement, such overpowering warmth.
Still he went on. Over toward her other nipple, downward, to her navel.
And she ran her hands through his long hair.
“I can’t stand it,” she said at last, unable to account for the feeling building up within her. “I want…I want…”
Was she going to die? Never had she felt such overwhelming intensity.
“What is happening to me?” she asked him, certain he would know the way to release her from this.
He glanced up at her, his gaze full of…what? Desire? Craving? She almost collapsed at the thought. And then, with his palm kneading her breast, he answered, “What is happening to you…to us, is…hunger…for one another, passion. It is good.”
“Is it?”
“Aa,
yes.”
“Is it always like this between a man and a woman?”
“Have you never felt this until now?”
She shook her head and, as she did so, she was almost certain she saw him smile.
“Saa,
no, it is not always this good between a man and a woman…only when the two people feel strongly for one another. Do you know what this says about us?”
Again, she shook her head.
“It means that we belong to each other, I think.” She wanted so much to believe him, but if what he said were true, where did that leave her relationship with the marquess?
The marquess!
Good Lord, what was the matter with her? How could she have forgotten so easily that she was engaged?
She wasn’t the kind of woman who would cheat on a man…was she? She didn’t think so.
She groaned, but this time not in passion.
It would have been better, she thought, if White Eagle had remained silent, if he had just continued what he was doing without giving her a chance to think.
At least then she wouldn’t have remembered until it was too late.
But it was not to be.
The image of the Englishman had already interposed itself between her and the Indian.
White Eagle did not appear to realize what was taking place within her, for he continued to nuzzle her breast.
“White Eagle,” she said, pushing back her shoulders in order to more fully realize this passion, if only for a tiny moment more. And she could just barely think when she said again, “White Eagle, you must stop.”
He seemed slow to accept what she said, what was happening, until at last, he lifted his head and asked,
“Tsa,
what?”
She could barely breathe as she gazed at him. “We must stop.”
“Mao’k,
why?”
“Because I…I am still engaged to another man and I shouldn’t be here…I shouldn’t be doing this.”
At her words, White Eagle merely shrugged his shoulders and bent back toward her, saying, “He is no man for you.”
She pushed him up and away from her, saying, “That may very well be,” she responded, “and he may not be the right man for me, but until I do something about our engagement—if I do something about it—I remain his fiancée, and I… It is not right that we…that I…”
She glanced down and was reminded that she sat naked before this man and, suddenly feeling shy, she reached her hand out to see if she could find her gown. White Eagle caught her hand.
“Saa,
no,” he said, stilling her hand. “Let me gaze upon you a little longer.”
She swallowed. “This is not right.”
“Saa,
no,” he said, “what is between us is good, is full of promise. It is your vow to this Englishman that is in error.”
She gulped. “I am not in a position to…” She stole a glance up at White Eagle and sighed. “Yes,” she said, “for me to find myself in this sort of predicament, means that you could be right. Still, I…”
“Could be right? That is all?”
“Yes, well, most likely you are correct, however I…” Her shyness growing steadily within her, she reached out her hand once again for her gown.
“Here.” He picked up the article of clothing for her, pushing it into her hands. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Humph!”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I have…pushed you too far into passion, when you are uncertain of your feelings.”
“Then you
do
understand?”
“Saa,
no, not too much. You do not love this man you have decided to marry. And to not love him will cause you trouble, like you have tonight. Do you think you can just hide your passion without causing problems? In all life, there is a magic between the sexes, which causes them to mate. Where this does not exist, no union should take place.”
“But you said that marriages without love take place even in your society.”
“Yes, and they always cause problems and bad feelings between people. You must think on this, and you must think on this well. You have the chance to marry for love.”
“Do I?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he kissed her, the caress reminiscent of the tormented embrace of a lover, his tongue sweeping into the sweet recesses of her mouth, there to tease and torment her. And gradually he lifted his head to say, “Remember this kiss when you awaken in the morning to find yourself still engaged to a man who neither loves nor desires you.”
And then he rose and pushed himself away from her, turning his back upon her, to give her a measure of privacy. He continued to speak to her, saying, “What is between you and this Englishman is as false as the trader’s word of honor. I would ask that you watch this man you say you are to marry, and that you observe this man well, and be willing to see the truth that is there before you.”
She had pulled on her gown and fastened her robe back around her as she listened. And as she stood, she noted that she could barely keep her balance, so carried away was she. Still, she came up behind White Eagle and placed her hand upon his shoulder. She said, “I will try to do this. I promise. But please, White Eagle, try to understand what I do, too?”
He turned around, then, to face her, but he didn’t smile at her as she had hoped that he might; nor did he show any emotion at all as he said, “I do.”
Then, sauntering away from her, he motioned to her as he said, “Come, I will take you back to the white man’s house. We will leave at first light.”
And she nodded agreement as she responded, “First light.”
Chapter Twelve
They left at noon.
The marquess hadn’t been ready. He had tried to stall, had tried to evade their party by pretending illness. But in the end, he’d had little choice, it being understood that because of the race and its outcome, he would have to go. Besides, Katrina had made it clear that she would not fund any more of his excursions in her absence.
She had bought a buggy for the trip, or rather a “buckboard,” a multipurpose wagon and open carryall, painted black, even to the wheels. In the back of the buckboard she had been able to stow her Saratoga containing her dresses and underclothes, as well as those of her maid’s, but the majority of the wagon’s rear space was taken up, not by her or her maid’s things…but by the hats, the waistcoats, the particulars, even the wigs of the marquess.