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Liliann paused and turned around, looking up at First Rider, hoping her frown would communicate her displeasure at him entering her bedroom. Hadn't she told him not to?

As though aware of her objection, he explained, "I only tell…how put…on herbs. Then I…leave."

She looked down, away from him, saying only, "Oh, it be all right, then, if thou be here…but for this only. Be thou not thinkin' I will take off me own clothes with thee still here in this room."

As Liliann beheld the handsome, lopsided grin he shot at her, she sighed. He was so very, very good-looking. She remembered how, upon first gazing at him four years ago, she had fallen under his spell. He had been then—and he still was—the epitome of a rugged and strong, young man.

Back then, he had treated her kindly—which had sealed her infatuation with him. He was also a religious man, being a much-sought-after medicine man, though he had been—and still was—so young.

Feeling tired, she sat down on the edge of her bed, and he followed her down, bending onto one knee again in front of her.

Looking at him now, she could see the years had been kind to him.

He was certainly as handsome as ever, but he had grown into a more masculine and virile version of his younger self.

As she drew in a deep breath, she was well aware of his woodsy, wild scent, reminding her of the long and pleasant stay she'd had in the Pikuni encampment all those years ago.

And, despite the coolness of the early hour, he was scantily dressed, allowing her to admire the muscles in his chest and arms, noticing his flat and tight abdomen muscles as they trailed down into the belt of his breechcloth, which was placed well below his belly button.

A blue-and-white-beaded choker with one longer-and-beaded loop hung around his neck; this weightier loop had a short ermine fur attached and came to his upper chest level.

His hair was braided in a long plait at each side of his face, and, when he turned just so, she could see the braid he wore in back.

Also, a tiny braid of hair was situated in front of each long heavy plait at each side of his face.

From these little braids hung several beads and a blue-and-white-beaded, upside-down-looking bow.

He wore a metal armband around his left arm and a tiny buckskin pouch hung around his neck; it was what she had learned was called his "medicine.

" Here her perusal of him ended, since she didn't wish to look farther down.

Her gaze there would have been too obviously done, especially because he was still kneeling in front of her.

But, she didn't need to look there to know he was, indeed, the handsomest man she had ever seen or known, and this was God's own truth.

Still, he shouldn't be here in her bedroom and alone with her. She was about to tell him to leave once again, when he said, " áa , will not…to ask…you…disrobe." Then he motioned to the bed. "Here…I show…how to mix, how to make…" He paused, then signed the word "poultice."

Although she would have liked to argue with him, letting him know she didn't need his instruction, she sat mute, and, grabbing hold of a pink-and-blue-crocheted shawl at the foot of her bed, she fit the wrap around her shoulders and watched First Rider extract a roundish-looking shell from one of the many parfleche bags he carried.

As she gazed at his hands and fingers mixing the mud and herbs together, she was reminded of the excitement she'd felt when he had touched her only a little while ago. Had he felt it, too? If he did, it didn't seem as if it had affected him as much as it had her.

But then, as though he had somehow heard her unspoken thoughts, he gazed up at her and she beheld his emotions clearly; they were there within his eyes: passion, desire, perhaps even love were to be seen from within his gaze, despite his otherwise calm demeanor.

They stared at one another for a moment, neither one able, it appeared, to look away. She gulped when she saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

Was she wrong? Did he, indeed, feel the same magnetic feeling toward her as she did him?

And, if he did, had he always felt this attraction to her? No, she answered her own question. Back then, he had loved and had married another woman.

His wife…

Liliann was well aware of First Rider's absence these last few years. And, upon inquiry, she had learned of his quest to find his stolen wife.

No man who didn't love his wife well would spend four years of his life in search of her. This alone, proved his love for her. Perhaps he had found her?

It could be. After all, her father hadn't mentioned the reason for First Rider's return to the Pikuni camp.

Liliann dropped her gaze and looked down and away from him. But, she looked back up as he touched her hand.

His voice was low and husky when he said, "Do not…fear. This one"—he pointed to himself—"here…only show…you…how prepare…herbs so…you heal. Door"—he pointed—"still open."

She didn't respond except to dip her head as he let go of her hand, and, taking up another shell, he plunged it into the water.

Placing the shell on his knee, he then sprinkled another mixture of mud and herbs over the water.

While he used his fingers to make a paste, she wondered what it would feel like if he used his hands and fingers to comfort her.

What would it feel like to be in held in his arms?

He said, "This…heals eyes, cheeks, chin. Do…over body where have…sores or wounds. If need help…I will…spread over wounds."

Liliann smiled at him and watched as his gaze centered in upon her lips. She said, "I be not needin' thy help, Mr. First Rider. Me own self can do it."

He nodded, and was preparing to stand up when she reached out and touched his knee. Kneeling back down onto one knee before her, he looked at her questioningly, and she explained, asking, "Did thou find thine own wife?"

His indrawn breath told her more than words could have that she had asked him about a matter he did not wish to discuss.

And, she was preparing to take the question back, when he brought up his hands to say in sign, "I did discover where she had been all these years, but I learned about where she was too late. "

Using sign also, Liliann asked, "Too late?"

Continuing to speak in sign, he said, "From an Assiniboine scout, I learned about a warrior from his tribe who had fallen in love with Tsistsaki on sight and had bought her away from the Crow man who had stolen her.

He told me they had been happy for a few years but she had recently become sick and had died. "

Liliann gasped. "I be so sorry."

He nodded. "But, there is more," he signed. "Her Assiniboine husband, like myself, had loved her well, and when she died, he took his own life."

"No!" Liliann couldn't help the tears that came to her eyes. And, her voice shook as she whispered, "I be sorry for thee and for thy wife and her husband. Truly sorry."

He did no more than nod again.

Silence ensued between them for a moment before he signed, "But for my spirit protector and Sun, the Creator, I would have followed her and her Assiniboine husband in death. The Creator, however, intervened. And so, I survived."

Followed her in death? No!

He was looking down away from her when she said, "I be glad thou be still here, alive." Then, taking courage, she sought to comfort him, and she murmured, "I have always loved thee, and 'twould have grieved me no end had thou passed into the next world."

As though her confession had shocked him, he suddenly brought up his head and stared at her for a long, long while. But, then, at length, he signed, "Is this true?"

She didn't understand what he meant exactly and answered him with a frown.

He then went on to ask again in sign, "Is this true? Do you love me?"

She gulped. Had she, in trying to bring ease to his suffering, shared a part of her heart when it would have been better had she kept her own feelings to herself?

Besides, how could he have not known how she felt about him? Hadn't she followed him most everywhere when she had stayed in the Pikuni camp? At least she had done so until he had married.

Alas, she didn't possess the courage to give him the answer he sought, which was God's own truth.

And so, she answered him in the only way she could, giving him an easier version of what was in her heart, saying, "Thou saved me own father's life.

How could I not love thee? Surely thou must have known how I felt about thee.

I trailed along behind thee everywhere in the Pikuni camp. Does thou not remember?"

He did nothing at first. He simply looked at her.

But, then he took her hand into his own again, and, changing positions so he was on both knees in front of her, he bent over at the waist and kissed her once, then raising his head and staring into her eyes, he bent over again and kissed her once more, only this time more deeply.

Oh, glory be! Liliann felt as though every sense within her burst into life. Her stomach dropped as white-hot lightning coursed through her blood. And, a place most feminine upon her body awakened.

She kissed him back—how could she not? Everything about him was right. His scent—woodsy, earthy and balmy—was laced with aromatic and raw manliness, and she breathed in the brisk fragrance of him, wishing to memorize it.

As his lips urged hers to open to his taste, she thought she might swoon, and when his tongue played with hers, it was as though he was using his tongue alone to mate with her, and his hands came up to caress her neck, her ears, her uninjured cheek.

Using his hands, he massaged her head, messing her hair.

But, she didn't care. She didn't wish him to stop…ever.

His hands came down to pull her in closer toward him, and, still using his tongue to love and to kiss her, he began to massage her shoulders and upper chest until suddenly—