Brother Wind (The Ivory Carver Trilogy Book 3) by Sue Harrison

Brother Wind (The Ivory Carver Trilogy Book 3) by Sue Harrison

Author:Sue Harrison
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical, Mythology & Folk Tales, Science Fiction & Fantasy, United States, Fantasy, Sagas, Fairy Tales, Historical Fiction, Family Saga, General Fiction, Genre Fiction, Native American, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 9781480411937
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-05-28T07:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 51

KUKUTUX RAN HER HAND over the soft furs that lined the floor of Owl’s sleeping place.

“I will give you the oil and the meat, even if you do not choose to come to my bed,” Owl said. “But I cannot speak for my brother.”

“I will do what I promised,” Kukutux answered. She glanced at Owl, then looked away. His eyes were intense, and she could feel the power of him, as though he reached across his sleeping place and touched her. She began to untie the strings that held her aprons, but he shook his head and said, “Lie down on your stomach.”

Kukutux looked at him, questions in her eyes, but he was patting and straightening the sleeping robes as though he were a woman. Kukutux lowered herself, her muscles tense. Then his fingers were against her back, rubbing in close circles across her shoulders. She felt herself relax.

“You work very hard,” he said to her, and his words so surprised Kukutux that she nearly laughed.

“Who does not work hard—man, woman, or child?” Kukutux asked.

“Waxtal does not work hard, Kukutux,” Owl answered. “Remember that. You are a woman whose heart is soft. Remember—not everyone deserves your sympathy. Do you not have enough sorrow in your life?”

“What do you know about my sorrow?” Kukutux asked.

Owl’s hands stopped. “You think I cannot see that you are sad?” he asked. “But you are a strong woman. A man would be fortunate to have you as wife.”

Kukutux rolled over to look into Owl’s eyes.

“It has been long enough,” he said to her. “You may go to my brother now if you wish.”

“No,” Kukutux said. “I will do as I promised.”

Owl took a long breath and leaned over to untie her aprons. When his fingers touched her, his hands trembled. Then he was stroking her belly, her breasts, the soft skin of her inner thighs. He parted her legs and moved over her, his hands still caressing.

His fingers were tight on her shoulders as he moved in rhythm over her.

Kukutux had not had a man since her husband died, and there was a part of her body that wanted to rise into Owl’s arms, find pleasure in the feel of him moving within her. But there was also that part of her, something within her chest, that seemed to wail out her grief, that let her think only of the hunter who had shared so many of her nights.

Her skin remembered White Stone’s touch—his large, gentle hands. So she held herself still and pushed away any pleasure brought by need. And though she wrapped her arms and legs around Owl’s strong body, she felt stiff and cold, as though she kept herself apart, only watching what some other woman did.

Owl tensed, gathered her tight against the hardness of his chest, and then relaxed, his weight settling on her like a sleeping robe. The sweat between their bodies prickled Kukutux’s skin, but she did not move until his breathing deepened, and she knew he was asleep.



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