CASSIE EDWARDS
THE SAVAGE SERIES
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Winner of the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award for Best Indian Series
"Cassie Edwards writes action-packed, sexy reads! Romance fans will be more than satisfied!"
Romantic Times
SAVAGE ILLUSION
"I've never felt so alive," Jolena said. "I feel wicked. What came over me?"
Spotted Eagle drew her against him. "You are not wicked. What you did was done out of love. I will cherish these moments. So should you."
She leaned her cheek against his chest. "Oh, how I want to. It was pure heaven, being with you. I've never felt so free, yet so possessed. How can that be?"
"Loving fiercely is a combination of the two. Let that frighten you not. I welcome being possessed by you. I will never be lonely again."
"I feel so many things," Jolena said, clinging to him, loving him so. "But most of all, I feel an intense happiness. Hold me, Spotted Eagle. I never want to leave you."
He cradled her, his eyes closed to the past, thinking only of the future and this woman who had awakened him again to loving…
Other Leisure and Love Spell Books by Cassie Edwards:
TOUCH THE WILD WIND
ROSES AFTER RAIN
WHEN PASSION CALLS
EDEN'S PROMISE
ISLAND RAPTURE
SECRETS OF MY HEART
The Savage Series:
SAVAGE SECRETS
SAVAGE PRIDE
SAVAGE SPIRIT
SAVAGE EMBERS
SAVAGE ILLUSION
SAVAGE SUNRISE
SAVAGE MISTS
SAVAGE PROMISE
SAVAGE PERSUASION
Savage Illusion
Cassie Edwards
With much affection I dedicate Savage Illusion to Donna Ingersoll, a dear, sweet fan who has become an enduring friend.
Cassie Edwards
A LEISURE BOOK®
September
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Fifth Avenue
New York, NY
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
Copyright © by Cassie Edwards
Cover Art by John Ennis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
I see you in my mind,
Touch you in my dreams,
Your voice keeps calling to me,
A spirit that's wild and free.
I feel your breath caress my neck,
As I turn to you to say,
I will love you for forever,
Only to find, you've gone away.
Were you ever really there?
What is this thought that torments me so?
And I am caught between two worlds,
As if I lived another life long ago.
I feel your strength in the wind,
Sense your gaze through the sun,
Hear your voice speak to me in the streams,
You keep saying, "This love has only begun."
I lie in sleepless nights,
Staring out at the dark sky,
Then I feel a breeze blowing,
And I know you are at my side.
I can almost see your eyes,
As they stare at me in the night.
I can just about feel your arms,
They are warm, and hold me tight.
"Come back to me," you whisper,
As I feel my heart start to race.
I will somehow, my love.
I'll find you somewhere, some place.
I'll not stop until I'm home,
Back with my People, and my heart.
I will never stop searching till I find you.
And when I do, I know we'll never again be apart.
Sheila Bilbrey
Chapter One
The Montana Territory 1852
The bull train, consisting of four eight-yoke teams, drawing twelve covered wagons, moved slowly through the wind-blown tall buffalo grass, following the Yellowstone River that ran snake-like through the Montana Territory.
It was August, a perfect time of the year for traveling. To the west rose the dark Rockies, their sharp peaks standing out sharply against the pale blue sky. Northward were the three buttes of the Sweetgrass Hills. Eastward dimly loomed the Bear Paws; South, across the Yellowstone River, the pine-clad Highwood Mountains were in plain sight.
On all sides buffalo and antelope grazed quietly on the healthy, spring-fed grass. Sitting in the lead wagon, in the shade of the canvas that had been stretched over the seat to protect the new mother and child from the hot rays of the sun, were Bryce Edmonds and his wife Charlotte.
Charlotte gazed lovingly down at her two-week-old son, adoring him, yet regretting that he had not been born in more civilized surroundings, with a real doctor to look after her, a real bed on which to be comfortable, and with food readily available. As it was, the expedition's food supply had dwindled, and everything was now being rationed until they reached the Missouri River, where they could board a steamboat and return to the comforts of their palatial home in Saint Louis.
When Charlotte had offered to join these lepidopterists, led by her husband, s
he had not even thought of becoming pregnant on the long, tiring journey.
It had just happened.
"Are you too disappointed, dear?" Charlotte asked, gazing lovingly at Bryce, her husband of six years, whose blond hair had bleached almost white beneath the hot Montana sun.
But the sun had not changed his handsomeness. Even now, sitting so close to him on the rugged seat of the wagon, she wanted to reach out and touch his face or run her fingers through his thick hair. She loved him more each day, as though each was their first kiss, their first caress.
When a fly started buzzing around the face of her son, her thoughts were averted to things other than romancing her beloved husband. She shooed the fly away from her child, whose tiny lips were contentedly suckling at her breast.
Her Kirk.
Her adorable Kirk.
She had fought off mosquitoes, ticks, and flies until she was weary from it all.
Bryce cast Charlotte an easy smile.
''Am I disappointed over having not found the euphaedra?" he said, referring to the rare Venezuelan butterfly they had been hunting. "Naw, can't say that I am."
His gaze shifted, enjoying the sight of his son nursing from his mother's milk-filled breast. It was a sight that would linger in his memory until the day he died. It was so wonderful to finally have a child.
After five years of trying, he and his wife had almost given up on ever having children. Then, suddenly, as though someone had touched Charlotte's womb with a magic wand, she was pregnant. That the child had been born in the midst of such hardship seemed almost a miracle. Indeed, it was a miracle that any of them were alive.
There were Indians everywhere: the Cree, the Crow, the Blackfoot. For some reason, this wagon train had been spared any raids, as though God were there with them every inch of the journey, watching over them.
"I would have been terribly disappointed over not finding the rare butterfly," he continued, nodding. "But that little surprise package you're holding in your arms makes all the difference in the world in my attitude. I couldn't be happier, darling. First the prettiest woman in Saint Louis accepts my proposal of marriage, then I am appointed curator at the science museum, and then, by God, to top it off, I now have a son. Who could complain, darling? Who?"
"But you so looked forward to finding the euphaedra," Charlotte said, easing Kirk's lips from her breast as his eyes closed in a contented sleep. She wrapped him in a lightweight blanket and cradled him in her left arm as she began rebuttoning her dress. "If you had caught it, you could have completed your collection. Then you could settle down and write that book that you have spoken of so often to mea book explaining your ventures and all the butterflies that you have captured in detail, as well as the life history of each. How nice it would have been, darling, if…"
Bryce returned his eyes to the trail, so that Charlotte would not see the disappointment that lay shadowed in their depths. He had sworn that the expedition's failure was not troubling him, yet in truth, it was eating away at his gut.
"There'll be another time, another place," he said. "Right now all I'm concentrating on is getting you and Kirk out of Indian territory and to the safety of a steamboat. It shouldn't be much longer now, darling. We may even reach the Missouri by sundown tonight."
The thought that this dreadful journey was soon to be behind her excited Charlotte.
Something up ahead, lying on the ground just beyond the shade of some tall bushes, drew Charlotte's attention. She leaned her head forward, then gasped when she saw that it was not an animal, but a lifeless hand.
Charlotte paled at the thought of coming across someone that had been murdered, even perhaps scalped by the Indians. It would be their luck, she thought to herself, to just barely get within sight of the steamboat and the Indians come down upon them with a vengeance.
"Bryceup ahead, do you see?" Charlotte said, pointing. They were close enough now for her to see that this was not the hand of a white person.
It was copper in color!
It was an Indian's!
A panic seized Charlotte's insides, fearing this might be a trap.
"By God, it's a hand," Bryce said, drawing rein and stopping the slow-traveling bulls.
Charlotte grabbed for Bryce's arm. "Be careful," she whispered, her eyes wild. "It could be a trap. We could be attacked by Indians any minute now."
Bryce reached a gentle hand to her flushed cheek. "Now, now," he said, as though he were soothing a child. "Let's not let our imagination run away with us."
He drew his hand away from her and leaned out so that he could see the other wagons that had come to a dead halt behind his, his traveling companions already off their wagons and heading hurriedly toward him.
Bryce gave Charlotte another quick glance. "You don't leave this wagon unless it's at my side, do you hear?" he said sternly. He reached back inside his wagon and grabbed a small, pearl-handled pistol. "If I don't get back to you, and you and our child become threatened by a redskinby God, woman, shoot to kill."
Charlotte flinched at the sight of the firearm, having never liked them. But having no choice, she took the pistol and held it tightly within her grip as she watched Bryce leave the wagon, warily approaching the dead person. His pistol was drawn, and the other men were armed with rifles.
Bryce crept slowly toward the hand, and when he saw that there was no one there, ready to pounce on him, he swung his pistol back into its holster and hurried onward.
When he separated the lower branches of the bushes and got a closer look, he was stunned at what he discovered.
"It's an Indian woman and a childI'd say no more than a few hours old," one of his companions said, mirroring Bryce's very thoughts. "And, Bryce, the woman is dead."
Bryce knelt down beside the woman and closed her eyes, then gently picked the child up into his arms. It was apparent that the mother had at least managed to cut the umbilical cord, but she had surely died before she had a chance to cleanse the child, or perhaps even feed it.
The dark eyes of the baby looked up at Bryce trustingly. Then the child began to cry softlya cry of hunger…
Without further thought, Bryce carried the tiny thing to the wagon.
"Oh, my lord, it's a baby," Charlotte said, gasping.
"The mother is dead," Bryce said sadly, holding the baby out so that Charlotte could see the infant better. "The child is a girl. Isn't she just too beautiful, Charlotte?"
"Oh, yes. So very," Charlotte said softly, the baby's cries tearing at her insides. "But the poor thing. Surely she's hungry." She glanced down at Kirk, then at her milk-filled breasts, so heavy she knew that she had more than enough milk for two children.
She turned a smiling face to her husband. "Let me feed her," she murmured. She reached a hand out to Bryce. "Please, darling? If not, she may die
."
"For sure she would," he said. "But let me give her a quick washing. I'll bring her to you then."
The others had come to their wagon and were watching. Bryce took the child to the back of his wagon. Taking warm water from a canteen, he bathed the baby, then took her to Charlotte, handing the child up to her after she had placed Kirk comfortably across her lap.
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