Authors: Rosanne Bittner
Eagle’s Song (34 page)
She dressed as a white woman most of the time now, and she was beautiful. He’d bought her an entire wardrobe in Denver, hoping to make her feel better after
so much loss, and with having to bring her to yet another strange place. The fact that she’d been Wolf’s Blood’s wife had kept both of them from talking about their real dilemma—each other. He wasn’t positive how she felt about him, over a year after his father’s death, but he knew how he felt about Sweet Bird … Elizabeth Monroe. That was the Christian name she’d given the reservation agent. He loved her. He’d probably loved her since he first met her. He simply could never allow himself to acknowledge it. It was all right now, and he knew his father would approve; but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Still, it was getting to the point where something had to be said, or when he got his own place built, he would have to leave her here. He could not tolerate living with her any longer, watching her, wanting her, knowing what a wonderful wife she would make.
Sweet Bird was well liked by the other Indian women, and she’d managed to encourage more of them to bring their children to the white doctor, even take them to school, quite an accomplishment on this reservation. The Sioux were suspicious, sullen, uncooperative—at least a lot of them were. Hawk intended to work with them, make them understand their rights, do what he could to keep them out of trouble and help those who did get in trouble. He still had a lot of studying to do regarding land ownership and what he could do to stop encroaching whites from claiming more Indian land.
He felt hot. He stripped off his sleeveless undershirt and left on only his knee-length, light cotton longjohns, but he thought about removing those, too. Another clap of thunder hit, followed by a knock at his bedroom door. He got up, walked over and opened it to see Sweet Bird and the children standing there.
“They are afraid,” she told him. “They want to sleep in your bed. Do you mind?”
Hawk shook his head, grinning. “I don’t mind. Come on, you two.”
Little Eagle and Laughing Turtle ran to his bed, squealing as they climbed into it. Sweet Bird caught sight of Hawk in a flash of lightning, noticed he wore only his longjohns. She did not have to see him well to know how he was built, and she already knew how handsome he was. Lightning flashed again as he walked over to the bed, revealing his slender hips, his muscled back, his long hair hanging loose. Did he know she wanted him now? Did he understand how easy he was to love, just as his father had been? To be held by Hawk was like being held by Wolf’s Blood. She ached for her husband, yet at the same time ached for Hawk. She loved him, but was afraid to tell him. Maybe he thought it was too soon for her to speak of such a thing. Nothing had been said between them about the situation, but to have to live so close to him day in and day out, to lie in bed at night knowing he was right in the next room, it was all getting too hard to deal with.
“Come on, Mama,” Laughing Turtle told her. “You come sleep with us, too.”
Sweet Bird stood unmoving, embarrassed. “It … is not right.”
“Why, Mama? It’s just us and Hawk,” Little Eagle told her.
“Yeah, just me and the kids,” Hawk said. She could not see his face, but knew there was probably a teasing grin on it. “Come on over here, Sweet Bird. It’s all right. We’ll keep the kids between us.”
Her heart fell at little at the statement. It seemed to tell her he would not be at all bothered by her lying in his bed. She walked over and lay down carefully,
clad in only a thin cotton nightgown. The children lay between them, but when lightning lit the room again, she could see Hawk’s dark eyes watching her. They each put an arm around one of the children, their hands meeting in the middle of the bed, which was barely big enough for all four of them. When Hawk gently grasped her hand, a heat moved through her that had nothing to do with the weather.
Neither of them spoke. The storm finally subsided, and by then the children were asleep. Hawk got up, picking up Little Eagle. “Let’s take them back to their own beds in your room,” he said quietly.
Again Sweet Bird supposed he meant to leave her there also, that he had not been thinking what she’d hoped. She picked up Laughing Turtle and followed him into the other room, laying the girl down on a small cot. She covered her daughter and rose, preparing to go to her own bed, but she felt Hawk’s hands on her shoulders then.
“Come back with me,” he said, running his fingers under the wide straps of her gown and pulling them off her shoulders. Without even a kiss or anything else to see if she minded, he slid the gown down over her arms, her breasts, her waist, letting it drop to the floor. “We’ve avoided this long enough, Sweet Bird. There is no longer any need. We both know what my father wanted for us, and I know what
I
want for us.” He remained behind her, putting his arms around her, pressing powerful forearms against her full breasts. “What do
you
want, Sweet Bird?”
She shivered, tears of both joy and sorrow wanting to come, her whole body crying out to be a woman again. She grasped his powerful biceps, leaning her head against his chest. “I want to be a woman again. I want to feel a man inside of me, and I want that man to be Hawk Monroe.”
He needed no more urging. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, realizing when he lay her down and heat lightning lit the room that she was completely naked. She’d worn nothing under the gown. He wondered how many nights she had slept that way, perhaps waiting for him to come to her. He removed his longjohns and climbed onto the bed, pulling her into his arms. His mouth found hers, and fire ripped through his veins when she parted her lips in a groaning kiss, her slender fingers moving over his arms and shoulders, into his hair.
He devoured her mouth in a hungry kiss, a man long without a woman. He’d taken little comfort in the few ladies of the night his money had bought him in Denver. A man had to find his pleasure somehow, but there had been no true comfort there. He’d found himself wishing they were Sweet Bird.
Eagerly he left her mouth, acting on all the desires he’d been ignoring too long. He tasted her neck, licked at her chest, moved to her breasts, enjoyed her gasps of ecstasy when his mouth found her swollen nipples. He tasted each breast with passion, cupping it high, pulling at the nipples so that she arched against him in an eagerness to give him more.
Sweet Bird was lost in him. She had wanted this longer than he knew, and at last he had decided it was time. She had been afraid he would never want her this way, but then there had been that kiss at the swimming pond over a year ago, a kiss that had told her his true feelings. Now here she was in Hawk’s bed, and this beautiful specimen of a man was kissing and tasting her everywhere, his lips moving over her belly, his tongue flicking at the crevices of her thighs, his long hair tickling her belly and legs. She wondered if a woman could die from pure pleasure. If so, she had not long to live.
He moved between her legs, and she spread them willingly, her breathing coming in quick gasps now as she felt that most secret, wonderful part of man pressing against her thigh, probing her own private places. In the next instant he was inside her, burying his hot shaft deep in her. She cried out with the sheer joy of it, arching up to him to enjoy every inch of him. His rhythmic invasion quickly brought an exploding climax, for she had been too long without this herself, and the excitement was almost painful.
He groaned her name, raising to his knees and lifting her, moving in ways that sent her into ecstasy. She ran her fingers over his powerful arms, relishing the feel of hard muscles and a powerful chest. In the next moment his life poured into her, and he cried out with his own pleasure. He remained rigid for a moment, then breathed deeply, slowly letting his body wilt against her own as he lay down beside her. “I love you, Sweet Bird.”
Her eyes teared as she pulled a sheet over herself. “And I love you, Hawk Monroe. It is a good thing we have done. It is right.”
He leaned up on one elbow and kissed her tenderly. “We’ll go see the preacher tomorrow.”
“Is that your way of asking me to marry you?”
He kissed her again, fondling one breast, teasing a nipple. “I guess it is.”
She reached up and ran her fingers into his hair again. “Tell me, Hawk. If we have a child, what will he be to your brother and sister?”
Hawk frowned, thinking a moment. “Well, I guess he’d be their nephew.”
“And yet they would all have the same mother, so my children would be his aunt and uncle, but also his half brother and sister?”
Hawk thought again, then chuckled. “I guess you’re
right.” He moved on top of her again. “Us Monroes just like to keep things in the family I guess. How many people can call another both an uncle and a brother?”
Sweet Bird sighed, running her hands over his muscled arms and shoulders again. “I think just brother and sister is best. They will understand when they are older. And I hope you understand there will always be a special place in my heart for Wolf’s Blood.”
Hawk sobered. “Of course I do. But from now on I will love and cherish you, Sweet Bird. I’ll take care of you, just as I promised, but not because my father wanted it that way. I’ll do it because I truly love you and want you as a wife. I hope it is the same for you.”
She leaned up and kissed his chest. “I would not lie with you because it is what someone else wants. I do it because it is what
I
want. I have seen how other young Indian women look at you. You are very pleasing to the eye, Hawk Monroe. You could have any one of them. I am honored that you have chosen me. I will help you in any way I can with your work here.”
He stroked her face with his fingertips. “I have a lot to do. It’s going to be a long fight, probably for years, maybe the rest of my lifetime. The Indian struggle is far from over, Sweet Bird.”
“I am well aware of that. But you are a Monroe. Fighters, all of you. The government will not like going up against you.”
He grinned. “You think so, do you?”
“I know so. You will be speaking for your ancestors. Through you, your grandfather, Zeke, will speak, and your grandmother, Abbie. Through you Swift Arrow will speak, and Wolf’s Blood … all those who have gone before. You will be their voice.”
He kissed her gently. “It makes me happy to think that.”
He kissed her again, and her legs parted again, her
body still alive with the want of him. She could feel his magnificent manpart probing at her again, and she knew it was going to be a wonderful thing being the wife of Hawk Monroe.
Joshua walked into the kitchen of his Denver home, placing a stack of paper on the table. “There it is.”
LeeAnn turned from trimming a cake. “The book?”
“I finally finished it. Your mother’s death seemed to be a sign that I should get busy and get this thing published.”
LeeAnn wiped her hands and walked over to touch the manuscript, studying her husband’s handwriting. “So much work you’ve put into this over the years. It must feel good to finally finish.”
“It does. Do you want to read it before I send it off?”
“Oh, yes!” She sat down, fingering through the several hundred pages of writing. “I wonder what Mother would think of this. She’d probably be embarrassed to see a whole book written about her life. She’d argue that she hadn’t done enough or experienced enough to have a whole book written about her. She never truly understood what an exciting life she led, how important it is to tell others about it.” She drew in her breath when he added the cover sheet to the manuscript, showing her the title. She picked it up, staring at it. “Oh, Joshua, how fitting.”
He smiled, but his eyes were misty. “I’m glad you think so. I thought about what a savage land this was when she came here, and how she always said it was her destiny to meet Zeke and live here. That’s what made me think of the title.”
LeeAnn nodded, her own eyes tearing. It was good that many others would know the story of this remarkable woman, her own mother, the small woman with
such big shoulders, the woman known to her father only as Abbie-girl.
“
Savage Destiny
,” she read aloud, “
The Life of Abigail Trent Monroe, A True Pioneer
.” Yes, it was truly a fitting title.
I hope that through my SAVAGE DESTINY series you have felt as though you were a part of settling the American West. All my books are based on the excitement and romance of this era, and I hope this story has made you want to read more about this fascinating time in America’s history. For more information about me and other books I have written, visit my web site at
www
.rosannebittner
.com
. I am also on Facebook and Twitter, and I blog at
www
.rosannebittner
.blogspot
.com
. I also have
an author site
at Amazon.
57 PUBLISHED NOVELS OVER 30 YEARS OF WRITING. SAVAGE DESTINY BOOKS WERE HER FIRST PUBLICATIONS AND AFTER 30 YEARS ARE STILL SELLING. ROSANNE WRITES ABOUT AMERICA’S OLD WEST AND NATIVE AMERICANS. SHE HAS WON NUMEROUS WRITING AWARDS.