Savage Beloved

“I see happiness in your eyes. I feel it when you touch me,” Two Eagles said as he lay beside Candy, facing her.

He moved a hand slowly over her nakedness, savoring the softness of her skin. It resembled the petals of wild roses that he had found ofttimes in the forest.

“I didn’t know someone could be this happy . . . this content,” Candy said, quivering with ecstasy when he cupped one of her breasts and softly kneaded it.

When his thumb began circling her nipple in slow caresses, she closed her eyes in total bliss and sighed, then gasped with pleasure when he leaned over her and ran his tongue over the same nipple, then nipped it gently with his teeth. It was at this moment that Candy realized Two Eagles took much pleasure from her breasts, even though they were small in comparison with Hawk Woman’s.

Yes, Candy’s were small, but they were round and firm, and filled Two Eagles’s hands when he cupped them.

/> “The night is long,” Two Eagles said huskily as he leaned away and gazed intently into her eyes. “I do not want to spend it sleeping.”

Candy opened her eyes and gazed into his. “But tomorrow you have much to do,” she murmured, gently touching his cheek. “Your uncle—”

“Ho, my uncle,” Two Eagles said, rolling away from her and resting on his back as he gazed through the open smoke hole overhead.

The stars filled the dark heavens tonight with their twinkling sequins, and the moon was now full and bright.

Somewhere close by in the trees an owl spoke to the night with its soft hoots, another one responding from a nearby tree.

“Nahosah, tomorrow, I will say my final good-bye to my uncle,” Two Eagles said. “The sadness I feel runs so deep.”

Then he turned to Candy again and took one of her hands in his. “That is why I do not want to spend the night sleeping,” he said thickly. “With sleep come dreams, and I do not want to dream of things that disturb me, not when I can spend my waking hours with the woman I love.”

“Then I shall stay awake with you,” Candy said, bringing his hand to her lips and gently kissing it.

“We can talk, then make love, then talk again,” Two Eagles said, smiling into her eyes.

“There are some things I would like to ask you,” Candy murmured as she slid her hand free of his. She reached that hand to the scar beneath his lip. “Like . . . this scar. Was it made during an act of bravery?”

He smiled, then took her hand and held it as he described a day in his youth that he had shared with a very special friend, a man who was also chief, but for another band of Wichita.

“I wish that I could say I did earn the scar through bravery,” he said, in his mind’s eye reliving the moment that had left its imprint on him for eternity. “But I did not earn it in an honorable way, but instead through carelessness.”

“Truly?” Candy said, searching his eyes. She was surprised to hear this man had ever done anything careless in his entire life, even when a boy. “How did it happen?”

“My best friend, Proud Wind, and I were on our very first hunt. We were young braves who had not yet gained the title of warrior,” he said, remembering the pain that had come with that carelessness, a pain he hid from his friend so that he would not be seen as weak. “We were packing buffalo meat on an unbroken horse when it suddenly reared away and then kicked me with both hind hooves.”

“Oh, no,” Candy said, flinching at the very thought.

“With a broken jaw tied to keep it in place, I had to drink soup for more than a moon,” he said thickly. He visibly shuddered at the thought of those many bowls of soup. “I now despise soup . . . all kinds!”

Candy scooted closer to him and brushed a soft kiss across the scar, then smiled into his eyes. “If I had been there that day, I would have helped get your mind off the pain,” she said, softly giggling.

“Just looking at you would have been enough to make me forget everything but you,” Two Eagles said, his eyes twinkling. “Even as a young brave I would have known how special you were to be to me when we were old enough to know what pure love was.”

“Pure love,” Candy said, sighing deeply. “Yes, what we have is pure love.”

Then she reached for his hand and gazed at the tattoo on the back. It was a small design resembling a bird’s foot. “I have never seen such a tattoo before,” she murmured. “Can you tell me about it?”

“The tattoo was placed on my hand immediately after I killed my first bird. I was a small child with a new bow and arrow,” he said, pride in his eyes. “All young braves are marked in the same way for the same reason.”

Then he saw her gaze move to the tattoo on his right arm.

“The tattoo on my right arm, that mark in the form of a small cross, is a symbol of the stars and represents a well-known mythical hero among the Wichita. He is called Flint-Stone-Lying-Down-Above, which in my language is spoken as Tahanetsicihadidia, the guardian of the warriors.”

He took her hands in his. “How do you feel about the tattoos? I have never seen them on any white man or woman,” he said, searching her eyes.

“As far as I know, white women do not wear tattoos at all, and I have rarely seen tattoos on white men. Those who do wear them are seen as unsavory sorts,” Candy said.