Soul of a Crow (14 page)

“Whistler,” I murmured to her, and she nickered in gentle acknowledgment. I kissed her nose and whispered, “You look so pretty.”

“Now let's get you atop this here horse,” Boyd said. He was dressed in his black trousers and had combed back his hair, carrying his bow and his fiddle, though he set it gently to the ground to assist me upon Whistler's unsaddled back; there, I sat as though using a side-saddle, both legs on the left, gently clasping her mane in one hand and my flowers in the other. Boyd, fussy as any mother-in-law, arranged the silk train to his liking over Whistler's hide. He said, “Mind them bare feet now.”

“I will,” I whispered, breathless and fluttering as Malcolm took Whistler's reins and Boyd retrieved his fiddle. They both looked up at me, their dark eyes catching the sunset light.

Malcolm said, “C'mon, girl,” to Whistler.

The prairie was splendid under the low-lying beams of evening sun. I let my senses imbibe every last detail, the slant of the saffron light, the violet tint of the clouds on the western horizon, the purple-hued rising moon, adorned with a glinting star just near its left curve. The air was still, Whistler's feet making muted cupping sounds against the earth as she walked. As Boyd began to play, tears spilled from my cheeks onto Clairee's dress. I was almost unbearably happy, but I had promised that I would not fear it. I lifted my eyes to the sweep of sky and thought again of my long-lost family, imagining what they would be feeling just now, before I looked back to Earth and smiled at the sight of Malcolm's shaggy hair. And then just ahead I saw Sawyer, waiting for us.

Everything within me flowed towards him as I beheld his resplendent expression. Upon his face I saw the intensity of his love and the incredible strength of his spirit, the overwhelming awe of this moment and the near inability to bear all of these gifts at once. The hawk eyes I knew so well flashed into mine, sparking with tears as Whistler and I drew near. He was clad in black trousers and his white muslin shirt. I saw that someone, surely Malcolm, had stuck a flower into the second-to-top buttonhole.

Malcolm halted and bowed formally to Sawyer, though we did not remove our eyes from one another. Boyd kept playing as Sawyer stepped to Whistler's side and rested a hand on her hide, placing his other upon my thigh, warm and strong against the silk of the dress, my blood leaping at the touch. He blinked, the sun catching his eyes and refracting from his lashes. At last he said softly, “Lorie, look at you. I could never explain in words what this moment means to me.” His voice was husky with emotion as he lifted me from her back, his hands about my waist, mine upon his shoulders.

Boyd, with a showman's timing, let a last note waver and fade, and Malcolm was waiting to take the bouquet of flowers, which he set carefully on the ground, a courteous attendant.

“Come,” Sawyer said, his eyes intense upon me. He took my hands in his and kissed them, one after the other, before leading me a few feet away from Whistler.

Malcolm, clearly having rehearsed his part, stepped forward and addressed me, intoning ceremoniously, “Have you the cloth for binding?”

I nodded, and with utmost care, reached and drew the handkerchief from the dress, warm from being cradled to my skin. Malcolm asked, “Who shall bind this man and this woman?”

Boyd said, “I shall,” and took the cloth from me with great dignity.

Sawyer gathered my left hand decisively into his right, threading his fingers amid mine and lifting our joined hands to his heart. Boyd tied the lace kerchief about our wrists, tightly linking us. The sun dipped below the horizon; its last rays created a spectacular light show, had we been willing to look away from one another and into that direction. Boyd stepped back and joined Malcolm, who sat quietly upon the ground.

His eyes bearing into mine and with a lilt of incantation in his deep voice, Sawyer said, “Lorissa Anne Blake, under this sky on this night, I take you to be my wife. I love you with my heart and soul, and I will protect you, and cherish you, until my last breath. You are mine, and I am yours. By this handfast, from this moment forth, we shall remain bound for all time.”

I had been unsure about the exact proceedings, but I trusted Sawyer's knowledge. His solemn words filled my heart and as he paused I began, repeating the vows as he had spoken them, “Sawyer James Davis, under this sky on this night, I take you to be my husband.” I tightened my fingers even more securely around his. “I love you more than my own life, and I will care for you, and cherish you, until I die.” Tears brimmed as I whispered, “I am yours, with my whole heart, and you are mine. From this moment forth, and by this handfast, we shall remain bound for all time.”

The air around our bodies seemed to swirl and sigh, settling upon us as our vows drifted up and into the night, into the endless sky, the unchanging heavens that would exist long after both of us. And somewhere within it, our words would survive, too.

Sawyer drew me instantly close. I curled into his embrace, momentarily forgetting our audience of two, and kissed him as though this was perhaps our last night upon an earthly realm. Though I wasn't fatalistic enough to think it truly was, there was a dark and aching part of my soul that would always fear the dawn and what it might bring, how it might work to separate me from those I loved.

Our wrists remained bound, hampering my ability to get my arms around him the way I desired, and he drew back enough to slip free the binding, keeping the knot intact. He scooped me up and into his arms, holding me close to his heart as he reclaimed my mouth; all about us, the light leached from the prairie and twilight sprang to dusky life.

Boyd and Malcolm were applauding with vigor.

“I now pronounce you
man an' wife
!” Malcolm whooped. “I remember Reverend Wheeler sayin' that!”

Sawyer laughed at these exuberant words, against my lips as we were still kissing, and Boyd added, “To Mr. and Mrs. Davis!”

Sawyer whispered, “My wife.”

“My husband,” I whispered in return, twining my fingers into his silken hair.

The fiddle sang joyously for us.

Malcolm ordered, “Sawyer, set down your bride so's I can dance with her.”

Sawyer let me back to Earth and I waltzed with Malcolm, mindful of my long hem. Flower petals scattered everywhere, falling at our feet as Malcolm spun me with his usual enthusiasm.

“Who's gonna catch the flowers?” Malcolm worried between songs, nodding at the bouquet. “There ain't no ladies!” He yelped gleefully at Boyd, “Me an' you's gotta fight for it!”

Boyd laughed, plucking a string with his right thumb while turning a peg on the instrument's neck. He said, “I'd give an eye tooth for a pretty little woman of my own just now, that's God's truth.” He winked at Sawyer and said, “You best claim your bride for a dance before Malcolm wears her out. Soon as I sweeten this note, I got a waltz all set for you twos.”

“Lorissa Davis, come be in my arms,” Sawyer invited, and Malcolm surrendered me to my new husband.

The fiddle sang for us as we danced, and I understood that I would not trade this ceremony for the fanciest church wedding on Earth. I well knew what waited out beyond the prairie—sprawling towns and thriving cities, hundreds of thousands of people in the Eastern lands; the vast, wild, and far less populated territories loomed in the West, but at this moment it seemed unfathomable that any of that wide, exuberant, and dangerous world even existed. There was this place, there was right now, and nothing else mattered.

I implored, “Say it once more…”

“Lorissa Davis,” he repeated, knowing exactly what I meant. The joyous satisfaction in his eyes was mirrored in my own. And then I realized something else.

“You're a good dancer,” I marveled, my voice with a note of teasing accusation, and he grinned, both of us thinking of our evening with the Spicer family in Missouri, before we had admitted our feelings to one another.

“I said I didn't dance
much
,” he reminded me. “Not that I couldn't.”

“Sawyer James Davis,” I chastised, and his full name was sweet on my tongue, as always. “Whatever will I do with you? Perhaps I will address you thusly when I am angered with you.”

He lowered his eyelids just slightly and at once I saw him braced over my naked belly as he had been during last night's thunderstorm. He said with honey in his tone, “I won't give you cause to be angered at me, darlin'. You are so beautiful, Lorie-love, that my knees are outright weak. You think I'm teasing, but I am not.”

I looked deeply into his eyes and sent forth a clear and detailed picture of what I wanted to do with him, as soon as possible, and then I was the one smiling so knowingly as he swallowed hard and cast a glance at Boyd and Malcolm.

“Remember…” Sawyer said to Malcolm, and that was all it took for the boy to nod importantly, scoop my flowers from the ground, and race without a word in the direction of our camp, clutching the wilting bundle.

“Lorie-girl, give me one more hug,” Boyd ordered, drawing out a final note on the strings. “I am the least romantic fella that ever lived an' here I am with tears in my damn eyes.”

I hugged Boyd tightly and then he bear-hugged Sawyer, who murmured, “Thank you,
cara d'aois
.”

“You are most welcome, old friend,” Boyd replied, clapping Sawyer's back with two energetic thumps. “Lorie, the boy an' I have elected to give you two a bit of privacy this evening. We moved our tent a goodly distance.” He kicked Sawyer's ankle with these words, and Sawyer grinned and flushed, I could tell even in the twilight.

The sky had given over to darkness, star-spangled and magnificent. Malcolm raced back, out of breath, and informed us, “All set.”

“We'll see you two by daylight, then,” Sawyer said formally, and swept me neatly into his arms.

“G'night, you lovebirds!” Malcolm yelped.

Boyd collected up his fiddle and resumed playing “Sweet Liza Jane” as Sawyer carried me to Whistler, who waited patiently for us. We paused at her nose and Sawyer leaned to kiss her between the eyes. He whispered, “Lorie and I are handfast now. She's my wife. What do you think of that?”

Whistler nickered, bumping her nose against him. Held in Sawyer's arms, I lay my cheek upon her warm hide, absorbing the familiar scent and feel of horse. It was a smell as dear to me as any I knew, made fathoms more precious by the fact that this horse loved my husband and had kept him safe for years, had carried him to me.

Sensing my thoughts, Sawyer whispered to her, “Thank you for bringing me to this night,
mo chapall daor.
For bringing me to my Lorie.”

“Oh, Sawyer,” I whispered. His eyes glinted with tears. Whistler nudged my side with her long nose, and I laughed, even as tears fell upon my cheeks.

“Come,” he whispered, softly kissing my lips. “Let me help you up.”

He lifted me to her back before bracing his hips and climbing behind me. Once settled, he gathered me close, rocking his hips to set Whistler in motion, while I shivered as his touch glided around my waist to the warm silk covering my belly. Our horse turned smoothly for the camp, as the Carters called heartfelt good wishes, and Sawyer gently swept the hair from my temple and kissed me there, setting ablaze my skin.

I leaned against the broad strength of him, running both hands over the length of his strong thighs, braced around me. I felt a trembling within him as I continued stroking along his legs, thrilling me. He closed his teeth gently over my earlobe and murmured, “This dress is so soft, and yet your skin beneath it is softer still, and so warm…”

I grasped his right hand, lifting it to my lips before transferring it to my breast. He exhaled in a rush and caressed me through the silk, my nipple swelling against the material. The campsite came into view, lanterns lighted; our tent shone with welcome. Sawyer nudged Whistler into a canter, dismounting almost before she halted, collecting me into his arms. I opened my lips to take deeper his sweet, stroking kisses, more inviting than anything previously known to me. We broke apart long enough to duck into our tent; Sawyer entered just behind me and cupped my upper arms, whispering against my temple, “I wish I had a feather bed in which to place you just now, darlin'.”

“No,” I insisted, turning to bring my throbbing heart to his. “I want this moment exactly as it is, here on the prairie. This is just how it should be, truly.”

He nodded acknowledgment of this truth, slipping his hands over my ribs, anchoring about my waist. He kissed my lips and chin, my jaw, lingering, sensuous kisses that stole my breath. I clung to him. He studied my face, whispering, “I've dreamed of making love to you so many times.”

“Don't make us wait any longer,” I begged.

He took us immediately to our knees upon the bedding, where I curled my fingers into his loose hair, spreading it over his shoulders. His eyes were dark with passion, his palms gliding down my arms, fire flaring along my limbs in the path of his touch. He whispered, “If you only knew how you look just now. The way your cheeks are blooming, and the love and wanting in your eyes.”

“Hurry,” I moaned in response, caressing him firmly through his trousers. “Help me from this dress…”

Sawyer began unbuttoning at once. I tried to assist, impatient with urgency, though we both laughed, between deep kisses, at the maddeningly slow process. The moment the dress was open enough to slip forward, Sawyer gently freed me from it. My head tipped back, exposing my throat, which he bent to kiss, my shoulders and collarbones, each by turn, suckling kisses that made me moan and lift against him, though he moved lower with deliberate slowness, inhaling against the skin between my breasts, his thumbs caressing my nipples, which were round as pearls, aching for his touch.

“You smell so good,” he said, cradling his cheek to my heartbeat, breathing hard, his arms around my waist. “You taste so good, Lorie-love,” and his tongue was upon the peaks of my breasts, calling forth deep pulsing sensations lower down, waves of tightening that made me gasp. Sawyer straightened just long enough to tear the shirt roughly from his body. He was so strong, so solid, his skin taking on a golden cast in the lantern's glow to match his eyes and his hair, as though I was about to make love with a gorgeous creature not quite of this earth.