Black Eagle (12 page)

“There might have been once, but if there were, I think they are gone now.”

“Good,” she said. Her fear had abated, yet she made no move to leave his embrace. Indeed, she slipped her arms around his neck.

In response, he quietly rejoiced. After a time, he said, “Tell me, what is this all about? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? ”

Only a sliver of moonlight filtered into their sanctum from above them. Yet it was enough light so that his eyes could see her as well as the space around them. There was not much to their temporary haven. It was crude, smelled musty and woodsy all at the same time, yet he thought he could have willingly stayed here with her in his arms for his entire life, were it not for the necessity to venture forth and eat occasionally.

She didn't answer him at once. Instead, she backed up slightly within his arms and turned her face up toward his. The moonlight caught and captured her features within its misty beams, accentuating the curves of her face. That she glowed with her exertions made her all the more desirable, and he thought he might quietly go out of his mind with the lovely picture she presented him.

Her reddish brown hair had come undone from its confines, and cascades of curls had fallen to her shoulders, presenting her for a moment with a little-girl appeal. As her gaze caught onto his, she said, “I have returned to you against my step-uncle's will because I cannot let you go away from me without letting you know that I . . .” She stopped.

“That you . . . ? ” he asked, his tone of voice encouraging. One of his hands nudged her head back against his breast and he rested his chin against the top of her head, where the balmy fragrance of her hair teased at his nostrils. Desire, pure and carnal, washed through him, causing his blood to pool in the center of his body. But he ignored the stiffening of his member, since it was an inevitable result. When she didn't continue speaking, he said, “What I fail to understand is what it is that you fear.”

“I little know myself,” she said. “Something about my step-uncle is different tonight. Though he has always been a coldhearted man as concerns me, there was an aspect about him tonight that caused me to be uneasy.” She hesitated. “I little understand it. But maybe the problem is of my own making. If I hadn't left the party to engage in conversation with you, his disapproval would be less, I think.”

He nodded. “It is to be expected since our two cultures understand so little about each other.”

“Yes. And yet I am glad that I defied his authority, and that I left to talk to you.”

“I, too, am happy about this.” As he spoke, his hands began an exploration of her back.

“If you must know, I came back to you to tell you that I will never see you again after this night, and before I go away—before you go away—I would like to know what . . . I would like to know . . .” Again she stopped.

Perhaps he could have taken this moment to ease her concern, since they would clearly be in one another's company in the future. But he was curious as to what was on her mind. And so he waited.

In due time, she continued, “. . . what it's like to . . . if you be willing, that is . . .”

He frowned, and backing away from her slightly, so that he might look down into her eyes, he asked, “Willing? To do what? ”

“Can you not venture a guess at my meaning? ”

Half teasing, he asked, “Have you returned so that we may engage in more kissing? ”

“I have, indeed, done precisely that. Perhaps more, too.” He didn't comment. He couldn't. His heart seemed to be lodged in his throat.

She said, “Tonight is the first occasion where I have had the pleasure of being kissed. And I find that I like the experience very much. But there is more to be accomplished, I think.”

“
Weh-yoh
, there is more.”

“I suppose that if I were to put it to words, I would have to say that I would like to be loved.”

Had he understood her correctly? Was she really admitting what he thought she might be? His body was already prepared for her, but perhaps not so his mind. Therefore, he would be certain, and he murmured, “I love you already, and I have probably done so since the first time my eyes beheld you. Never has a heart sung so gladly as mine did when I first looked upon you.”

“No, I fear you do not understand me completely. This time tonight that we spend with one another is all that we will ever have—”

“I must correct you in that idea, because—”

“Please, let me finish,” she interrupted. “Our time together is short, tonight only I fear, and I find myself unable to let you go without . . .”

He waited.

“Sir Eagle, I want you to not only love me, but to make love to me.” She said it in a rush. “Perhaps I wish this as an act of defiance against my uncle. Pray, do not think that by admitting that I take away your influence upon me. In truth, I little know why I have chosen to do this. I can only say that it feels right, that I seem to be unable to leave you this night without coming to know what it might be like to love and to be loved. Perhaps I may never have this opportunity again. If I use you for this purpose, please forgive me.”

“There is no need for me to forgive you. You do nothing wrong.”

“In truth? ” she asked. “Mayhap only time will tell. All I am certain of at this moment is that . . .”

“You wish to engage in a night of love . . .”

She was silent, but she fell in toward him. It was her unspoken consent.

He needed no further proof, and while his heartbeat hammered in his chest, he whispered, “A man would be foolish, indeed, if when presented with a gift as precious as what you offer me, he would question it too thoroughly.”

She whimpered slightly.

“Then come,” he said, “let us make ourselves as comfortable as possible.”

As the night air took on an atmosphere of softness and security, he turned her round and pressed her back against the “wall” of the tree.

“Is it safe here?” she asked in a voice no louder than a murmur.

“I believe that it is, and though this is not the most comfortable, nor romantic setting, the white man seldom comes this far into the forest.”

“Pray, I think you misunderstand me,” she said, “I mean is the tree strong enough to hold us if we should be too . . . active . . . ? ” She paused, while his heart quietly sang.

His voice, he feared, trembled with unspoken emotion, as he said, “There is none so sturdy as the mighty oak. Her roots grow deeply in the earth, for her will to survive is great. She is strong and will protect us.”

He sensed more than he could see that her gaze at him was wistful, urgent and sensuous. It was this last that caused him much trouble with logical thinking, he feared. Now that they had arrived at a degree of some safety, and he knew with certainty what was demanded of him, his body reacted in the age-old language of love.

Pressing her up against the tree, he commenced to kiss her, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. She swayed in his arms, and he went quietly out of his mind. He pulled up her dress and pushed her up a little higher, his arms holding her. He whispered, “Have you ever been loved by a man? ”

“Never, but please do not let that stop you. I want . . . this.”

He groaned. “I, too,” he whispered. “I, too. Come, wrap your legs around me.”

She obeyed as if only in this way could she ease the need within her. He kissed her lips, her face, her throat, all the while he held her above him.

“Oh, please,” she urged, as she leaned her head back, opening herself up to his kisses. “Hurry. Please.”

“Hold tightly to me,” he said, “for this will hurt at first. I am sorry, but it cannot be helped this, your first time.”

“Hurt? How can something so exciting hurt? ”

“I fear it cannot be helped. And I would be less a human being if I did not warn you.”

“I . . . thank you, I think.”

He reached up under her skirts to discover that pure femininity awaited him: There was no barrier of clothing to bar his access of her. He kissed her urgently, his tongue playing with her as he trailed his lips down over her cheeks, her eyes, her ears. And as he kissed her, and she sighed, he gradually made himself a part of her, there at the junction of her legs.

But he could only go so far; he knew it hurt her. He stopped, he waited, and he said, “We will proceed only when you are ready. Know, however, that though it would be hard on me, I would tell you again that there is no need for you to go further into the deed if you have changed your mind.”

“Sir Eagle,” she said, “it is not in my nature to stop when I have committed myself to a course. Please, make love to me.”

He swallowed hard, wondering what he had done so right of late that he should deserve this little bit of paradise. At her acquiescence, however, he became more fully a part of her, continuing to halt for a moment with each thrust. Then it happened, and he felt her protective sheath surrender to him.

Though his spirits soared, he was well aware of the hurt she was sustaining, and after another moment's pause, he breathed, “There is no going back now. But the worst is over. When you are able, try to move against me. After the first few attempts, it may yet feel good to you.”

Dutifully, she obeyed and its effect on him was more than he would have thought it would ever be. Indeed, as her hips moved over him, he quietly went out of his mind.

Taking her lips into his own, he thrust his tongue into her mouth as urgently as if he would make love to her in this way alone. As he kissed her, he thrust his manhood into her sheath more urgently, then he retreated, repeating the motion over and over. And when she sighed, he sighed with her.

The rhythm began in earnest, thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw. She tightened her inner muscles against him, and it was all he could do to hold back his seed from her and allow her some measure of pleasure.

“Do you feel anything but pain?” he whispered urgently.

“Oh, yes.” And she whimpered a little.

He sighed, “I am thankful.”

Her breathing was erratic, and when she strained against him at the zenith of her exertion, he gave to her exactly what he knew she craved. His seed burst from him and her cries of exaltation were caught by his lips. Over and over the pleasure washed through him until at last he stood quietly against her, his arms, as well as this thighs holding her up.

He could barely move, was still very much joined with her, when the feeling of rightness swept over him. And as the scent of their lovemaking became heavy on the air, it alone seemed to act as an aphrodisiac. Indeed, instead of softening and becoming less, he found himself hardening, ready to continue.

He moved against her, and to his amazement, she was ready for him all over again. And so they danced and they swayed to the rhythm of love, until at last well exhausted, they fell against each other.

It felt so right, yet how could it be so? They were wrong for each other, and he knew it. Despite this, he had told her tonight that he had loved her. And strange though it was, he had meant it. However, if he had thought that he had loved her before making her his own, it paled in comparison to how he felt now.

Nonetheless, even as his body rejoiced in hers, a wiser part of him questioned how this had happened. How had he fallen in love with someone who, because of their differences, could prove to be antipathetic to him?

But with her body pressed up closely toward his, it was difficult to continue along this line of thought. Ecstasy was simply too pleasurable a mistress for such negative thoughts.

Gradually he lowered her to the “floor” of their nook, and taking his blanket from around his shoulders, he made a bed for her, bending to place her gently upon it.

“I will never forget you,” she whispered.

“Nor I, you,” he uttered, as he took her in his arms. Perhaps now would have been the right time to tell her that he was to be her guide through the wilderness, and that they would be spending much more time together.

But alas, the words never found their way to his lips. Instead, as he laid down beside her, it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

He awoke much later, alone. He knew his mistake at once. He should not have fallen victim to his lethargy; he should have told her.

It was strange that her preparation to leave had not awakened him. His exertions this night must have had more effect on him than he would have ever suspected.

As he sat up and glanced around their woodsy nook, he wondered if it had been no more than a dream. Yet as he rubbed his hands over his face, he realized it could not have been so. His spirit felt too exhilarated for it to have been less than real. Plus, her tantalizing scent was still upon him. Perhaps, he thought, he would never wash again.

He inhaled sharply, as the details of the previous few hours lingered in his memory. And he knew with certainty that he should have told her that their futures lay entwined. He cringed, for he suspected that she meant the experience to be one night, and one night, alone.

To himself, he justified that he had tried to tell her. But, he admitted, his attempts had been meager. Perhaps he had feared that with the truth she might change her mind.

There was no mistaking one detail, however. Her urgency had been such that there must have been some outside influence driving her to seek him out, since he was under no delusion that what she did, she did out of love.

Something had caused this. But what?

As he sat up, he thought that he would find out soon enough. Best to arise, bathe, and prepare to meet the day. After all, he was quite certain that as soon as she discovered her mistake, he would need his wits about him.