Song of the Raven (Daughters of the Prairie 3)

“Tell me what you desire. Tell me, and it is yours, if within my power.”

“Goodness. I don’t have need of anything.” She eased into him, and a hardness poked her belly. The hairbrush. Oh, how she wanted to brush his beautiful, long hair and then braid it. A silly girlish folly. He’d no doubt laugh at her. Yet he had told her he’d allow her anything she wanted.

“Raven?”

“Yes, tehila?”

“There is something I would like.”

“Anything.”

“May I—” She cleared her throat. “May I brush out your hair for you?”

As she feared, he chuckled, but it was a friendly, loving little laugh. “If that is what you wish.”

She pulled away from him. “I know it seems silly.” She reached into her apron for her brush. “Oh!” Her apron pocket was quite a bit lower than the hardness she had felt against her stomach. Of course it was. She knew that. “Oh, my!” She gasped at the bulge in Raven’s buckskin trousers and backed farther away.

“Do not fear me, Ella,” Raven said, inching toward her. “And do not fear that part of me. I cannot control my desire for you, but I assure you I can control my actions. I told you I would never harm you, and I meant it.” He smiled. “Now”—he took her hand that held the brush—“please. Brush my hair for me.”

Ella’s hands shook as she looked into his black eyes. They smoldered, as though catching on fire. Little sparks ignited across her skin.

“W-We’ll have to sit back down. You’re so tall.”

“As you wish.” Raven sat down slowly.

“Please. Be careful of your injury.”

“I will. Do not worry.”

Ella sat down behind him and gathered his tresses into her hands. “Such long hair. Nearly as long as mine.”

“My brother’s is even longer.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The longest of any warrior in our camp.”

“He is the white one?”

“He is Lakota. But yes, he is white.”

Ella whisked the brush through Raven’s hair and caught a snag. “I’m sorry. You’ve been leaning against that straw wall for quite some time. There will be tangles.”

“The tangles are from my encounter with the she-bear. My hair came loose from its braid and went…as you say…every which way. Be careful, though. If you brush an Indian’s hair too hard, it falls out.”

“Goodness, that doesn’t make any sense at all! Perhaps I’d better not—”

Raven’s full lips curved into a knowing smile.

“You’re joking, aren’t you? How silly of me to fall for it.”

“Yes, I am only joking.” His onyx eyes danced.

She smiled back. “Then this may hurt.” She yanked on his hair just a little to tease him. “But I’ll do a thorough job, Raven.”

“You may do whatever you like to any part of me, itka.”

“Your hair is beautiful. As black as the bird you were named for, and silky smooth.” She tunneled her fingers through the locks, shocked by the intimacy with which she was touching him, yet unable to stop. She continued brushing until she had pulled through all the snarls. “I’ll braid it for you now, if you’d like.”