Lakota Princess (7 page)

No one made a move toward her.

The two daughters cried, looking faint themselves, and if it weren’t for Black Bear, Estrela might have lain on the floor for a very long time, at least until a servant could be summoned to carry her.

But Black Bear was there. He bent down to her, lifting her into his arms, and had anyone looked closely, they might have seen the fleeting rush of pleasure come onto his face, a look that told of his feelings for this pale-haired beauty. But too soon it was gone, quickly masked.

“Where does she stay?” he asked.

“Oh, but my dear boy, I…why, you can’t take her there. Wait and I will get a servant.”

But Black Bear had already strolled away and was climbing the marble stairway, his gaze silently admiring the girl he held closely in his arms.

“I need no one else,” he said. “I will see to her. Just tell me where she stays or take me there.”

“I never…you can’t… I wouldn’t allow—”

“She needs her rest. Had she been in my home, I would have sent her to sleep long ago. Now if you will not tell me where it is that she stays, I will pick any room of my choosing.”

“Third door on the right, up the stairs, dear boy. And do be quick about it. I couldn’t allow you to stay there with her for any length of time. Beth, my daughter, will fetch a servant to help. Your Royal Grace, please come this way. I am truly sorry for all of this. I simply can’t imagine what could have happened and I cannot believe that…”

Her words trailed into the distance as the three women and the Royal Duke left the drawing room, adjourning to the north wing, there to partake of dinner and to relate over the scandalous events of the day; and Beth, the prettier of the Colchester daughters, never thought to summon a servant.

He stared at her on the bed where he had placed her. She lay amid creamy, silken sheets, and he thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He had risked much to come after her in this foreign place: his home, his friends, his life itself. Yes, he had risked much. But as he looked at her now, he knew his decision to come after her had been the right one.

He touched her cheek. So soft—it rivaled the very texture of the wild rose. He bent down to inhale her sweet scent, a fragrance so uniquely her own, he had found himself unable to find its equal in nature. His senses reeled under the onslaught of that which she was.

He tried now to memorize her every feature, for he had discovered today that his recall of her had not been true to her beauty. Her unbound, blond hair flowed about her face and shoulders, the mane’s wild profusion fanning out over the silken sheets, and the cast of the wild, red sunset filled her cheeks with color.

His gaze fell to her full breasts, which her gown did everything to emphasize, pushing them up and clinging scandalously to them. He had seen gowns such as this on the eastern seaboard of the Americas, but none as exciting as this, and certainly none of the women had been as beautifully shaped as his own Waste Ho Win. How he longed to cup her breasts, to feel the creamy mounds in his hands as they rose and fell with her breath. But he dared not do it.

She had changed.

He closed his eyes against the longing to feel her, to claim her, to make her his own. He reminded himself that he could not pursue it. He had discovered in only a matter of moments that their relationship held a difference. Waste Ho kept herself distant from him as though she… He was unprepared to acknowledge it, but she held herself aloof as though she no longer desired him as husband.

His insides filled with raw emotion at his thoughts and for just a short moment, he let his features mirror the inner struggle of his torment.

He had not expected this change in her. He had thought his pursuit of her would end once he had found her, that she would easily leave with him to return to the Western plains. Never had he dreamed that her feelings for him might have dimmed. Never had he thought that she would have found something else—perhaps someone else—more precious than their own love.

So much was different between them now. And though he tried to fault the English culture for the change in her, he could not. There was something else here, something more compelling, more commanding than just the difference in culture; and he did not know what it was.

True, she had found family here, family and a need to stay—something he had not considered and something he could not change.

But there was more to it. He sensed it, trusting his instincts on such things as readily as he did his sense of sight, smell, or taste.

Either she had changed or something was causing her to act in a way he did not understand, in a way that did not fit her character. For of one thing he was certain, she did not intend to keep her vow.

It was there in her demeanor, unspoken within her words.

Why?

Did she no longer desire him? Or was something else distracting her?

He brushed a delicate tendril of hair from her face, groaning at the effect she had on him. Desire leaped to life within him, and as he looked down on her, he could only hope that someone would come soon to help him put her to bed; for she needed her clothes removed and he doubted he would have the willpower to do it without… Not now. He wanted her too much.

“Waste Ho,”
he whispered just before he brushed his lips over hers.
“Waste Ho Win,
Pretty Voice Woman, Estrela. I have come for you and what do I find? A beautiful woman who is deeply entrenched in a life without me. And I wonder, when I came to you in thought these past years, did your heart beat faster at my memory? I did not think that I would have to win you again, but I see that I am wrong. You do not intend to keep your vow to me. Why? Has your love faded so much while mine has grown stronger? I am like a man demented. I want you and only you. No one else will do for me. And so I will try to understand. I ask that you do not test my patience for long, though. I am but a man with manly needs.” This said, he gave her a lingering kiss, then slipped silently away to summon a servant.

Chapter Four

Strong arms held her, hugging her, endowing her with sweet, precious warmth. It reminded her of…

She dozed, she couldn’t quite recall it. It reminded her of…?

“We’ll marry…” he’d said, his voice quiet, yet certain, filled with authority. “You will give me many sons. You will call me husband, and I shall love you, extend to you all my protection and care for you all of my life. I do not believe there is anything you could do that would make me love you less.”

A picture flashed in her mind, and her body, already drowsy with exhaustion, let the past remind her, let her recall, if only for a moment in sleep, the sweet passion of first love…

The sun was warm upon her skin that day, the prairie alive with the new growth of spring flowers and wild, green grasses. Not one person, not one animal could remain outside and be unaffected by the renewal of spring, by the life all about them. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the birds appeared to sing a little sweeter that day, the air seemed a little crisper, the warmth of sunshine felt a little kinder, gentler.

They had spent the day together so far, laughing at the squirrels, the prairie dogs, at that animal’s incessant chatter. And now they lay under a tree, a gurgling stream beside them, rushing on its way to carry its waters into some bigger stream or perhaps even a river. But they paid it no mind, their attention only half aware of the budding nature all around them.

He held her in his arms then, closely, as if he never wished to relinquish her, and she smiled at him, barely daring to believe that this handsome warrior stared back at her, his passion, his love for her clear to see.

“Mato Sapa,” she said, gathering a handful of his long, black hair in her hand. She lay on her back, and he positioned himself on his side so that he lay half over her, staring down into her eyes. “Will your mother welcome me into her family? I am, after all, white and her father was killed by white trappers.”

“She will love you as I do. She already does. She will welcome you into our family. It is not as though you are still white. Are you not a part of our tribe? Do you not have parents among our people? Will I not have to honor your father with many horses to make you mine?”

“Yes, but—”

“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips. “You worry over much. I love you. It is enough.”

He kissed her then, and Estrela, or Waste Ho Win, Pretty Voice Woman, as she was called by the rest of her tribe, was lost to the consuming power of sweet passion.

She closed her eyes, his lips warm and responsive beneath hers. She let go of his hair to pull him closer to her, running her fingertips over the smooth expanse of his chest, glorying in the sensation that swept through her at his sharp intake of breath.

It was good, their love. It was sweet, wonderful. These were her last thoughts, for he was slipping his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste the heady flavor of his breath.

Rational thought ceased for her, replaced by raw feeling, and when he untied the straps of her dress, pulling it down farther and farther, slipping it off her completely so that she lay naked beneath his touch, she didn’t think once of protest. It was all she could do to keep up with the delicious sensation. His hand played over her skin, held her breasts, caressing them, his palm circling her nipples, and a response began to build between her legs that demanded all her attention, demanded appeasement.

She gyrated her hips toward him, wanting…wanting more—but what?

Mato Sapa seemed to know. Gliding his hand down over her stomach; he reached that place between her legs, letting his fingers explore her most secret, feminine beauty.

“Open your legs, my love.”

She did.

Ah, the feeling, the excitement, the sensuality. It was almost more than she could take, until…

Shuddering, he drew away, falling upon his back, away from her.

Estrela lay still for a long while, the shock of his withdrawal playing havoc with her own sense of propriety. She didn’t bother to dress. She didn’t cover herself. Unsure what to think, unsure what to say, she remained silent. And as the heat of passion grew less, she began to think, began to reason, and all at once she realized that by her actions today she brought shame to herself.

How could he possibly respect her now, want her for his wife? Wasn’t it true what the grandfathers said? That a woman who let a man lay with her before marriage, was worthless? She berated herself silently before venturing to say, “You are ashamed of me. I have let you go too far. I have lost my dignity. I—”

“
Hiya
! No!” He lay his hand on her then, on her stomach, still bare. “It is I who have gone too far. It is I who has lost control. We are not yet married, and I have taken too much liberty with you. But do not fear, you still have your dignity. You have your virginity. I would not take that from you until the day we marry. I will not mar you. I know now why our grandfathers insist a young man not be alone with his sweetheart until after marriage. The temptation is too great. Come.” He sat up then, rising onto his knees. “I will help you dress, and we will return to the village before I lose all control.”

She allowed him to help her, to dress her, to fix her hair again into two neat braids. But she hadn’t forgotten his touch, his power over her, his sexuality. And most of all she hadn’t forgotten her own responses to him.

That had been her last day with him, for when they returned to camp, the Earl was there, back from England and insisting she leave the Indians, leave the one place where she had found peace—had found love.

“No, don’t go,” she cried aloud, twisting her head back and forth, still lost to sleep, still held in firm, strong arms. She felt a gentle touch upon her cheek, the feel of full lips caressing her own.
Ah, such a sweet dream.

She settled down, her breathing returning to normal and content now, she smiled.

Estrela awoke to the fresh smell of dewy, morning air. She opened her eyes, looking around her.

Where was she?

She glanced up, but instead of the lodge poles and hide covering she half expected to see, her eyes took in the ornate designs set in pink silk with gold etchings. Her gaze dropping downward, Estrela hoped she might yet see the familiar buckskin articles of the American West, but all she saw were the bedposts from which hung more yards of the pink silk curtains, each lined in gold. The bed curtains were pulled back toward each post so that the bed lay open and exposed to casual view.

Ah, England.

Across the room, she noticed the heavy curtains that hung over the chamber’s tall windows were billowing in and out, indicating that the windows must be open. The French doors stood open and Estrela saw that it was still dark outside, too dark to be overcast; she had awakened to the dark just before dawn.

She contemplated going back to sleep, but dismissed the idea. She had spent too much time in the service of others to lay abed when there was so much for her to think about, so much to do.

And so she groaned. She sighed. She stretched her uninjured arm over her head while she wiggled into a sitting position. She had slept well. At least she had done so after her dream. Her dream—she shut her eyes and brought the memories back to mind, marveling at the intensity of sensation that swept over her body. For a short space in time she’d been held in
his
strong arms; for an indefinite moment she’d breathed in the clean scent of masculine beauty—Black Bear.

If only it had been real.

It could be.

Estrela shook her head vigorously. It could not be.

She pushed her hair back from her face and breathed deeply. The movement pulled the soft, white nightgown across her breasts, and she glanced down at the gown, trying to remember putting it on.