Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  Two Rid­ges lo­oked away from Spot­ted Eag­le, who was aga­in gla­ring in­to the fi­re. He was be­gin­ning to so­rely re­sent this be­ha­vi­or of his fri­end!

  He wo­uld show him.

  Chapter Seven

  The bright sun­ri­se and scur­rying clo­uds we­re ac­com­pa­ni­ed by a brisk wind. Se­ve­ral co­ve­red wa­gons pul­led by mu­les we­re lum­be­ring along this land that was a wil­der­ness of wo­oded slo­pes, flo­wing mo­un­ta­ins, and me­adows. Stre­ams tum­b­led over wa­ter­fal­ls. Blue la­kes lay in pe­ace­ful val­leys. Wild sa­ge, bal­sam ro­ot, and wild lar­k­s­pur spot­ted the land with the­ir bril­li­ant co­lors.

  Spotted Eag­le ro­de stra­ight in his In­di­an sad­dle ahe­ad of the wa­gons, Two Rid­ges fa­it­h­ful­ly at his si­de. Spot­ted Eag­le shif­ted his eyes he­aven­ward, fe­eling the ef­fects of the Sun God shi­ning brightly over­he­ad as his buc­k­s­kin clot­hes clung damply to him li­ke a se­cond skin.

  Then Spot­ted Eag­le to­ok a lo­ok over his sho­ul­der at Jole­na as she wi­ped per­s­pi­ra­ti­on from her brow with a lacy han­d­ker­c­hi­ef. Her brot­her han­d­led the re­ins of the­ir wa­gon, whi­le ex­pe­ri­en­ced wa­go­ners we­re at the con­t­rols of the ot­her land ves­sels.

  He frow­ned, re­cal­ling the bold, bo­is­te­ro­us­ness of the wa­go­ners, ha­ving se­en them te­ase and flirt with Jole­na mo­re than on­ce when the con­voy stop­ped to al­low the­ir mu­les to drink from the stre­ams and to gi­ve the men and wo­men of this ex­pe­di­ti­on ti­me to eat and drink and to find pri­va­te mo­ments be­hind the tal­lest bus­hes be­fo­re bo­ar­ding the­ir wa­gons aga­in.

  Not only had Spot­ted Eag­le fo­und the at­ten­ti­on of the wag­no­ners to Jole­na an­no­ying, but he had wat­c­hed Kirk's re­ac­ti­on, which was ne­ar the ex­p­lo­ding po­int.

  Spotted Eag­le mo­ved his eyes from Jole­na and re­tur­ned to wat­c­hing for an­y­t­hing that might sig­nal that the Cree we­re ne­ar. He smi­led at the idea of Kirk trying to de­fend his sis­ter aga­inst the lar­ge and bulky wa­go­ners. It was ob­vi­o­us to Spot­ted Eag­le that Kirk was not a man of mus­c­le and wo­uld not be ab­le to fight off his of­fen­ders if ever he tri­ed. It wo­uld be up to Spot­ted Eag­le to pro­ve to Jole­na who was the stron­gest of tho­se who fo­ught, ho­pe­ful­ly ca­using her ad­mi­ra­ti­on to blos­som in­to so­met­hing mo­re than what it might be now.

  Spotted Eag­le nud­ged the flanks of his stal­li­on with his he­els and ro­de off in a stron­ger lo­pe, wan­ting to find a cam­p­si­te qu­ickly for this first night out from Fort Chan­ce.

  Jolena was une­asy on the hard wo­oden se­at be­si­de her brot­her. It was not al­to­get­her the he­at that tro­ub­led her, but so­met­hing el­se, as tho­ugh she had just felt a si­lent bid­ding from so­me­one.

  Her he­art ra­ced, lo­oking ahe­ad at Spot­ted Eag­le. Only mo­ments ago he had gi­ven her a qu­ick glan­ce, but it had be­en long eno­ugh for her to see that sa­me in­qu­isi­ti­ve lo­ok as be­fo­re, as tho­ugh he saw her as so­me­one he had known in his past. She wo­uld ne­ver for­get the first ti­me he had lo­oked at her, when he had re­ac­ted as tho­ugh he had se­en a ghost.

  Whose, she won­de­red?

  Who co­uld she lo­ok li­ke that he knew?

  This ga­ve her ca­use to ho­pe that it had so­met­hing to do with her true In­di­an fa­mily. If she re­sem­b­led one of them, then per­haps she was not all that far, in­de­ed, from the truth of her he­ri­ta­ge!

  Squirming aga­in to get mo­re com­for­tab­le on the se­at, the sun po­uring its he­at down upon her, Jole­na tri­ed to fo­cus her tho­ughts el­sew­he­re, to pass the ti­me un­til they stop­ped to ma­ke camp.

  She was an­xi­o­us for to­night.

  She wan­ted to find a way to be with Spot­ted Eag­le, alo­ne, to try to ma­ke her mid­night dre­ams and day­ti­me fan­ta­si­es co­me true.

  After Kirk was as­le­ep, she wo­uld go to Spot­ted Eag­le. He was su­rely the re­ason she was fe­eling this si­lent, stran­ge sort of bid­ding. She felt that it co­uld co­me from no ot­her than he who­se he­art was crying out to her. Jole­na ga­ve Kirk a ste­ady sta­re. He was sto­nily si­lent, his jaw tight, af­ter ha­ving had anot­her con­f­ron­ta­ti­on with the brash wa­go­ners the last ti­me they had stop­ped to stretch the­ir legs and to eat. She wan­ted to re­ach over and pat his knee and thank him for co­ming to her res­cue, but she held her hand at bay. She did not want to en­co­ura­ge the­se con­f­ron­ta­ti­ons and bo­uts of chi­valry over a sis­ter. She knew what his re­ac­ti­on wo­uld be if he ever ca­ught her tal­king with Spot­ted Eag­le. If he knew the de­ep fe­elings that she al­re­ady had for Spot­ted Eag­le, he wo­uld ex­p­lo­de in­to a ra­ge that no one wo­uld want to wit­nes­ses­pe­ci­al­ly Jole­na!

  She tur­ned her eyes and tho­ughts away from her brot­her, now wat­c­hing aro­und her aga­in for but­ter­f­li­es, but di­sap­po­in­ted anew. Even tho­ugh it was a warm and sunny day and flo­wers dot­ted the land, all the but­ter­f­li­es had be­en elu­si­ve to­day. She hadn't spot­ted any, es­pe­ci­al­ly the eup­ha­ed­ra, with its tur­qu­o­ise, black and oran­ge co­lo­ring, and a stre­ak of pink on its wings.

  But what was lo­vely to lo­ok at was this glo­ri­o­us co­untry whe­re na­tu­re had re­ared gre­at mo­un­ta­ins and spre­ad out bro­ad pra­iri­es. Along the wes­tern ho­ri­zon, the Rocky Mo­un­ta­ins lif­ted the­ir pe­aks abo­ve the clo­uds. He­re and the­re lay mi­nor ran­ges, black with pi­ne fo­rests. In the dis­tan­ce they we­re me­re gray sil­ho­u­et­tes aga­inst a sky of blue.

  Between the­se mo­un­ta­in ran­ges ever­y­w­he­re lay the gre­at pra­irie, the sil­ver gray of the wor­m­wo­od len­ding a dre­ari­ness to the lan­d­s­ca­pe. At in­ter­vals the land was mar­ked with gre­en, win­ding ri­ver val­leys, and it was gas­hed ever­y­w­he­re with de­ep ra­vi­nes, the­ir si­des pa­in­ted in stran­ge co­lors of red and gray and brown. The­ir per­pen­di­cu­lar walls we­re crow­ned with fan­tas­tic co­lumns and fi­gu­res of sto­ne or clay, car­ved out by the winds and the ra­ins of ages.

  Here and the­re, ri­sing out of the pla­in, we­re sharp rid­ges and squ­are-top­ped but­tes with ver­ti­cal si­des. They we­re so­me­ti­mes ba­re, and so­me­ti­mes dot­ted with pi­nes­short, sturdy tre­es who­se gnar­led trunks and thick, knot­ted bran­c­hes had be­en twis­ted in­to cu­ri­o­us forms by the winds which blew un­ce­asingly thro­ugh gor­ges and co­ule­es.

  An oc­ca­si­onal herd of buf­fa­lo or an­te­lo­pe was sig­h­ted, and along the wo­oded ri­ver val­leys and on the pi­ne-clad slo­pes of the mo­un­ta­ins, elk, de­er, and wild she­ep fed in gre­at num­bers.

  The scor­c­hing bre­ath of early sum­mer stir­red the tall, we­aving stems of the buf­fa­lo grass. Jole­na had be­en told that the­re we­re all kinds of ro­ots and ber­ri­es gro­wing in abun­dan­ce in this land of sky, sun, pra­irie, and mo­un­ta­in­s­wild car­rots, wild tur­nips, swe­et-ro­ot, bit­ter-ro­ot, bull ber­ri­es, cher­ri­es, and plums among them.

  Thinking of this wil­der­ness fo­od ma­de her ga­ze up at Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in, thin­king that su­rely the wo­men of his vil­la­ge we­re kept busy se­ar­c­hing for the­se dif­fe­rent fo­od­s­tuf­fs.

  She clo­sed her eyes, mo­men­ta­rily en­vi­si­oning her­self among such wo­men, dres­sed as they we­re in soft do­es­kins, with per­haps a to­uch of blo­od­ro­ot on her che­eks to li­ven up her co­lor for the man she lo­ved, for the man she wo­uld ta­ke her bas­ket of ber­ri­es and ro­ots ho­me to. He wo­uld enj­oy the fru­its of her la­bor, then ta­ke her to his bed and pay her in the way hus­bands ever­y­w­he­re sho­wed the­ir gra­ti­tu­de to the­ir wi­ves.

  Feeling the slo­wing of the co­ve­red wa­gon in the way the
se­at swa­yed and sho­ok be­ne­ath her, Jole­na's eyes flew open. She lo­oked qu­es­ti­oningly over at Kirk as he drew a tight re­in when Spot­ted Eag­le ca­me ri­ding to­ward the­ir wa­gon, which was the first in the ex­pe­di­ti­on.

  Spotted Eag­le drew a tight re­in be­si­de the wa­gon on Kirk's si­de, and when he tal­ked, it was to Kirk; yet his eyes we­re on Jole­na all the whi­le, sen­ding a sen­su­al thrill thro­ugh her he­art.

  Jolena clas­ped her trem­b­ling fin­gers to the se­at and smi­led ner­vo­usly back at Spot­ted Eag­le, his ne­ar­ness fil­ling her in­si­des with so­met­hing stran­gely swe­et and fo­re­ign to her. Each ti­me the­ir eyes met, she knew that he was spe­aking to her wit­ho­ut words.

  And she knew that he co­uld tell by her res­pon­se to his eyes that she was an­s­we­ring him in kind.

  Soon they wo­uld be ab­le to spe­ak alo­ud to one anot­her, and she won­de­red what he wo­uld say to her first, and how she might res­pond to him wit­ho­ut re­ve­aling her he­ar­t­felt fe­elings for him.

  ''We will camp he­re for the night," Spot­ted Eag­le was sa­ying to Kirk. "The­re is wa­ter for drin­king. The­re are many cot­ton­wo­od tre­es. They gi­ve us sha­de for set­ting up camp. Al­so hor­ses and mu­les li­ke to eat the bark of the­se tre­es. It is go­od for them. The grass he­re is yo­ung and he­althy al­so for the ani­mals."

  Kirk glan­ced from Jole­na to Spot­ted Eag­le, anot­her war­ning sho­oting thro­ugh him when he saw aga­in how her sis­ter and this gu­ide we­re at­trac­ted to one anot­her. He ho­ped that Jole­na's at­trac­ti­on was only be­ca­use of her he­ri­ta­ge and her bur­ning qu­es­ti­ons abo­ut it.

  He ho­ped that the In­di­an war­ri­or's qu­es­ti­ons we­re only be­ca­use he co­uld not un­der­s­tand why a wo­man with cop­per skin was cal­led Kirk's sis­ter, or why she min­g­led with the whi­te pe­op­le, as tho­ugh one of them.

  Hopefully, on­ce Spot­ted Eag­le's cu­ri­osity was aba­ted, he wo­uld pla­ce his tho­ughts on ot­her mat­ters.

  Kirk si­lently pra­yed to him­self that this wo­uld be so­on, for he fe­ared the­se fe­elings that might grow bet­we­en Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le.

  "Whatever you say, Spot­ted Eag­le," Kirk sa­id, nod­ding. "If you think this is a sa­fe pla­ce, then who's to ar­gue abo­ut it?"

  Kirk ga­zed aro­und him at the sec­lu­si­on of this val­ley in which they wo­uld be ma­king the­ir first camp away from ci­vi­li­za­ti­on. He co­uld not deny that part of him that was af­ra­id. Yet he had to con­ti­nue lo­oking bra­ve in Jole­na's eyes, es­pe­ci­al­ly in front of Spot­ted Eag­le.

  Kirk did not want the In­di­an to ta­ke over as his sis­ter's pro­tec­tor!

  Everyone left the­ir wa­gons and wor­ked to­get­her gat­he­ring wo­od for a fi­re, and just as fla­mes we­re le­aping aro­und he­avy logs, the af­ter­no­on was fa­ding in­to shif­ting sha­dows. A ha­ze of he­at set­tled over the val­ley as the sun set in­to a pur­p­le crad­le of clo­uds on the ho­ri­zon.

  Spotted Eag­le and Two Rid­ges ma­de a si­lent kill with the­ir bows and ar­rows, and so­on me­at was drip­ping its tan­ta­li­zing ju­ices in­to the fla­mes of the cam­p­fi­re.

  Billy, one of the wa­go­ners, the most burly and out­s­po­ken of them all, with a thick spro­uting of whis­kers on his craggy fa­ce, lif­ted a cof­fee pot from the hot co­als at the ed­ge of the fi­re. Af­ter he po­ured him­self a cup, he held the cof­fee pot to­ward Jole­na, whe­re she sat si­lently be­si­de her brot­her, nib­bling on a small por­ti­on of the ro­as­ted me­at.

  "Hey, pretty thing, are you hun­ge­rin' for so­met­hin' to drink, or so­me­one to cozy up with?" Billy as­ked, his pa­le blue eyes ra­king over Jole­na. "If I co­ve­red you with my body, you'd su­re as hell not ne­ed a blan­ket."

  The ot­her wa­go­ners chuc­k­led as they pe­ered at Jole­na, the­ir eyes re­ve­aling that the­ir tho­ughts we­re an­y­t­hing but de­cent.

  "Well?" Billy per­sis­ted. "How's abo­ut it? Cat got yo­ur ton­gue? Or do you think you're too go­od for ol' Billy? Let me tell you, pretty thing, the­re's mo­re fi­re in this he­re man than ten ot­her men com­bi­ned. I'll show you just what lo­vin' is all abo­ut."

  Jolena's fa­ce grew hot with an angry blush, and her he­art po­un­ded with em­bar­ras­sment. She gas­ped and grew cold in­si­de when Kirk slam­med his cof­fee cup down on the gro­und, splas­hing it empty, and ro­se to his full he­ight over the wa­go­ner.

  "You've be­en hi­red to dri­ve the wa­gons, not in­sult my sis­ter," Kirk sa­id, do­ub­ling his hands in­to tight fists at his si­des. "You apo­lo­gi­ze or…"

  Billy tos­sed the cof­fee pot and his cup to the gro­und and pus­hed him­self up to his full he­ight, to­we­ring over Kirk at six-fe­et and fo­ur-in­c­hes. He le­aned his craggy fa­ce down in­to Kirk's cle­an-sha­ven fa­ce. "Do you want to say all of that aga­in?" he da­red. "I ain't one to apo­lo­gi­ze, es­pe­ci­al­ly to a squ­irt li­ke you. I'd qu­ickly ma­ke min­ce­me­at out­ta you. Want to gi­ve it a try?"

  "I ask for no fight, just for you to le­ave my sis­ter alo­ne," Kirk sa­id, swal­lo­wing hard as he ga­zed up in­to eyes of fi­re, and on­to sho­ul­ders twi­ce the si­ze of his. "Now let's just for­get abo­ut all of this and re­su­me our sup­per. We've many mo­re days to ha­ve to be aro­und one anot­her. Let us ma­ke the best of it."

  Billy wo­uld not let up. Le­ering, he le­aned even clo­ser to Kirk's fa­ce. "That's fi­ne with me," he snar­led. "I don't see what the fuss is abo­ut an­y­how. She ain't no sis­ter of yo­urs. She's not­hin' mo­re than an In­di­an squ­aw dres­sed in whi­te wo­man's clot­hes. Why, as I se­es it, she ain't not­hin' but a red­s­kin sa­va­ge."

  Gasps waf­ted thro­ugh the sci­en­tists who had be­en wat­c­hing with ba­ted bre­ath.

  Jolena stif­fe­ned when she saw a qu­ick an­ger le­ap not only in­to her brot­her's eyes, but al­so Spot­ted Eag­le's. Spot­ted Eag­le lo­oked as tho­ugh he was re­ady to po­un­ce on the wa­go­ner, yet Kirk be­at him to it.

  Jolena to­ok a qu­ick step back and co­ve­red a scre­am be­hind her hand when Kirk hit the wa­go­ner in the chin with a do­ub­led fist, knoc­king Billy off ba­lan­ce. When Billy stum­b­led bac­k­ward and fell to the gro­und, Kirk was qu­ickly atop him, hit­ting him aga­in and aga­in.

  Then when Kirk star­ted to ri­se away from Billy, thin­king that he had got­ten the best of him, Billy grab­bed a kni­fe from his wa­is­t­band and star­ted to ra­ise it for a de­ath plun­ge in Kirk's back.

  But Spot­ted Eag­le saw the dan­ger. He ran to the wa­go­ner and kic­ked the kni­fe from his hand, then hel­ped Kirk up and away from him.

  Kirk step­ped asi­de as Spot­ted Eag­le re­ac­hed down and grab­bed Billy's shirt just be­ne­ath the chin and bun­c­hed it up bet­we­en his fin­gers. Yan­king on the shirt, he so­on had Billy on his fe­et aga­in, blo­od stre­aming from both his no­se and mo­uth.

  "I think you do not lis­ten well," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id in a low, thre­ate­ning grum­b­le as he sto­od eye to eye with Billy. "You we­re told to mind yo­ur bu­si­ness. That is go­od ad­vi­ce. So­on we will be en­te­ring Cree ter­ri­tory and all hands and guns will be ne­eded if the Cree de­ci­de to at­tack."

  Billy re­ac­hed a hand up and wi­ped the salty blo­od away from his lips, then stum­b­led bac­k­ward when Spot­ted Eag­le re­le­ased his hold on him.

  Spotted Eag­le fol­lo­wed Billy's ret­re­at. "And whi­te man, I be­li­eve you for­got to apo­lo­gi­ze to the wo­man," he sa­id, his te­eth clen­c­hed. "She is no squ­aw. She is no sa­va­ge. Let me he­ar you tell her that she is ne­it­her."

  Billy grow­led so­met­hing down de­ep in­si­de his thro­at, then tur­ned to Jole­na. "Sorry, ma'am," he sa­id, then slo­uc­hed back to the fi­re and sat down, his sho­
ul­ders slum­ped.

  As ever­yo­ne re­su­med eating the eve­ning me­al, Jole­na was hardly ab­le to ke­ep her eyes off Spot­ted Eag­le, who had tur­ned away from her too so­on for her to thank him for what he had do­ne in her de­fen­se.

  She glan­ced at Kirk, thin­king that it was per­haps best that she hadn't than­ked Spot­ted Eag­le for an­y­t­hing. She co­uld tell that his pri­de had al­re­ady be­en inj­ured, in that he had be­en out­do­ne by the Blac­k­fo­ot gu­ide.

  The rest of the eve­ning me­al was com­p­le­ted in si­len­ce. Ever­yo­ne then ret­re­ated to the­ir own bed­rol­ls or small tents. Jole­na wat­c­hed Kirk crawl in­to his tiny cu­bic­le of a tent, and she so­on he­ard her brot­her's fa­mi­li­ar sno­res.

  She smi­led to her­self, glad that so­me things had not chan­ged. In the own pri­vacy of her small tent, whe­re blan­kets we­re spre­ad warm ac­ross the gro­und, she ma­de her en­t­ri­es in her jo­ur­nals, then la­id them asi­de and stret­c­hed out on the blan­kets. She clo­sed her eyes and pre­ten­ded that she was back ho­me in her ro­om and that she had not yet be­en fa­ced with prob­lems of iden­ti­ti­es and whet­her or not it was me­ant for her to be a part of the whi­te wor­l­dor the red. The so­und of mo­ve­ment out­si­de ca­used her eyes to blink qu­ickly open. She scar­cely bre­at­hed, won­de­ring who was stir­ring aro­und out­si­de, when only mo­ments ago it se­emed that ever­yo­ne was as­le­ep for the night.