“We must practice our skills to hone them for the right moment.” He ran his finger over her lips and grinned.
“Your body needs to regain its strength from the visions. How can you practice more than two times in this weakened state?”
He pinned her to her back and teased at her breasts. She giggled softly. “Such stamina, my noble Eagle,” she whispered tenderly.
He slipped easily into her receptive body. He moved slowly and provocatively. When she was aroused to fiery passion, he withdrew and asked, “Have I practiced enough this moon?”
“If you do not practice more, I will cut out your cruel heart.”
They both laughed, then made love feverishly. As she lay sleeping in his arms, he moodily reflected upon something he had not told her about a certain vision, something he could not. He lifted his head to gaze at Bright Arrow. An aura of imminent prowess surrounded him even now. He laid his head near Shalee’s and closed his eyes.
Within moments, they opened again. He longingly studied her lovely and serene face. Her reality challenged his selfish future plans. She was his life; yet, she was white. Their son carried her blood as well as his: white blood. Much as he loved her and challenged all to keep her, could he allow his son to follow in his steps? Could he deny him a love to rival his own? Could he interfere with the destiny of either son?
The vision returned to plague him. He was standing with Bright Arrow when a woman stepped between them, her back to him. Bright Arrow did not halt her when she removed his feathers and let them float silently to the earth. She grasped his hand, he smiled at her with a love pure and strong. As they walked away into the shadows, she glanced over her shoulder at Chief Gray Eagle. He could not move or speak. Her eyes were those of a doe, her hair the color of Shalee’s, her skin white….
At last his troubled mind gave in to much needed sleep. It was only three hours before he was called to join his band of warriors to fetch the bodies of his people upon the open Plain: lands that were theirs and would remain theirs.
He kissed Shalee soundly and hugged his son. “I will return.”
She smiled radiantly. “Yes, my love, I know.” They parted.
Chapter Nineteen
The other two hunting parties and the bodies of the slain Oglala people were soberly returned to camp without any hostile incidents. Shalee rushed to greet her husband as he slowly rode into camp, his burdens a gruesome sight. Tears washed down her cheeks as she viewed the mangled bodies of Turtle Woman, Little Flower, and Shining Light’s beloved Moon Gazer. The others also brought grief and anger to her mind, but those three people were special to her.
The atmosphere in the camp was solemn and oppressive as the slain were placed upon their death scaffolds, their bodies to be absorbed by the elements of nature, allowing their souls to be delivered to the Great Spirit. The weapons of the slain warriors rested with them, as was their custom. The chants were sung in mournful tones to send their souls along their journey. Children wept for fallen parents; mates grieved over their own losses; friends prayed for those they had known since birth.
Shalee watched her husband as he covered the distance between the place of burial and the camp, the weight of his responsibilities heavy upon his broad shoulders, the peril of revenge charging the still air with ominous currents. She could not wholly agree with vengeance, for it bore a high price. Yet, how could she argue against just payment for such a brutal slaughtering of innocent women, against a way of life they had known since birth? In exacting times like these, she was compelled to hold her tongue and reluctantly accept what must be.
He joined her, but remained silent for a time. His strong arm slipped around her to comfort her loss of her good friends. “Why must it be so, Shalee? Why must they come and war with us? They have their lands where Wi awakens. These are our lands and forests. We do not enter theirs and war to possess them. Why must they invade ours and take away our peace and lives? Before they came, joy and peace ruled the Sioux domain; for others feared to challenge us. The white man has no fear or wisdom. When all are slain, more come. When those are slain, even more come. The whites are many. One day it will come to the destruction of one side.”
“It grieves my heart, my love, but your words are true. No matter how much land they have, they always want more and more. But many are not so. Many only seek freedom and peace from the cruelty of other whites. To you, all appear white. But like the many Indian nations, the whites are divided amongst themselves. Many groups of whites are tormented by others. Some do not know about the Indians. They are given lies about this land. They come with good in their hearts, then are forced to take sides against us, for we refuse all whites. It saddens my heart to know the good will die because of the evil deeds of the bad. Is truce so impossible? We cannot stop them from coming. They are like a swollen river that cannot be damned. Should we not try for peace before they are many and strong?” she reasoned.
“To yield truce to some would encourage others to think we yield from weakness and fear. If we allow many to come and remain, soon others will follow. How long before the Plains and forests are filled with them? Once they are many and strong, their defeat will be difficult. We must not allow such dangerous numbers to enter here.”
How could she argue with the course of history? Once this entire country had belonged to the Indians. Now, the eastern coast was nearly all white. At first they had come in small numbers, then steadily increased until there was no room left for the Indians. As more and more whites came to America, they gradually pushed westward with their abundance of people and with their desires for more land and goods. Already the gold and furs enticed evil men here. The future looked dim. She dreaded to think of the days when her sons would battle large numbers of whites.
She determined to teach them English and all she knew about the white man. If this land became white one day, they must be given the tools for survival. But what of her husband? He was a thorn in the side of the whites, one they fiercely struggled to remove. How long could he avoid their probings, their resolve to end his powerful reign? It was too clear that a strike at him was a deadly blow to the entire Indian nation. The life of a legend was perilous!
That next day was spent in hunting to supply the camp with fresh meat while the warriors were away. In order for everyone to remain near camp, a large supply of wood, water, and wild fruits and vegetables were gathered during the tiring day. When dusk came, the dreaded ceremony began.
Shalee tensed the instant the battle drums sent forth their awesome notes. Her gaze flew to her husband. He smiled knowingly. She rushed into his arms. “I wish you did not have to go after them, my love,” she exclaimed in panic, knowing she could not beg him to stay. He was Gray Eagle, their leader, their spirit, their essence.
He covered her face with kisses. “If we allow this deed to go unpunished, the whites will gather deadly pride and joy. They must learn we will retaliate in kind. They must be taught to hesitate before doing such evil deeds. Do not hate me for what I must do to your kind, Shalee.”
“I could never hate you, my love. They are no longer my kind, for I am Indian now. I will pray for your safe return to me. They sealed their fates when they slaughtered innocent people. I will not defy our ways.”
He hugged her fiercely. “You are truly Indian, Shalee.”
Considered bad medicine for a woman to touch a man’s ceremonial garments, she could not assist him as he dressed. His body was clad in chamois-colored buckskins, his wanapin dangling from his neck. She stared at the white eagle, knowing what the whites would pay to hold it in their hands. The upper portion of a deer’s head with hide still intact was placed over his flowing black mane. His forehead was concealed, as were the sides of his face to his ebony eyes. The hide was rich chestnut, tipped with white around his bronze face. The empty forelegs hung over his chest, as if the animal were merely resting over his broad back. Twelve points upon its head revealed its age and its cunning in evading the hunters for many years.
The headdress was maintained in excellent condition, only its mouth and entrails missing. Even in its lifeless state, it was a magnificent sight to behold. The black eyes appeared tranquil, as if revealing no animosity toward its slayer or terror at the moment of death. The ears stood erect; the nose was a shiny ebony shade. As if reflecting the traits of its new owner, both hinted at cunning, speed, gentleness, and strength.
Taking a small pouch, Gray Eagle artistically used his forefinger to smear three yellow slashes over the bridge of his nose and across both cheeks, the sunny shade loud against his deep bronze flesh. Just beneath his lower lashes, he added a small line of jet black on either side, carrying them past the ends of his ebony eyes to drift beneath the deerskin. What was meant to inspire fear in enemies only gave him a wild and sensual appearance, at least to a woman.
He glanced up to note the way she was looking at him, his effect upon her clear. “Your eyes betray your thoughts, Little One,” he teased happily.
“I wish it were not forbidden to touch you now, for you sorely tempt me to ravish you. How can a man be so bewitching and irresistible?” she wondered aloud, aching to love him wildly and freely.
He chuckled roguishly. “If you do not change your look and voice, Grass Eyes, I will be sorely tempted to permit such an exciting deed,” he quickly retorted, grinning broadly.
“If you but weakened for a brief moment, the cause is lost to us,” she seductively warned, smiling at him.
“Then come, let us share the company of others for safety. Later, I will sorely tempt you once more,” he remarked casually.
He ducked to exit from the tepee without dislodging his headdress. They walked toward the center of camp where a large fire was burning brightly, meaningfully. She urged her rebellious legs to move forward. It was time. She dreaded this portentous moment; for once begun, there was no turning back….
Gray Eagle sat upon a buffalo hide before the campfire with the other noted warriors and their aging chief. The aspiring warriors and younger braves sat on the other side. The women stood behind either group at a respectful distance. The children were inside their tepees under the watchful eyes of older youths, elders, or white captives. It was nearly dark. A grave silence filled the air, which was highly charged with ominous emotions. Each person was alert.
The Pezuta Wapiye Wicasta Itancan, their medicine chief, arose and took his place amidst this circle of people. His voice was resonant and spellbinding as he sang the mournful chants for those who had fallen before their enemy. Afterwards, he chanted of the coups of the deceased warriors, pride and grief filling the hearts of the Oglala at such terrible losses. Shalee tensed uncontrollably as his clear voice sent forth the strains of the chants for guidance and protection as his people prepared to seek justice and revenge for those deadly events upon the Plains. When his meaningful part in this vital ceremony was completed, he reclaimed his seat near Gray Eagle.
The Token-pi-i-ceyapi Itancan, the ceremonial chief, arose next to fulfill his duty. “Hiya wookiye Oglala wasichu,” he stated, voicing the known fact that there was no peace between the white man and his tribe. He spoke of their yuonihansni, their shame and dishonor, if this lethal crime was not avenged. The Oyate Omniciye, the Tribal Council, had met and voted for retaliation. Their tribe boasted of a powerful warrior society, the O-zu-ye Wicasta, which would carry out this act of justice.
His voice revealed respect as he announced the names of those warriors selected as tiospaya itancans: band leaders for the raids. The people listened intently. “Capa Cistinna,” he revealed the name of Little Beaver. “Mahpiya Luta,” he added Red Cloud’s name. “Wanhinpe Ska,” came White Arrow’s name, to be followed by Talking Rock’s as the last man. Nods from the others indicated their concurrence in the choices of those intrepid warriors.
Tautness seized Shalee’s body and fear her heart. “Akicita-heyake-to ki-ci-e-conape Oglala,” the ceremonial chief declared the Bluecoats’ challenge to the Oglala. “Ku-wa, wohdake, Akicita Itancan,” he solemly invited the chosen war chief to speak to his four bands of warriors.
It did not surprise anyone when Gray Eagle arose to accept this great honor. It was unnecessary for Shalee to listen to his imminent words to know what he was about to say. He spoke of the seemingly endless warfare between the Indians and the whites. He listed the many grievances against their aggressive foe, the hostile Bluecoats. He talked of days long past when peace and joy ruled their lands, that time before the whites had boldly invaded this territory. He smiled encouragingly at his father as he related the aging chief’s inability to lead such a fierce and deadly charge against them. Everyone agreed the elderly chief should remain here to guard the camp against a surprise attack while the warrior society pursued the soldiers who had slain his people.
He did not risk a glance at his wife as he announced they would ride at first light the following morning, to return only after their impending victory. The assigned band leaders were given their orders, stirring and crafty ones, which only Gray Eagle could envision and carry out. When all was said and settled, Gray Eagle sat down.
For a time, all was still and quiet; the portentous aura of this moment was etched upon each face around the campfire. Running Wolf stood up to dismiss the meeting, suggesting all retire for rest and farewells: many goodbyes to be said possibly for a last time. The group gradually dispersed.
Gray Eagle’s ceremonial garments were carefully returned to their proper place, then he joined his exceptionally quiet wife upon their sleeping mat. He observed her for a long time, neither speaking. Finally, he reached out to caress her pale cheek, inspiring her to fling herself into his waiting arms.
“Forgive my weakness and fear, my love,” she murmured raggedly as she wept. “I do not doubt your prowess, but my heart suffers to think of what you must face before you can return to my side. I cannot think upon who will not be riding at your side when you come home. I hate this endless war! If they even harm one hair upon your head, I will fight them myself!”
He hugged her and kissed her. “Do not worry, Little One. Soon I will be with you again,” he tenderly promised.
“I know. But my heart pains for those who will not return. I share the anguish of Shining Light over her loss of Moon Gazer. I ache to know Red Cloud can no longer share the love of Turtle Woman, or Talking Rock the love of Little Flower. You must caution him to clear his head of her loss, or he might not return to their children. War is such a useless waste of life.”
“We must accept it, Shalee, for peace will never fill our lands and hearts again.”
“We must train our sons well, my love. Their powers must be matchless against their future enemies. It saddens me to know they will never experience life as you once knew it here.”
“Time is short, Little One. We should speak of other things,” he insisted, needing to forget the demands of tomorrow at this time.
Her gaze locked with his as she desperately implored, “Love me as if there is no tomorrow, only tonight.”
He needed no further encouragement to make passionate love to her. His mouth plundered hers with breath-stealing kisses. His lips taunted her yearning breasts until she moaned with overwhelming desire. His deft hands explored and pleased her shapely body. They loved as if this moment was eternal bliss and another day was only a dream. As ecstasy claimed them, over and over he whispered his love for her between intoxicating kisses.
Spent, still they did not release each other. Her head nestled at the curve of his shoulder where it joined his neck, his cheek resting against her auburn head. Ever so lightly his hand stroked her silky back as her finger wandered over the smooth flesh upon his chest. Her arms encircled his body as she lifted her face to entreat another heady kiss from his full and sensual mouth.
After their second and feverish joining, she beseeched him to get some much needed sleep so as to offer keen and alert senses to the coming day. He smiled at her, dropping a playful kiss upon her nose. “I love you, Little One,” he murmured tende
rly.
She smiled happily as she replied, “I love you.” Sleep came to the two lovers, whose bodies remained together all night.
At his first movement, her leaf-green eyes opened. In spite of her confidence in his prowess, dread and anxiety filled her eyes and body. A knowing and mocking grin eased over his compelling features. “It is time, Little One,” he stated soberly.
Undaunted, she smiled and added, “Time to make love before you must leave.”
He laughed heartily and retorted, “It is so.” Their emotions unbridled, they made love with carefree and heady abandonment.
Afterwards, they slipped to the stream to bathe. When he was dressed and prepared, he left to join his warriors.
She lingered outside the entrance to their tepee. It was not the time or place for her to be near him. The warriors mounted up. She smiled as Gray Eagle seized one last look at her, such possessive and intense love written in his eyes. Regardless of the countless eyes trained upon him, he touched his balled fist to his heart, then extended his outstretched hand toward her, the palm open and looking skyward, signing for all creation to witness that he freely offered his heart and love to her.
Joyous tears clouded her enraptured gaze. Mesmerized by him, she shamelessly repeated his action for all the world to see and to know she loved this man above all else. He smiled and nodded, slowly pulling his igneous gaze and enchanted senses from her.
He checked to make certain all was ready. A deadly calm and lucid confidence surrounded him. “Ku-wa, Oglala; hiyupo,” he called to his warriors to ride.
Numberless hooves thundered upon the hard ground as the large band raced from the Oglala camp to search for their enemies, not one man glancing back at the loved ones who witnessed this critical departure. Not a single person moved or spoke until the dust cleared and the warriors were completely out of visual range.
Shalee allowed her gaze to slip over the dispersing group, halting upon the worried expression of Wandering Doe. She walked toward the delicate creature who was inspiring White Arrow to ponder marriage. She stopped before her, inviting the lovely young woman’s inquisitive gaze to meet hers.
Brazen Ecstasy Page 38
