Free Lakota Princess by Karen Kay Page A

“What makes you think I could be married? Why would you ask…?”
    He gave her an odd look she could not interpret. And when he said nothing, her stomach plunged.
    “I am in your room to protect you.” He changed the subject so quickly, Estrela’s mind reeled. “I believe that you need my protection. But for now I want you to rest. You say you have other duties to attend to; they will have to wait. You need your sleep. Among other things, I am here to see that you rest.”
    She had been looking at the woven, patterned rug beneath her feet as he spoke; she raised her gaze to his now. “I appreciate your consideration, Black Bear, yet I must tell you—” She looked away from him. “Does anyone else know you are here?”
    “No one,” he said at once, his soft, baritone voice causing spasms of pleasure to run up and down her spine. And unable to help herself, she shivered under the spell of it, glancing back at him.
    “Would I leave a trail someone else could follow? Would I have someone else know I have come to you when we are not pledged to one another yet?” A corner of his mouth turned upward. “No, Waste Ho, no one knows I am here. We are quite alone. We could—”
    “Black Bear!”
    He merely smiled.
    And Estrela felt faint.
    Was it the dream she’d had earlier? Was it that which was creating such warmth within her, such desire? Or was it simply Black Bear, himself, her love for him?
    Whatever it was, Estrela felt suddenly alive with feeling; every nerve, every sense she possessed awakened, cried out to him to touch her, to possess her, to… Estrela pulled her thoughts up short.
    She could not have him.
    “Does Waste Ho wish me to love her despite her protest?”
    Her eyes opened wide. Could he read her thoughts?
    “No, Black Bear, I—”
    “You confuse me, Waste Ho,” he said. “Your body, your response to me tells me something that your words contradict. And I wonder why.”
    Suddenly he rose to his feet with a graceful movement that would have been lost to the staid, English society, he came to her and bending toward her, took her into his arms.
    It was a heady sensation—it was naughty, it was sinful, it was—Lord, help her, it was wonderful. And all at once, she was swamped with his overpowering presence, as though the essence of who and what he was merged with and became a part of all that she was.
    She shut her eyes, breathing deeply, glorying in the feel of him, in the musky scent of his body, the comfort of his arms and she knew in that moment that she could not let him go.
    Yet, she also could not have him.
    His fingers grazed her cheek, and Estrela was instantly beyond thinking. She let her body melt into his, knowing that her response begged him to do more than simply hold her.
    So it was with no surprise that she felt his fingers threading through her hair, his touch trailing farther down her cheeks, her neck, the soft rise of her shoulders.
    At last he whispered, “Holding you like this is sweet torture, Waste Ho, for I feel you will not let me have you. Not completely. And yet when you are like this in my arms, it is all I can do to keep my hands from you.”
    He kissed her then, but it was the tender kiss of exploration, not of passion.
    And Estrela, unable to draw away, lay pliant in his arms, hoping for more, wishing him to—
    He drew back, his gaze touching her everywhere as he said, “What has happened to you in these intervening years? When I hold you like this, I feel the woman I once knew. And I wonder, does Waste Ho wish me to consummate what we now feel for one another? Does she wish to become Black Bear’s bride?”
    Estrela died a little, right there in his arms. How she longed to say “yes” and forget England, the Earl, her promise…Sir Connie. She shut her eyes.
    “Does Waste Ho wish to answer?”
    “Black Bear,” she said, her voice just over a whisper. “I can’t. I—”
    “Have a family to find,”he finished for her. He stared into her eyes. “Has