Chapter 8 #3
Sadly, she cast her glance away from his. “It would appear neither one of us wishes to part.” She paused. “Come to England with me. Help me do what I must. Then we will return here, and you can follow the path you must do. If you do this, don’t you see, I would be here with you.”
He shook his head. “I have only until my thirtieth year to complete my task. I am now twenty-nine winters old. It is summer. Winter will soon be upon us. I have very little time left in which to accomplish much.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Yes, yes, I understand the problem now.”
“But perhaps you could stay with me until either I solve the mystery, or turn thirty, and then—”
“I cannot stay here,” she reiterated, sending her perusal, once again, off to the side of him. “I, too, must act quickly.”
He didn’t respond, and they stood there together, wet, cold and worlds apart. At last a chilly breeze roused them, and he was the first to speak. “Then come. As I said before, it is destined that one must sometimes lose the one who gives him pleasure.”
“Yes, I suppose you speak true.”
“Hau,” he agreed. “Many people have the rest of their lives to come to know one another; we have only several days, or perhaps a moon. But do not lose hope. The passage of time does not govern the intensity of the heart. One can as easily feel strongly about another in the breath of a moment, as within a hundred winters.”
“This is true.”
“And if this be so, then let us, by our actions today, do only those which will remain in our hearts always. In this way, though we may be apart, forever we will have our memories.”
She swallowed on an ever-tightening throat.
And he carried on, saying, “When the time comes, and you throw me away, it will signify to others that you are free to live a good life elsewhere, one without me. And perhaps, I, too.”
She nodded. At the moment, words failed her.
“You will do it?” he asked.
Once again, she inclined her head, then whispered softly, “I will. But not until the time comes to do it.”
“Hau. Not until then.”
This said, he took her in his arms, holding her tightly, as though he feared she might disappear this very minute. He sighed, and slowly, one muscle at a time, he began to enact his earlier promise, and with his fingers, he gently worked over the muscles of her back.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “That feels good.”
“Hau. It does.”
Smiling, she turned into his arms, inviting him to massage the front of her as well. As he gladly complied, she pushed her fingers through the long length of his dark mane.
“I love the feel of your hair,” she said. “Why do you wear it so long?”
“It is a symbol of manliness—or womanliness, as well, depending upon to whom you speak. Long hair is much prized by all my people. It can have great power. And one only cuts his hair if there is a death of a loved one. Do you not like it?”
“I love it.” She ran each lock through her fingers more passionately. “I love it.”
As I love you.
Silently, she gasped. No, this wasn’t right. The thought had been a mistake.
She didn’t love this man. She couldn’t love this man. Her entire life, her whole future was destined to be lived elsewhere.
While she could admit she did feel a fondness for Grey Coyote, wasn’t the emotion she felt merely one which was so only because they were alone with one another? And for an extended period of time?
Yes, this was all this was. It had to be.
But, screamed another, virtuous part of her, if she didn’t love him, what was she doing here? Like this? Had the far West somehow made a loose woman of her?
She sighed at the sense of the moral obligation she felt. One would think a person would be permitted to have at least one skeleton in the closet, one adventure in life. After all, it wasn’t as if it was bad. Both she and Grey Coyote referred to one another as husband and wife.
Indeed, he truly believed it.
And so it was on this particular thought Marietta quickly came to a decision. She would have her adventure; she would have her skeleton. Alas, she would have her memories. For, she could never remember a time when she had been happier.
Thus, having settled this conflict within herself, she stepped forward and closed the distance between them. “Is it your idea to repeat much of what we did last night? Now?” Smiling up at him, she drew her fingertips down his chest, emphasizing her point.
“It is, my wife. Though I fear you may be sore from our lovemaking. Are you?”
She nodded. “A little.”
“Then come, there is time enough for more of the same. Let us bathe now and heal the part of you which is sore with the mud from Mother Earth. But do not be deceived. When you are healed, it is my intention to repeat last night again and again and again.”
She grinned up at him. “And I think I will give you little complaint.”
He, too, smiled, and they beamed at one another, her heart, even his, there for the taking within a heated gaze. True, their passion might be temporary—in fact, it might end tomorrow—but neither of these circumstances would make the intensity of the moment less.
Indeed not.