Page 17

He found her asleep, leaning back against the trunk of a tall pine, her pony, not picketed, standing beside her.

Releasing the reins of his own mount, he bent down and squatted by her side.

Taking a lock of her whitish-blonde hair, he curled it around one of his fingers, enjoying the beauty of its color, as well as its silky feel; it was as though her hair, as well as the woman, herself, possessed the magic of love.

Letting go of the strand, he leaned in toward her, bending over her to inhale the fragrance of her balmy, but sweet feminine scent, ignoring his own hard and masculine response to it.

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes and lastly her lips.

When she moaned, he kissed her lips again, gently, barely touching his lips to hers.

"First Rider?" she whispered.

"It is I," he murmured.

"Hmmm," she mumbled. Slowly she opened her eyes. "Thou hast found me."

Her voice, soft and husky, caused a minor explosion within him, and blood rushed swiftly through him.

In order to quell his response to her, he shut his eyes, remembering all those years ago and how she had followed him throughout the Pikuni encampment.

Meekly, rarely speaking and never drawing attention to herself, she had simply been there underfoot.

He had never protested her company, though there were some in camp who had teased him about his little "pet." But, he had recognized his spiritual connection to her. Truly, he had looked upon her with the same sort of affection a man might feel toward his sister.

All those years ago, because their age difference wasn't too great, he had realized she might have felt the spiritual connection between them to be romantic in nature, but he had not encouraged her in this belief, making it plain to her and to one and all that his heart belonged to Tsistsaki.

No, four winters ago, their friendship had never been romantic nor sexual, and she had posed no competition in his heart, which had already been given to Tsistsaki.

But, had he been mistaken?

Back then, had he misidentified his true feelings for Otahki? Or, was his passion toward her now simply because he had, once again, a woman in his life?

But, did the past really matter? He wished to make her his woman now and spend the rest of his life with her. Perhaps it made little difference whether or not he had always loved her.

Leaning down toward her, he caressed her cheek, then kissed her again and murmured, "Horses…will…I…see to them. You rest."

"No, where thou be goin', there, too, I be goin'." She spoke the words softly, but there was a firmness in her tone of voice that clearly communicated her intent, and he knew she was not to be easily dissuaded.

"But…why?" he asked.

"Because," she answered, her voice soft, barely over a whisper. "If there be anything happenin' to thee, then I wish it to be happenin' to me, too. What thou faces, I, too, will face."

He grinned at her. "You…bring…me great honor. Yet, see me…you will…from where you sit. Standing…I…will be….over there." He pointed. "Will you rest? Far…I will not be."

She frowned and didn't answer his question right away. But, at last, she said, "Oh, I be supposin' this be all right."

He smiled, then bent again toward her and kissed her forehead. "We talk…when I come back. But, now will see to horses."

She nodded, then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

****

Liliann awoke with a start. How could she have gone to sleep? Where was she? And, where was First Rider?

She tried to arise, but then she became aware she could not. What was she leaning against, there at her backside? It wasn't the trunk of a pine tree. It was hard, yes, but…

Inhaling, she felt something pulling at her waist, and, looking down, she noted there were buckskin-clad arms holding her at her waist and on each side of her legs were the tannish-colored leggings and the moccasins that she knew belonged to First Rider.

She would know those moccasins on sight, since all those years ago she had been the one to make them for him.

Sighing, she leaned back farther into First Rider's embrace, and with every breath she took, his enticing musky scent reached out to her; it was like an elixir to her fragmented nerves. She wiggled up close to him, loving the feel of his body against hers.

She felt his breath on her ear as he whispered, "Have…care. Already you…I wish make love. Would not take…much…your part."

"Oh?" She wiggled again, this time moving her derriere backward, coming in closer to him, relishing the feel of the hard essence of his passion there upon her backside.

"Be still!" The words were whispered. "Now…not right place…or time."

"But—"

"Our…first time…should be long and sweet. Take…all night."

"Why?" she asked.

He laughed. "Have we here…little shelter. You are…injured. No wish hurt you more. What if war party finds us? Have I…no defense. Weapons be apart from me…if we make love."

"Thou could be keepin' them close."

"Do you forget you…injured?" he asked, his breath like a warm caress at her neck.

"But, earlier today thou could see me own self when thou be not even close to me. Can thou do the same now? See if there be war parties close?"

"I can, but—"

"Good, then—"

"Forget you…have deep injury in shoulder and thigh?" He brought his fingers up to touch her injury close to her private spot. "Might…hurt you. My needs…wait. You need…get well."

She leaned farther back into his embrace and murmured, "I be well enough."

She heard his deep indrawn breath. Was he considering it? Could she influence him into making love to her now?

Didn't he know how important it was to her to commit the deed which would make him her own husband? She was well aware that to the Pikuni Indians the action of making love would cause them to become man and wife. Later, they could say their marriage vows to a man of the cloth.

Unless… Did he have reservations about her? Or was his every loving thought still of his lost love…Tsistsaki?

She inhaled deeply, then, taking courage, she said, "Makin' love to thee be important to me, right enough. But, I be understandin' that thou might still have Tsistsaki on thy mind."

" Saa, " he murmured at once. "Not true. Only you…on my mind." He followed up his words with hot kisses on the back of her neck. "It is as…I say it. Only you…on my mind."

His muffled voice, there along the backside of her neck, sent yearnings through her she had never before experienced…not even with Ernest. She whispered, "Please? It be important to me."

In answer to her plea, he moved a little, his hard desire there at her buttocks echoing her own need. He asked softly, "Certain…you are?"

She merely nodded.

"I try…be gentle."

"Do not. I be wishin' to have it all."

He groaned and rearranged their positions so he could more easily pick her up.

Then, holding her within his arms, along with his saddle blanket, he arose into a standing position.

He said, "We go…into shrubs…where…difficult for others…

follow." And, slowly, grasping her to him as she lay in his arms, he stepped into the brush of perhaps hundreds of low-to-the-ground willows, shrubs and high dry grass.

Throwing his blanket down onto a section of moss and ground-hugging vines, he changed her position so she could stand to her feet. Then he spread the blanket out upon the comfort of Nature's soft handiwork, perfect for a couple who wished to come to know one another in the age-old way of love.

Bringing her down with him, they knelt before one another and within the breath of a moment, he showered her with one kiss after another, his tongue easily finding her own as they began the dance of love with little more than the deep kisses she so needed.

His lips ranged farther out, extending to her cheeks, her eyes—gently around her right eye—her ears; then downward he caressed her neck with both his lips and tongue, ranging farther down toward the opening of her blouse.

While kissing her there, he fumbled with the buttons on her clothes while she fell in toward him, her need of him a real impassioned requirement.

She whispered, "Need we to undress fully?"

"Good…it be," he answered, his voice husky, clearly under the influence of his own passion. "White woman's clothes…not easy for me…remove."

"Thou undressed me the day before this."

"Not easy then, either."

Liliann solved the problem by reaching up to remove her own blouse, ignoring the pain of her injury, and because a corset had been too difficult to maneuver around her bandages, she wore only a chemise beneath her blouse; quickly, she removed it, too.

She was intent on doing the same with her skirt, but he stilled her hands.

Hurriedly taking off his own shirt, he began to rub his bare chest against the uninjured part of her breast, and, oh, how good it felt. She moaned. And, he groaned.

"Good…it is," he uttered.

"Very good," she replied.

And, then they danced breast to breast as he reached around to bring her buttocks in close to him. Oh, how she gloried in the feel of the strength of him—of his desire—there imprinted upon her stomach.

Oddly, she thought that if she were to expire here right now, she would be fulfilled, simply because of the purely sexual quality of their dance of love. But, she also knew it had only begun.

Taking ahold of her, he again repositioned her so she was lying back against his blanket.

He fumbled once again with her clothing, but she helped him to remove her skirt, as well as the boots and stockings she wore.

And, then she lay there before him, and as the light from a rising moon filtered in through the branches of the willows, she saw him remove his own clothing until, at last, they were both naked, he still kneeling at her side.

Looking up at him, she was somewhat amazed at the sight of his naked body and the strength of his response to her. Would he fit? She could only pray it would be so.

He whispered, "You…beautiful. I…not lay down on you…might hurt you."

"But, do thou not have to?" she asked softly.

" Saa , do not have to," he answered.

Somewhat mystified, she watched as he positioned himself into a pose upon his knees before her.

Then he spread her legs around him, bringing them up and onto his shoulders, he meanwhile remaining kneeling before her.

And then, raising her hips a little, the two of them became united in the ballet of love.

She, having been recently married, even though for only a short while, was ready for him.

And, they danced and they danced the ageless ritual of love, and, so deeply and enraptured was she with him, she found herself gazing steadily and sincerely into his eyes as their bodies moved in unison to the music of their own making.

Neither she nor he looked away from the other.

It was as though by looks alone they were committing themselves to this union.

She had never loved another being more than he, and she became aware of their lovemaking having a quality much like an entreaty to the Creator, inviting Him into the family they might be creating by this simple act.

This thought was so beautiful, she cried. Not openly, of course. It was simply that this moment was like an instant placed out of the time stream of the natural order of life.

As she spiraled upward toward the apex of lovemaking, she felt as one with him, knowing his thoughts and his heart as well as she knew her own. And, he was beautiful. Truly beautiful. She loved him; she had loved him since the moment she'd first met him.

But, this—this was a dream come true, and as the crescendo of their dance reached its peak, she gave him all of the spiritual essence within her.

And, in doing so, she felt him reach the same high precipice, and as they both fell from its peak, she gloried in the feel of him gifting his seed to her.

In the aftermath, he collapsed upon her and she placed her arms around him, pulling him in even closer to her. After a moment, she whispered, "I love thee. I think I have always loved thee."

"And, I love you…too," he whispered into her ear. "You belong…to me…now. I think, perhaps, you have…belonged to me….always. I promise…I…be good to you…as long as…I live."

"I know thou will. Has it not always been so? And, me own self will be as good to thee, too. Thou hast spoken God's own truth. I belong to thee," she whispered. "Truly."

****

He rested then, with his arms wrapped firmly around her. And, as the night wore on, he made love to her again…then again…and once more. And, as the light of another day fell upon the land, he held her tightly to him, she being still embraced within his arms.

First Rider was awake long before Otahki, and as he gazed down upon the blonde locks of his woman's hair, he knew as a fact that he had been blind all those winters ago. It was true: she belonged to him and had always belonged to him.

Back then, he had recognized their spirituality, their closeness. But, he had been imperceptive about the truth of his commitment to her.

Perhaps it was for the best, because for as long as he could remember, he had loved Tsistsaki and his sense of ethics would never have allowed another to enter into his heart.

As an Indian male might do, he might have eventually taken other wives, it was true, as was his right and his duty to his tribe and his people, but in his own mind, nothing could have ever taken the place of Tsistsaki.

But, Otahki was not taking the place of Tsistsaki in his heart. Indeed not. There was a truth about his relationship with Otahki that he had not recognized all those winters ago: they belonged with and to one another. In this matter, Otahki had been wiser than he.

Perhaps, four winters ago he should have given more consideration to their closeness. After all, she had known and had sung the Big-Person's healing song along with him.

He still thought it to be strange that she should know the music of the song as well as he. Yet, he had not pursued the uniqueness of it beyond this.

He inhaled on a deep breath, remembering the past was not for regrets nor for what-might-have-beens.

She was here with him now. From this moment forward, they would be together, and together they would lead a good life—one which would help his people, a people he hoped she would come to see as her own, too.

With her at his side, all things were possible.

Truly, all those years ago, he had been blind.