Swift Hawk didn’t sleep.How could he whenshewas beside him, with her body huddled into his? With her breasts nestled up against his side, with her leg thrown over his?
He drew in a deep breath, wishing he had a shirt in which to clothe her. He tightened his arms around Angelia, intent on enjoying the moment. She shivered, and he realized she still wore her shoes, the wet leather of them perhaps contributing to the coolness of her body temperature.
Reaching down, he carefully removed each shoe and her hose. It was an exquisite activity, for her feet were slim and delicate. Briefly he rubbed them, listening to her soft sighs. Lying back, he took her once more in his arms and rubbed her up and down, as though by friction alone he would warm her.
Closing his eyes, he experienced a sensation of well-being. How good this felt. How good this was for his soul. If only he could keep holding her, if only she were his.
Maybe the future held a chance for them. Was it not possible that once his obligation was discharged, he could do all he wished for her?
Yet the desire to brand her with his lovemaking now was almost irrepressible. His body did not understand why he hesitated. Alas, regardless of his own scruples, his body seemed to be ever alert to any opportunity.
But she was asleep.
Yet, it would take little to awaken her. And here they were…alone. It was almost perfect, for the storm raging outside would ensure they would not be disturbed.
But, he cautioned himself, it was not perfect. As individuals they were divided on a very important matter—marriage.
Afterward, he would say to her,We are married.
And she would respond with,No, we are not, and have never been.
It was a conversation they had already held, and one which had ended badly.
No, as he saw it, his only option was to place strict control over himself. Yes, strict control. But how to do it?
“My son.” Swift Hawk heard the voice of his adoptive father as though it were yesterday. “Know that honor often demands that a man withhold himself from his woman. And yet, his desires may be many.
“The wrong path, my son, is to choose another woman, unless she be another wife to help your first wife. But even on this, the two of you must agree. Keep in mind that if you break this first pledge to your wife, your home will be filled with conflict, and your peace of mind will be shattered.
“The better way is to control your manly instincts, and there is a way to do this. Focus your passions into action. There are many ways to exhaust the body so greatly that a man does not think of lovemaking so much. Hunting, running, fighting, wrestling, warring—these are all good things. Remember, my son, sometimes a man needs to cure himself of his desires, and he does this with extreme action.”
Action. Yes, that was it, activity.
And yet, here he lay, with the object of his affection wrapped securely in his arms. Was it any wonder that he felt so greatly tested?
Haa’he, he knew what he would do. As soon as she sleptdeeply enough that she would not awaken easily, he would take whatever steps were necessary to build a fire. Perhaps, too, he would check his stores of pemmican, for if they were low, he would seek to find food, if not some animal in hiding, then he would fish.
Yes, such was a good plan.
If only there were as workable a remedy for his heart.
Angelia awokeamidst a soft bed of grass and the trade-blanket, which Swift Hawk had laid under her. She felt the ground in front of her, only to find herself alone. Not only that, the blanket, which was fragrant with the scent of horseflesh as well as that of grass, was wrapped around her. And in the air was the scent of… Could it be?
She opened her eyes. Was it…? Yes, she was right. There at her feet, toward the opening of their lean-to, was a fire. Was something cooking there? And how had Swift Hawk managed to build a fire in such weather conditions?
Above her, she could hear the falling of the rain, yet her bed was unusually dry. Glancing upward, she noticed that the buffalo robe, their ceiling, was only a few inches from her head. But because the ground below her angled downward, there at her feet, the lean-to was perhaps a good three and a half, maybe four feet high. Tall enough to allow a person to sit upright.
Tree branches, bushes and long grasses were positioned against the lean-to so that these became their walls on both sides, and though drops of moisture fell through their barrier, any that were caught in the shelter seemed to dry rather quickly.
At present Swift Hawk’s back was toward her, his weapons off to the left of him. There was a fire in front of him, and beyond him was the gray curtain of rain, which was now falling more gently. The entire picture that was presented to her wasgreatly endearing. As it was reminiscent of home and hearth, a feeling of warmth swept over her.
Wrapping the blanket securely around her, she scooted downward. “Good afternoon, I think. It is still afternoon, isn’t it?”
Swift Hawk stiffened. But when he glanced over his shoulder at her, there was nothing but good humor on his features, though he did not smile. “It is still afternoon, though it is late.”
“Yes, I thought so.” She crawled down even farther so that she might sit up. “It isn’t dark enough outside to be night.”
He nodded but remained silent, his attention seemingly on the fire as he poked at it.
