Sacred Ground (12 page)

Any prejudices against Blacks or Asians had him up in arms at the mere idiocy of it. How had he allowed himself to become this blinded by his hatred?
Willow
hadn't raped his mother all those years ago. Lance hadn't been anything but a true friend to his Sean, yet he'd treated the boy with disgust and rudeness because he was Indian.

Now, he rested his head on the bare breast of an Indian woman. He wanted her with every fiber of his being.
Willow
was more woman than he deserved.

He closed his eyes, allowing sleep to nurture his thoughts. He drew in a breath and found himself liking the smoky,
sweetgrass
scent. It pulled him to her, it offered comfort, and felt right.

It seemed strange, he'd not made love to her, but now that his body had time to calm, he felt the contentment of a man satisfied. What was it about
Willow
that consumed him?

In his mind's eye, he saw her smile. She came toward him with desire in her eyes, and a girlish tease washed across her face. She moved forward, and then back, taking several steps in rhythm with the drums.

The deep, steady beats filled his senses, demanding he step, unknown, yet known steps to a dance that propelled him in a heated fury. As he moved he felt the feathers on the headdress and hanging from the arms and waist of his costume sway and whirl. Each step created a harmony of bells and clanking shells.

His heart beat hard. His breath came labored. He made his way around
Willow
, and then danced at her side, their shoulders touching. He saw the love she felt for him reflected in her eyes.

Another warrior stepped between them. He took
Willow
's hand and led her away. She glanced back over her shoulder. He read disappointment and fear in her expression.

Without thinking, he grasped her arm, pulling her back to his side. The large
warrior, his face painted black
on one half and white the other, gripped her free arm. The pain he inflicted caused her to wince.

Brett released a loud, violent yelp. The drums stopped. The dancing halted. Silence prevailed. In three fast, bold steps, he slammed his chest into that of the other warrior. The men and women watching hooted and cheered in approval.

The warrior roughly pushed
Willow
away, causing her to fall to the ground. Without waiting for approval he charged Brett, causing him to land on his back, hard. Noticing a knife above his head, Brett turned his face. He felt the sting of a small cut on his jaw. He bucked hard with his knees, sending the warrior forward, headfirst into a boulder. In a swift effort, Brett scrambled to his feet, and then stood over the warrior, ready for more. His bloody forehead and motionless body explained his fate.

Brett looked around the gathered crowd and met their looks of approval. Showing forceful attention to a woman, especially unwanted, was a breach of conduct and frowned on by the People.

The drums beat a steady rhythm, and the festivities continued where they had left off. The body of the warrior remained in a disgraceful heap.

Brett searched through the growing crowd of dancers until he met the gaze of
Willow
. She danced alone. Her steps and movements called out to her love. He felt the life of the rattles and bells. Once again his heart beat in time with the drums. As he moved, his body spoke of his love, his intentions, his devotion, and his abilities to protect the woman of his heart.

The beats of the drum increased faster, faster, and still faster, as did his steps. He whirled, jumped, leaped, and ran, all in a fury of expression, striving to impress
Willow
's father.

He moved across the camp area. Others stopped in an effort to watch. Now the drums slowed. Slower, slower, and still slower Brett approached her father. He burned
sweetgrass
and waved it to the spirits in each of the four directions,

He stared into the dark eyes of her father, Antelope Tipi. "I offer you twenty fine horses for your daughter. My heart is empty without her." Brett heard the giggles of the onlookers, but chose to ignore them.

Willow
stood smiling, looking down at the ground. Her face showed her embarrassment and her smile betrayed her happiness.

"You are not one of us. Your skin is that of the
napi-kwan
. Why would I give my daughter to a white man?"

Brett’s throat tightened, feeling the stares of disgust. He wasn't worthy to marry one of their People. Fear set in. "But I love her."

"I can get many horses in my lifetime, but I have only one daughter. Her husband becomes my son. There are many brave, strong warriors who are interested in making
Willow
their sits-beside-him wife. Why would I choose you?" Antelope Tipi asked.

Brett felt his hopes and dreams, his future being challenged. His life would be empty without
Willow
. "My father was Blackfeet," he admitted, saying the words out loud for the first time in his life. They stuck on his tongue, but he spoke them. He would swallow his pride if it meant having
Willow
. He noticed her smile had faded.

"You have proof of this?" her father asked.

Brett stared at a small stone on the ground. The more he stared at it, the more it looked the shape of a buffalo. "I have no proof, or I would surely tell you. I do not know who my father is. But if I were to reach down and pick up a stone the shape of a buffalo, would that convince you the Great Spirit believes she should be my wife?" he asked.

The old man stood still and silent.

Brett felt the old man's gaze stare right through him. Each second seemed like minutes. Brett realized he'd been looking at Antelope Tipi's hairless, bronze chest. Two ugly scars, just above his nipples, caused Brett to shudder. Even stranger, a small safety pin had been pierced through the inner side of the scar. A small feather and several small blue beads hung from it. It seemed gruesome, yet somehow powerful.

"
The
I
-nis'-kim
is strong medicine," Antelope Tipi finally said.

Switching his gaze from the man's chest to his face, Brett snapped alert.

"It has been a long time since one of our People have found a buffalo stone. You would be very fortunate to possess such a powerful sign."

Brett picked up the buffalo stone and showed it to Antelope Tipi. Great rejoicing and cheers deafened him. He looked at
Willow
and found she had the look of a very happy woman. "I give you twenty of my finest horses and this I-nis'-
kim
for
Willow
," he bargained. Holding the buffalo stone in his hand, he extended his palm toward the old man.

"I will wear this around my neck as a sign of great power." Antelope Tipi reached for the
I-nis'-
kim. "It will give me wisdom to help the People."

Brett jumped high,
"Ayi Ayi
!" he shouted. He'd never felt happier in his life. He took her hand in his and kissed her lips . . . a kiss that spoke from his soul.

"You almost kiss better asleep,"
Willow
said, laughing.

Brett jumped, blinked, then realized
Willow
's warm breath was not a dream, but real and inviting beneath him. Without hesitating, he moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness. His heart pounded like that of the drums in his dream. He kissed her again, and she returned his hunger.

Kissing a hot trail down her neck, he reached for warm breasts that begged for his touch. As he kissed her nipples with tantalizing possessiveness, he pulled her against him. His body responded.

"I thought it was morning, and you were waking me." A healthy fire lit the dark area, and he realized she must have added wood to it several times already. "Why did you wake me, I was at the best part of my dream."

"I'm innocent. You woke me with that kiss." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "How cold do you think it is out there?"

"A lot colder than it is in here." He captured a breast in his mouth. Hearing her gasp, he smiled. He could get lost in her soft, giving breasts. "They're beautiful," he mumbled, flicking his tongue over the hardened nipple. He pressed his palms down the side of her thighs. He longed for bare skin, instead of jeans, but the gesture still excited him.

"We need sleep, remember?" she asked, offering him her other breast.

He smiled, taking the sensitive, swollen nipple between his teeth, and then pulled the skin into his mouth. He nudged, excited by her response to his suckling. He wanted to be inside her, but knew he'd have to wait. She wasn't ready for that commitment; was he? His dream said he was. It also said
Willow
wanted him. Again he had dreamed of being Indian. Did it have meaning?

"Does your father have two scars on his chest where he attached a feather and some blue beads?" he asked

She looked at him with an expression of disbelief. "How did you know that? You've never seen . . . how could you know?"

"It's true, isn't it?" He was more puzzled than he could express.

She nodded, slowly.
"How?"

"I don't know how to explain it. Would you believe I saw it in my dream just now?" He waited for her skepticism.

"You had another dream? Tell me about it,"

"Not much to tell. There were dancers and drums. I asked your father to let me marry you for twenty horses and a buffalo stone. Dumb, huh?" As he pressed his head into her breasts, she gave no resistance. His face belonged nuzzled against her warm softness.

"Dreams hold great meaning to my People. Do you understand what a buffalo stone is?"

"I didn't until my dream. Your father explained it. He seemed thrilled to have it." Brett wondered how he could be discussing a dream as though it had truly happened.

"What was my father's answer?"

"Answer to what?" he asked, pretending not to understand.

"Did he say yes or no to accept your offer for me?"

He kissed her, tasting her sweetness. "You don't honestly believe his answer in my dream has anything to do with us now, do you?"

"Don't dismiss a dream as though it's nothing. It holds great meaning and power. What was father's answer?"

"I think it'd be wrong to tell you," he said, noticing a slight pout form. "Does it mean that much to you? What if he turned down my offer?" Brett felt her withdraw slightly, and it surprised him.

"Did he turn you down?"

"He took the stone and my offer. We shared an incredible celebration and just when I was about to make you my wife, you woke me."

A stain crept across her cheeks. She acted like a virgin, embarrassed by his comments and compliments.

"Where did you get that cut?" She wiped at the dried blood on his jaw.

He rubbed at the spot, knowing full well he got it in his dream, but he couldn't tell her that. "You must have sharpened that hook on your bra," he teased.

"You're impossible. We should get some sleep," she whispered, pulling his head back to nestle against her breasts.

Brett kissed each soft breast, and then adjusted his weight alongside her, drawing her into his warmth. He fit her head into his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her. He gently held a breast in his palm and it felt right.

* * *

Willow
woke. Brett's warmth wrapped around her like a secure blanket. The fire had gone out, and her cold nose told her the temperatures had dipped low. She thought about the boys. Worry and fear filtered into her motherly instincts.

"Brett," she said, wiggling against him. She quickly realized her mistake, feeling his hardness against her. It amazed her how quickly he became aroused. She couldn't help wondering what kind of lover he'd be. His tenderness last night had left her wanting more. She'd never wanted any part of Gordon. His actions hurt and left her feeling degraded. Somehow it didn't seem possible to feel that way with Brett.

"Brett," she repeated, turning in his arms. She glanced up to find drowsy eyes looking back at her. "It's morning. We need to . . ." she paused, feeling the warmth of his hand on her breast. "We need to get up and go after the boys. It got terribly cold last night. I'm worried."