He grinned and brought up a hand to thread through her hair. “It matters very much to me. Do not think that I do not want this, but we have many years ahead of us, and it is something we will do. But perhaps at a time when I am more accustomed to you—at a time when I am not so excitable by the mere thought of your touch. Besides, it will give us both something to think about, something to look forward to.”
“Yes, I understand. But don’t you know?”
“Don’t I know what?”
“Don’t you know that I already look forward to each minute, each second I have with you? I don’t need any form of lovemaking to remind me of what you mean to me.”
“But—”
With her gaze, she pleaded her case. She was more than a little exhilarated when he at last lay back, and drawing a deep breath, he said, “You are right, but remember, when I pull away from you, it is because I have almost lost control.”
She gave him a brief nod, then she once more began her descent down his body.
His low moan, sounding more like a soft growl, was the first thing she found dear. He tasted of spice and fresh river water, and his scent, balmy, clean and invigorating, excited her.
It had no more than begun when he reached down and pulled her up to him. Switching positions, he lowered her to the ground, which was still warm from his body heat.
Coming up over her, he smoothed back her hair. “Perhaps in old age I may grow accustomed to your touch, or perhaps Iam wrong and the feel of you against me may never become a common pastime. But know this, whether or not the fire between us becomes a mere ember in our future, you will always have my love. That will not die. I will not let it. And this I promise you.”
“Oh, Swift Hawk,” she cried, and reaching up, she cradled his head in her hands. “Love me, my darling. Please love me.”
With a deep kiss as a promise for what was to come, he proceeded to do just that.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Friendship is held to be the severest test of character… But to have a friend, and to be true under any and all trials, is the mark of a man!
—CHARLES A. EASTMAN,THE SOUL OF THE INDIAN
There was a dryness in the air, and the sun was high in the sky. Looking up, Angelia shielded her eyes from its brightness. She and Swift Hawk were once again traveling on the prairie, en route to the wagon train.
Both of them had been more than a little reluctant to leave the safe haven of their coulee. But responsibility was an impatient taskmaster, and at last, both had known that a few days would be all they could have with one another. At least for now.
Swift Hawk had stopped.
“There is something wrong.” He placed an arm in front of Angelia, forcing her to halt as well.
“What is it?” She gazed first at him, then straight ahead. In front of her were numerous stands of trees that surrounded the camping site of the place called Council Grove. Here and there, Angelia could discern a line of white canvases, parked beneath those trees. But the site was still so far away, she wondered if she were only imagining it.
“I do not know what the trouble is,” Swift Hawk responded at last. “I only sense that an enemy lies in wait.”
She gasped. “Hostile Indians?”
Swift Hawk didn’t answer at once. Instead, he crouched low and became very still, as though he were in a holding position. His attention was clearly not on what he looked at, but rather was radiating outward from him, as if with his mind he would discover the cause for his alarm. Angelia remained silent, watching him.
They were, at present, afoot, and were leading Swift Hawk’s pony. The caravan, Angelia had learned from Swift Hawk, had stopped at Council Grove. It was in this place that the merchants would mend any broken wheels, as well as create a store of hardwood logs for each outfit. Since this was the last stand of hardwood trees along the Santa Fe Trail, it was a necessary precaution against accidents.
Angelia had discovered that it was at Council Grove where Swift Hawk, acting as a scout, had found Julian—only a day past. Staring off at those white-topped wagons now, Angelia realized that she too felt anxious.
Council Grove was a meeting place for the merchants who traveled over the Santa Fe Trail. It was a famous spot, as well, although it was not a town. Rather, it was simply a location that had been given its name due to a treaty being signed there; a treaty that had been made in 1825 between the United States Government and the Osages. In that document, the Osage Indians granted the United States the right of its citizens to pass through their territory without harm. For this right the Osages had been granted eight hundred dollars worth of merchandise.
Perhaps her anxiety was due to Julian. It was certainly true that she yearned to see him again.
How odd it was. Here on the prairie, time seemed to be a fickle thing at best, and while it felt to her as though it had been forever since she had seen her brother, the reverse was true with Swift Hawk. Their time together had flown by.
And yet in contrast, she had changed so drastically in these last few days. She sighed.
