Lakota Surrender (13 page)

If she had expected Tahiska to hesitate in offering to help her, she was indeed, mistaken. With a warm smile, he eagerly stepped toward her, his hands spanning her waist, and she fell into his arms.

All at once she was assailed with feeling. With his body pressed close to hers, his clean scent filled her nostrils. Her heart began to race, her stomach seemed to twist, and she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal against her.

He kissed her, a hungry, searching kiss. She returned it as though she had suddenly come alive, unaware until he abruptly ended the kiss, that her feet touched the solid earth beneath her. As he rested his chin on top of her head, she noted with great satisfaction that his breathing was as ragged as hers.

“I fear,” Kristina whispered in English, “that I have hurt you.” She lifted her head then, bringing her lips again to his. Tahiska shuddered at her touch. And Kristina, responding to him, moved closer until all at once, Tahiska pulled her further into his arms, deepening the kiss. Kristina had never felt this way in her life.

Everything about him was right. The way he held her in his arms. The scent of him, his breath mixing with hers. The feel of his skin, the taste of his mouth. She couldn’t get close enough. Each thrust of his tongue into her mouth sent her moaning with frustration until he finally opened his mouth to her and let her taste him.

The pleasure, as she met each thrust of his tongue, was exquisite, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted him closer, which was odd since their bodies were already pressed together so closely that scarcely an inch separated them.

He coaxed her to her knees, as he sank to his. Discarding his bow and quiver, he struggled with the breastplate till he had removed it as well. Then, he enveloped her in his warm embrace.

Shyly she skimmed her fingertips over his chest and thrilled to the sound of Tahiska sucking in his breath. She trembled as he ran his hands over her breasts and tugged impatiently at her clothing.

Sensing his frustration with the unfamiliar garment, Kristina began to remove the dress herself, unbuttoning the bodice. But Tahiska quickly mastered the art of buttons, and soon had the dress rolled down to her waist. His astonishment was apparent in his expression when he encountered another article of clothing beneath.

Tahiska smiled. “Perhaps the white woman has no flesh beneath. Is this her secret?”

Though Kristina didn’t understand the words, she smiled, too. She started to remove the undergarments herself, but Tahiska was disinclined to allow her to continue. He played with her, touching her everywhere through her clothing until Kristina thought she would die if he didn’t touch her flesh.

As though he read her thoughts, he slipped the camisole off, exposing her breasts to the freshness of the air.

Kristina reveled in the feeling of freedom, but still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Eagerly, she directed her gaze to his, drawing in her breath as she glimpsed the raw passion Tahiska could no longer hide.

“I burn with the need of you,” he said, then signed it quickly so that she would understand him. “You stir such passion in me that I wonder how I ever could have thought myself wise in the ways of love.” He gazed down at her breasts. “They are perfect,” he stated in Lakota, his hands massaging her there, not signing his meaning. “They are round like nature’s perfect circle, soft as the down on a mighty eagle; their color imitates and surpasses even the splendor of the wild rose. Kristina,” Tahiska’s voice trailed away and he switched to sign language. “You please me.” Briefly, his fingers caught at the necklace falling softly between her breasts. Then in sign, “This is good. You are good; our passion, perfect.”

He rubbed his body back and forth across hers then, and she luxuriated in the feel of his hard flesh against her. Her moan of delight escaped her without conscious effort and in one fluid motion, he pushed her back against the grasses beneath the tree.

He settled himself gently over her and, urging her with the pressure of his knee, she spread her legs to accommodate him. Her skirts and his breechcloth still separated them, and she nearly went mad with longing to feel him against her completely. She instinctively arched her hips toward him and had the absolute pleasure of hearing him moan softly, but, despite his obvious impatience he made no overture to remove their clothing. Instead he prolonged the titillation and kissed every part of her bare flesh—from her eyes to her throat, down over her shoulders, each arm, and finally to each breast. She twisted and cried out until finally he lay flat against her, their breathing ragged.

He drew himself to his elbows and, smiling down at her, kissed her gently, his teeth nipping at her lips. She tried to pull him down toward her, but he resisted, rolling away from her instead to lie in the grass beside her, his breathing rapid and uneven.

Leaning over, she touched him, but he took her hand from him and kissed it.

“We will go no further. Do not try my control,” he said in Lakota, then signed his meaning. He frowned at her.

Stunned, Kristina lay still.

Perhaps it was his frown. Perhaps it was her own frustration. But whatever it was, Kristina was suddenly ashamed of her behavior. She had flung herself at him, and it was he who had called a stop to it, he who had maintained control.

Her heart was still racing, her breathing unsteady when the tears gathered in her eyes. What must he think of her? If it had been left up to her, they would right now be satisfying their mutual desire. He knew it as undeniably as she did. How could he respect her?

She rolled over, presenting her back to him. She sat up and struggled with her chemise and bodice. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she couldn’t see the buttons on her bodice clearly. Deeply embarrassed by her nudity she fought to dress herself, but her hands trembled so violently that her efforts were in vain. Tahiska circled his arms around her, steadying her hands in his own.

Then gingerly, as gently as possible he set her hands into her lap, completing the buttoning of her clothing himself. Not a word was said, yet his gentleness acted as a salve to her battered pride.

He kissed the back of her neck, trailing his tongue over the curve of her ear. Then delicately he dried her tears, stroking her cheeks, before he followed the movement of his fingers with his lips.

He dressed her with all the care of a patient lover, giving Kristina time to regain her composure. This done, he drew her down into his embrace. Her back was still to him, his knees straddling her bottom, effectively holding her in place. Kristina could feel his arousal, still very much in evidence, and a warmth spread outward towards the core of her sexuality. It wasn’t much, but it was a reminder that he still wanted her.

“The plains are not the place for a man and woman to come to know each other,” Tahiska said in his own tongue. “What if the Pawnee should attack us? I have not been listening for an enemy. I would be surprised. Perhaps I would be killed and you’d be taken captive. It would be a great coup for my enemy.”

Kristina listened to the sound of his voice, not understanding what he said, but reveling in the intimacy of his tone. They rarely spoke to one another, relying on sign language for their silent conversations. Kristina had never before noticed the resonant baritone of his voice. He was speaking into her ear and Kristina turned her head until she felt the soft touch of his lips against her cheek. She closed her eyes and let out her breath.

But he was not to be coerced back into passion. With his hands in front of her, he signed what he had said so that she would understand.

“What enemies?” she asked, leaning back, into his arms.

“The Pawnee are a powerful and warlike tribe. They are my enemy. They would kill me if they found me. Here we are an easy target.”

“The Pawnee have not given us trouble at the fort,” she signed.

“Because those Indians at the fort are hang-around-the-fort Indians. They fear the white man, but they hate the Lakota most of all. The Pawnee rule the land on which we sit. I am the intruder. And while I do not fear them, I do not wish to present an easy coup.

“Come,” he signed, as he stood and extended a hand to her. She accepted his help and rising, fell into step beside him. He held her hand, and his touch sent warmth to her.

When they came to the lone cottonwood tree, he pushed her against it, planting his feet on either side of her. The time had come to talk. He stared at her a long while, unable to ask what was in his heart.

Tahiska found little in his world to fear. Being Indian, he was direct, honest, and to the point. He never spoke in circles, never told lies, and subterfuge was wholly unknown to him.

Yet he was here with this woman—a white woman—and he was reluctant to ask her the meaning of the white man’s dance, about the man with whom she had danced. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answers he sought. His relationship with her was so new and so fragile, if her answer was not the exact one he wished to hear, his heart would be crushed. They already had so many barriers to face, not the least of which were race and culture, he could not also bear competition from a white man.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and stared at her, his gaze direct, piercing. He had to take the risk.

“Tell me the meaning of this dance between the white man and woman.” He had spoken in Lakota, forgetting he had to convey the meaning to her. He did so and then tensed, ready to hear what he feared she would say.

Kristina met his gaze. She held it. She could see his rigid control and knew without asking that this question had not come easily. She sensed that her response was of great consequence. She didn’t understand why this was so but she refrained from asking. She cleared her throat, wishing she could speak Lakota. Sign language had its limitations, and the ways of love were difficult to convey without action and without words.

“It has no meaning,” she signed. “It—is—for,” there was no word she knew for “fun.” She used the sign for “happy” instead.

Tahiska straightened away from her.

“That white man makes you happy?”

She shut her eyes.

“No. Tahiska,” she spoke his name and reached out toward him. Her fingertips touched his arm. “I…
you
make me happy.”

He snorted. “Then why do you hold the white man?”

“I…it is our way. It is how we dance. We attach no meaning to our dances. I do not love this white man. I did not even wish to dance with him. I had no choice.”

Tahiska said nothing. Kristina said nothing.

They stood still, staring at each other for a very long time.

Finally Tahiska took her fingertips from his arm. He spread them over his heart and held them there.

“When you danced with that man,” he said in Lakota, looking directly at her, “I hurt here.” He signed his meaning, then added, “You hold my heart.”

Kristina’s gaze never wavered from his. As she stared, a mist gathered in her eyes. She had never known anyone so honest, anyone so free of self-righteousness, and certainly no one quite so beautiful.

She tore her gaze away from his and took his hand in hers, spreading his fingers and palm over her breast. When she looked back up at him, tears were collecting in her eyes.

“Tahiska.” Her lips shook as she spoke. “I love you.” She said it. She signed it.

He nodded. Then he gathered her in his arms.

“It is done then. We will be together. It will be hard for us,” he said in his own language, “but maybe if we love enough, we will survive.”

He kissed her then and gently brushed her tears away.

Chapter Seven

Tahiska was gone fourteen days. They were good days, glorious days. His heart was filled with an exuberance that colored everything in unusually bright hues. His Indian heritage had taught him to revere nature, but never had he felt this degree of oneness with all. The touch of the sun was a gentle caress, the smell of the grasses and flowers an exotic perfume, the songs of the birds a sweet harmony. He felt a part of all around him and yet strangely above it. He knew the presence of Wakan Tanka was in himself, and as a spirit, Tahiska soared free.

He’d left the day after the wedding party, telling no one where he wandered. Now, having found that which he had sought, he returned to camp, several skins richer.

It was almost dark. Neeheeowee and Wahtapah sat around the near smokeless fire. Both were attending to small chores. Neither looked up as Tahiska stepped into view. Nothing was said.

Undaunted, Tahiska strode to the tepee and, pushing back the flap, went inside. The fire, blazing in the center of the lodge, gaily greeted him. Stepping to the right, he sat down cross-legged to contemplate these last few days and to settle on his next course of action. After sitting for quite a while, he rose, satisfied. His pipe lay in the shadows toward the back of the tent. Tahiska had not yet acquired the tobacco habit, so his pipe was like new. He tread to the spot where it had been left and, picking it up, he noticed another object alongside it. It was an odd-shaped article with strings stretched tightly over its frame. He could not remember seeing it before, yet he knew that something so strange must have come from Kristina.

Taking both objects with him, he emerged from the tent.

He glanced at Wahtapah and then at Neeheeowee.

They both returned his gaze.