Chapter Eight
The snow had drifted by dawn when Iron Knife and Summer started out to return to Cherokee Evans’ cabin. They left Angry Wolf’s body in a ravine, covered with snow. At one time, their old enemy had been an honored dog soldier, and it was not uncommon to leave the body of a dead warrior on the field where he had fallen.
“They’ll be worried to death about us,” Summer said, as he carried her out to Angry Wolf’s horse and tenderly lifted her to the saddle. They rode out, the horses’ hooves crunching through the thin crust of ice on the snow.
“They’ll know we couldn’t get back in the dark, Little One. Besides”—he smiled at her—“spending the night with you in that mine was worth it; I had almost forgotten what it’s like to make love.”
Had he been feeling that deprived? She felt stung, but said nothing as they rode along. After all, it was his civilization that presumed women would nurse children for three years. Summer knew they shouldn’t have taken the chance last night, but it had been so long since they had made love totally and completely. She wouldn’t let it happen again, she vowed, but how could she deny him without expecting that he, like the other Cheyenne warriors, would take a second wife? Lost in her own thoughts, she said little as they rode back to Cherokee Evans’ cabin.
Everyone came out to meet them as they rode in and dismounted. The three children ran into their arms, chattering and delighted.
Cherokee looked relieved as they handed their reins to Keso to put the horses away. “I didn’t know whether to follow you or see if I could get soldiers to come.”
“I’ll tell you all about it later, my friend.” Iron Knife clapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward the listening children.
Silver sighed as they all trooped up the porch and into the cabin. “Thank God you’re all right.”
Cherokee motioned the pair to sit close to the fire while Silver busied herself bringing hot coffee. “Want to talk about it?”
Summer hugged her baby to her as somber little Storm Gathering, Lance and Wannie hung on the arms of the chairs to listen. She didn’t even want to think about Angry Wolf ever again.
Iron Knife started to speak, then glanced around at all the curious children. “Let’s just say the enemy is not a threat anymore.”
Storm leaned forward eagerly. “Father, you kill him?”
“Of course not,” Iron Knife said, “it is taboo to kill a fellow Cheyenne.” His eyes met and locked on Summer’s. “He fell on his own knife as we fought; but he confessed he killed another Cheyenne warrior named Horse Stealer a few days ago, so now we know why there was blood on the sacred Medicine Arrows.”
Summer smiled at her love, feeling tremendous relief. The weight of guilt from the killing she’d thought she had committed was finally lifted.
Summer hugged her baby again and reached to kiss the two little boys, but they both made noises about mothers kissing warriors, and wiped the kisses from their little brown faces. However, they stayed close to her knee.
“How did Garnet take to cow’s milk?” she asked Silver.
“Fine,” the other answered, “I think she’s weaned.”
“Oh, really?” Summer sneaked a look at Iron Knife and smiled.
He grinned and looked back at her with a secret message in his dark, smoldering eyes.
Summer thought of the passion she had experienced in his arms so many times. With the baby weaned, there was no reason that tonight and every night they couldn’t enjoy endless ecstasy in each other’s arms.
The scent of baking filled the air, and Silver said, “I’ve made some cookies; it’s Christmas, you know.”
Christmas. Summer had forgotten about the holiday out here with the Indians.
Lance’s serious, handsome face furrowed. “What’s Christmas?”
“It’s a holiday, son”—she patted his head—“with gifts and special food.” She was suddenly homesick for the extravagant Victorian holidays in Boston. At the wealthy Van Schuylers’, there would be a decorated tree, lavish food and many gifts. She looked up and realized Iron Knife was watching her. Could he tell by her expression what she was thinking?
Wannie said, “Does that mean lots of presents?”
The big Indian boy, Keso, had come inside just then. “Girls!” he snorted. “All Wannie thinks about is dressin’ up like a grown lady when she’s nothin’ but a baby!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Children!” Silver moved in to stop the fuss. “We’ve got some gifts to hand out and some cookies, too.”
The children set up a chorus of excitement.
Summer looked at her questioningly.
Cherokee shrugged. “It’s not much; I carved some wooden toys, and Silver stayed up late a few nights after the kids were in bed to make rag dolls.”
With shouts of delight, the children gathered around the tree to receive their simple toys, then trooped off to the kitchen for warm cookies and milk. Baby Garnet had dropped off to sleep in Summer’s arms.
Summer smiled at Iron Knife, content to be here in a setting that was more familiar to her than the Cheyenne’s nomad life-style.
Iron Knife sipped his coffee. “Cherokee, you’ve got two nice children.”
Cherokee nodded. “Aren’t they something, though? Never thought I’d end up raisin’ two orphan children, but I love them like they were our own.”
“I thought they were sister and brother?” Summer said as she looked toward the kitchen where shouts of delight echoed.
Cherokee shook his head. “Keso’s a street kid that I picked up in Denver; thinks he’s full-blood Cheyenne—”
“But he’s not,” Iron Knife said. “I’ve heard about him. He’s Ute, but raised Cheyenne; kidnapped years ago, I think. The two tribes are enemies. It was not my band, so I really don’t know much about it.”
Silver came in just then, leaving the children in the kitchen eating cookies. “And Wannie is half Arapaho; I was her governess when I worked for the duchess in Denver.”
Summer was curious. “There was a real duchess in Denver?”
“Not hardly!” Cherokee laughed. “Just an Indian girl named Gray Dove trying to pass herself off as Spanish royalty.”
“Gray Dove?” Iron Knife said, and there was something strained about his face that made Summer uneasy.
“She’s dead,” Silver said, “died in the fire trying to rescue her money when her saloon burned.”
“So who’s Wannie’s father?” Summer asked. Knowing the promiscuous Gray Dove as she did, it could be anyone.
“A horrible man named Jake Dallinger who’s dead now.” Silver shuddered as she remembered that horrible night just weeks ago when she’d been forced to kill the Army scout to save Cherokee’s life. “We know because of the birthmark on her hand like Jake had, but almost to the end Gray Dove thought it was—” She paused, exchanged looks with her husband, turned red, and cleared her throat uncertainly. “Well, enough of that; who’d like some more coffee?”
But Summer had seen that warning glance Cherokee gave Silver. Sweat broke out on Iron Knife’s face.
“I’d like another cup,” Iron Knife said a little too quickly. “Do you think it might snow again tonight?”
There was something here that made Summer uneasy, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She had a feeling that the other three knew something that she did not. “Gray Dove thought it was who?”
“Yes, it might snow at that,” Cherokee drawled. “I do believe Iron Knife’s right. I’d like some more coffee.”
“Good,” Silver said a little too brightly and hopped up, “I’ll get it!” She fled the room.
Cherokee rolled a cigarette. “Yes, it may snow some more after all.”
“Haven’t seen such miserable weather for a couple of winters,” Iron Knife said. “Deep snow makes it hard for ponies to find grass.”
What was going on here? All this talk of weather and coffee. She didn’t say anything else, mystified as she watched the two men, who seemed as nervous and tense as rattlesnakes on a hot griddle. The mood had changed the moment the question of Wannie’s father had come up. Was there something she wasn’t supposed to know?
The silence almost seemed to shout. Except for the noise of the children laughing in the kitchen and the wind blowing outside, it was quiet enough in the room to hear her rocker creak as she shifted the sleeping child from one arm to the other.
Iron Knife cleared his throat and avoided looking at her. “So how goes the white man’s war? Are the bluecoats and the gray-clad ones still fighting each other?”
Cherokee shrugged and stared into the fire, not looking at her, either. “I don’t know much more than you do, except what little news we managed to get while I was in Denver.”
“Well, here I am, everyone.” Silver came into the room, smiling with a wide, nervous grin. “Here’s fresh coffee all around!”
Summer watched her pour, puzzled over the things that had been said—and left unsaid—in the past few minutes. There was something secretive here, what was it? Wannie looked to be about five years old. That meant the pretty little girl was conceived somewhere late in 1858, the year Summer became Iron Knife’s woman. Gray Dove had been in love with Iron Knife. Could it be . . . ? No, of course not. She must not even think about it. Summer managed a weak smile. “Cherokee, were you a soldier?”
He nodded. “As you can tell by my accent, no doubt, I fought for the South, but ended up a prisoner in a Yankee hellhole. To get out, I volunteered to put on the blue uniform and go west to fight Indians; that’s how I met Iron Knife.”
“Our hunting party found him on a riverbank many miles from here, half-blind and lost.”
“I got my sight back and, with Iron Knife’s help, made it to civilization. I was luckier than many Southerners.” Cherokee sighed. “Lord only knows what happened to my old colonel. Shawn O’Bannion may be dead for all I know.”
That name sounded familiar somehow, but Summer didn’t know why. “Shawn O’Bannion?”
“He owns a big Tennessee plantation called Shannon Place. I don’t know if he’s even still alive, but invading Yankees have probably burned Shannon Place to the ground by now.”
She remembered then where she had heard the name. “I—I suppose it’s a common enough name, but the one I’m thinking of was a poor immigrant gardener.”
Cherokee sipped his coffee. “He’s an Irish immigrant, all right, can tell by his accent. Don’t know much about his past except that he went west as a young man and struck pay dirt in the California gold rush. He’s one of the richest men in Tennessee—or was before the war.”
Shawn O’Bannion. Could it be the same one? Hardly likely. What difference did it make? She realized the other three were staring at her curiously. Summer held her coffee cup up. “Well, Merry Christmas and here’s to a happy New Year for us all!”
“Hear! Hear!” They held their coffee cups high in a toast while the sounds of laughing, playing children drifted from the kitchen.
Summer lay staring at the ceiling long after the last lamp had been blown out for the night and all the children were asleep. The couple was in bed in the spare room of the cabin.
Iron Knife pulled her against him. “Tomorrow, we’ll rejoin the Cheyenne.” She stayed stiff in his arms as he kissed her cheek. “Little One, is something wrong?”
“Should there be?” It came out more tersely than she had planned.
He chuckled. “When a woman answers a question with a question, a man knows he’s in big trouble.”
“Now, unless you’ve done something you wouldn’t want me to know about, why would you think that?”
A long pause. “What kind of question is that?”
“You tell me.” She didn’t know herself why she was upset; it was just a vague suspicion that kept gnawing at her vitals like a mouse chewing away. It was discomforting enough that she couldn’t sleep.
“Summer, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Then there’s nothing to discuss!” She rolled over in bed, her back to him. She wasn’t sure whether she was angry or hurt. She yearned to blurt out her suspicions and have her lover laugh them off because, of course, he loved her more than life itself.
Instead, he sighed heavily and punched up his pillow. “Fine, we won’t talk about it. After this thing with Angry Wolf, I suppose you’re tired and—”
“You’re saying I’m a hysterical female!” She rolled toward him, raised up on one elbow, seething.
“I didn’t say that—”
“You all but did! What a typical male reaction!”
“This is a typical male reaction!” Before she could move, he reached up, pulled her down to him, and kissed her deeply, passionately while she tried to break away.
She must not let him wear her down, get her mind off the subject with his kisses that had always melted her so.
She pulled out of his powerful arms and made a big show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Men always think that’s the answer to everything.”
He smiled up at her. “Last night, you thought it was a pretty good answer.”
She gritted her teeth, wanting to smack him for pointing out how vulnerable she was to his charms. Instead, she lay down, turned her back on him and tried not to weep, but the tears came, making the mattress shake ever so slightly.
“Summer?”
She didn’t manage to stifle a sob, although she tried.
“Little One, what is it? What’s happened?” He put his arms around her, holding her close, murmuring to her, stroking her hair.
She wanted to melt against him, cry against his chest. Instead, all she could do was hold herself rigid and fight to stop her tears. She wanted to ask but was terrified to hear the truth. “I—I guess I am more tired than I thought.”
“That’s what I said.” She hated the smug tone of his voice, yet what had always attracted her to him was his almost swaggering masculinity, his protective savagery, his primitive arrogance. But, oh, he could be such a gentle and sensitive lover. He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get some sleep then; we’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.”
They lay together, with her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She still didn’t have the answer to her unasked question, and she couldn’t bear to bring it up again because he might tell her what she most dreaded to hear. “We’re going back tomorrow?”
“Umm.” He sounded distant, sleepy. “I’m feeling stronger, and I want to report to the council about Angry Wolf.”
She stared up at the ceiling. “Ne-mehotatse, dearest,” she said finally. I love you.
She waited for him to say he loved her, too, but what she got was the gentle sound of his breathing. He had dropped off to sleep. Damn him! She had wanted him to lie awake and hold her awhile, kiss her tenderly, say sweet things, tell her over and over how much he loved her, but he had drifted off to sleep. My marriage to a warrior is, after all, much like any marriage, she thought, disappointed and disillusioned. Once you become a wife, they take you for granted except when they get aroused. The rest of the time, they expect you to behave in a non-hysterical way, be “sensible, ” and go to sleep. Maybe things would look different to her tomorrow. However, tonight, while he slept, she lay looking at the ceiling, her soul in turmoil while she tried not to cry.
Things didn’t look much different to her in the morning, but Summer said nothing as she gathered up her things and thanked Silver for her hospitality. She thought she could never draw an easy breath again until she knew for certain whether her man had ever betrayed her with Gray Dove, that easy slut of an Arapaho.
Silver hugged her as they went out to the horses. “We loved having you, come back any time.”
“We enjoyed it,” Summer said.
Cherokee pushed his hat back. “Will you two be in any danger because of this Indian war?”
“No more than any of the other Cheyenne.” Iron Knife lifted Lance and Storm up on their little pinto ponies. “You’re the ones who ought to be worried, my friend, up here in the wilderness. I’ve hung a medicine object on your gate post that will tell warriors you are friends and should be left in peace.”
“Thanks,” Silver said. “If you two ever need anything, you know where to find us.”
“And, Cherokee, if you ever need to get a message to us,” Iron Knife said, “that medicine object will give you safe passage among our warriors across the plains.”
Summer put little Garnet in a cradleboard, then hung it from Starfire’s saddle. “I’ve got another old friend in Denver, Todd Shaw.”
“I know him.” Cherokee nodded and put his big arm around Silver’s shoulders.
Summer hesitated, looking at little Wannie. The pretty, dark little girl was playing dress-up in Silver’s old clothes and teasing Keso, who kept muttering that if she didn’t stop, he’d dunk her in the horse trough, high-heeled shoes and all. Yes, Wannie looked like her Indian mother, all right, and someday, she’d be a great beauty. Her big brother and Cherokee would have a difficult time keeping suitors away from her then. Gray Dove. Summer tried not to imagine the lusty Arapaho beauty in Iron Knife’s arms.
“Summer?” Iron Knife said.
“What?” She came out of her thoughts with a start. The others were looking at her strangely.
“I said, we’re ready to go.”
“Oh, of course.” They said their goodbyes again, turned and rode out, Lance and Storm loping their ponies ahead down the snowy trail. When she turned to look back and wave, Keso was giving Wannie a piggyback ride to the cabin. Summer waved at the little family as the Evans turned and went up the steps.
Iron Knife smiled. “Did you see the way that Wannie torments Keso?”
“He’s a half-grown boy”—Summer shrugged—“she’s a little girl. Bratty sisters have always made life miserable for brothers.”
“It’ll be interesting to see how they get along in ten years or so.”
Summer didn’t answer. She didn’t want to discuss the Evans’ adopted daughter; it made her think about Wannie’s mother, even though she knew she should push all this from her mind and forget it. It was a Pandora’s box that she might not be able to close the lid on if she ever opened it. Right now, she wished she didn’t even have her suspicions because they tormented her. She tried to tell herself that even if it were true, it was over and done a long time ago, and that it didn’t matter. Then why hadn’t he told her about it?
“Little One”—Iron Knife rode alongside her—“you are very quiet and thoughtful this morning.”
She looked at the long shadow she was throwing on the shimmering, crusty snow instead of looking at him. “I—I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“I love you, Summer Sky.”
She looked up sharply, wondering if he knew, deep in his heart, what was troubling her. Usually, she would have said, “I love you, too,” but now, she said nothing, merely returned to staring at their silhouettes dark against the snow. Could anyone ever really know what another human being was thinking? She had thought she had known him so well; that there were no secrets between them. Now she wondered if there were other things she didn’t know?
They returned to their Cheyenne band. Old Pony Woman and Pretty Flower came out to meet her, and she realized she was glad to see them—except that Summer soon learned the warriors were planning a revenge raid on Fort Sedgewick, near the town of Julesburg. That knowledge made Summer sad. She couldn’t even think about what would happen a few days from now when the warriors attacked. Added to that was the terrible suspicion that at the Evans’ cabin, the other three adults had tried so hard to end any discussion of Wannie’s parentage. Her suspicions deepened as the day wore on, and she lay sleepless that night in their tipi after the children were asleep.
“Summer Sky,” Iron Knife murmured, “you are angry with me for making love to you in the mine?”
“I lost control; now I wish we hadn’t.”
He turned over and looked at her in the glow of the fire. “Is that what has been bothering you? You have been so silent and moody.”
“Is there any reason you should be so suspicious?”
A long silence. “All right, my little love, let’s get this out in the open, shall we?”
“There’s nothing to discuss, unless you know something I don’t.”
“I have a feeling I’m being accused of something. I wish I at least knew what it is.”
“You should know that better than I!” Her voice rose in spite of all she could do.
He clapped his hand over her mouth. “Summer,” he said, his tone cold, “I am not sure what this is about, but a woman does not embarrass her man by screaming at him loud enough that others in the camp might hear.”
She did the first thing that came into her mind; she bit his hand.
He gave a low cry of indignant pain and shook the injured fingers. “If you were anyone else, I’d break you in half for that and you know it.”
“Go ahead, hit me; you’re bigger than I am, hit me!”
“You have tempted me too far this time!” Before she could react, he grabbed her, flipped her over his lap, jerked her buckskin shift up and paddled her bare bottom thoroughly while she fought and kicked, trying not to wake her children.
“You arrogant bastard! How dare you do that! How dare you use violence against me!”
He yanked her up, then pulled her skirt down. “You hurt me first,” he reminded her, “and what’s sauce for the goose, as the white man says, is sauce for a gander!”
She was in a fury as she pulled away from him. “I didn’t think you’d do it!”
“May I remind you,” he said with cool logic, “that you dared me to do it.”
“But I didn’t think you would!” She was crying from sheer anger now, and the more she cried, the angrier she got.
He reached out to her, and she slapped his hand away. “Don’t ever dare me, Little One. You are my woman and I will not be pushed around or led around by the nose like some damn fool white man.”
“I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” she sobbed in fury. “I hate you!”
“And I love you,” he said softly. “I love you more than anything in this world. Can’t you stop all this?” He slipped his arms around her, pulled her to him.
She tried to fight him, but he was so much bigger and stronger than she was. “No, I—” and his lips blocked her angry words. She tried to pull away from him to voice her indignation again, and he slipped his tongue between her lips. She tried to bite his tongue, but his hand reached up to hold her chin so he could ravage her mouth with his. One of his big arms held her against him while the other then stroked her hair, her back, her breasts.
He was too strong to pull away from, so there was nothing she could do but let him kiss her and paw her until he grew tired of his sport. Then she would escape his embrace and continue her tirade. She managed to pull her lips from his. “I—I resent you treating me like nothing but a woman—”
“You are a woman, Summer Sky,” he murmured against her lips, “my woman to protect and please and pleasure.”
“That’s not what I want right now.” She tried to keep her body rigid in his embrace, but his hand was playing with her nipples.
“Isn’t it?” he whispered against her ear, and his hot breath sent a shiver through her as he nibbled and sucked on her ear lobe. “It’s what I want; would you settle for that?”
“No . . .” When she opened her lips to deny it, he put his tongue in her mouth again, teasing and caressing. She would not let him arouse her and get her mind off the subject at hand, she decided.
“Let me do that to the rest of you,” he murmured, “run my tongue all over you, in you. I want to taste every bit of you, caress every inch of you with my mouth.”
“No . . .” She shook her head, but already his mouth was working its way down her neck. His fingers were stroking between her thighs.
He was whispering to her now, whispering of how much his body wanted hers, how much he knew she wanted him. “Tell me you want me, too, Summer Sky.”
She was trembling with desire, with banked passion. “No!” She shook her blond mane violently. “I—I can’t take the chance of another baby.”
“Then consider me your slave,” he murmured. “I’ll please you any way I can.”
She knew she should object, but she wanted to feel his mouth sucking her breasts, and she let him open the lacings of her doeskin bodice.
“Such a beautiful pair of breasts and all mine,” he said and cupped his big hands around her creamy white mounds, squeezed them up into two peaks of desire which he explored thoroughly with his lips and teeth.
“Don’t,” she began, but she could not keep her hands from pulling his dark head against her nipple so he would suck and caress and bite while she breathed heavier, gasping through open lips.
“You mean, ‘don’t stop,’ ” he said, and he didn’t.
He was driving her wild with desire, Summer thought, and did not try to stop him as his mouth moved down between her breasts and worked its way down to where the tip of his tongue flicked in and out of her navel. Her whole body felt aflame with fiery passion. She reached out and took his throbbing maleness in her hand. God, how she wanted that! It wasn’t fair that her man was so virile he could get her with child just by getting close to her. She’d be lucky if he hadn’t already bred her that other night in that abandoned mine. She didn’t even want to consider that possibility.
“I am your slave—your savage,” he whispered against her skin, “tell me what it is you want me to do to you.”
“N-Nothing, just let me up.”
“You lie! I know what you want. . . .”
She could feel his tongue licking and caressing its way down her belly to her thigh. Her whole lower body felt as if it would burst into flame at any second. He was her savage, her stallion slave for the moment, ready and eager to do whatever it took to satisfy her body. She let her legs fall apart, and his mouth trailed and teased the inside of her thigh.
“Ask for it, Summer.” She could feel the heat of his breath on the tender bud of her femininity.
She was almost too modest to voice it, but he was hers to satisfy her desires for the moment. “Kiss me there in a way that drives me wild.”
At that he pulled her thighs wide apart and wrapped his arms around them before his mouth came down on her, hot and wet and searching.
“Ahh!” She arched her back and let his mouth ravage her while she tangled her fingers in his black hair, holding him against her. Oh, it felt so good. His tongue was caressing and exploring deep and thoroughly.
“You like that, Little One? You like that? Tell me. Tell me you like it . . . you want it.”
Her passion had risen to the point that she was clawing his shoulders as she held him against her. He had turned so that he lay almost with her head in his lap. His maleness was hard and pulsating; she could feel it against her cheek and she began to convulse. She knew he would be unfulfilled this way and there was something she could do for him. She kissed him there and felt him throb hard and big. She did for him what he was doing for her. They began to convulse at the same time, and she couldn’t get enough of him, wanting him, wanting the taste of him as he was tasting her. He was the ultimate lover, she thought as they rode a blazing sky rocket of mutual need and desire into the darkness together. For a timeless moment, they were caught in an eternity of mutual passion, a black sky full of exploding fireworks. In his arms and only in his arms did she experience this ultimate of fulfillment, this Cheyenne splendor.
Iron Knife pleased her and teased her all night long until she was too wrung out to do anything but admit she was his woman and that she wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep against his big chest, safe and secure against anyone or anything that might hurt her.
Yet the images of him in another woman’s arms came again to haunt her, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You—you have avoided my questions the last several days.”
“About what?” He sounded sleepy but on guard.
“You know what it is I want to know; don’t pretend you don’t.”
Another long pause. “You’re tired, Little One. Why don’t we forget all this happened and go to sleep? You’ll feel differently tomorrow.”
Was he evading her unspoken questions? He was treating her like a hysterical, jealous woman. Hot tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them back. “I don’t want to forget about anything; I want the truth.”
“About what?”
“You know about what!”
He sighed loudly. “Oh, Summer, are you sure you want to take this any farther? I love you; I’ve never loved another woman like I love you. Can’t we leave it at that?”
Her common sense told her he was right, but she was jealous, hurt and suspicious. “I want to talk about it.”
“You’re like a small dog with a bone,” he said in the darkness. “When you get hold of a subject, you don’t let go of it, do you?”
“Obviously there’s a big bone here to chew on.” She didn’t know whether the tears in her eyes were from jealousy or fury.
“All right!” He sounded angry himself. “We will talk, but I think maybe in the long run, I will wish I had refused.”
“Just tell me what I need to know.”
“Does it matter that I love you, Little One?” His voice was so soft, he was whispering.
She should drop it, she knew. She was delving into something she was going to regret knowing; she was certain of it or he wouldn’t be so evasive. Yet she was too stubborn to kiss him, roll over and go to sleep. She blurted it out before she could think about it, throwing caution to the winds. “Did you sleep with Gray Dove?”
A long hesitation. “Long ago, before I ever knew you, I slept with her a time or two; all the warriors did. She was free and easy with her favors.”
She took a deep breath. “What—what I want to know is did you ever sleep with her after we became lovers?”
A silence so long, she could hear the wind whining around the snug tipi.
“Did you?” she asked again.
“No.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Then, damn it, why did you ask, since you know already?” He sat up suddenly, his tone and body tense and angry.
So now she knew.