Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  She now he­ard the snor­ting of the buf­fa­lo.

  She co­uld he­ar its ho­of po­un­ding the earth as it con­ti­nu­ed to paw.

  She co­uld even fe­el its eyes on her.

  Jolena ga­zed at the cliff which was only an arm's length away. If the buf­fa­lo char­ged be­fo­re Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld kill it, she and Spot­ted Eag­le wo­uld jo­in the ot­hers at the fo­ot of the cliff, but in a most unex­pec­ted way.

  She clo­sed her eyes and be­gan pra­ying. She flin­c­hed when she he­ard the so­und of the re­le­ased ar­row, then sig­hed with re­li­ef when she he­ard a lo­ud thum­ping so­und, kno­wing that the ani­mal had fal­len and that she had be­en sa­ved by her be­lo­ved Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or!

  Dropping the car­d­bo­ard, yet clin­ging to the pre­ci­o­us she­ets from her jo­ur­nal, Jole­na tur­ned to fa­ce Spot­ted Eag­le. Af­ter fit­ting his bow back over his sho­ul­der, he went to Jole­na and fra­med her fa­ce bet­we­en his hands, yet his eyes we­re on the jo­ur­nals that she clas­ped to her chest. He shif­ted his ga­ze to the car­d­bo­ard on which we­re dis­p­la­yed the bits and pi­eces of but­ter­f­li­es.

  He lo­oked up at her aga­in, glo­we­ring. "You risk yo­ur li­fe for the­se use­less things?" he grow­led. "Why?"

  "For my fat­her in Sa­int Lo­u­is," Jole­na mur­mu­red. "Ha­ving so­met­hing left of the ex­pe­di­ti­on might help ease the blow of kno­wing that he has lost me."

  "Would it ha­ve be­en worth it to him to ha­ve fo­olish pa­pers only to lo­se his da­ug­h­ter al­to­get­her?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, jer­king his hands from her fa­ce. He star­ted to ta­ke the pa­pers from her arms, but she tur­ned away from him.

  "Please don't," she sa­id, her vo­ice drawn. "The­se are va­lu­ab­le."

  "You must for­get this part of yo­ur li­fe if you are to be­co­me Blac­k­fo­ot in all ways," Spot­ted Eag­le re­min­ded her.

  Feeling gu­ilty for ma­king Spot­ted Eag­le angry with her and for put­ting him in dan­ger aga­in for her, Jole­na went to him and res­ted her che­ek aga­inst his mus­c­led arm. "Dar­ling, you sa­id that you we­re go­ing to kill a buf­fa­lo bull to­day, and you just did," she mur­mu­red. "He will ma­ke much me­at for our tab­le."

  Spotted Eag­le sa­id not­hing for a mo­ment, then tur­ned his eyes down to her. "Lay yo­ur pa­pers asi­de," he sa­id gently. "It is ti­me for you to le­arn the ways of but­c­he­ring."

  Jolena's smi­le fal­te­red. She step­ped away from Spot­ted Eag­le, lo­oking wa­ve­ringly down at the res­cu­ed s of her jo­ur­nal. She re­ali­zed that Spot­ted Eag­le was for­cing her to cho­ose bet­we­en ke­eping the pa­pers she'd res­cu­ed and fre­e­ing her hands to be­gin the but­c­he­ring.

  She was torn, but this ti­me she knew what she must do, for her pla­ce was with Spot­ted Eag­le, and if that me­ant mo­re sac­ri­fi­ces be­ing ma­de to ha­ve a fu­tu­re with him, then she knew what she must do.

  Lifting her chin pro­udly, Jole­na ope­ned her arms and wat­c­hed the s of her jo­ur­nal flut­ter away from her aga­in.

  Spotted Eag­le went to Jole­na and drew her in­to his em­b­ra­ce. "Aga­in, you are a wo­man of co­ura­ge," he whis­pe­red, twi­ning his fin­gers thro­ugh her ha­ir.

  Jolena ga­zed up at him. "It was not co­ura­ge that ma­de me let go, but lo­ve for my man," she sa­id, then le­aned in­to him as his lips crus­hed down upon hers in a kiss.

  Chapter Thirty

  A fe­ast to ce­leb­ra­te the suc­ces­sful buf­fa­lo run wo­uld be­gin as the sky ba­de the stars and mo­on go­od-bye and wel­co­med old man Sun.

  Jolena had slept so­undly af­ter the ti­ring outing, her dre­ams fil­led with won­d­ro­us mo­ments alo­ne with Spot­ted Eag­le. Even now as she slept, she sig­hed and stret­c­hed her arms abo­ve her he­ad as she dre­amt that Spot­ted Eag­le was kne­eling over her, awa­ke­ning her to an even mo­re in­ten­se rap­tu­re than she had sha­red with him be­fo­re as he suc­ked her nip­ples in­to tight nubs of ple­asu­re and his hands swept ca­res­singly down her body, stop­ping at the he­art of her de­si­re, spla­ying his fin­gers over her crown of black ha­ir. When he thrust one of his fin­gers in­si­de the warm co­co­on of her fe­mi­ni­nity, Jole­na gas­ped pas­si­ona­tely. As his fin­ger mo­ved wit­hin her, kin­d­ling the fla­mes that we­re al­re­ady lit in­si­de her, she slowly ope­ned her eyes, re­ali­zing that she was not dre­aming at al­lthat this ple­asu­re she was fe­eling was re­al. She fo­und Spot­ted Eag­le's mid­nig­ht-dark eyes ga­zing in­to hers, his lips tug­ging in­to a smi­le when he dis­co­ve­red that his ploy had wor­ked, that he had awa­ke­ned her this mor­ning to how it wo­uld be for the rest of the­ir li­ves. He wo­uld gre­et her at each sun­ri­se with this pro­of of his lo­ve.

  He wo­uld ma­ke su­re she ne­ver reg­ret­ted ha­ving cho­sen his way of li­fe over that which she had known for the first eig­h­te­en sum­mers of her li­fe.

  In many ways he wo­uld ma­ke up to her that which she might sec­retly pi­ne for.

  Her he­art throb­bing, her in­si­des mel­ting with rap­tu­re, Jole­na smi­led softly up at Spot­ted Eag­le and flung a leg aro­und him, brin­ging him clo­ser. She trem­b­led with ec­s­tasy and swal­lo­wed hard when she dis­co­ve­red how much even he was aro­used when she felt his man­ho­od lying thick and full aga­inst her thigh. She felt dizzy with ne­ed of him and pla­ced her hands to the na­pe of his neck and drew his lips up clo­se to hers.

  Before she co­uld kiss him, he was whis­pe­ring so­met­hing aga­inst her lips.

  "Were yo­ur dre­ams go­od?" he te­ased hus­kily.

  Jolena gig­gled. "Ne­ver bet­ter," she whis­pe­red back, then felt her eup­ho­ria mo­un­ting when he kis­sed her in a bla­ze of ur­gency, his hands cup­ping her bre­asts, his fin­gers pus­hing them up aga­inst his ba­re, po­wer­ful chest.

  Spotted Eag­le par­ted her legs with a knee and her body tur­ned li­qu­id and her bre­ath was mo­men­ta­rily sto­len away as he plun­ged his har­d­ness wit­hin her and be­gan his rhythmic stro­kes.

  His arms swept aro­und her and an­c­ho­red her as he ca­me to her, thrus­ting de­eply. To Jole­na it had se­emed an eter­nity sin­ce they had be­en af­for­ded the pri­vacy of be­ing to­get­her in such a way.

  But ne­ver had she for­got­ten the gol­den web of ma­gic that they spun bet­we­en them as they ma­de lo­ve.

  Spotted Eag­le kis­sed her hun­g­rily, re­ve­ling in the swe­et warm press of her body. He drank in her gro­ans of ple­asu­re, fi­ring his pas­si­on­s­pas­si­ons that had la­in smol­de­ring just be­ne­ath the sur­fa­ce as he wa­ited to be with her aga­in in this way. He felt the curl of warmth he­ating up and gro­wing in his lo­wer body, and his world mel­ted away as he felt her hands swe­ep down his spi­ne in a soft ca­ress.

  He mo­ved his thrusts pur­po­sely slo­wer wit­hin her, wan­ting to sa­vor the­se mo­ments un­til he co­uld not help but al­low the red-hot em­bers of de­si­re ex­p­lo­de in­to every cell of his body.

  He clung to her and pla­ced his lips to the slen­der, cur­ving length of her thro­at and lic­ked her flesh that was as swe­et as ho­ney.

  His fin­gers dug in­to the soft cus­hi­on of her but­tocks, hol­ding her in­to the cur­ve of his body as on­ce aga­in he be­gan his eager thrusts that be­ca­me fas­ter, plun­ged mo­re de­eply.

  Jolena's bre­ath qu­ic­ke­ned as se­aring, scor­c­hing fla­mes shot thro­ugh her, her sen­ses re­eling. She so­ught his mo­uth with wild aban­don and kis­sed him with qu­ive­ring lips as she shud­de­red and ar­c­hed, her cli­max swe­eping thro­ugh her li­ke mil­li­ons of tiny fla­mes.

  That fe­eling of whi­te he­at tra­ve­led thro­ugh Spot­ted Eag­le's ve­ins as well, from the tip of his to­es thro­ugh the si­news of his thighs and up­ward, then le­apt with a
cry from the depths of his thro­at as the ex­p­lo­si­on of ec­s­tasy rus­hed thro­ugh him. He drew Jole­na in­to his arms and hug­ged her to him as his body sho­ok aga­inst hers, sen­ding his se­ed in vi­olent spurts of warmth in­to her womb.

  When the­ir ple­asu­re was fully spent, they clung to­get­her, the­ir bre­aths min­g­ling as they on­ce aga­in kis­sed, this ti­me wit­ho­ut ur­gency, but with swe­et­ness.

  Then they rol­led apart.

  Jolena lay on her back be­si­de Spot­ted Eag­le, her che­eks flus­hed, her he­art still throb­bing from ple­asu­re.

  Spotted Eag­le lay on his si­de, his eyes clo­sed, not wan­ting to let go of this ple­asu­re. "My wo­man, did re­ality sur­pass the fe­elings you sha­red with me in yo­ur dre­am?" he as­ked, re­ac­hing a hand to cup one of her bre­asts. "Or was it bet­ter to dre­am than to do?"

  Jolena tur­ned to him and tra­ced his lips with a fo­re­fin­ger. "Both my dre­ams and be­ing with you in re­ality are won­der­ful,'' she mur­mu­red. She mo­ved to her kne­es and be­gan kis­sing his flesh, star­ting with the hol­low of his thro­at and mo­ving slowly dow­n­ward. "But, dar­ling, you are ab­le to do much mo­re than my mind wo­uld ever co­nj­ure up."

  She pa­used and ga­zed up at him. "And how is it for you, my dar­ling?" she mur­mu­red. "Wo­uld you rat­her I le­ave you alo­ne so that you can sle­ep and se­arch for me in yo­ur dre­ams? Or wo­uld you rat­her open yo­ur eyes and see what I am abo­ut to do?"

  Spotted Eag­le tho­ught her vo­ice se­emed mo­re te­asingly husky than he ever re­mem­be­red he­aring it be­fo­re. He ope­ned his eyes and ga­zed down at her, then suc­ked in a wild bre­ath as she sank her lips over his shrun­ken man­ho­od, bre­at­hing li­fe in­to it aga­in as it qu­ickly sprang for­ward, thick and full.

  She ple­asu­red him in this way for a mo­ment lon­ger, then he rol­led her on­to her back and en­te­red her aga­in, this ti­me ra­pidly re­ac­hing that ul­ti­ma­te of ple­asu­re. They clung and sho­ok and sig­hed when it hap­pe­ned, then drew qu­ickly away when they he­ard the so­und of drums be­ating out a ste­ady rhythm out­si­de the te­pee, and he­ard chil­d­ren la­ug­hing and wo­men sin­ging. The aro­ma of co­ok fi­res waf­ted down from the smo­ke ho­le in the te­pee.

  "The vil­la­ge is stir­ring. The ce­leb­ra­ti­on will be­gin so­on," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, gi­ving Jole­na a hand as he hel­ped her up from the­ir bed of furs. "Let us dress in our fi­nest clot­hes and jo­in the ot­hers. The­re will be much sin­ging, dan­cing, eating, and story-tel­ling. It will be a day that will stay fresh in one's mind when the long days and nights of win­ter co­me and ever­yo­ne stays in­si­de be­si­de the­ir fi­res."

  "I'm so glad that the buf­fa­lo run was a suc­cess," Jole­na sa­id, slip­ping her do­es­kin dress over her he­ad. She tur­ned her back to Spot­ted Eag­le, al­lo­wing him to brush, then bra­id her ha­ir.

  "Ah, yes, it was a go­od day for buf­fa­lo," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id as he slowly, al­most me­di­ta­tingly, be­gan bra­iding her ha­ir. "The Blac­k­fo­ot are a ra­ce of me­at-eaters. Whi­le we do kill lar­ge qu­an­ti­ti­es of ot­her ga­me, we still de­pend for our sub­sis­ten­ce on the buf­fa­lo. This ani­mal pro­vi­des us with al­most all that we ne­ed in the way of fo­od, clot­hing, and shel­ter, and whi­le we con­ti­nue to ha­ve an abun­dan­ce of buf­fa­lo, we shall con­ti­nue li­ving in com­fort."

  Her ha­ir now bra­ided, Jole­na han­ded Spot­ted Eag­le a lo­vely be­aded nec­k­la­ce to pla­ce aro­und her neck. Af­ter it was lat­c­hed, she tur­ned to him and ga­zed at how han­d­so­me he was in his frin­ged hi­de clot­hes, re­mem­be­ring how stun­ned she had be­en that first ti­me she had se­en him, when he se­emed to ha­ve step­ped right out of her dre­ams!

  "Shall we jo­in the ot­hers out­si­de our te­pee?" she as­ked softly. She had not se­en Kirk sin­ce he had left Spot­ted Eag­le's te­pee in an­ger. As long as she had known that he was be­ing well ca­red for, that had be­en eno­ugh to ke­ep her from wor­rying ne­ed­les­sly abo­ut him. But now she wo­uld ha­ve to fa­ce him aga­in.

  "Your tho­ughts carry you far away," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, dra­wing Jole­na out of her re­ve­rie.

  "Yes, I know," Jole­na sa­id, her eyes wa­ve­ring up in­to his. "I was thin­king of Kirk and al­so of Mo­on Flo­wer. Su­rely we will see them both so­me­ti­me to­day du­ring the long ce­leb­ra­ti­on."

  "And it wo­uld dis­p­le­ase you to see yo­ur whi­te brot­her?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his eyes se­ar­c­hing her fa­ce for an­s­wers.

  "No, dar­ling," Jole­na mur­mu­red. "It's not that at all. It's just that I don't know what to ex­pect of him when he se­es me and you to­get­her. He might say things to hurt you. Ple­ase don't let his words hurt you, Spot­ted Eag­le. They will be tho­se of a brot­her who fe­ars lo­sing a sis­ter. He will one day un­der­s­tand and wish both of us a happy fu­tu­re."

  Spotted Eag­le did not reply. He swept an arm aro­und Jole­na's wa­ist and whis­ked her from the te­pee. They wal­ked slowly thro­ugh the vil­la­ge, ob­ser­ving the ga­i­ety.

  Spotted Eag­le's chest swel­led with pri­de as he lo­oked at ever­y­t­hing and ever­yo­ne. The vil­la­ge was such a happy pla­ce at ti­mes li­ke this. Ever­y­w­he­re was he­ard the so­und of drums and song and dan­cing.

  " Wo- ka-hit! Lis­ten," the pe­op­le sa­id. " Wo-ka-hit! Lis­ten! Mah-kwe-i-ke-tum-ok-ah-wah-hit! Ke­tuk-ka-puk-si-pim, You are to fe­ast! En­ter my te­pee with yo­ur fri­ends!" He­re a man was lying back on a blan­ket just out­si­de his te­pee, sin­ging and drum­ming. The­re a gro­up of yo­ung men we­re hol­ding a mock war dan­ce.

  The wo­men we­re dres­sed in the­ir best dres­ses, the men in the­ir best frin­ged gar­ments.

  As the sun ro­se hig­her in the sky, the pe­op­le ca­me to­get­her for a dan­ce be­si­de the lar­ge out­do­or com­mu­nal fi­re. The men sto­od on one si­de, the wo­men on the ot­her. They all sang, and three drum­mers fur­nis­hed an ac­com­pa­ni­ment. The pe­op­le jo­ined to­get­her in the dan­ce, the wo­men hol­ding the­ir arms and hands in va­ri­o­us gra­ce­ful po­si­ti­ons.

  The pe­op­le then step­ped asi­de, si­lent, as a gro­up of men ca­me to the cen­ter of at­ten­ti­on. They wo­re ani­mal-he­ad masks, and the­ir bo­di­es we­re brightly pa­in­ted. When the­ir dan­ce was over, the pe­op­le gat­he­red to­get­her and sat on blan­kets aro­und the lar­ge fi­re to lis­ten to the sto­ri­es of an el­derly war­ri­or who had se­en his best days. His ta­les we­re the ex­p­la­na­ti­ons of the phe­no­me­na of li­fe and con­ta­ined many a mo­ral for the in­s­t­ruc­ti­on of yo­uth.

  The stor­y­tel­ler spo­ke in so much ear­nest, and be­ca­me so en­ti­rely car­ri­ed away by the ta­le he was re­la­ting, that he fa­irly trem­b­led with ex­ci­te­ment. He held his audi­en­ce spel­lbo­und with yet mo­re ta­les abo­ut the an­ci­ent gods and the­ir mi­ra­cu­lo­us do­ings.

  And then it was ti­me for mo­re ga­mes!

  Jolena la­ug­hed softly as she fol­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le to a gro­up of war­ri­ors. She co­uld see his eager­ness to chal­len­ge tho­se of his sa­me age. He pul­led her asi­de as the ot­hers gat­he­red in a cir­c­le, pre­pa­ring them­sel­ves for the ga­me, la­ug­hing amongst them­sel­ves.

  "Watch as yo­ur man plays a ga­me cal­led hands," he sa­id, smi­ling at her. "Let me warn you, my wo­man. The sta­kes are so­me­ti­mes very hig­h­t­wo or three hor­ses, or mo­re. So­me ha­ve be­en known to lo­se ever­y­t­hing they pos­ses­sed, even to the­ir clot­hing."

  Jolena wat­c­hed as Spot­ted Eag­le step­ped away from her to jo­in the gro­up of a do­zen men. The war­ri­ors we­re di­vi­ded in­to two equ­al par­ti­es, one gro­up stan­ding fa­cing the ot­her. Ot­her­s­wo­men, chil­d­ren, and ol­der men­p­res­sed in be­
hind Jole­na to watch as the bet­ting be­gan, each per­son pla­ying the ga­me bet­ting with the per­son di­rectly op­po­si­te him. The­re we­re wa­gers for hor­ses, moc­ca­sins, he­ad­bands, ar­rows, and pri­zed bows.

  Jolena lis­te­ned for Spot­ted Eag­le's wa­ger, smi­ling when he ma­de a sim­p­le of­fe­ring of an eag­le fe­at­her for so­me­one's he­ad­band sho­uld he lo­se.

  Two small, ob­long bo­nes we­re used, one of which had a black ring aro­und it. The first man to­ok the bo­nes, and by skil­lful­ly mo­ving his hands and chan­ging the obj­ects from one to the ot­her, so­ught to ma­ke it im­pos­sib­le for the per­son op­po­si­te him to de­ci­de which hand held the mar­ked bo­ne.

  Jolena's eyes wi­de­ned, now re­cog­ni­zing the ga­me as "But­ton, but­ton, who's got the but­ton?" which she had pla­yed with her fri­ends in Sa­int Lo­u­is. Now truly enj­oying wat­c­hing, ha­ving her­self pla­yed this sa­me ga­me so of­ten, Jole­na wat­c­hed the pla­yers' hands and lis­te­ned to the va­ri­o­us bets. Ten po­ints, co­un­ted by sticks, won the ga­me and the si­de which first got the num­ber to­ok the sta­kes.