Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  She le­aned clo­ser to him. "That's how it hap­pe­ned, isn't it?" she softly cri­ed. "He was go­ing to kill you and ac­ci­den­tal­ly got in the way of the Cree's ar­row? He wo­uld ha­ve ne­ver stop­ped the ar­row on pur­po­se. He wo­uld ha­ve al­lo­wed the Cree to kill you to ke­ep from ha­ving to do it him­self."

  "You are right," Spot­ted Eag­le ac­k­now­led­ged, re­le­asing her hands. He le­aned over the fi­re and stac­ked mo­re wo­od on­to the fla­mes. "Two Rid­ges did not know of the Cree's pre­sen­ce. When Two Rid­ges ra­ised his kni­fe to kill me, the Cree's ar­row is what stop­ped him from ta­king my li­fe."

  He tur­ned back to Jole­na and pla­ced his hands at her wa­ist, slowly dra­wing her to him. "Had my war­ri­ors not ar­ri­ved when they did, the Cree wo­uld ha­ve sent anot­her ar­row in­to the air, and that one wo­uld ha­ve fo­und its true mark. I wo­uld ha­ve jo­ined Two Rid­ges on the long walk to the Sand Hills."

  Jolena flung her­self in­to his arms. She clung tightly to him. "I co­uld hardly be­ar it when I tho­ught that you had di­ed," she sob­bed. "Two Rid­ges had al­most con­vin­ced me that you we­re de­ad. I didn't want to ac­cept what he sa­id as true. But the­re was no pro­of that you we­ren't. When I ren­de­red him un­con­s­ci­o­us I star­ted wor­king my way thro­ugh the fo­rest, but only half-he­ar­tedly, for wit­ho­ut you, not­hing se­emed im­por­tant to me an­y­mo­re."

  "You sho­uld ne­ver al­low yo­ur­self to fe­el hol­low with des­pa­ir," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, stro­king her long, thick ha­ir. "I ma­de the sa­me mis­ta­ke when I tho­ught you we­re de­ad. And now do you see? Hai-yah! We des­pa­ired for na­ught. It was emo­ti­on was­ted! One must al­ways ha­ve fa­ith and ho­pe. Des­pa­ir is a wor­t­h­less emo­ti­on!"

  "It is easy to con­demn such fe­elings," Jole­na sa­id, le­aning back, ga­zing up at him. "But when I tho­ught you we­re de­ad, I co­uld not help it. My world has be­co­me you. You are my li­femy every he­ar­t­be­at. Sho­uld you die, I wo­uld be only half ali­ve!"

  He fra­med her fa­ce bet­we­en his hands and drew her lips to his. When he kis­sed her, it was not from hungry pas­si­on, but swe­et­ness and lig­h­t­ness, mat­c­hing the mo­od they both we­re fe­eling.

  Remembering what her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her had sa­id abo­ut ha­ving to pre­pa­re Two Rid­ges for bu­ri­al ma­de Jole­na draw away from Spot­ted Eag­le. She ga­zed up at him with wi­de, wo­eful eyes.

  "Why sho­uld I be ex­pec­ted to pre­pa­re Two Rid­ges' body for bu­ri­al?" she as­ked, shi­ve­ring. "Spot­ted Eag­le, the tho­ught of do­ing that cur­d­les my blo­od. How co­uld I be ex­pec­ted to for­get how he tri­ed to ra­pe me? How?"

  "There are ti­mes when one must put ot­her pe­op­le's fe­elings be­fo­re one's own," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, gently pla­cing a hand to her che­ek. "Now is such a ti­me for yo­ur Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her."

  "But why sho­uld I?" Jole­na sa­id, mo­re in a whi­ne than she wis­hed it to so­und. "Two Rid­ges and I sha­red the sa­me blo­od, but that is all."

  "And that is my fa­ult," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, tur­ning his fa­ce away from her to sta­re in­to the dan­cing fla­mes of the fi­re. "Had I be­en trut­h­ful with Two Rid­ges, he wo­uld not be de­ad now. He wo­uld be ce­leb­ra­ting ha­ving a sis­ter. You wo­uld sha­re that. Kno­wing that you we­re blo­od kin!"

  "Why didn't you tell him?" Jole­na sa­id, mo­ving aro­und in front of him. She le­aned up on her kne­es, so that she co­uld lo­ok di­rectly in­to Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes. "Didn't you think that he wo­uld wel­co­me such news?"

  "I am not su­re how he wo­uld ha­ve ac­cep­ted the truth, had it be­en told him," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "I be­li­eve that he had strong fe­elings of a man for a wo­man for you and ne­ver wo­uld ha­ve be­en ab­le to sort thro­ugh them and find tho­se me­ant only for a sis­ter."

  He pa­used and lo­we­red his eyes, then lo­oked up at Jole­na aga­in. "My re­ason for not tel­ling him was a sel­fish one," he sa­id, his vo­ice bre­aking. "I did not want you to know that he was yo­ur brot­her, nor did I want him to know that you we­re his sis­ter, fe­aring that too much of yo­ur ti­me that I wan­ted to spend with you wo­uld be spent with yo­ur brot­her. He wo­uld ha­ve the an­s­wers to so many of the qu­es­ti­ons eating away at you. I wan­ted you all to myself for as long as I co­uld ha­ve you. And I was wrong. Will you for­gi­ve me?"

  Jolena crept clo­ser to him and twi­ned her arms aro­und his neck. "Dar­ling, the­re is not­hing to for­gi­ve," she mur­mu­red. "The fact that you lo­ve me so much ma­kes my he­art sing."

  She ga­ve him a soft kiss, then le­aned in­to his em­b­ra­ce. "The­re is much to be sad for," she mur­mu­red. "But al­so the­re is much to be happy for. We ha­ve fo­und such lo­ve, you and I. And I ha­ve fo­und my true pe­op­le, es­pe­ci­al­ly my fat­her. He is exactly what I tho­ught he wo­uld be. He is a kind, de­ar man. How sad that he has lost a son, af­ter dis­co­ve­ring he has a da­ug­h­ter!"

  Her eyes wi­de­ned and she le­aned away from Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in. "The­re is just so much to ask, and to say," she blur­ted out. "I fe­el that my brot­her Kirk is still ali­ve. Will you send a se­arch party out to lo­ok for him? Ple­ase, will you?"

  "Soon, my lo­ve," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "After ar­ran­ge­ments are ma­de in our vil­la­ge for Two Rid­ges. Then we will fo­cus our at­ten­ti­on on yo­ur ot­her brot­her."

  "Thank you," she whis­pe­red, gi­ving him a gen­t­le hug.

  Then she lo­oked up at him, her eyes wa­ve­ring, her in­si­des cold aga­in at the tho­ught of what her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her was ex­pec­ting of her. "You did not say why I must pre­pa­re Two Rid­ges for bu­ri­al," she sa­id, her vo­ice shal­low. "Why must it be me? The­re are many ot­hers in yo­ur vil­la­ge who had mo­re res­pect for Two Rid­ges than I. How can I, the wo­man he tri­ed to ra­pe, be ex­pec­ted to be du­ti­ful to him?"

  "No mat­ter what he did, he was yo­ur brot­her," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "It is the prac­ti­ce of the Blac­k­fo­ot that the next fe­ma­le re­la­ti­ve of the de­ce­ased pre­pa­re the one who has di­ed for bu­ri­al. You are the only li­ving fe­ma­le re­la­ti­ve. It is re­qu­ired of you to do this for yo­ur Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her."

  Jolena shud­de­red. She drop­ped her ga­ze and slowly sho­ok her he­ad back and forth. "I don't think I can," she sa­id in an al­most whis­per.

  Spotted Eag­le cup­ped her chin with one of his hands and ra­ised her eyes to his aga­in. "Yes, you can," he sa­id firmly. "For yo­ur true fat­her, you must."

  "I don't think I can to­uch him! My fat­her will know that so­met­hing is wrong by my be­ha­vi­or."

  "You must not al­low that to hap­pen," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, ta­king both her hands and dra­wing her clo­se to him. He im­p­lo­red her with his dark eyes. "We must ne­ver al­low yo­ur fat­her to know the ter­rib­le truth abo­ut his son. Can you not see why? Yo­ur fat­her might bla­me you for the cha­in of events that led his son to his de­ath! If not for you, Two Rid­ges wo­uld ha­ve not be­co­me so­me­one fo­re­ign to him­self! It is best not to gi­ve the old war­ri­or ca­use to re­sent his da­ug­h­ter! He de­ser­ves to ha­ve so­me ti­me of hap­pi­ness with a da­ug­h­ter he now knows is very much ali­ve, and he­re to lo­ve him."

  "It's all so con­fu­sing," Jole­na sa­id, te­ars stre­aming from her eyes.

  "There is so­met­hing el­se to con­si­der," Spot­ted Eag­le con­ti­nu­ed. "I do not want to gi­ve Brown Elk ca­use to do­ubt what I told him abo­ut how his son di­ed," he sa­id. "If so, I might be put to the test of truth-tel­ling. It is not go­od that a next chi­ef in li­ne be dis­ho­no­red in such a way.''

  "What do you me­an?" Jole­na as­ked softly. "What sort of test wo­uld you be put thro­ugh?"

  "It is a so­lemn form of af­fir­ma­ti­on, a sac�
�red ce­re­mony prac­ti­ced by our pe­op­le when so­me­one's word is in do­ubt," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, ri­sing. He be­gan slowly pa­cing back and forth, his arms fol­ded tightly ac­ross his chest. "If a man tells his com­pa­ni­ons so­me very im­p­ro­bab­le story, so­met­hing that they find hard to be­li­eve, and they want to test him to see if he is re­al­ly tel­ling the truth, a pi­pe is gi­ven to a me­di­ci­ne man. The me­di­ci­ne man pa­ints the stem red and prays over it, as­king that if the man's story is true he may ha­ve long li­fe, but if it is fal­se that his li­fe may end in a short ti­me." Spot­ted Eag­le pa­used, then ga­zed in­ten­sely down at Jole­na. "The pi­pe is then fil­led and lig­h­ted and pas­sed to this man who is do­ub­ted. The me­di­ci­ne man says to him, 'Accept this pi­pe, but re­mem­ber that, if you smo­ke, yo­ur story must be as su­re as the ho­le thro­ugh this stem. So yo­ur li­fe shall be long and you shall sur­vi­ve. But if you ha­ve spo­ken fal­sely, yo­ur days are co­un­ted.'

  He knelt down be­fo­re Jole­na and pla­ced his hands on her sho­ul­ders. "This man may re­fu­se the pi­pe, sa­ying, 'I ha­ve told you the truth; it is use­less to smo­ke this pi­pe,'" he ex­p­la­ined softly. "But if he dec­li­nes to smo­ke, no one be­li­eves what he has sa­id and he is lo­oked upon as ha­ving li­ed. If, ho­we­ver, he ta­kes the pi­pe and smo­kes, ever­yo­ne be­li­eves him. It is the most so­lemn form of oath."

  "Should you be put thro­ugh the test and smo­ke the pi­pe, ever­yo­ne wo­uld be­li­eve that what you ha­ve sa­id abo­ut Two Rid­ges' de­ath was true," Jole­na sa­id, her eyes in­no­cently wi­de. "So I see no prob­lem."

  "The prob­lem is that I wo­uld know that I was lying and at such a so­lemn, sac­red ti­me as that, I wo­uld not be ab­le to lie abo­ut the lie," he sa­id so­lemnly.

  Jolena nod­ded, un­der­s­tan­ding, and kno­wing that no mat­ter how she felt abo­ut Two Rid­ges, she must do what she must, to ke­ep Spot­ted Eag­le from be­ing put in any aw­k­ward po­si­ti­on.

  "I will do as my Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her wants," she mur­mu­red. "I will pre­pa­re Two Rid­ges for bu­ri­al."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "Let us ha­ve no mo­re talk abo­ut that which bur­dens our he­arts," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his ga­ze mo­ving slowly over her. "Let us spe­ak of things that will ma­ke us smi­le."

  "Yes, let's," Jole­na sa­id, her he­art ham­me­ring wildly as she felt the he­at of Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes mo­ving over her, se­e­ing her for the first ti­me in In­di­an at­ti­re. She co­uld tell by the gen­t­le­ness in his eyes and the slow smi­le qu­ave­ring on his lips that he ap­pro­ved of this chan­ge that had co­me over her in his ab­sen­ce.

  Smoothing a hand down the front of her do­es­kin smock, she smi­led up at Spot­ted Eag­le. "Is it not a be­a­uti­ful dress?" she sa­id softly. "I so lo­ve it."

  "Its lo­ve­li­ness is en­han­ced by the wo­man we­aring it," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his lo­ins be­co­ming hot with ne­ed of her as he ga­zed in­to Jole­na's eyes. "In Blac­k­fo­ot at­ti­re, you are even mo­re be­a­uti­ful than when you are we­aring clot­hes of the whi­te wo­men."

  He re­ac­hed a hand to her ha­ir and twi­ned his fin­gers thro­ugh it, tug­ging her clo­ser to him. "But, my wo­man, you are even mo­re be­a­uti­ful when you ha­ve not­hing on. Shall I… dis­ro­be you? Or wo­uld you rat­her do it yo­ur­self?"

  Jolena's thro­at was gro­wing dry as the ex­ci­te­ment of the mo­ment bu­ilt, yet she he­si­ta­ted to fol­low him in­to this sen­su­al ban­te­ring.

  "Should we?" she sa­id we­akly. "Is this a pro­per ti­me?"

  "Time is pre­ci­o­us, yet fle­eting," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his hand cup­ping her bre­ast thro­ugh the soft fab­ric of her smock. "Ne­ver sho­uld we was­te a mo­ment of our ti­me to­get­her. Who knows of to­mor­row? To­night we are to­get­her. Let us use the mo­ment in the way we both de­si­re."

  "I so badly want to," Jole­na sa­id, her bre­ath cat­c­hing in her thro­at when Spot­ted Eag­le le­aned a soft, qu­ave­ring kiss to her lips, si­len­cing her every do­ubt, brin­ging forth wit­hin her wa­ves of rap­tu­re that be­gan cres­ting, as tho­ugh her pas­si­on we­re a ti­de fol­lo­wing the com­mand of the mo­on.

  As he lo­we­red her in­to the buf­fa­lo ro­bes that lay on the flo­or be­si­de the fi­re, she we­ake­ned with pas­si­on as his kis­ses be­ca­me mo­re de­man­ding, his hands trem­b­ling as they dis­ro­bed her.

  When even Spot­ted Eag­le's clot­hes we­re tos­sed asi­de, and Jole­na felt his we­ight pres­sing on her body, she spre­ad her legs and wel­co­med him as he qu­ickly and mag­ni­fi­cently fil­led her.

  Smothered with fe­elings that we­re over­w­hel­ming her, Jole­na thras­hed her he­ad back and forth as Spot­ted Eag­le's thrusts wit­hin her be­ca­me rhythmi­cal­ly fast, his lips mo­ving from one of her bre­asts to the ot­her.

  Then he rol­led away from her. The­ir hands be­gan mo­ving on each ot­her's bo­di­es, and they met each ot­her, to­uch by pre­ci­o­us to­uch.

  Jolena suc­ked in a wild bre­ath of rap­tu­re when Spot­ted Eag­le la­id his hand over the fronds of black curls at the jun­c­tu­re of her thighs, then thrust a fin­ger in­si­de her.

  She then so­ught out his throb­bing har­d­ness and when she fo­und it, she be­gan mo­ving her fin­gers over him, smi­ling as his body trem­b­led with ple­asu­re. As he stro­ked her, she con­ti­nu­ed mo­ving her fin­gers over him.

  Then Spot­ted Eag­le mo­ved over her aga­in and in one de­ep thrust had him­self de­eply in­si­de her aga­in. He en­w­rap­ped her wit­hin his po­wer­ful arms and pla­ced his che­ek to hers. "I wo­uld be an empty shell wit­ho­ut you," he whis­pe­red. "But whi­le we we­re se­pa­ra­ted, I did not ha­ve to to­uch you to fe­el you in my mind."

  "My dar­ling, I carry you with me al­ways wit­hin my he­art," Jole­na whis­pe­red back, mo­ving her hips with him, pul­ling him mo­re de­eply wit­hin her as she loc­ked her legs aro­und him. "I lo­ve you so."

  "I will pay yo­ur fat­her a gre­at bri­de pri­ce," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, kis­sing his way down to her bre­asts. He flic­ked his ton­gue aro­und a nip­ple, dra­wing a gut­tu­ral sigh of ple­asu­re from de­eply wit­hin Jole­na. "We will marry so­on."

  For a mo­ment Jole­na was ca­ta­pul­ted back to anot­her ti­me and anot­her fat­her. Bryce Ed­monds had spo­ken of­ten of how be­a­uti­ful a bri­de Jole­na wo­uld be in a dress of whi­te aga­inst her cop­per skin. He had al­ways co­un­ted on the day that he wo­uld ha­ve the ho­nor of gi­ving her away in a be­a­uti­ful mar­ri­age ce­re­mony in the­ir church.

  She had to won­der how he wo­uld re­act when he saw this dre­am shat­te­red. She knew that he was not well eno­ugh to wit­h­s­tand the ri­ver­bo­at ri­de to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory, and she knew that it wo­uld be as­king the im­pos­sib­le of Spot­ted Eag­le to go with her to Sa­int Lo­u­is to be mar­ri­ed.

  He wo­uld re­mind her that she was Blac­k­fo­ot and must be mar­ri­ed in the Blac­k­fo­ot tra­di­ti­on. And she wo­uld ag­ree wit­ho­ut fur­t­her tho­ught. She had be­en de­ni­ed too many Blac­k­fo­ot tra­di­ti­ons as she was gro­wing up in a whi­te com­mu­nity.

  Now she wan­ted to ab­sorb each and every one of them wit­hin her he­art so that she co­uld even­tu­al­ly not even think abo­ut the ti­me when she was for­ced to fol­low the ro­ad of the whi­te pe­op­le in­s­te­ad of her own true pe­op­le!

  Spotted Eag­le sen­sed that Jole­na's he­art was no lon­ger in the­ir lo­ve­ma­king. He pa­used and le­aned away from her so that the­ir eyes co­uld me­et and hold. He pla­ced a gen­t­le hand to her che­ek.

  "What is tro­ub­ling you?" he sa­id softly. "Ne­ver ha­ve you be­fo­re be­en in two se­pa­ra­te pla­ces whi­le we we­re ma­king lo­ve. Whe­re has yo­ur mind ta­ken you? S
hall mi­ne fol­low and jo­in you, to sha­re with you that which is ta­king you from me?"

  Jolena swal­lo­wed hard as she ga­zed back at him. "I'm sorry," she mur­mu­red. "My mind wan­de­red. It won't aga­in."

  "It will, un­less you free yo­ur mind of what is wor­rying you," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, le­aning a soft kiss to her brow. "Tell me what is in yo­ur he­art. I shall help you put it be­hind you."

  "When you men­ti­oned mar­ri­age to me, my tho­ughts went to my fat­her in Sa­int Lo­u­is," she mur­mu­red, cas­ting her eyes dow­n­ward. "I know that when we spe­ak vows, it will be do­ne in the Blac­k­fo­ot tra­di­ti­on. My whi­te fat­her will be left out."

  Jolena mo­ved her eyes slowly up aga­in. "That sad­dens me, Spot­ted Eag­le," she mur­mu­red. "I fe­el that I owe him lo­yalty for how he has so de­vo­tedly ra­ised me as his."