Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1 (21 page)

“It is complicated.”

“I will listen.”

“No, I mean, there are so many things for me to describe to you, so many different things about it, that even if I tell you, you may not understand.”

“This could be so. There are many things about your society that I do not understand. But I will try.”

She sighed. She looked away for a moment as though collecting her thoughts, and then, at last, she started to speak.

“Very few people in our society hunt for food or clothing anymore. Our society is so complex that it is no longer necessary to do that. We exchange things for our food. We barter with others with something called money,” she said, going on to explain in detail, telling him little by little about money, about the written word, about what sort of work people did for this money in order to trade with others for the necessities of life.

It took her hours to get it all out.

He listened quietly. Some concepts he readily understood; some he asked questions about, over and over, until he at last had an idea of what she said.

When it was all said, Gray Hawk sat forward, commenting, “So that is why the white man lies and cheats—in order to get this money without having to do work. I had seen that this was so in the past. But I did not understand it until now.”

She didn’t say a word.

“Better is the Indian way,” he said. “At least within our village, a lazy man is never admired, while those who provide, those who share with others, those who are wise, are listened to and exalted with many songs and stories told of their generosity. Better that the white man throw away his money and learn to live more honestly with himself.”

She said nothing, just quietly observed him.

“So your father will not get this money that is promised to him if he does not deliver to the people who guaranteed him this money for the work that he is doing on the Indian tribes? And he cannot finish his work until he studies someone from my tribe?”

“Yes,” she said. “That is it.”

“How did he know of our tribe to bargain for such a thing?”

“The Blackfeet are well known among the white man for being both ferocious and difficult to bring to civilization. My father was already paid a good sum of money for this book because of his promise to seek out and learn about other tribes, and especially about the dreaded Blackfeet.”

Gray Hawk grinned. “Is that what the white man thinks of us…‘dreaded’?”

“Yes,”
she said. “That is your reputation.”

“It is good,” he said. “It is good.”

He gazed at her.

“So, you will take me back there now that you understand?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It is not my problem. I have my own to see to. I only wanted to know what had driven you here.”

“But Mr. Gray Hawk, if you will only—”

“Enough said. We go now. We break camp. We are close to my people, and I wish to find them before the best hunting season is over. Come, I will help you with that elk. We need to be on the trail soon.”

“But Mr. Gray Hawk—”

“I have spoken.”

He watched as disappointment came over her features; her eyes were downcast, her lower lip pursed. He set himself against feeling too much compassion toward her.

He had matters of his own to attend to, and until he had finished his own business, he could not consider hers.

At least not for now.

But come spring… No, it was not something he would tell her. He might change his mind.

Chapter Thirteen

Cooler winds blew here.

She had taken to keeping the deerskin covering around her shoulders nowadays, even as they walked.

She had grown used to thinking of this journey as a curious adventure, one she would write about if ever she returned to civilization. She only wished she had a journal with her, that she might jot down her observations of the Indian, of the wilderness, of this land.

She had never seen anything so beautiful as these plains, these valleys that they traversed, nor had she ever seen anything so wild.

The wind blew incessantly, though it was fragrant with the smell of wildflowers and sage. It whistled around stone-carved hills and whispered across the fields. Sometimes it blew cold, seeming to freeze her to the core; sometimes it felt warm, blowing her hair back as though it were a lover’s caress.

The fields were brown here, summer coming late to this prairie. The grass was dry, brittle and crunchy beneath her feet; the hills were rolling, seeming to stretch out forever against a wide blue sky, and always in the distance now were the mountains—snowcapped, majestic mountains.

It was all foreign to her—alien, yet strangely enticing, the feeling of space, of freedom, suggested by the vast expanse as comfortable and pleasing as if she had been born to it. She actually had the feeling of her thoughts gaining room, spreading out, giving her the opportunity to think clearly.

Gray Hawk, too, seemed to be pretty much at ease, and she noted that he no longer bore haggard circles under his eyes, an obvious sign that Gray Hawk had rarely slept on the earlier part of their journey.

In the beginning, she had never actually seen him sleeping; he had always seemed on guard, alert, watching. Always he had been busy doing chores, making weapons, fashioning clothing. She could never remember him resting.

But now that he was in the territory of his home, he at last appeared more relaxed and not obsessively concerned about setting up guard.

She remembered back to their talk when she had explained the nature of her father’s work and the hierarchy of her society.

His comments upon it all had been spontaneous and curiously insightful.

It was odd, she thought. Not only did his viewpoint make more and more sense to her; there was a wisdom about him, about all he said, that went beyond the instructions of her own schooling.

What he’d told her came to him not only from his own people and customs, but from his own observation of life as he knew it. And despite herself, Genevieve began to accept his point of view more and more, an unconscious thing. And she realized just how alien she must have seemed to him at first—alien and lazy.

It was an impression she meant to correct.

“Gray Hawk,” she said, pacing along behind him, “I am sorry for what I said about you earlier. It was wrong of me.”

He chanced a brief glance over his shoulder. “What was it that you said?”

“I was merely repeating things I’d heard without observing for myself the truth of the statements.”

“I am glad that you want to talk about this now. What was it that you said?”

“Oh, it makes no difference. I only wanted you to know that I am sorry.”

He suddenly stopped and pivoted around to confront her. “I would like to know what it is that you feel is so wrong that you must say something about it now.”

“Surely you must remember.”

He shrugged. “There have been many things you have said to me that were not complimentary. You have been a captive. I understand, and I have not thought much about it. Will you enlighten me now as to which one is not correct or shall I guess at one?”

She looked down at the ground. “I was ashamed the moment the words left my mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”

“And now you can…say it to me?”

“I would rather not. I would rather just let you know I am sorry.”

He grinned. “And I would like to know what it is that has you acting so…”

“Stupid?”

“I do not know what this stupid is, but perhaps it fits. What is it?”

She sighed. She lifted her shoulders. She said, under her breath. “I am sorry I called you a savage and a beast. None of what I said was correct. It was wrong of me to say it.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment before at last bringing up a hand to touch her cheek. He said, “Think nothing of it. I, too, have had opinions of the white man that are not flattering. Perhaps we can say that we both have been ignorant. People are people, good or bad, but still they are people.”

She nodded, her glance still directed downward. He touched a finger under her chin to bring her face up toward him.

“There is much about you, Gen-e-vee, to admire.”

She smiled up at him, her gaze meeting his. She said, “Do you think so, really?”

He grinned. “
Aa
,
I do.”

She closed her eyes, the smile still on her face.

And suddenly he was there before her, not more than a scant inch away. She could feel the movement of his head downward, toward her; she smelled the fragrance of his skin.

His lips touched hers.

“Gen-e-vee,” he whispered, his breath warm and fresh upon her own.

“Oh, Gray Hawk.”

His arms came around her, and she fell in toward him.

“This is madness,” she said, and he nodded.

Still, his lips came down upon hers once again. And she leaned in even closer.

He kissed her then, a lingering sort of kiss, the sort that demanded more.

He took; she gave gladly. His tongue swept forward, parting her lips, and she welcomed him in by returning the caress with all the passion of her own kiss.

“Gray Hawk.” His lips had left hers to trail kisses down her neck, up to her ear, back to her lips.

“Gray Hawk. I want… I…”

“I know,” he murmured. “I can feel the desire within you.”

“Why do I feel this way with you?”

“I don’t know, but I too—” His lips had made a path to her ear.

“I have from the start.”

That brought his head up so that he gazed down into her eyes. “You have?”

She nodded. “Only I didn’t know what it was. I’m still not certain I do.”

“Gen-e-vee. It is lust, desire, sexual sensation—and we must fight against it.”

“Yes,” she said as his head bent lower, down over her chest toward her breasts. “We must fight against it.” She drew her shoulders back to allow him better access.

“
Aa
,
we must not allow ourselves…” His lips, his tongue, teased the upper part of her breast where it lay exposed to his glance, to his caress. His fingers teased the nipple that lay hidden just below the cut of her dress.

“Gray Hawk.” She arched her back. “Please, I—”

He released her breast from the shabby confines of her dress, and she moaned. Never had she felt such sensation, such release.

“Gen-e-vee, I want more,” he said, his head still bent, his lips teasing her nipples. “I cannot seem to have my fill of you. I must ask you to make me stop if you do not want more. I do not—”

She had loosened the top of her dress so that it fell to her waist.

He stood back and stared, his gaze warm, dark, sensual.

His fingers came up to tease, to play with her breasts, her nipples. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Do you know what you do? Do you realize what this does to me?”

“No.” She shook her head, and he groaned.

He glanced around him suddenly, at where he was, and then he was leading her toward a cluster of trees. “It is not a wise man,” he said, “who does not keep his guard during the day. Much could happen to him…”

He drew her in among the trees even as he spoke. The spot he chose was well hidden within the timber. He dropped to his knees, bringing her with him.

“I have dreamed of this; I have wanted you for so long. I lust for you, Gen-ee.”

These were not the words she had dreamed of hearing on such an important occasion as this, but somehow it was enough. They sounded as music to her ears.

He tried to remove her dress, but his fingers stumbled over the buttons.

She helped him with it until, shivering, she knelt naked before him.

“Gen-ee.”

And then his lips captured hers, his hands on her breasts, his fingers ranging lower, down her stomach, down farther.

It was naughty, it was forbidden, it was sinful; yet as he lowered her to the ground, his fingers there between her legs, she found it also exhilarating, wonderful…beautiful. It felt right. It must be right. Nothing that felt this good could be wrong, could it?

“Gray Hawk?”

He’d leaned over her as he brought his hands up to make a pillow for her from her discarded clothing. Her fingers were at his chest, up over his face, tracing the outline of his high cheekbones.

“Gray Hawk?” she asked again, and his gaze sought hers. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask him to slow down, to warn him that she was scared. But she didn’t.

She drew in her breath instead. The look in his eyes, the passion there, the intensity, the look of love there on his face, made her want…a sensation tore through her, and she noticed that area most private to her, there between her legs, began to ache.

“Gray Hawk, please love me.”

“
Aa
,” he said. “It is what I intend to do—and perhaps, too, it is what I have intended from the start.”