Page 58 of Red Hawk's Woman
She frowned.
“I think I have a solution. Wait here. I will get something for you.”
Before she could open her mouth to speak, he disappeared. He was soon back, pulling up the bottom edge of her shelter and scooting in beneath it.
Ah, so that was how he came to be in my tent.
Silently, he drew in close to her, and, coming down to his knees, he handed over a stack of what felt to be soft leather, scented very much like him. “There are leggings here, a breechcloth and a shirt, as well as moccasins. They will be a little big for you, but I think we can make them fit. My shirt will hang almost to the ground for you and we can tie it securely, and if you bind the moccasins tightly, they should adapt to your feet well enough. I will leave you now so you might change your clothes privately.”
“Yes,” she said, though oddly, mild dissatisfaction washed through her. Why was this? “I can see this would be most proper. But, Mr. Hawk…” She reached out a hand to keep him by her side. “If we are to hurry, I might need your aid. There are many buttons on my dress that take a great deal of time to unfasten. Will you help me?”
She could sense—no, she could practically hear—the silence of his hesitation. At some length, he said, “I will help.”
Secretly, she smiled, surprising herself. For all her effort at presenting a professional image, it appeared that down deep, his attention to her femininity was what she wanted. She offered him her back.
Endearingly, his fingers shook at their task. He sat behind her and she could feel his touch there at her back. She marveled at the effect of the lightness of his fingers upon her, for the tingling along her spine was seducing her into a sort of lethargy. However, it wasn’t long before he cleared his throat and said, “They are most difficult…these buttons.”
“Yes, I know. It is why I often require assistance.” Her voice was raised no more than a whisper. “Mr. Hawk, might I ask you something that has been on my mind since we last spoke?”
“Aa.” His voice, too, was low.
“The Clan—the Lost Clan—how old is the tribe?”
She felt him shrug. “I do not know,” he said. “How would I measure the time?”
“I don’t understand. How can you not know this?”
“Because when I was with the Clan, and I lay down to sleep at night, when I would awaken in the morning, it would seem to me as though a mere night had passed. But the elders told me and the other boys that many winters had passed while we slept, sometimes as many as fifty, though not always so long.”
“Then you didn’t notice any difference between being part of a clan that slept for many years and your life now?”
“Saa.” She could feel him shake his head. “Until I came out into this world, I had known little more than the Clan. But I can tell you, having lived here now, there is little difference, except being part of the Clan, one rarely ventured away from it. In this world, one has greater freedom of movement.”
“Yes, yes. And what of your traditions?” She swallowed hard, then decided to plunge in. “For instance, what would it be like if I were…your wife, for instance?”
One of the buttons on her dress slipped beneath his grasp. The material tore.
She heard him gulp, but she had come too far to back down, and she asked, “Do husbands and wives live together?”
“Aa, it is so.”
“Good, good. Do not be too surprised by my questions. There are some cultures where husbands and wives do not live together.”
“Then I am glad I am not from those societies, for I would very much like to keep my wife close to me.”
“Would you?”
“Aa.”
“How…close?” She turned slightly toward him.
“Would you like me to show you?”
“I…well, I think…yes…”
He shifted position. “Perhaps, if we were married, it would be like this,” and he kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back, and the path the chain around her neck made. His breath and his lips were hot and moist over her skin.
Fire, rapture, excitement swept through her so swiftly, she rocked back and forth. Indeed, so much emotion swelled inside her, she shut her eyes, for it felt overpowering.
