"That's right," she said as she looked forward once again.
Using the comb as an object separating them, he stroked the comb through her hair, but her locks were so tangled he eventually set the comb aside and used his fingers to loosen the knots. Working from its length upward, he gradually succeeded in freeing her hair of its tangles.
"Hmmm, that feels good."
He didn't respond back to her, afraid to say anything lest his tongue lead him toward more sensuality between them. It might also cause him to take her in his arms and make love to her. He certainly wanted to. And, then what?
He could take her; he knew he could. She was willing...at least she was right now.
Yet, even knowing this, he couldn't do it. She was still weak from her injuries and of a mindset where she was obligated to do as he insisted. To make love to her now would be taking advantage of his situation over her.
And, he couldn't forget he must not do it without also marrying her. In fact, he couldn't make love to her at all, marriage or not. He had given his word of honor to her to not take her virginity. What he hadn't known then was that she might come to want him, too.
He shut his eyes, as if this action might cleanse his mind of lust. But, it was not to be. Her curvy figure, her delicate scent and even the silky feel of her hair, which he held in his fingers, urged him to take her in his arms and make urgent, wild love to her.
At last, he knew he had to put some distance between them. As soon as the tangles were out of her hair, he scooted around her and crawled back to his own place within their tiny abode.
"You are done so soon?" she asked. "How does my hair look? Is it still tangled? How I must look to you, with messy hair and nothing but a robe to put around me."
He shut his eyes, cautioning himself to remain silent.
"Well, please tell me, for I have no one but you for a mirror," she said in English. Then, in sign, she asked, "Do I look all right?"
"I have never known a woman to look more beautiful than you do at this moment. Had I not given you my word of honor, I would now be holding you in my arms."
"I don't understand you."
He smiled at her. "You look beautiful," he signed.
She grinned back at him. "Truly?" she asked with sign. "You're not simply saying this to keep from making an argument with me?"
He shook his head. "You are very beautiful." He'd said this in Blackfeet, but he didn't need to translate it. His admiration for her was almost a physical fascination, and he knew she understood.
He shut his eyes again, attempting to rein in his desire. He didn't speak. He was incapable of it at present.
"You are very quiet," she observed by making the proper signs. "Have I upset you?"
"Saa, there is nothing wrong, and I am not upset with you. I am simply lost in my thoughts."
Bringing forward a buckskin bag full of dried meat, he opened it up and took out a piece. Reaching out, he offered her the best of the meat after he had taken some for himself, of course, as Blackfoot etiquette demanded of him. As she took hold of the dried meat from him, her fingers touched his, and he thought he might explode without even having to make love to her.
"Here," he signed, "take the bag from me. I suddenly remember a chore I have forgotten." And, without awaiting her response, he came up onto his knees, crawled to the entrance and, throwing an extra robe around his shoulders, stepped out into the cold air which turned out to be a welcome relief.
With gusto, he threw himself into the chore of cutting up wood, utilizing no more than his knife. Still, it wasn't enough to cool his passion, and he plowed through the snow to where he had made their latrine. There, he spent some time digging into the ground below the snow with his sharp buffalo shoulder blade and dug up enough dirt to throw into the trench-like ditch he'd made.
The night was thick and dark now despite the white fury around him, yet he dared not seek their shelter. And so, he next waded through the deep snow toward where the horses were standing next to the cottonwood trees. There, he brushed them down, preparing them for the night. As he cared for them and petted them, he wondered how he was to get through the night without making love to this woman. But, somehow he had to do it. On this thought, he decided to construct a lean-to structure as a temporary shelter for the horses.
This ended up requiring more work than he had supposed it might, and, feeling a little cooler now that it was done, he took a deep breath. He thought he now might be a little more in control over his body and considered he might be able to keep his hands off of her.
He reminded himself that her feminine gift to a man was not his to take. And, with his passion cooled, he was certain he would be able to keep away from her. Perhaps, he thought, when he entered their shelter again, he might concentrate all his thoughts and efforts on their game of chance.
He was, after all, losing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
––––––––
"Ipii vai,enter," called Gray Falcon to the scratch a visitor was making upon his lodge. He was surprised when his friend, Comes Running, was followed into the tepee by a young, pretty white girl. He recognized this girl, for he had seen her often within the fort; he knew she was the younger sister of Laylah, the beautiful white woman who so fascinated his friend, Eagle Heart.
