Author's Note: From the little posted online about Native American culture in the 1800s that I could find, I tried to stay true to their customs. I'm sure there are some inaccuracies, though, so don't take it all as fact.
Thanks for the reviews, Guest & Pinkdynamite! :)
"Hello."
Five days of silence in the sweathouse made her voice sweeter than ever. Turning in his hut doorway, the smile couldn't be contained. "Good evening."
Her hair was plated in a braid over one shoulder and a strapless deerskin dress clung to her delicious curves. Instead of moccasins, she went barefoot tonight. So much of her beautiful skin bathed in the moonlight. Desire to ravish her battled with a wish to throw a greatcoat over her to shield the near-nakedness from any prying eyes. A slight frown wrinkled her brow. "You look upset."
An ache formed in his forehead from the severe scowl. "You're practically naked." And so goddamn gorgeous, without a thing to be done about this need for her yet. Such a sight would be more than welcome in private quarters, but her body was a gift given to him alone in marriage - his to worship and protect. Such clothing was only fit for a husband to see, not the entire village.
The woman glanced down at herself, and then those brown eyes floated back to him. "It's easier to nurse Charles, and the sun was hot today. Grandmama says it's perfectly acceptable to wear this."
What moron decided women could safely go prancing around in such getup? It was a wonder some scoundrel hadn't taken advantage of her. "I didn't say it's perfectly acceptable!" The words snapped out. Too long in the sweathouse and being without her soft body weren't a good combination for witnessing this new attire.
"Yes, Mark." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Are you jealous?"
"You aren't to go prancing around like that, acceptable or not for the tribe," he huffed. "Who would've protected you if some bastard had other ideas about you?"
A smile tugged her lips. "I stayed in the tribe. There were only a few dozen men and women around - I hate to damage your ego, but you're not the only one who looks out for me."
"All the more reason - the men didn't go hunting today!"
Her beautiful lips pursed. "The men here wouldn't hurt me, and you know it. One might mistake you for being jealous, Mark."
"It's nothing to do with jealousy! You're my wife, goddammit!" Almost. The wedding ceremony couldn't come fast enough.
Fairy-like laughter mingled with the crickets' song, and those brown eyes danced in merriment. "No one will turn my head but you, Mark."
"That's not the point! Men are apes who gawk at anything female." The words snapped out, but they didn't seem to make a point, as she continued smiling like nothing more significant than the weather was in discussion. "Other men would lock you in your chambers for a week for such attire! I've a mind to lock you in your hut with no one but me!"
Musical laughter filled the air, and she set a hand on his bare chest. The warmth of her hand did nothing but stoke the embers of passion threatening to burst into flames. "Has my cuddle bear returned? I've been neglected for nearly a week." Her pink bottom lip stuck out in a false pout.
"Two more days, and you'll be wishing I was back at the sweathouse," he growled. Only two more days, and no one would question if he didn't emerge from her hut for a week.
A throaty sigh escaped her lips as her head fell back to meet his gaze. She stepped up to his chest. "Kiss me."
Dear god, she was so beautiful. Her sweet, flowery scent wafted in the summer night, enveloping in a cloud of serenity and love and desire. She was hypnotizing. "We shouldn't be seen together this close to the wedding ceremony." The words came out in a whisper. Her gaze, her scent, her touch, her voice...everything about her drew a man in, like a moth to a flame unable to resist the danger. "I need to bathe yet." The words breathed out in a hypnotic trance, every fiber of being willing to submit to her any whim if only in exchange for a fleeting kiss.
"I don't care," she whispered and splayed her delicate hands over his shoulders - those small hands that surged such intense sensations of masculinity.
One taste was all it took for the fire to ignite. Pulling her supple body into his arms, the next moments were lost in a kiss.
Primal instincts surged, chasing out all rational thought. Her body felt so soft and warm in the cool summer night. Her little moans of pleasure intoxicated, threatening all loss of self-control. To ravish this siren in the fields on a warm summer night like this...
The brush of her hand against on the cheek to deepen the kiss shot weakness through the knees, a need to fall at her feet and beg for more. Violent drumming of a heartbeat drowned out all sound except for the roar of desire to surrender to her. As her arms wrapped around in an embrace, the last threads of sanity fled, leaving a desperate instinct to have her by whatever means she'd offer.
Sharp, white-hot pain burned at the graze of her arm against the ribs where the flesh had become raw with rubbing on the crutches. A gasp of pain broke the spell.
Her arms jerked away, and she looked up with wide eyes. "Are you hurt?" Without waiting for an answer, she lifted his arm and pulled away the crutch.
"I'm fine, woman." The words barked out harsher than intended, the sting too much of being reminded during such an intimate, wonderful moment of what he no longer was.
"No, you're not." That tiny wrinkle formed in her brow, as it did whenever she worried. "Oh, Mark, your sides are rubbed raw from the crutches. But, I thought you spend all day in the sweathouse. How is this so bad?" She checked the other side too that felt just as painful.
"It was irritated going into the sweathouse. Being damp all day has just exacerbated the tissue breaking down. It's only two more days. I don't need coddling." Pulling his arm free, he looked away. A moment ago, she'd not seen anything but a whole man she'd desired to seduce with her spell. At the flip of a switch, reality crashed down to once again force her to be the caregiver for an invalid. For but a moment, things had been like before the amputation. He straightened the crutch.
But she stole a crutch and set it out of reach. "No."
Panic. Air ceased to exist. Breathing was impossible. A tinny ringing drowned out her voice. And then, she started to walk away, leaving no way to reach crutch, aside from crawling like a pathetic dog. Just like last time. "Anna, give it back." Every muscle paralyzed, making it hard to even squeeze out words.
She froze and turned, her eyes brimming with worry, but she brought the crutch back. Her mouth moved, but no sound could be heard over the roar of thundering heartbeats.
When the safety of the crutch returned, an uncontrollable instinct kicked in to gulp air - as if he hadn't breathed for several moments.
"Mark...I'm not Anna." She gave gentle strokes on his chest, as if soothing a frightened horse.
"I know that," he snapped. God, the panic had come out of nowhere, bringing to life long-forgotten memories - ones that Tanya didn't need to know.
"You called me 'Anna.'"
Shit. Closing his eyes, a deep breath escaped. Nothing like piling on the humiliation. "I severely sprained my ankle in the woods when I was eight. No one believed me, so the walking stick I found to use was taken away. I crawled back to the house the next morning." A harsh glance portrayed the desire to not speak of it further.
Horror parted her lips in a shocked gasp. "Your parents didn't search for you?"
Looking away, he grunted. "They were told I was left by the lake, so they were searching the opposite side of the vast grounds. Good night."
A gentle lay of her hand on his arm stopped from turning to go inside the hut. "Who else was there with Anna?" The way she said it revealed that she knew it'd only been Anna.
Quickly turning his head away, pride prevented from answering that question. It'd been a terrifying night, with real dangers from a pack of wolves that had been preying on horses in pastures at night.
"I took your crutch so you wouldn't be stubborn and hurt yourself. I said to just sit while I get your horse for you to ride to the stream. I wouldn't take your crutch and just leave you." Her voice remained steady and gentle.
Of course she never would, which must've been why Anna's name had slipped out. Had Tanya been there in childhood, she would've been his able defender - likely with the spunk to have sent Anna running home crying and then have carried him on her own back all the way home.
Rising onto her toes, she gave a light tug on the arm to bend down. Warm lips pressed to his cheek. Without a word, she handed over the crutch and then left to get the horse. Her eyes held confusion, likely why he'd been a blind, wet-behind-the-ears fool to have married Anna - one whom had seemed like such a prize because women were supposed to be dependent, delicate and uninterested in intellectual pursuits. Tanya would never understand the rationale behind marrying Anna. And he would never remember how life had held any interest before Tanya.
To her everlasting credit, she kept any anger toward Anna to herself and didn't comment further on the memory. The silent, companionable horseback ride with her in his lap offered a much needed balm.
At the stream, she slid down without aid, as if having lived this way her entire life. Then it dawned that leaving the crutches behind had been a mistake - there was no way to get from the horse to stream without crawling. Taking the horse deep enough into the stream to dismount risked being swept away with the current.
She turned and held up a hand. "Come."
"I forgot the crutches - "
"And you have a perfectly good set right here."
Curious as to what she meant, he slid down and held the horse's mane to stay upright.
The woman slipped under his right arm and planted herself as a crutch.
"You can't be serious."
"You're so afraid of hurting me that you've never tried to see what I can do. Hush. Papa was half unconscious whenever I'd drag him home from the pub."
"Your father wasn't near my size, either."
"But his deadweight is equivalent to what you are conscious. My size doesn't necessarily equal lack of brawn, husband." Her left arm wrapped around his back and held tight to the waistband over his left hip.
At least being on grass would be a soft impact to get under her and absorb the hit himself. "It's your head that I'll land on," he grumbled and took a hop to prove the point.
The minx stepped right into the flow, acting like another leg. She shook the tiniest bit under so much weight, but her grip around his waist kept her braced as much as him. The moment of landing on his left foot, she was steady and braced for the next hop. Only once did she stumble a bit by the end, but he compensated fast enough to catch her.
In the stream, she helped get knee deep to where the water lapped at the hem of her short dress.
"I'm alright from here so you don't get soaked. Thank you." Letting go, he sank into the water and scooted out a bit deeper.
She giggled. "Did you bring the soap?"
"Oh. No." The stress had prevented planning ahead. Heat crept up his face from embarrassment.
"You probably need fresh pants and a towel too."
"Dammit."
"I'll get them," she laughed, the sound so utterly happy that all embarrassment fled.
The cool water was wonderful relief from the heat of the sweathouse. Tugging off the wet deerskin pants, he tossed them to shore and dove underwater. The babbling of the stream and rush of a light current carried invigorating energy. A swim would be just the thing to wear out this restless need for Tanya.
Mark wasn't in the stream upon returning with his toiletries, but his pants laid in a heap at the edge of the stream. He popped up farther out in the water like he was swimming laps before he disappeared beneath again. A moment later, he surfaced doing a powerful front stroke in the moonlight.
"Mark!"
But he kept swimming with his face in the water, as if he hadn't heard. He headed upstream this way, so she waded out into the water with the soap. It felt so cool and refreshing after the hot summer day, so she waded out thigh deep. Slipping on the pebbles underfoot, her heart shot into her threat just before catching her balance. He came closer upstream but was out deeper still. The current made it a little harder to balance.
Pushing out to the waist-deep water, a yelp of surprise escaped as her feet jerked out from underneath and the current glided her right past him. "Mark!" It wasn't a dangerously or fast current, but it was too strong to get to shore alone.
His head popped up and eyes widened as she floated away.
Grabbing a large boulder sticking out of the water, she climbed on top and waited, curling her legs up to the side on the rock. The poor man cut through with strong strokes, but his weight seemed to bog him down rather than let the water sweep him along like it had her.
Once he arrived, he stood up in the chest-deep water without even needing to hold onto the rock against the current. "Are you alright?"
Her jaw dropped. "It's not even deep?!"
A hearty laugh bubbled out of him. "Your spitfire doesn't match your size, sweetheart." He held out a hand and used the other arm to tread and help balance on one foot.
"I like England better," she huffed and scooted closer to the edge of the rock.
"Why's that?" His eyes twinkled with merriment.
"Because I didn't need rescuing every week from moose, waterfalls and rivers! I'm not a damsel in distress, you know."
He chuckled as she slid into his arms. "Of course not, although I do feel the current threatening to tug you away."
It did pull hard enough that it was impossible to stand on her toes. Her fingers wrapped tighter around his biceps.
"I've never seen such a cranky mermaid. Perhaps you're a misplaced siren." He kept an arm firmly around her waist and began swimming toward the embankment.
"Ha ha. The joke is on you because I lost the soap."
A mock gasp and then his face brightened with a smile. "No soap? I can't live such a barbaric life."
That won a laugh, and she pulled out of his arms once able to safely touch the ground. "You're an idiot."
"But you love me." He grinned and threw himself backwards into the deeper water, letting the splash swallow him up.
Stealing his towel, she snuggled inside it as he used a rag to wash with just water. It was peaceful watching him bathe. Ironically, tribal life seemed to agree with him in ways England and pioneer America hadn't. In this land, he had a quiet, gentle strength. That arrogance of the Marquess had evaporated for the most part, almost as if it'd been a defense against the cruel ways of Society. Or perhaps, he'd become softer with marriage. One thing was certain - his self-confidence blossomed in tribal life. The men didn't expect any less of him because of his leg, which seemed to encourage him to be blind to limitations that Englishman had imposed upon him. The irritating fact that she kept needing rescuing also seemed to be a blessing in disguise - he didn't seem to doubt his worth so much anymore as a suitor or husband. Tonight was the first time in weeks that his self-consciousness had resurfaced; however, it'd vanished just as fast.
He swam toward the embankment and scooted to be waist deep in the water.
She walked over and handed him the towel before taking his hand to help him stand. Glancing at his face to divert her eyes, her cheeks burned harder when he blushed while wrapping the towel around his waist.
"You should probably go before we're caught," he said, his voice quite deep with huskiness.
Bowing her head and looking away, she fidgeted with the hem of her dress. "I don't know why I feel like I've never seen a man. We've made love dozens of times and I've seen you and - "
"Tanya," he said softly and cut off the nervous babbling. The tip of his forefinger against her chin guided her eyes back to him. "We're still adjusting to life here, and living for weeks in a courtship changes our relationship. We'll get back to where we were. I think this reset has been a good thing for us in many ways. Just because we're having a wedding ceremony in a couple days doesn't mean we have to make love that night." His hand rested over hers, as if sensing that she fidgeted due to nerves.
Meeting his eyes, she drew a steadying breath. "I know you wouldn't force anything, but have you heard the consummation custom?"
His brow furrowed. "No. What have you heard?"
She shrugged and refused to look at him. "Rumors. I think." Hopefully. Stories of the Elders and their wives verifying consummation on the wedding night - an act that was meant only to lay claim, without emotion. An act that would be as cold and frightening as that horrific night nearly two years ago, although Mark would never cause as much pain. The fear, although imagined and constructed of memories, would most likely hit with terrifying force. "I should go before my grandparents or Charles wake up and realize I'm missing." Her voice came out flat and dull, not wishing to think of this terrible topic.
"Tanya?" He sounded confused.
"Good night." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried home.
"Then the tribe will escort you to your hut - Grandfather and I will move into Mark's, as it's custom for the husband to become part of the wife's tribe and move into her hut. The drums will call the Spirits as he claims you," Grandmama explained a couple days later.
Her eyebrows rose. "Wait, the whole tribe waits while...?"
"The first time is just meant to be quick and for reproductive purposes. He'll use a salve on himself so it's not painful for you. One of the Elder's wives will check you to confirm that the union occurred." Grandmama finished braiding her hair.
The other women brought in a deerskin dress painted for the ceremony, but little of the activities sank in, an irrational fear taking hold about the wedding night. That long-lost fear of men began to creep in, compounded by the fact that no true door existed on the huts to keep out the men who would be outside during consummation. Tonight would hold no passion, no gentle words to hold back the demons that would return for a feast.
Tanya was beautiful for the wedding ceremony, the foreign dress seeming perfect on her. But, never once did she smile. A distant, faraway look clouded those brown eyes.
When he took her hand during the ceremony, it was cold and clammy. With a frown, he stroked a finger over her cheek to gain her attention. "What's wrong?" he whispered when she looked up. But she simply shook her head and seemed to withdraw into herself for the rest of the ceremony. Dancing and celebrating went on for hours, but she remained silent for the most part and refused to speak of what troubled her. The women fussed over her, giving no time for private conversation either.
Upon reaching the hut that the Elders led the procession to, she hesitated. He took her hand that shook. Her chest heaved in choppy breaths. "Come tell me what's wrong," he said in low undertones under the ceremonial singing. A gentle tug made her follow into her hut for privacy.
Once inside, he closed the door flap. Low, hollow pounding of the drums began. She jumped so hard and shot away from the door, her eyes wide and misty like she fought to not burst into tears. Shaking so hard that her knees buckled, she dropped onto a pile of buffalo skins made to be sold in town. Her choppy breaths cut through the drums as she nearly hyperventilated, curling her knees to her chest. The entire time, her eyes didn't leave the doorway.
"Tanya, what happened? Why are you so frightened?" Hobbling over on the crutches, he dropped beside her, letting the crutches fall. "It's alright." Instinct said it was stress of consummating while everyone waited outside, but she acted...frightened. If anyone had touched her, they'd be goddamn disemboweled before morning. "Sweetheart?" Touching her arm in comfort only made her jerk away in fear.
His heart froze.
The moment she burst into sobs, an inexplicable pain so deep ripped through his chest. Oh god, she was terrified - of him. "Tanya, I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm so scared." Her voice broke. "W, w..." she hiccupped and choked on tears as she forced out the instructions her grandmother had given about tonight.
"Jesus, your grandfather never said anything about this." No wonder she was frightened. The loud beat of the drums reverberating in the chest, the chanting for the Spirits, the sound of so many men's voices, and the lack of a sturdy door as a barrier would be too much for any assaulted woman to handle, much less the expectation of consummation. The way she explained it, intercourse sounded cold and not too unlike nightmares of her past. "Don't cry. I'm not going to do anything. Come here."
She scrambled into his lap and buried her face against his neck. Dampness collected until her big, terrified tears rolled down his chest.
"My lady love, no one will hurt you. I wouldn't let anyone." Cradling her tight, he stroked her back. "Don't cry. Let me go talk to the Elders."
She shook her head.
"Tanya, we aren't doing anything when you're this frightened."
"No, they're already bending rules for us - "
"Then they can bend one more," he ordered. "There are other tribes where consummation cannot happen before the third week, in effort to woo the wife of arranged marriage."
She sniffled and sat up to meet his eyes, not seeming to mind that he wiped her tears. "I'm not afraid of you..."
"You are. In this situation, you are."
But she shook her head, as if acknowledging that would break the last thread of safety. "But, I can't stay with you if we don't consummate," she hiccupped. "Just do it."
"Tanya - "
"Please." Her arms wrapped around his neck as she bowed her head on his chest and wept.
"No. Tanya, I think you're extremely stressed and overtired. I'm going to go talk to the Elders - "
The drums and singing silenced. Then one of the Elders' wives called to come in.
She scrambled out of his arms and backed up as far from the door as possible.
He looked from her to the older woman in confusion.
"I have to confirm the consummation."
There was commotion outside that sounded like Tiger arguing with someone.
His eyebrows shot up. "What?! Why the hell did no one tell me about all of this?! Tiger!" he roared and pushed himself up on the crutches, keeping between her and the woman.
Tiger entered a split second later.
"My wife is terrified out of her mind! Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on!"
She snuggled as close as possible in bed that night, her head on his shoulder and leg flung over his like when she'd been with child. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble with the Elders."
"They can kiss my arse. Your grandfather said he didn't tell me the customs because he knew it'd be too much for you to handle with your history. Apparently your grandfather made the mistake of being confident the Elders would agree with him this evening."
"Now you and grandfather are in trouble because we didn't consummate."
"It's none of their business if we did or didn't," he growled.
"Grandfather could lose his place among the Elders."
"He says if that happens, he's better off without their cold-hearted arses."
A slight smile lightened her tone. "He didn't say that."
"Well, not in those words. We should go to sleep."
"I heard that you risk being exiled from the tribe for rejecting their ways."
"Shh, wife. Everything will be alright." Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tucked an arm behind his head to sleep.
"Thank you," she whispered and nuzzled closer.
Closing his eyes, he sighed in contentment at having her in his arms again. "I won't be thanked for not terrorizing my lady love. I love you."
"I love you too," she yawned. The feel of her body relax in slumber tugged at heartstrings. In his arms, she felt safe and happy and loved - and that was worth any price.
