Chapter Seven

Gradually, a cool, thunder-free summer night descended upon them, its balmy breeze carrying with it the fragrance of wildflowers, dry grass and the fresh scent that always accompanies a babbling brook. The constant chirping of the crickets and locusts was broken here and there by the ceaseless wafting of the wind, as well as the shrill call of a nighthawk. In the distance, a wolf howled while a coyote yelped.

Ever alert for danger, Grey Coyote sat across from the white woman, the small fire they had built blazing between them. As its smoky aroma enveloped his senses, Grey Coyote listened to the sounds of the night, attentive to any clamor or movement that was not a part of nature. Despite this, he was terribly conscious of every gesture the woman made, every nuance of her expression.

He should speak to her. He knew he should. But though he searched his mind for a topic of conversation, he could think of nothing to say.

Grey Coyote wished he were more skilled in carrying on a discussion, yet as he sat with Little Sunset, it was as though an old crow had stolen away his tongue.

What was wrong with him? There were many things he could say and probably should say. Truly, the very least he could do was converse with the woman.

Yet he did not.

Was it because of her beauty? Was it this that made him hesitate?

“Other men will want a pretty wife for their own,” came Grandfather White Elk’s voice from out of the past. “Always some man will covet her. There may be fights, jealousy, you may wonder if she is true to you. Peace will become a stranger in your home. Choose wisely when the time comes for you to marry, grandson, and know that ofttimes it is best to take a plain-looking woman as your bride.”

Yet, that advice, though good, was of no use to Grey Coyote. What was done was done, and since he could not undo it, and since he and the woman were to be together for several weeks, it would behoove them both to come to some sort of understanding.

He opened his mouth. Realizing he had no idea how to start, he closed it. Once more he tried. Again, he shut his mouth and remained silent.

At last, he plunged in and asked, “What awaits you in the village of St. Louis?”

“What?” Her golden eyes stared up at him as though he had startled her.

He repeated, “Is there someone who awaits you in the village of St. Louis?”

“Someone, who… Oh, no, no one waits for me. It is only that I will be able to engage a boat there, which will bear me home.”

“Hau, hau.” He bobbed his head in understanding. “Where is your home?”

“England,” she said, as if it were a holy place. “But England is far from here. However, though it is distant, it is the place where my heart belongs.”

“England,” he repeated. “I have never heard of this village.”

“Oh, it is not a village. Not as you think of villages. It is a country.”

“Hau, hau. I understand that word, country. Tell me, is your country as beautiful as mine?”

“Oh, yes. But it is very different than yours. Here, there is a rugged beauty; here, there is sun and wind and heat, and open spaces. England is more a land of rolling green hills filled with wildflowers and forests. The sky is blue, the clouds are white and dainty. The moors are quiet, the villages quaint, and there are lazy afternoons that beg one to do no more than lounge.”

He nodded. “You must love this place. I can hear the admiration of it in your voice. It will be good when you return to it again.”

“Yes. Yes, it has been many years since I last saw her shores, fourteen to be exact.”

“Ahhhh,” he said, drawing out the word. “And that is why you are content to hurry across my country without pausing to get to know her? So that you might see your home again soon?”

“Yes,” she agreed, although at the same time a frown marred her brow. “However, there is another, more vital reason why I am most anxious to return. You see, I…” She paused midsentence, sending him a surreptitious glance. Then, straightening, she continued, “But enough about me. What of you? Why are you here, traveling alone in a country that is hostile to you?”

Although more than aware that she had censored her thoughts, he chose to let the incident pass without comment. “I am on an errand for my people.”

“Oh?”

“Hau, hau.” He nodded. “I am charged with a duty, and I seek a white man—one who looks much like the scout, LaCroix—for this man holds something that is important to my people.”

“Really?” she asked, as though in speculation. “Is that why you let Mr. LaCroix gamble away everything he owned?” Her voice carried a note of disapproval.

Grey Coyote sent her a frown. “The scout LaCroix knew what the wager held; he understood what he had to lose. Besides, he remained in custody of a few of his things even in the end.”

“Oh?” Even that softly spoken word conveyed reproach.

Grey Coyote chose not to react to her. Instead, he poked at the fire. A log fell, sparks shooting up from it.

After a time, she said, “So you are charged with a duty?”

“I am.”

“And it weighs on you?”

Again he met her question with silence. In essence, there were some things a man did not discuss.

“You needn’t answer,” she said. “I can tell it sits heavily on you. May I ask what this duty is you must perform?”

Over the light from the crackling flames, his eyes met the burnished embers of hers. For a moment, he did little but behold the loveliness that was hers alone. And then, knowing what he must say, he uttered simply, “I cannot speak of it.”

She held his gaze, saying nothing for so long the quiet noise of the evening began to intrude on them. “It appears,” she said after several instances, “as though neither one of us is as yet able to trust the other with our deepest, most heartfelt secrets.”

He inclined his head slightly. “It may be so. However, perhaps our distrust is natural. We have but met.”

She placed her head to the side, as if by that angle she could better study him. “I would say yes and no to that,” she uttered softly, and then, having delivered this peculiar assertion, she turned her attention elsewhere.

He frowned. “I do not understand.”

“No, I don’t expect that you do.” She sighed. “I barely grasp it myself.”

Grey Coyote chose to say nothing, though he watched her closely.

In due time, she said, “It is odd. Yesterday I found myself in the charge of a stranger, going Lord only knows where, possibly even captured by him, with only his word to tell me what had happened. And here I am. Though I am not headed in the direction that I must, I yet find that I…”

He remained silent. Intent, but silent.

She cleared her throat. “By rights, I should assume that this man is my enemy.”

He bent his head in agreement.

“But the problem is I don’t think this way at all.” As she lifted her gaze to his, her eyes were big, round. “And that’s what is so strange. Although I hardly know you, Mr. Coyote, and although I should fight you and fend you away—perhaps even order you to take me where I please—I…I trust you. Do you know why this is?”

“Maybe.” His voice caught. Annoyed at this obvious show of weakness, he cleared his throat. “It might be that, despite our differences, our hearts speak to one another in the same language. It is possible.”

“That is within the realm of possibility.” She said the words softly. “Mr. Coyote, what do you mean by ‘our hearts’?”

“Kindness, maybe,” he explained diligently, “or perchance a sort of sympathy, something that beckons us. To be guided by one’s heart is different than to be led, and perforce fooled, by one’s head. It is an instinct, a sense. And it is never felt for oneself, alone. One is tended in a direction toward another because one feels…something.”

“Well said. Then when you say ‘heart’, you were not referring to…” She stopped speaking and looked away from him.

But he was curious, and he said, “Referring to…?”

Her face became a dark shade of crimson, which caused his study of her to deepen, and he repeated, “Referring to…”

“Nothing. It is not important.” She sighed, but still she didn’t look at him.

He drew his brows together. Was she also having difficulty because of who he was? Was it possible they were both experiencing a similar rush of feeling?

He swallowed, then remarked, “Of course, you are probably aware that I am attracted to you. It is conceivable that this concerns you, and if it does, be assured I mean you no dishonor.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no, no, I know that…” Her voice faded away.

“I have given you my word that you are safe with me. After all, I intend to leave you at the trading post as soon as—”

“Unless I can convince you to take me to St. Louis.” She flashed him a grin.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think your suggestion is a wise idea? My taking you to St. Louis?”

“Well, naturally. Why not?”

“Because when two people are alone, male and female, there can build between them an affinity which is hard to break.” Across the smoldering remains of the fire, he scrutinized her features, finding them…pleasing. “What you ask of me could be…difficult for me.”

She was silent. With her attention still focused elsewhere, she asked, “Difficult because of the attraction?”

He nodded.

“Then you have decided not to take me to St. Louis?”

“Hiya, I have not yet made that decision. I am only telling you the factors I must take into consideration.”

“I see,” she said, then dropped off into silence. The fire crackled merrily, as though unaware of any tension between them.

In due time, he continued to speak. “Perhaps now that we may talk openly to one another, you might be of assistance to me with this problem. It is good that we may speak of it. Hear me on this. For though you are by rights my wife, and I your husband, until I complete the task set before me, I am not a free man. And perhaps I never will be a free man. Know, therefore, that a true marriage to me…is impossible.”

She remained mute.

“Thus, so that we both continue to be honorable to each other, let us make a pact between us and pledge to each other from this day forward, no matter how our hearts might tend us, we agree we will not be swayed. To do so could distract me from what I must do. It might do so to you, also.”

Her glance was focused on the ground. “You speak as if we were of long acquaintance and in danger of losing our hearts to one another, Mr. Coyote. And yet we have barely known one another a day.”

“Hau, that is true. I understand why you say this, and it is possible you do not share the same problem that befalls me. But when I held your hand this day…” He stopped. Though he realized they needed to speak about and around this subject, this particular line of thought was not one he wished to pursue.

Yet she coaxed, “Yes?”

He swallowed hard. “I cannot state more.”

“Cannot?”

He shrugged, jerking his chin to the left. “My wife, you are the first white woman I have ever seen, that I have ever known. By the very laws of nature, I should treat you with respect because you are so different from me. I should admire you, should even withhold the things my tongue speaks now, for I fear if we are not careful, you could divert me from the mission that rules my life. Possibly this is true for you too. And yet, even knowing this, here I am, telling you that I find you…beautiful.”

She caught her lip between delicate white teeth, and he stared intently at those lips until he realized what he was doing. Quickly, he looked away.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was kind of you to say.”

“Perhaps. But I did not mean it to be kind. I spoke of this because I believe it is true, and because I wish you to be aware of it. Together, if we agree, we can ensure we will keep each other’s honor.”

He brought his gaze back to hers, watching her as she sucked in a quivering breath, as though her emotions were involved. At the thought, his stomach twisted.

All at once she said, “If that be the case, maybe it would be best if you simply took me straight to the village of St. Louis, rather than risk spending more time with me by going on to the trading post, and then traveling farther to St. Louis.”

“Perhaps. But know that there is another reason why I am choosing the path to the white man’s trading post.”

“And that is?”

“The man I seek might be there. And if he is, I must find him.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

With the firelight throwing her features into shadow and light, he truly thought she was the most exquisite creature of his acquaintance. “We have had a good talk, and since we are husband and wife, we are allowed this. But I think the time has come for sleep. You should go to sleep now. I have set a buffalo robe toward the back of our lodge for that purpose. I will stay here at the front of our abode and keep watch.”

“Yes, yes, of course, you are right. I should sleep. It is late, after all.” She came up onto her knees. But before she crawled to the back of their tiny hideaway, before she wrapped herself up in the warmth of the buffalo robe, she leaned over and said, “Thank you. I appreciate your consideration,” and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek.

All his blood seemed to dive and pool below his navel, so great was his reaction to her.

Don’t do it, he told himself. Don’t indulge. She does not understand what she does, perhaps not even its effect on a man.

But her lips were so close, her scent so intriguing, and he had only to reach out a little, turn his head just so.

No, he mustn’t do it. He mustn’t.

Yet, he wondered if he would be quite male if he did not. Slowly, he turned his head.

As his lips came in contact with hers, he thought his body might burst apart from all the energy flooding through him. Suddenly a simple touching of lips to lips was not enough. His hands came up to frame her face, and his mouth slanted hungrily over hers, tasting, licking, kissing, not once, not twice, but over and over again.

He felt her cheeks, running his fingers gently down to her neck, over her shoulders. Her skin was an added inducement, for it was as soft as a doe’s, and all at once he yearned to feel every part of her.

But it was too much for him. He felt too much, he desired too much, and the craving tore at him.

Barely able to contain this woman’s effect on him, he broke off the kiss. He knew he must put a stop to this immediately, or he would have to take back everything they had thus far discussed.

Unable to set her away from him completely, he pulled her into his embrace and hugged her, much as he had been dreaming of hugging her all evening. Her head fitted perfectly into the crook of his neck, as though she were made exactly for him.

He couldn’t help but whisper in her ear, “Perhaps now is not the time to tell you that I desire you, and have done so from the moment I first saw you. It is this that I fight.”

“Yes,” she said as softly as he. “Perhaps now is not the time.”

He set her away from him, running his fingers over the smoothness of her cheek to her neck, on down toward her chest. “But we should not do anything further. You know this. I know this. We must not. You do agree?”

Again, she nodded. “I know. And yes, I agree. After all, our time together will be short.”

However, no sooner had the words been spoken than they rushed into one another’s arms.

All thought fled. The only consideration in Grey Coyote’s mind was how good it felt. Her arms had entwined themselves around his neck, pulling him down to her. His arms had fastened around her waist, bringing her in so close he feared she might feel the imprint of his passion.

And the sweet scent of her… His head reeled.

It felt good to hug, too good. It felt good to have her arms around him, also. He whispered, “It is up to the man to think reasonably, to call a halt to the passion of the moment, for a woman, once pushed too far, can be convinced of most anything. Therefore, it is my responsibility to say that we must stop.” He set her away from him, but he did not relinquish his touch of her. His hands had dropped to her waist while his throat worked convulsively.

Again, she agreed, nodding. But her gaze was centered on the ground. When she raised her eyes to his, his heart soared, for he recognized the passion that stared back at him. He groaned.

But that was all he did, fearful that if he took any further action, or if he even said another word, he would betray all he had thus far settled. He dropped his hands.

After a moment, she said, “You are right. I should go to bed. I will do so now.” Her attempt seemed halfhearted, and when she made a move to leave, she brushed against him, her breasts rubbing across his own.

He sucked in his breath, and she looked at him. A simple action, yet potent. Their gazes clung together, as though, each knowing this was all they could share, they would commit the act of love with a look alone.

She swallowed. He did the same. Then she said, “Good night,” touching him on the breast.

And then…rapture.

Suddenly, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, and they kissed and kissed, in such a way that the action might allow them to crawl into each other’s skin. Neither came up for a breath. Neither had any thought of stopping the assault.

It went on and on. His hands came up to cup her face, then down, down, he felt her, down to her neck, down to her waist.

To his horror, his fingers shook. But luckily, she looked to be unaware of it. Or perhaps if she did know, she chose to make no mention of it.

Still they kissed, their tongues mating in the time-honored dance of love. His fingers tangled with the buttons at the back of her dress, although he was unable to undo a single one of them. Coming up for air, he gasped, and in a last-ditch effort to control himself, said, “If you can stop me, do so, for I appear to have lost my will to do anything but make love to you.”

She made a high-pitched sound, deep in her throat, and whispered, “Mr. Coyote, I fear you cannot depend on me for this. You will have to think for us both.”

He inhaled noisily. “If it be so, then you must know I want to make love to you.”

She swallowed hard, and his heart tripped over itself. When she said “I too,” his body throbbed maddeningly, his spirits soared.

Barely daring to question his good fortune, Grey Coyote forced his stumbling fingers over those material-covered buttons at the back of her dress yet again, and he managed to undo…none of them. It took her steady hands to reach up and undo the buttons herself.

It was over in a few moments, but in that short time period, he had begun to kiss every part of her fragrant skin, there at her neck, at her throat, and he made several daring forays downward to the cloth that covered her breasts. All the while his hands massaged the sides of her waist, up and down, over and over.

Though the dress fell to her waist, she was still almost fully clothed. Beneath her outer garment was yet another, a white dress. And beneath that, another article of clothing. But her fingers were nimble, and soon it was done.

Her clothing fell forward, exposing her snow-white breasts to the air and to his hungry eyes. For a flash in time, he forgot to breathe.

Was this real? Was he dreaming? Had his luck changed? For although he was no stranger to the act of love—having lain with several of the widows of his tribe—he had never dared to court a maiden, knowing he could not give a woman the things she desired most: a home, a steady food supply, children. Thus, his sexual experience had been relegated to a casual night here and there. Never had his heart been involved.

But this was different, and he realized its difference at once. This was a meeting not only of the heart, but of the soul. Odd that it would be a white woman who would affect him so.

He took in a deep breath, letting go of it slowly, afraid of any quick action on his part that might cause her to disappear. At last, he found his voice and discovered he was able to say, simply, “You are beautiful.”

She smiled up at him, and in the look was so much affection—innocent, yet provocative affection—he thought he might quietly go out of his mind.

Then he did what seemed the most natural thing to do. He tenderly caressed her breasts. He bent toward her, trailing impassioned kisses from her forehead, down to her cheeks, down farther to her ear, her neck, and finally to each rosy tip.

She moaned and threw back her shoulders as though to offer herself more fully to his ministrations. His body answered hers in an entirely male way. He pulled her dress past her waist and then took it off her, leaving only the transparent white material of her gown covering her. This, too, found its way to her feet quickly. He knelt and massaged each foot in its turn as he slipped off her shoes and hose.

Glancing up, he was enamored by the sight of her completely naked form. Emotion choked at him, but aware of what they both needed, he pressed her onto her back and came up over her. His fingers trailed up and down, over every quivering bit of her flesh, found unerringly, too, that moist place between her legs.

As his touch feasted on her there, her hips swayed against him in a sweet, gentle rhythm. It was an exquisite bit of pure heaven, and he said, “I think, my wife, that you are ready for me.”

“Yes, I think so too. Although…”

He frowned down at her.

“Although shouldn’t you remove your clothes?”

He gulped. His own state of dress had escaped his notice.

Reaching toward his waist, he untied his breechcloth, letting loose his engorged manhood. At her gasp, pleasure washed through him, for surely she complimented him. He positioned himself over her.

Though he could barely hold himself back, before he took the next step, he needed to ask, “Forgive the question, my wife. I mean no insult. But had you and Scout LaCroix been physically intimate?”

Again, she moaned, but this time it did not sound as though it were from pleasure. “Please believe me. LaCroix was not my husband.”

He nodded. “But did he—?”

“Please, go no further.”

Grey Coyote swallowed, and feeling as guilty as a young lad having been caught doing something wrong, he became still. True, he had asked her to stop him if she were able, but he had never dreamed he would come so far before she would demand a withdrawal.

He dropped his hands, and setting her away from him, he reached for his breechcloth.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why have you stopped?”

He cleared his throat. “You said to go no further. I will respect that.”

“Oh, no, no,” she replied easily, relaxing back against the buffalo robe. “You misunderstood. I meant not to speak to me further of Jacques LaCroix. Please believe me, I speak true when I tell you he lied to you. He was not, is not, has never been my husband. I have never been married to anyone. In truth, I have never been with a man before.”

Grey Coyote swallowed. “Never?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

His breathing stopped, his throat tightened. This woman was a virgin?

If it were possible, his spirits flew straight to the heavens, for it took no genius to realize he would be her first. Would he also be her only?

He refused to follow that line of thought and pulled together his musings. “I think we will proceed slowly.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “But not too slowly.”

Again, he swallowed hard, and he came down over her, pressed his lips to hers, and with one slow push after another, he joined himself with her physically.

Ah, the warmth that welcomed him, the pleasure of her inner recesses. He shuddered, and his sigh against her was deeply felt.

Everything about her was right, from her feminine scent, to her naked form, to her very soul. Forget that they had been together for so short a time. It was as though they were old friends, as though this were merely a reacquainting of the heart. Had he been born that he might live and experience this moment?

He pushed himself upward, still sheathed within her tightness, and proceeded to love her, but perhaps in a slower, more controlled way than that to which he was accustomed.

After all, she deserved to reach her pleasure, even this, her first time.

 

As Marietta traded kiss for kiss, embrace for embrace, she couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more. Why? Surely this wasn’t love.

It couldn’t be, since it was not as if what happened here would change the course of her life. No, the pattern of her life was set, had been set years ago. Why then did she feel such longing, such joy?

Oh, if only she had someone to confide in, someone to tell her deepest longings to. But the princess was far away, as was Yellow Swan.

No, she would have to decide these things for herself. She would have to trust herself, her own judgment. And oh, dear Lord, being in this man’s arms was…sweet.

It was too bad they would not have more time to share with one another. But the die was already cast. Besides, there were some things more important than love.

Love? There it was again. And it didn’t belong here. What was probably a more correct statement of fact would be to say what she felt was lust.

But Grey Coyote had intimated that theirs was a matter of the heart, an instinct, if you please. Was it true? Had their hearts spoken to each other?

Perhaps it was so. Certainly she couldn’t credit their coming together from Grey Coyote’s words of undying love—there hadn’t been any.

Yet, she could not deny there was something about this man which made her want to…enrich him, to contribute to his welfare. Did this mean he had touched her heart?

On its own, an image of this man in prayer, up on the butte, came to her. Was it only yesterday?

Why was that moment magical?

She sighed. She simply didn’t know, and there was no other feminine presence here to guide her. She was on her own.

“Hmmm,” she moaned as pleasure rocked her body, making further thought impossible. The sensation took her by surprise, for she hadn’t expected it. True, Marietta was more than aware that a man might find ultimate pleasure in the act of love. But a woman?

Wasn’t it a woman’s lot to enjoy kisses and hugs only? Wasn’t that what the ladies in Princess Sierra’s court had whispered?

Marietta closed her eyes against the pleasure which swept through her. Perhaps it wasn’t true.

Grey Coyote broke into her thoughts by whispering in her ear, “Wrap your legs around me and let yourself go. Though this is your first time, this act should bring you much joy. Spread your legs and give yourself to me. I will not betray you. Remember, I am your husband.”

His voice, so soft and husky against her ear, sent a wave of heat along her nerve endings. She whimpered lightly, and beside herself, she strained against him, all the while opening herself to him. Though it was true she spread her legs more fully, it was also a fact that she opened herself to him, becoming, perhaps, a part of him spiritually, and he, most likely, of her.

Joy swept with a rush along her nerve endings, the source of it originating at the junction of her legs. Her attention became absorbed by it and it alone.

The gratification of it built as well. It rose, it crescendoed, until all at once an uncontrollable physical elation swept through her body, sending radiating warmth to every part of her. She wiggled against the tide of it, and against him, straining for more, and she wondered, had he felt it too?

Perhaps so. For at that very instant, she was certain he had released within her, and she caught her breath.

It was like being endowed with a flash of paradise.

Who would have thought that here, in this dangerous, savage environment, was a bit of heaven?

But their lovemaking wasn’t over. Not yet. They bore against one another, their gazes locked, and together, wrapped in one another’s arms, they tripped over the edge of heaven, again and again and again.

At last, exhausted, they fell toward each other, her body cradling his. Gradually, she fell into a blissful sleep. If her dreams were filled with images of herself and Grey Coyote flitting through space as though they were one, she was to be forgiven. For at this moment in time, so close was she to him, she felt as if she were him.