Lakota Surrender (18 page)

She tried to hold onto her worries, but once again, he had successfully distracted her. Her stomach growled.

“You see,” he motioned. “Your stomach thinks I am right.”

Kristina frowned. She needed to talk, but perhaps Tahiska was right. She would eat first and talk with him later. But she promised herself that she wouldn’t let him lull her out of her worries. He didn’t understand her people, nor the seriousness with which his actions would be dealt. She stared up at him and found herself smiling, against her will. She shook her head, then signed, “Perhaps this once I will agree with you. Let’s eat. But afterwards I need to talk to you. Do you promise that you will speak to me then?”

He laughed. “I promise.”

He motioned her to sit and she settled herself on the ground, her legs to the side, her body pressed up close to his.

“You make me feel things I’m not sure I should feel, do things I later question,” she spoke English, her lips only a few inches from his. “Why did you not tell me you were back?” she inquired in sign.

He shrugged. “There was no reason,” he answered. “I checked on you, you were safe but lost in thought. Sometimes one needs to be alone. I thought you might need this time by yourself. It took little effort to prepare the prairie hen. Are you angry?” His glance held hers.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It is only that since we have been here, I have done little to help you in camp.”

He grinned. “There will be much time for that in years to come. But tonight is a special night. We have no rules to follow. Are you as hungry as your stomach says you are?”

She nodded her head eagerly.

“Good. This hen will be ready in only a few moments,” he signed and lowered his head the necessary few inches to indulge himself of her sweet kiss.

The evening rushed by, Kristina tried several times to voice her fears, but Tahiska adeptly steered the subject in different directions and Kristina found herself bewitched by him, unable to even remember why she worried. They sat huddled together in front of the fire, speaking in silken whispers to one another. And though their tongues were different, they rarely bothered to sign for understanding. Their language consisted mainly of kisses and sweet love words that needed no interpretation.

There was no moon this night and the stars above them could have numbered in the millions. There was nothing to be heard in the soft prairie evening except an occasional howl of a coyote. It was a night meant for lovers.

Earlier in the evening Tahiska had related to her the excitement of his first buffalo hunt. Kristina had been spellbound, listening to his deep voice, watching his hands in fascination. His fingers were long and tapered, his hands graceful, yet strong.

He had made a comment toward the end of his story that Kristina dwelled upon now. His life was free, he had said. He owed allegiance to no ruler, he made his own decisions and, provided he lived an honorable life, he was free to do as he pleased. In his country, his life was rich and fulfilling. His eye was sharp, his arm strong, and his arrow straight. He assured her that he could provide for her.

“Tahiska,” she spoke his name. “Do you often hunt alone?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes,” he gestured. “Though usually we hunt in groups of two to five.”

Kristina acknowledged this with a silent nod of her head.

“Are you gone long on these hunting trips?”

“Hiya,”
he said, then signed, “not usually. Though some hunts have gone as long as a moon.”

Kristina trailed her fingertips over his hands before she asked, “Is that why you were gone fourteen days? Were you hunting?” She bit down on her lower lip and turned her gaze toward the fire. Even now, after all they had shared, the pain of his unexpected absence was still present. “Why so long?” she asked again. “I thought you were running from me.”

“Hiya,
no.” He tilted her face back toward him and lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was sweet, yet insistent, and she yielded to the mastery of his caress. His tongue swept inside her and she met the thrust of it until his taste became a part of her own. When he at length straightened, his eyes were lit by a fervent desire, which she knew was mirrored in her own.

“I would never run from you,” he uttered as he made the motions toward her. “White men do not understand the ways of my people upon the plains. There is always danger from man and animal, and one must ever be alert for his enemies. Would you have me marry you and make love to you when there is danger about and I am unprepared to handle it? I was hunting furs for the bride price and searching out this place where, for a few nights, we could be safe. The alternative was to camp with my cousin and my Cheyenne friend. But this would not be as pleasurable and I thought you might be too shy. Have you not noticed how the hill and trees hide our camp? An enemy would be upon us before he became aware of it, but then he would have to contend with me. I stayed here a few nights to ensure it was safe and to prepare this place. It took fourteen days.”

Kristina was silent. She stared at him. His features were soft and hazy in the light of the fire. The clean scent of his skin and his hair tantalized her. She reached out to run her fingers over his lips, aware of the enormity of her love for this man. “I’ve never known anyone quite like you,” she whispered and leaned toward him to touch her lips to his.

He appeared to let her explore him for awhile, her lips nipping at his, tasting him, but eventually, he gathered her close and deepened the kiss.

“Kristina,” he said after a while as he drew back from her. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I love you,” he signed. “A little too much. I can’t get you out of my mind. You are with me here,” he pointed to his heart, to his head. “Always. In these ways you are never far from me. I love you as I have never loved another.”

He drew her backward until she was lying against the buffalo robe which he had earlier spread on the ground. “I know you worry, and will listen,” he spoke in Lakota, “but for now, let us have this night. Besides, I think our love is strong enough to withstand the storm.”

He smiled at her so sweetly, Kristina fell completely under his spell. His lips met hers, and they made love under a profusion of a million stars, all of which twinkled and shone upon them in a very kindly fashion.

Kristina awoke with a start. She sat up, throwing the buffalo robe from her shoulders.

“Tahiska!”

“He taku hwo!”
Tahiska brought Kristina’s hand to his face. “I am here,” he said in Lakota.

Kristina clung to him. The chill of the night air touched her exposed shoulders and with a shock Kristina realized she was still naked; she had drifted off to sleep beside her love, completely nude, something she had never dreamed she would do. She shivered against the cold.

Tahiska sat up, too, and spreading the robe around her, nudged her back till she was lying on the ground. He leaned over her so that he could see her face.

“I cannot live with you,” she spoke in English. “I can’t.”

He stared at her and it took her awhile to realize she had spoken her thoughts aloud. She bit her lip and looked away.

Tahiska didn’t move for a long while. When she leaned back toward him, he was leaning over her, watching her, his features unreadable. Finally he kissed her, a soothing, comforting kiss. He trailed his cheek over hers, nuzzling her ear.
“Temachela,”
he whispered.
“Temachela,”
he murmured again, his hand caressing her face, her forehead, her cheeks. “Perhaps I should have let you speak long ago.” His soft words were encouraging.

“What did you say?” Kristina asked, signing so that he understood. His look at her was so passionate, yet so soft, she melted. She felt cloaked in his love—a physical sensation as powerful as their actual lovemaking. How could she possibly tell him she was not his wife? At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to live with him, follow him for the rest of her life. She loved him completely, yet…

“What did I say?” he asked her in Lakota.
“Temachela?”
He smiled at her, then signed, “I love you.” He motioned at her, asking her to say it with him.
“Temachela.”
Then he signed again, “I love you.”

“Temachela,”
she repeated, then signed back, “I love you, too.”

Tahiska smiled. “I believe,” he gestured quickly before her, “that I have left off listening to you for too long. You are worried and nothing I do dispels it. I will hear you now. Come, let us sit up so that you have room to speak to me in gestures. I will listen.”

He helped her sit up, adjusting the buffalo robe so that it surrounded them both. He smiled at her, then signed, “Why did you, scream? Did you dream?”

“No,
Hiya,”
Kristina shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Tell me it.”

Kristina swallowed hard. “It wasn’t really a dream, more of a concern.”

Tahiska nodded. “Go on,” he gestured.

Kristina looked away. She had awaited this moment all evening, yet now she found herself reluctant to speak.

She sighed, shut her eyes, bent her head. Finally she began, speaking in English.

“What can I say to you to make you understand we are not truly married?”

He gathered her hands in his, then gently, with only one finger, turned her face to his. He motioned to her hands. “Tell me so that I understand,” he signed.

She drew a deep breath, acutely aware of their nudity, their complete vulnerability. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and Kristina found it difficult to meet his gaze as she began to sign, “A marriage in my culture takes time. It is a solemn event which is not truly completed until one from our church sanctions it. You do not understand that I am not your wife. I have not agreed, as is part of my culture.”

And though Tahiska’s body stiffened, his face registered nothing. “I am not married to you. I cannot marry you. I can only have…an affair with you.” This last was said aloud.

“What is this affair?” Tahiska’s signs were brisk, though he repeated this last word aloud.

Kristina colored. “It is love without marriage.”

Tahiska’s head shot back. He said nothing.

Silence. Black, gloomy silence. Kristina fidgeted, attempting unsuccessfully to shield her nudity.

“You desire this?”

“I… No, it is only that…a marriage between us would ruin me in the eyes of my people more than a passing fancy,” Kristina signed quickly. “An affair can be forgiven, whereas marriage…? Besides, no one would know if we simply loved. Neither you nor I would have the censure of my people.”

“I do not care what is thought of me.”

“But I do. Do you think that I tell you this just for myself? I fear for you. There are people who would want to hurt you if we married. And there are so many soldiers.”

Kristina couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the look on his face.

Finally he turned her head toward him, waiting until her eyes met his, then, in sign, “Was it your intent only to dally with me? Would you rather live with this disgrace than honor our marriage?”

Kristina colored, the warm blush spreading even to the roots of her hair, but its effect was lost, for the darkness hid its potency.

“We are not truly married in the eyes of my people.”

“By the customs of my tribe, you are my wife. If you do not wish this, you have only to divorce me. It is your right.”

“Why should I end a marriage that I do not believe exists?”

“Perhaps so that I, too, am free of your influence.”

Kristina’s head shot back as though she had been slapped.

“You may not be bound by my codes, but I am,” he continued. “If you do not wish this marriage, you have merely to say so.”

Suddenly Kristina could no longer endure her nudity as she sat before her lover. More than anything she wished she could clothe herself and unconsciously, she folded her arms over her breasts.

“Just tell me,” he continued in sign. “There are no consequences. I will say no word of what has occurred between us. But I will not sanction this affair,” he said the word out loud, “between us. You deserve better.”

Kristina watched his motions, graceful and smooth. And though his face showed nothing, Kristina could feel his pain and was shocked to realize that he showed no animosity; even in anger he protected her. What was she throwing away?

Just the same, she knew what she must do. She looked away. “I divorce you.” She spoke in English.

He turned her face back toward him.

“Do not speak only in your language. You must say it so that I understand.”

“Why can we not have an affair?” she signed with her hands, and implored with her eyes.

Tahiska sighed. He shook his head.

“Is your society so backward that it would sanction love between us without the commitment of marriage? In my culture I would bring you great insult if we were to love without a union between us. I cannot bring myself to do this to you. If you wish to share my love, you must marry me. If you cannot marry me, you have only to say so. I will never divulge our secret. It is up to you.”

Kristina lowered her head. Images flashed before her—her mother, her father, Julia. Tahiska wouldn’t stop at just the symbol of marriage. She knew he would demand that she live with him and she couldn’t. Nor would she be allowed to.