Yet in the recesses of her dazed mind, she knew she must stop him.
What they had now—this tightly woven bond—would be forever tarnished. His memories of her would fade. It took all her strength, physical and mental, to push against his chest. Her lips still hungered for his kiss. The tortuous ache between her legs would not be sated by the only man she'd ever want now.
His body went still above her and a long breath left his lips. "I have dishonored you, and I meant only to repay your kindness."
The pain in his eyes crippled her. "You don't understand. It's not because I don't want you."
"If we share this love, you think I will leave and never look back, is that it?"
"I know nothing of your life." Tears came to her eyes. "For all I know, you could have a wife back in this village you speak of."
"It is possible." He drew out the words. "But... not true."
She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she spoke. "It's not?"
He shook his head and held her gaze. "I will prove it to you when you return with me."
She searched his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I cannot leave my heart behind. If you turn me down, I will no longer hunt for my People, but will head for the mountains and become-become, what is it your people call a man who removes himself from others?"
"A hermit?"
"Yes, a hermit. Are you strong enough to live with that until the end of your days?"
"Do not tease me. This is a serious thing you speak of."
He kissed her nose. "I have kissed your sweet lips, felt the softness of your body beneath mine, and I cannot turn away from that now." He rose and pulled her to her feet. "Say yes."
"Are you asking because you find me—?"
"Beautiful? Yes, you are, but your beauty alone would never hold my love. It is so much more than that—your love of the earth, the kindness in your heart, the knowledge you hold of everything that is sacred in my life." He looked around them. "The trees and plants, even the concern you show to the sparrow whose wing is broken." His fingers whispered over her face. "Enough talk. Say, yes."
"Yes," she said, struck dumb.
"Good, it is settled. We leave now to prepare your Grandmother."
* * * *
A week later, Sage rose at dawn. Sleep had eluded her last night, and what little claimed her was restless and intermittent. She placed the tapestry satchel on the bed and checked the contents for the tenth time. What did one pack when leaving for an Indian village? Confident she wouldn't miss anything she'd left behind, she closed the bag and glanced about her room for the last time.
When she emerged from the cabin, Wanapaya sat proudly upon the painted pony. Dancer bore the grace and agility of a ballerina.
Wanapaya smiled and nodded toward the mount he'd tacked and saddled for her. "Does the gelding have a name?"
"Withers." She placed her foot in the stirrup and mounted.
Peter Pa stepped forward. "I brought her the horse."
"Yes." Sage feigned an annoying roll of her eyes. "He walked into the yard one day leading Withers by a rope. Grandmother asked how he came by a horse in the wilderness, and he never did arrive at an acceptable answer."
Peter Pa ran his hand along Withers' neck. "Gentle and alert, he'll give you no trouble, son."
Tears brimmed in Sage's eyes. She'd spent every day of her life with Grandmother, and now her courage faltered.
Evrasina looked up with trembling lips. "Don't forget your prayers, and remember we love you."
A tear slid down her cheek and skidded off her upper lip. "I promise to return soon."
Peter Pa took her hand. "Mind what I've taught you. The signs are there; you need only open your eyes."
She bit her lower lip to hold back the sob. "I will remember everything."
Wanapaya urged his mount north and Sage followed. She looked over her shoulder only once. The cabin appeared as a tiny speck of dust now. Squaring her shoulders, she focused on the path ahead.
The first day passed in solitude. Wanapaya seemed to sense her turmoil and kept
What they had now—this tightly woven bond—would be forever tarnished. His memories of her would fade. It took all her strength, physical and mental, to push against his chest. Her lips still hungered for his kiss. The tortuous ache between her legs would not be sated by the only man she'd ever want now.
His body went still above her and a long breath left his lips. "I have dishonored you, and I meant only to repay your kindness."
The pain in his eyes crippled her. "You don't understand. It's not because I don't want you."
"If we share this love, you think I will leave and never look back, is that it?"
"I know nothing of your life." Tears came to her eyes. "For all I know, you could have a wife back in this village you speak of."
"It is possible." He drew out the words. "But... not true."
She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she spoke. "It's not?"
He shook his head and held her gaze. "I will prove it to you when you return with me."
She searched his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I cannot leave my heart behind. If you turn me down, I will no longer hunt for my People, but will head for the mountains and become-become, what is it your people call a man who removes himself from others?"
"A hermit?"
"Yes, a hermit. Are you strong enough to live with that until the end of your days?"
"Do not tease me. This is a serious thing you speak of."
He kissed her nose. "I have kissed your sweet lips, felt the softness of your body beneath mine, and I cannot turn away from that now." He rose and pulled her to her feet. "Say yes."
"Are you asking because you find me—?"
"Beautiful? Yes, you are, but your beauty alone would never hold my love. It is so much more than that—your love of the earth, the kindness in your heart, the knowledge you hold of everything that is sacred in my life." He looked around them. "The trees and plants, even the concern you show to the sparrow whose wing is broken." His fingers whispered over her face. "Enough talk. Say, yes."
"Yes," she said, struck dumb.
"Good, it is settled. We leave now to prepare your Grandmother."
* * * *
A week later, Sage rose at dawn. Sleep had eluded her last night, and what little claimed her was restless and intermittent. She placed the tapestry satchel on the bed and checked the contents for the tenth time. What did one pack when leaving for an Indian village? Confident she wouldn't miss anything she'd left behind, she closed the bag and glanced about her room for the last time.
When she emerged from the cabin, Wanapaya sat proudly upon the painted pony. Dancer bore the grace and agility of a ballerina.
Wanapaya smiled and nodded toward the mount he'd tacked and saddled for her. "Does the gelding have a name?"
"Withers." She placed her foot in the stirrup and mounted.
Peter Pa stepped forward. "I brought her the horse."
"Yes." Sage feigned an annoying roll of her eyes. "He walked into the yard one day leading Withers by a rope. Grandmother asked how he came by a horse in the wilderness, and he never did arrive at an acceptable answer."
Peter Pa ran his hand along Withers' neck. "Gentle and alert, he'll give you no trouble, son."
Tears brimmed in Sage's eyes. She'd spent every day of her life with Grandmother, and now her courage faltered.
Evrasina looked up with trembling lips. "Don't forget your prayers, and remember we love you."
A tear slid down her cheek and skidded off her upper lip. "I promise to return soon."
Peter Pa took her hand. "Mind what I've taught you. The signs are there; you need only open your eyes."
She bit her lower lip to hold back the sob. "I will remember everything."
Wanapaya urged his mount north and Sage followed. She looked over her shoulder only once. The cabin appeared as a tiny speck of dust now. Squaring her shoulders, she focused on the path ahead.
The first day passed in solitude. Wanapaya seemed to sense her turmoil and kept
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