Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1 (24 page)

He paused for a moment. “That is right. I had forgotten. The white man takes only one wife.”

“Yes,”
she said. “Naturally.”

He grinned at her. “It is not so natural as you might think. Because of this way of reasoning, I have observed the white trader making a slave of his Indian wife, requiring her to do all the heavy work of the home with no one else there to share the workload. There is much work for the woman; it is only right that there be other women—other wives—to help with the load.”

“I would never—”

“It would be your place to direct all the other wives. You would not be required to—”

“There would be no other wives.”

“You wish to take on all the work for yourself? You would become burdened down and haggard. Better it is that I get you help.”

She scooted away from him even farther. “There will be no other wives because there will be no marriage. I don’t know what came over me. How could I have even considered something so foreign, so primitive, so—”

“Natural?”

“No. I will not do it. I will not marry you.”

“Even if I take no other wives?”

“You… I…what do you mean?”

“Perhaps my mother and my sisters could help you with the workload so that you would not become too old before your time. Maybe, too, there will be orphans within the camp who could help you. If a sits-beside-him-woman does not wish her husband to take other wives, then he does not. I would not force you to break your own custom.”

“I could never… I would not… You wouldn’t?” She gazed at him.

And he shook his head, saying softly, “No. You have my promise.”

She didn’t want to feel it; she didn’t want to compromise her own ideas about such things, her own convictions. But what he’d said, the way he’d said it, made her feel as though she was the most important thing in his life. He was giving up the way he believed—for her?

Suddenly her objections to him, to what he proposed, seemed petty and silly compared to what he was sacrificing, and she felt her reasons for denying him start to melt, slipping away from her as though they had never been there in the first place.

She said, “If we were to marry, you would take only me?”

He nodded. “
Aa
,
yes.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have felt what she did. And maybe she should have remembered her resolve of earlier. But it was just not to be.

All at once, if only for a moment, she forgot about her heritage, about her father, her home, her society, her objections. The only thing of importance to her right now was this man who lay beside her, not more than a few inches away, this man who was disregarding his own custom to accommodate hers.

She smiled at him then, and scooting up closer to him, she said, “Oh, Gray Hawk.”

And he grinned back at her before taking her fully into his arms.

“Gen-ee, my sweet Gen-ee. How great is my desire to make love to you.”

“Yes,”
she said.

“Then you want it, too?” he asked, his lips just barely touching hers.

“Yes.”

“Then you wish to marry me?”

“Oh, Gray Hawk. How I wish it could be.”

She could feel him smiling, though at last he said, “Do not worry, my Gen-ee. If you wish it, it is done, then.”

And Genevieve, barely knowing what she did, grinned.

“You are so beautiful,” he said as he began to strip her dress away. “I have always thought so.”

“Even when I had first captured—”

“Even then. I did not like you at that time, but I have always thought that you are beautiful.” He kissed her lips. “I did not know it then, but I will always hold close to me the day I first saw you.”

He began then to kiss his way down toward her breasts, from where he had just removed the upper part of her dress.

“Gen-ee,” he whispered against her skin. “I think of you as Woman with Many Stars.”

“Woman with Many Stars?”

He lifted his gaze to hers and grinned.

And she said, “That’s quite a beautiful name. Why do you think of me in that way?”

“Because,” he said, “when you smile, I see many different lights in your eyes.” He looked up and gestured above him. “Like the stars.”

She smiled at him. “You are very poetic, Mr. Gray Hawk.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I speak the truth.”

He gazed down toward her breasts, and, bending, he kissed first one, then the other soft mound. He said—muttered, really—against her skin, “I believe that I should tell you that Gray Hawk is not my true name.”

She went all quiet and started upward, but he held her back.

He raised his head, resting on one elbow over her, while with his other hand he played with her hard nipples. He said, “It is what I called myself when I lived with the Black Robes, because I had caught and tamed a hawk that looked more gray than brown. But now that you are my sits-beside-him-woman, you should know that this is not really my name. It is also unlucky for me to speak it to you, but because we are married, it is a belief we can put aside. I am known in my tribe as White Wolf, but do not say the name aloud, for my people believe that to do so takes away a part of my spirit.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“What?”

“That for me to speak your name would take away a part of you, that it is unlucky to do so?”

He rose up a little on his elbow. “I have seen bad luck fall to a person who did such.”

“I see,” she said. “Do all Indians believe this?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. It is the way of things with my people.”

“I still don’t understand. Do all your people have two names, then?”

“Some have more.”

“What?”

“When a man demonstrates greatness, he is permitted to take on a new name in honor of the coup he has claimed, no matter how many times this happens. But he never speaks the name if he is wise, nor would anyone call him by that title.”

“But how do others address him, then?”

“A man sometimes has another name which he permits to be spoken, as I have. But more often we call one another by our relation: brother, uncle, friend.”

“I think I understand. And so you would call me Genevieve, although my name would be Woman with Many Stars to the Blackfeet?”

“No. Women have only one name, which they use throughout their lifetime.”

“But you just said…”

“That is for men only.”

“But you gave me—”

“You are an unusual woman. Enough of this.”

He returned his attention to her breasts, and she sighed. “Gray Hawk?”

“
Aa
.”

“Say it in your language.”

“Say what?”

“Woman with Many Stars.”

“
Kakato’siiksiaka Ohpnaapiaakii
.”

“
Ka-ka-to
…”

“…
siiksiaka Ohpnaapiaakii
.”

“It sounds very pretty.”

He grinned. “As you are.”

She breathed out deeply. “Gray Hawk,” she said huskily, “please love me.”

“
Aa
,
yes, my sweet Gen-ee.” He raised himself up to kiss her lips. “I will.”

His tongue opened her lips, sweeping into her mouth, caressing her, loving her as though only in this way could he get close enough to her.

His hands traveled lower, past her breasts, on toward the juncture of her legs.

“Oh, Gen-ee,” he muttered against her lips.

“Gray Hawk, I’ve never felt like this before,” she said as his head moved lower, kissing her neck, her ear.

“I have not either. We make good medicine together.”

“Is it supposed to be like this?”

“I have heard that it can be.” He had lowered his head, his lips even now kissing her breasts.

Genevieve sucked in her breath. “Oh, Gray Hawk, don’t stop.”

He grinned as his lips made a path down over her stomach, lower still, kissing her navel. He said, “It is not my intention to stop. Not until we both wish it. Gen-ee?”

“Yes?”

“I wish to kiss you here.” His fingers played with her, there where the short, springy hairs hid her womanhood. “Do you want me to?”

“Gray Hawk, yes, but I—”

His lips were already there.

“Gray Hawk, I should visit the river first so I could make it more pleasant for you. I—”

“It is already pleasant.” He kissed her again.

“But I could—”

“Why do you keep talking? Are you afraid I might not like your taste, your scent?”

“It has occurred to me.”

“It is not true. I like it,” he murmured. “In truth, Gen-ee, it drives me mad with wanting you.”

“Gray Hawk!”

They ceased to talk then, both content to do nothing more than feel the incredible excitement they created in one another.

Gray Hawk never hesitated in what he was doing. He kissed her, he played with her, bringing her to release once and, to her amazement, again before he at last raised his head to grin at her.

He sat up.

It was only then that she caught sight of his body, all smooth muscle and hard contours. In response, the pit of her stomach turned over.

He looked magnificent, beautiful, handsome and…immense.

Now, only on very rare occasions had Genevieve ever seen a man in the nude—in actuality, only once, and that had been Gray Hawk. But he hadn’t been fully aroused that one time—at least, not like this.

She drew in her breath. “Gray Hawk, you are…big.”

He chuckled. “Do you mean to compliment me?”

“No, I—”

He gave her a curious glance. “Do you worry, Gen-ee?”

She nodded.

He grinned. “It is still a compliment.” He came down over her. “You are a virgin, Gen-ee, but I think your body can still take me. It is made for this.” He kissed her.

And Genevieve, snuggling up to him, to his warmth, forgot all about her apprehension.

“It will hurt at first,” he said, “but the pain will go away. I promise you.”

She nodded her head.

And he entered her.

“Oh, Gen-ee.”

He moaned, and she stifled a scream.

He didn’t move for a long time as he lay cradled within her; he just kept kissing her lips and her cheeks, his lips trailing down farther to her ear, then back to her mouth.

She liked what he was doing with his lips, but the other…was this why she had been told that the woman felt no pleasure? Was it the woman’s lot to feel pain while the man took his pleasure? Surely something so wonderful could not also be so unfair.

She whispered, “Will it be like this all the time?”

He shook his head. “No, sweet Gen-ee, only this once.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

He began to move his hips slowly, coming up onto his forearms over her.

The second thrust wasn’t so bad, she noted, nor was the third, the fourth, the fifth. She lost count.

Actually, it began to feel soothing down there, his movements and hers seeming to fulfill that ache she’d been experiencing there for so long.

She began to move with him, and he rose onto his hands, holding his weight away from her.

He smiled down at her, and her stomach, her legs, the very core of her womanhood responded at once, the whole of her body filling with sensation.

“Oh, Gray Hawk,” she murmured. “I believe that I truly love you.”

He stared at her then, just stared at her, his hips never ceasing their movement. No smile lit his face; no feeling at all did he show as he said, “
Haiya
,
Gen-ee,
Kitsikakomimmo
.”

And Genevieve needed no translation to understand what he said. He loved her, too. He didn’t need to say it in English. She
knew
it.

It happened then.

He had never ceased his movements. She had never quit hers.

It built there between them, the pleasure, the wonderful sensation.

Both staring at one another, they met their crescendo together, both releasing their happiness toward each other at the same time. They moaned and they whimpered, their sound resembling more a song of music than one of pain.

Their pleasure went on and on until at last, exhausted, Gray Hawk fell over her.

“Oh, Gen-ee,” he murmured against her ear.

She grinned and drew her legs more firmly around him. “Oh, Gray Hawk,” she said, “I love you.”

But she was never certain he heard her. He’d fallen asleep at once, her arms still around him.

Chapter Sixteen

“You belong to me now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are mine now.”

“I’m sorry, but I belong to no one.”