Swift Horse

Swift Horse leaned away from her so that their eyes could meet. “Do you know now how much I want you?” he said huskily as he gazed into her passion-clouded eyes. “Can you feel it? Can you even taste it?”

“Yes, I feel all of those things,” Marsha murmured, her heart pounding in her own ears. “I never knew making love could be this overwhelmingly beautiful.”

“And you have not even experienced the ultimate of pleasure yet,” Swift Horse said, smiling into her eyes. “My woman . . . are you ready?”

Marsha knew that her face must be flushed, for she seemed consumed by heat from her head to her toes. She was filled with a longing never known by her before, and as his lips came down hard onto hers and he plunged into her again and began thrusting, heated contractions of pleasure knifed through her, over and over again, filling her with a pleasure too magnificent to describe.

She opened herself wider to him. Her hips responded to his thrusts, in her own rhythmic movement, and her whole body began to quiver. Her mind seemed to splinter into many explosions of color as sensations such as she never knew could exist swam through her. She clung to him as his body thrust more deeply inside her, over and over again, as he moaned and held her endearingly close, his lips now buried against the curve of her neck.

And then when it was over, they both lay clinging to each other, their breaths mingling as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“How could such wondrous feelings exist?” Marsha said breathlessly, still seeming to be pulsing where she had just been awakened to the full pleasure of making love.

“What we shared together was borne of our love for each other,” Swift Horse said, reaching a hand to her brow and wiping a pearl of sweat from her flesh. “It is something we shall always have. When night falls, the bed will beckon for us. When the sun rises in early morn, we will not want even then to leave the bed.”

“But your chieftain duties will always be awaiting you,” Marsha said, smiling into his eyes.

“Not before we make love,” Swift Horse said, laughing huskily.

“It will be wonderful to go to sleep at night after making love and start my day making love,” Marsha said, finding it hard to envision such happiness. But she had discovered that such things were possible now that she had found paradise in the arms of this lover who would soon be her husband.

“And then sometimes I will come to you midday to make love,” Swift Horse said, laughing to himself when he saw how that remark made her eyes widen in wonder.

“That will be rare,” he said, chuckling. “But if you ever wish for those moments, any time of the day, just reach your hand out for me and I will be there for you.”

A movement behind them in the brush caused Marsha to tense up and to grab a blanket and cover herself. She sat up and peered into the darkness that had now come down around them in what seemed to be a black cloak, for there was no moon tonight, nor stars.

“It was only a night creature seeking companionship, too,” Swift Horse said, reassuring her that no one was there spying on them, yet he, too, gazed into the darkness to reassure himself.

“Whatever it was is gone,” Swift Horse said, then placed his hands at her waist and drew her onto his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, and soon everything but their lovemaking was forgotten.

Chapter 29

Best and brightest, come away—

Fairer far than this fair day

which, like thee, to those in sorrow

Come to bid a sweet good-morrow.

—Percy Bysshe Shelley

Marsha sat on a platform with Swift Horse, witnessing the Green Corn Ceremony. She learned that the Creek life was filled with ceremony and celebration. The return of hunters meant that a villagewide dance and feast of bear ribs barbecued with honey would be held.

But she now knew that the most important of all Creek ceremonial occasions was the Boskita, Busk, or Green Corn Ceremony, celebrated annually when the new maize had ripened and was ready for harvesting, as well as marking the beginning of a new year of plenty.

During the festival, a new fire was lit, the green corn was roasted, and a new year commenced.

The sacred fire was lit within four logs, arranged so that each pointed in one of the four directions. This was a time when offenses were forgiven, and the Creek women swept out their hearths and cleaned their homes to be ready for a fresh start with the new year.

Tonight, as Marsha sat with Swift Horse, the moon high overhead, dancers performed around the huge outdoor fire, where earlier in the afternoon a part of the new harvest had been sacrificed, to the accompaniment of drums, rattles, and a flute made from the tibia of a deer’s leg.

Marsha noticed that the women had gathered together to perform the Ribbon Dance. They held special sticks twined with ribbons and wore on their legs bells made from the hooves of deer. Along with the tinkling earrings and bracelets of the women, the bells made a lovely sound that wafted into the night air.

Although Marsha was intrigued by everything that had happened today, she could not focus totally on it. She glanced over at Swift Horse, whose eyes were slowly scanning the crowd.