Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  Kirk ga­ve Jole­na a frown over his sho­ul­der. "We're in for one bad storm," he sho­uted over the lo­ud thras­hing of the le­aves over­he­ad as the wind sud­denly be­gan whip­ping thro­ugh the tre­es. "It's go­ing to hit us he­ad on. The­re's no way to get away from it."

  "Is the­re an­y­t­hing I can do?" Jole­na as­ked, glan­cing aro­und her as the can­vas co­ver of the wa­gon be­gan to stra­in aga­inst the bolts that we­re ke­eping it in pla­ce.

  "Go to the back and tie down the co­ver as tightly as you can," Kirk sho­uted. "Clo­se the front ope­ning al­so, or ever­y­t­hing we own might get blown away or so­aked. Then all we can do is sit tight and ri­de this one out."

  Jolena nod­ded.

  She craw­led to the back of the wa­gon and ti­ed the can­vas down as tightly as pos­sib­le. She went from bolt to bolt, tes­ting them, glad to find that they we­re all tight and snug.

  Then she sta­red at her jo­ur­nals and the de­li­ca­te spe­ci­mens of but­ter­f­li­es spre­ad out on the wa­gon flo­or. To ma­ke su­re they we­re not har­med, she co­ve­red them with she­ets of can­vas that they had bro­ught along just for this pur­po­se.

  When she felt that ever­y­t­hing was se­cu­red as well as pos­sib­le, she tur­ned and sta­red at Kirk aga­in, then at the empty se­at be­si­de him, won­de­ring if she wan­ted to ri­de out the storm at his si­de or wit­hin the can­vas walls of the wa­gon.

  Fearing be­ing alo­ne du­ring the storm, she cho­se to sit out­si­de with her brot­her. She rus­hed to the se­at and sat down, then tur­ned and drew the can­vas to­get­her be­hind them and ti­ed it se­cu­rely in pla­ce.

  She clung ner­vo­usly to the se­at, her eyes dar­ting aro­und, trying to find Spot­ted Eag­le. He was usu­al­ly the­re, clo­se to her wa­gon. But this ti­me he was mis­sing. He was pro­bably go­ing from wa­gon to wa­gon, chec­king to see if ever­y­t­hing was re­adi­ed for the storm.

  Two Rid­ges was still the­re, ri­ding a lit­tle be­hind her wa­gon. A stran­ge col­d­ness se­emed to se­ize her when she fo­und him sta­ring at her, his eyes sha­do­wed as ever­y­t­hing be­ca­me dull and gray with the ap­pro­ach of the storm.

  She co­uld not put her fin­ger on what tro­ub­led her abo­ut Two Rid­ges. It was not only that he had be­en too co­wardly to sa­ve her from the fall over the cliff. She had felt the sa­me way be­fo­re her ac­ci­dent. The­re se­emed to be so­met­hing abo­ut him that tug­ged at her so­ul, as tho­ugh per­haps she had known him in anot­her ti­me, anot­her li­fe.

  It was not the sa­me fe­eling that she had abo­ut Spot­ted Eag­le. So­me­how he had ap­pe­ared in her dre­ams, be­co­ming re­al to her be­fo­re she'd met him.

  She had known not­hing of Two Rid­ges un­til she first la­id eyes on him. Yet sin­ce that first eye con­tact, so­met­hing had be­en the­re, tro­ub­ling her and se­emingly ha­un­ting him as well.

  Fear grip­ped her as anot­her me­na­cing bolt of lig­h­t­ning lit the tre­es with its sil­ver light, fol­lo­wed by a fast roll of thun­der. She grip­ped the se­at with her fin­gers as the me­na­cing black clo­uds ra­ced over­he­ad with enor­mo­us spe­ed, pus­hed by tre­men­do­us winds that we­re cur­ling the tree tops.

  Then the ra­in be­gan fal­ling in tor­rents, the wind las­hing the ra­in aga­inst Jole­na's fa­ce. She scre­amed as the tre­es be­gan swa­ying jer­kily, thre­ate­ning to hurl down the­ir bran­c­hes.

  ''Get in­si­de the wa­gon!" Kirk sho­uted, wi­ping wa­ter from his fa­ce with the back of one hand, whi­le with his ot­her he tri­ed to ke­ep the wa­gon ste­ady as the mu­les re­ared and bra­yed.

  Spotted Eag­le was sud­denly the­re on his mag­ni­fi­cent stal­li­on, grab­bing the re­ins from Kirk, ste­ad­ying the hor­ses. "Get in­si­de out of the ra­in!" he sho­uted at Jole­na.

  The ra­in had blown her ha­ir and plas­te­red it aga­inst her wet fa­ce. She gat­he­red it in her fin­gers and par­ted it, yet the ra­in was co­ming down in such blin­ding she­ets that she still co­uld not see Spot­ted Eag­le cle­arly.

  She nod­ded and tur­ned to un­tie the le­at­her thongs that held the front can­vas of the wa­gon in pla­ce, but stop­ped and sta­red up at the sky as the storm ab­ruptly stop­ped. It was as tho­ugh so­me­one had wa­ved a ma­gic wand in the air, or­de­ring the sky to cle­ar.

  Jolena tur­ned back aro­und, and as she com­bed her fin­gers thro­ugh her dren­c­hed ha­ir, she ga­zed slowly abo­ut her. As the sun bro­ke thro­ugh, the co­lors of ever­y­t­hing se­emed brig­h­ter, the air was fres­her, and the birds sang che­er­ful­ly.

  The le­aves of the tre­es we­re co­ated with a film of wa­ter, and as the air grew slowly war­mer, whi­te va­por for­med in the tree tops, drif­ting idly up­ward to the clo­uds. The fo­rest lo­oked as if a tho­usand cam­p­fi­res we­re smol­de­ring be­low the tre­es.

  Jolena star­ted to step down from the wa­gon, then stop­ped and scre­amed when her ga­ze fell upon so­met­hing that had be­en un­co­ve­red at the si­de of the path by the hard, pel­ting ra­in.

  Spotted Eag­le slid qu­ickly from his sad­dle and rus­hed to see what was ca­using Jole­na's alarm. He stop­ped and his jaw tig­h­te­ned as he ga­zed down in­to a gra­ve, from which the dirt had be­en was­hed away slowly thro­ugh the ye­ars.

  His eyes wi­de with cu­ri­osity, Kirk le­aned aro­und Jole­na trying to see, angry to find that his vi­ew was be­ing bloc­ked by Spot­ted Eag­le. "What was it, sis?" he as­ked, ga­zing over at her. "I'm not su­re," Jole­na sa­id, a shi­ver ra­cing up and down her spi­ne as she re­tur­ned his stu­di­o­us sta­re. "It… it lo­oked li­ke a baby."

  "Baby?" Kirk gas­ped, pa­ling.

  Kirk con­ti­nu­ed sit­ting the­re as Jole­na step­ped down from the wa­gon and went to Spot­ted Eag­le's si­de. She co­ve­red her mo­uth with a hand as she sta­red down at the tiny re­ma­ins of the body in the gra­ve. It was lying cur­led up as if it we­re still in the womb. Its blan­ket, which se­emed to ha­ve be­en ma­de of tur­key fe­at­hers, was rot­ted.

  Spotted Eag­le knelt down upon one knee and be­gan sho­ve­ling mud back on­to the tiny thing. "It is Pu­eb­lo," he sa­id so­lemnly. "Tur­keys we­re in many ways sac­red to them. To bury a child wrap­ped in tur­key fe­at­hers was to gi­ve it wings to the land of the he­re­af­ter."

  Seeing the bu­ri­ed in­fant ca­ta­pul­ted Spot­ted Eag­le back in­to ti­me to the day when he he­ard abo­ut Swe­et Do­ve's de­ath and the fa­te of her newly born child. He was gra­te­ful for the whi­te pe­op­le who had fo­und the child and ca­red for her as tho­ugh she we­re the­ir own. But for them, that child might ha­ve se­en the sa­me end as this child lying in this shal­low gra­ve.

  Perhaps she wo­uld still ha­ve be­en ali­ve when her fat­her fo­und the body of his wi­fe, yet the chan­ces we­re the child wo­uld ha­ve di­ed by then. Wit­ho­ut no­uris­h­ment, and lying ex­po­sed be­ne­ath the be­ating rays of the sun to any fo­ur-leg­ged ani­mal that might pass by, the child's chan­ces of sur­vi­ving wo­uld ha­ve be­en slim. "How lo­nely the baby lo­oked," Jole­na mur­mu­red, ha­ving be­en sad­de­ned de­eply by the sight of the in­fant. "It must ha­ve bro­ken the mot­her's he­art to ha­ve to bury her child so alo­ne. I co­uld not be­ar it if a child of mi­ne di­ed."

  "This child has be­en de­ad for many ye­ars," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, sho­ve­ling the last pi­le of mud on­to the gra­ve. "Her mot­her is su­rely now de­ad, al­so. Per­haps her gra­ve is al­so ne­arby. We shall ne­ver know."

  Wiping his dirty hands on the thick le­aves of bus­hes, he tur­ned to Jole­na, not ca­ring that Kirk was ne­ar eno­ugh to he­ar him.

  "We will ha­ve many he­althy chil­d­ren," he as­su­red her, ig­no­ring Kirk's lo­ud gasp and not se­e­ing Two Rid­ge's glo­wer as he sat on his hor­se just be­hind the wa­gon. "And the­r
e will be no gra­ves ne­ces­sary for our chil­d­ren. Nor for the­ir mot­her. I shall stay at yo­ur si­de whi­le you are bir­t­hing. Ne­ver wo­uld I send you away from our vil­la­ge to gi­ve birth to yo­ur child alo­ne."

  Jolena's eyes wi­de­ned with hor­ror. "Are you sa­ying that so­me In­di­an wo­men le­ave the­ir vil­la­ges to… to ha­ve the­ir chil­d­ren?" she as­ked, shoc­ked at the tho­ught. "Why wo­uld the­ir hus­bands al­low it?"

  "It is not for me to say the wrongs or rights of anot­her man's cus­toms," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, ri­sing to his full he­ight and pla­cing a gen­t­le hand on Jole­na's che­ek. "But for us, when the ti­me co­mes, we want only what is sa­fe for you and the child. Ne­ver will I al­low an­y­t­hing to harm you." Awa­re that mo­re than one set of eyes we­re on her and Spot­ted Eag­le, Jole­na co­uld fe­el her che­eks be­co­ming hot with a blush. She flatly ig­no­red Two Rid­ges' ste­ady ga­ze, but she ga­ve Kirk a si­de­ways glan­ce. Her eyes wa­ve­red when she saw her brot­her's ir­ri­ta­ti­on with Spot­ted Eag­le for ha­ving spo­ken so openly abo­ut chil­d­ren.

  Jolena qu­ickly chan­ged the su­bj­ect. "I'm cold," she sa­id, hug­ging her­self with her arms. "I'd best chan­ge in­to dry clot­hes." She lo­oked Spot­ted Eag­le up and down. His buc­k­s­kin clot­hes we­re so wet they lo­oked as tho­ugh they might be his se­cond skin, em­bar­ras­sing her when she lo­we­red her ga­ze to that part of his ana­tomy whe­re he was so very well equ­ip­ped.

  Smiling aw­k­wardly, she shif­ted her ga­ze qu­ickly back up aga­in, yet dis­co­ve­ring that she had not lif­ted her ga­ze up­ward fast eno­ugh. The­re was a qu­i­et amu­se­ment in the depths of Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes.

  Before she had the chan­ce to turn aro­und and climb in­to the wa­gon, she felt Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes on her, al­so re­dis­co­ve­ring her body with the­ir he­at as they ro­ved over her, whe­re her wet skirt and blo­use clung sen­su­al­ly to her cur­ves and the ge­ne­ro­us mo­unds of her bre­asts. It was as tho­ugh ever­y­w­he­re he to­uc­hed with his eyes he lit small fla­mes, ca­using a gen­t­le pas­si­on to ri­se wit­hin her.

  Knowing the dan­gers in this, sin­ce they we­re the cen­ter of at­ten­ti­on now that ever­yo­ne had re­tur­ned to the­ir wa­gons and we­re wa­iting for Spot­ted Eag­le's com­mand to con­ti­nue on with the jo­ur­ney, Jole­na tur­ned her back qu­ickly to Spot­ted Eag­le and be­gan to climb abo­ard the wa­gon.

  But her bre­ath se­emed to lock in her thro­at when Spot­ted Eag­le's hands we­re sud­denly the­re at her wa­ist, hel­ping her.

  She wan­ted to cry out to him that this was not the ti­me for him to to­uch her an­y­w­he­re!

  She felt as tho­ugh she was re­ady to melt right on the spot, and she fe­ared that her fe­elings we­re too vi­vid in her eyes and in the way she was so ra­pidly bre­at­hing.

  One mo­re qu­ick lo­ok over at Kirk told Jole­na that he was per­haps at the end of the li­mit of what he wo­uld al­low bet­we­en her and the han­d­so­me war­ri­or. She was af­ra­id that they so­on wo­uld co­me to blows, and that was the last thing she wan­ted­t­ro­ub­le bet­we­en the man she had grown up with and the man that she lo­ved, with whom she wan­ted to spend the rest of her li­fe!

  Chapter Fifteen

  The af­ter­no­on was en­ding. Dull and red, the sun was lo­we­ring in the sky. The cam­p­fi­re bla­zed low, and the aro­ma of cof­fee waf­ted thro­ugh the air. The ex­pe­di­ti­on had stop­ped ear­li­er than usu­al to ma­ke camp for the night be­ca­use ever­yo­ne ne­eded to dry out the­ir be­lon­gings that had got­ten wet du­ring the tor­ren­ti­al ra­ins and winds of the storm.

  Jolena had crept away from the ot­hers, se­eking pri­vacy eno­ugh to ta­ke a bath in the ri­ver, al­t­ho­ugh she fe­ared be­ing alo­ne eno­ugh to ha­ve sne­aked Kirk's pis­tol out of his hol­s­ter af­ter Kirk had re­mo­ved it whi­le he was chan­ging in­to so­met­hing dri­er and mo­re com­for­tab­le for the long ho­urs of night that lay ahe­ad of them. She didn't ex­pect that he wo­uld miss the pis­tol un­til to­mor­row, when he dres­sed for tra­vel aga­in. And she didn't ex­pect him to miss her. She had set up her tent and clo­sed its flap, ma­king a pre­ten­se of al­re­ady ha­ving re­ti­red for the night.

  She knew the dan­gers of set­ting out on her own in this un­ta­med land, yet de­ep down in­si­de her­self she re­ali­zed that the­re was so­me­one who had not mis­sed her es­ca­pe from the cam­p­si­te.

  Spotted Eag­le.

  She even sus­pec­ted that he was fol­lo­wing her.

  She smi­led to her­self, pre­ten­ding not to he­ar his moc­ca­sins step­ping on a twig, cre­ating a crac­k­ling so­und that bro­ke the si­len­ce.

  The ri­ver spar­k­led thro­ugh a bre­ak in the tre­es up just ahe­ad of her, and Jole­na hur­ri­ed her pa­ce, a to­wel thrown over her left arm and a bar of so­ap in the front right poc­ket of her skirt. The pis­tol was he­avy in her left hand and she now felt fo­olish for ha­ving bro­ught it. She had known that Spot­ted Eag­le wo­uld fol­low her. She had ma­de su­re that he had se­en her path of es­ca­pe from the cam­p­si­te.

  Her smi­le fal­te­red as she tho­ught of Two Rid­ges. She had lo­oked for him, too, be­fo­re le­aving the cam­p­si­te, but he had be­en now­he­re in sight. So­me­how, she just co­uld not find it in her­self to trust him.

  A stran­ge fo­re­bo­ding fil­led her. All the whi­le she had be­en con­fi­dent that Spot­ted Eag­le was fol­lo­wing her. Co­uld it ha­ve be­en, in­s­te­ad, Two Rid­ges? Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld ha­ve had ot­her re­asons for en­te­ring the fo­rest be­hind her. Per­haps he hadn't even se­en her.

  Fearing this pos­si­bi­lity, Jole­na stop­ped short and swung aro­und, her eyes se­ar­c­hing the de­epe­ning sha­dows be­hind her, pra­ying that the man she lo­ved wo­uld be the­re­not Two Rid­ges!

  As she wa­ited for the per­son who was fol­lo­wing her to show his fa­ce, her pul­se ra­ced. Her fo­re­fin­ger so­ught out the trig­ger on the pis­tol. The lon­ger she had to wa­it, the mo­re ner­vo­us she be­ca­me.

  She fo­und her­self slowly lif­ting the pis­tol, hol­ding it up as a man might do, ta­king ste­ady aim. She pul­led back the lock with a flick of her thumb, her kne­es we­ak.

  When Spot­ted Eag­le fi­nal­ly ca­me in­to sight, Jole­na sig­hed with re­li­ef and slowly lo­we­red the fi­re­arm.

  Spotted Eag­le eyed the pis­tol wa­rily, then shot his ga­ze up, loc­king his eyes with Jole­na's. "And who did you think was fol­lo­wing you be­si­des Spot­ted Eag­le?" he as­ked. "I ha­ve ne­ver se­en you carry a fi­re­arm be­fo­re."

  "That is be­ca­use I fo­und that I was not only fo­olish, but trus­ted too easily," Jole­na sa­id, her he­art ham­me­ring wit­hin her chest as Spot­ted Eag­le ca­me clo­ser.

  She won­de­red if this strong de­si­re for him wo­uld ever les­sen. Just lo­oking at him diz­zi­ed her.

  Spotted Eag­le step­ped up to her and re­ac­hed slowly for the pis­tol, then gin­gerly to­ok it out of her hand. "It is go­od that you are le­ar­ning to be ca­uti­o­us," he sa­id, nod­ding. "But still you did not an­s­wer me abo­ut who you tho­ught was fol­lo­wing you. You we­re re­ady to sho­ot who­ever it was. Tell me. Who has ma­de you fe­el thre­ate­ned?"

  Jolena felt aw­k­ward, kno­wing that her fe­ar of Two Rid­ges was thus far un­fo­un­ded. Ex­cept for eye­ing her in that stran­ge way, he had not ac­tu­al­ly gi­ven her ca­use to be af­ra­id of him.

  Not wan­ting to cast bla­me un­til she had just ca­use, Jole­na cast her eyes dow­n­ward. "At first I tho­ught it was you," she sa­id, slowly mo­ving her eyes up­ward aga­in. "But when you did not ma­ke yo­ur­self known to me, I be­gan to worry. That's why I de­ci­ded to re­ady my gun, in ca­se I was be­ing stal­ked by so­me­one who might harm me."

  Spot
ted Eag­le ga­zed down at her with frow­ning eyes for a mo­ment lon­ger, fe­eling that she was not be­ing al­to­get­her trut­h­ful with him. Then he shrug­ged. The­re was no re­ason for her to eva­de the truth. The­re was no one ne­ar in this fo­rest ex­cept tho­se of the ex­pe­di­ti­on. He did not see any of them as a thre­at to her. If so, Jole­na's whi­te fat­her wo­uld not ha­ve chan­ced al­lo­wing such a per­son to ac­com­pany his da­ug­h­ter on such a jo­ur­ney.

  "Say so­met­hing," Jole­na sa­id, smi­ling we­akly up at him. "Did I do so­met­hing so ter­ribly wrong?"

  Spotted Eag­le pla­ced a hand on her che­ek, his do­ubts mel­ting away as he smi­led slowly down at her. ''No," he sa­id ten­derly. "You did ever­y­t­hing right. It was wi­se to carry a fi­re­arm whi­le you we­re away from the ot­hers. I can­not con­demn you for thin­king ahe­ad to what might hap­pen whi­le you are ta­king a bath in the ri­ver."

  "How did you know what I was plan­ning to do?" Jole­na as­ked, la­ug­hing softly. "Are you not only han­d­so­me and in­t­ri­gu­ing, but al­so a mind re­ader?"