Tender Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  “But Papa wouldn’t think it proper for me to sleep in a stranger’s room, sir. Perhaps there’s some family or a couple I can stay with,” she modestly suggested, eyes wide with uncertainty.

  “If ye canna trust the man in charge ‘ere, lass, then ye papa’s taught ye tae be tae wary o’ others. I gae ye my word, lass, nae harm’ll come tae ye in my care,” he gallantly vowed, knowing there was harm, and there was…harm. She was positively a skittish filly who’d take time and patience to break! But what was a little time and wooing when the prize would be well worth it? Maybe it was his season for taking a wife…

  Rebecca alertly read the commander’s change in mood and expression. He was quickly becoming more interested in her than in her feminine attributes! She had surely made a valuable conquest and won a powerful protector, deluding him.completely! “Then I place my safety and honor in your capable hands, sir,” she softly agreed.

  He grinned lazily, also believing he had won a cunning victory. “Follow me, lass. I know ye be tired.” He led her to his room and pointed to his inviting bunk. “I’ll let na one disturb ye rest.” He closed the door and left.

  Rebecca walked over to the bunk and sat down. So far, so good, she sighed in relief. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Besides, there was nothing she could do just yet. Soon, she was napping peacefully.

  Moore peeked in on her later. She was curled up in a snug ball, lost to all her problems. He leisurely surveyed her from head to toe, as much as he could see. He smiled to himself. She was such an intriguing mixture of sensual woman and innocent child. Without warning, his tour of duty didn’t look so bad anymore. He left again. There was a certain brave of great importance whom he wished to study once more…

  Later that afternoon, Rebecca awakened from her slumber. She reminded herself to behave as the mourning, terrified girl. Hearing the outer door squeak as it opened, she decided to make some points in her favor. She began to toss upon the bunk and to mumble. Sure enough, Moore noted her distress and came to her side just as she effectively cried out, “No! Don’t kill them! Papa, watch out! Savages…no, no, no,” she wailed in a pitiful tone.

  Moore shook her and called her name, thinking her to be ensnared by a nightmare. She jumped and shrank against the wall, staring at him in terror. “‘Tis me, lass. ’Twas only ae bad dream,” he attempted to comfort her.

  She instantly dissolved into tears, her slender shoulders slumped in dejection and grief. He pulled her into his comforting embrace and spoke to her as if calming a frightened child. She clung to his dark blue shirt and sobbed openly. She fiercely resisted the nagging of her guilty conscience, reminding herself that both Bright Arrow’s and her lives were at stake now. How had she talked herself into this mess? It was far more difficult to carry off than she had imagined. More and more desperate lies and pretense were demanded, and this was trying for one so artless and sensitive. The worst part was that Timothy Moore actually seemed sincerely concerned about her, seemed honestly drawn to her. Using innocent people went against her grain. Yet, Bright Arrow would die a horrible death if she did not help him. Then, there was her enslavement to him. No white man would want her if this information became known…she was as helpless as a Mayfly caught in a spider’s web!

  Restoring some control to herself, she pushed away from Timothy’s solace. She sniffed and cleared her constricted throat. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just…this situation is so terrible and new to me. Why is there such hatred between us? Why did they slaughter my people?”

  “They be cold-blooded, heartless savages, Rebecca. They think they own ev’ry inch o’ this land. They’re determined tae shove us out. ‘Tis too late, lass. The white man is ’ere tae stay, nae matter the cost.”

  “Is it worth the high price, sir? How many innocent lives will it take to pay for each acre we take from them? What about girls like me who lose their families? What about the brutality? I hate it here! I want to go home,” she stated sadly, referring to the cabin where she had been born, the cabin which no longer existed.

  “Tha’ is nae possible, lass. Yer home an’ family ‘re gone. Ye hae tae mak’ ae new life an’ find ae new family,” he ventured.

  “How? Where?” she innocently seized his dangling bait.

  “’Ere wi’ me, lass. I could use ae wife lik’ ye,” he proposed.

  She stared at him. “But we’ve just met! You don’t even know me, and I know nothing about you. How can you propose to a total stranger?”

  “Time is e’er precious out ‘ere, Rebecca. ‘Tis best tae mak’ use o’ wha’ we hae. Ye could gie me happiness. I could tak’ care o’ ye. ‘Tis ae proper trade.”

  Flustered by his unexpected proposal, she nervously glanced off into space. From appearances, she seemed to be considering his remarks and offer. Her gaze came back to his. “Could I have a few days to think about it? Right now, I’m confused about everything. We’ve only just met. I…” she hesitated.

  “Ay, lass. Wi’ the Indians stir’in up such ae ruckus, we canna go about. I’ll ask ye agin in ae week. Wha’ sae ye?” His twinkling blue eyes watched her closely, too closely for her jittery nerves.

  “That would give us time to get to know each other. I wouldn’t want you to marry me out of pity or because I’m the only available female,” she murmured softly, then blushed.

  He chuckled. “A’where I’m concerned, ye be the only female alive. The wee moment I looked at ye, I knew ye were the lass for me. I lead ae dangerous life, Rebecca. I dinna hae time for ae slow courtin’,” he excused his blunt rush.

  She studied him for a time, deliberating his appeal to her. Enlightenment gradually settled in; he reminded her of her father, all except for that violent streak which he had briefly revealed to her and his flaming red hair. He was nice looking and kind. His appearance was neat; his voice compelling. He was the highest ranking officer here, so he could easily afford a wife. His quarters were clean and tidy, saying much about him. His blue eyes sparkled with vitality and warmth.

  She smiled shyly. “On my journey out here, I met many men, Lieutenant Moore. But you seem so different from them. If not for my father’s keen eye and protection, I daresay I would have been pestered by some of them. I did not like the way they looked at me or the things they suggested. But you,” she shrewdly remarked, “you’re not like them. You don’t undress me with your eyes or try to touch me improperly. I like you, sir, and I will think seriously about your offer of marriage.”

  A pleased grin claimed his mouth. “Ye be amazin’, Rebecca. ‘Tis ye bad fortune wha’ gae me my guid luc’. My han’ wasna e’er gie’en tae ae lassie a’for.”

  “Perhaps we will both profit from this terrible situation,” she concurred with a bright smile.

  “Wha’ sae ye tae some fresh air? Ye look ae wee bit pale,” he cordially offered.

  “That sounds delightful, sir,” she eagerly accepted, wanting to study the fort and to escape his vexing aura.

  “Call me Timothy, Rebecca. If ye wad lik’ tae freshen ye bonny face and hair, ye’ll fin’ water an’ ae brush o’re there,” he stated, pointing to a washstand.

  “Thank you…Timothy. I’ll join you shortly.”

  He walked into his office, closing the door behind him. He congratulated himself for not joining her upon his bunk as he had been sorely tempted to do. Not that anyone could have stopped him from having his way with her, but she was too special and innocent’ to spoil so quickly. Besides, she would be his in less than a week. Once he turned on his charm and pressure, she would fall victim to him…

  They leisurely strolled around outside. The setting sun played favorably upon her coppery locks and softened her golden eyes to a bewitching amber glow. He gave her an entertaining and enlightening tour of the fort, chatting and laughing in high spirits. Urging herself to appear naturally inquisitive and not overly suspicious, she memorized every facet and detail which came before her line of vision. The fort was laid out in an efficient pattern. It was clean, but barr
en. Not a tree had been left standing to ward off the summer sun which would soon be blazing down upon it as July steadily moved forward.

  As Moore halted to converse with two of his sentries, she absently scanned her surroundings. They had stopped near the front gates which protected them from their fierce enemies, the awesome Sioux and their brothers. The center of the courtyard boasted one object: a flagpole with the standard and the flag of this fledgling nation called America. To her immediate left, there stood a squat building which was the doctor’s quarters and the infirmary. In the far corner, a long and narrow building which emitted fragrant smells declared itself as the cookhouse and eating hall.

  As her eyes roamed onward, she noted the stables where the horses, gear, stable-hands, and animals’ rations were stored. Directly before her, she viewed a lengthy building which was used for the enlisted men. This two-story structure was the largest in the fort. Next, to her right at the back was the officers’ quarters which also housed the commanding officer Lieutenant Moore. This one-story wooden structure had more room and was in better condition.

  To her right on the front wall was situated the supply shed, also a two-story structure, for the storage of goods and weapons. Beside it in the corner sat the blockhouse, the imprisoning abode of her love. Except for the cookhouse and stockade, each structure was situated three feet from the lofty, protective wall of Fort Dakota. She hastily pulled her gaze from the blockhouse; she feared her look might give away her anguish and motive for being here.

  The two soldiers left Moore’s side. He returned his attention to the lovely creature next to him and began to boast about the valuable prisoner in the blockhouse.

  “This brave is the son of Gray Eagle?” Rebecca asked disarmingly. “The men on our wagon train spoke of him and the Sioux. They said he is the most feared Indian alive. Is that true?”

  “Ne’er ae doubt! I hae ne’er come up against ae more cunnin’, dangerous enemy. He’s lik’ snow on ae sunny dae. First he’s there, then he’s naught. He’s brilliant. He’s cauld. He’s guid at slippin’ through the tightest fist. Then a’ ye hae is the slimy evidence he was there at one time! But I’ll get him someday. Once he’s struck down, the others ‘ill slink away an’ behave themselves. They think he’s immortal. He canget them tae dare anything. They’d follow him tae hell an’ back if he ordered it. He’s ae legend aroun’ these parts. But once he’s dead, they’ll think twice afore challengin’ the cavalry!” he snarled contemptuously.

  “You believe the Indians would make peace with us if this Gray Eagle was slain?” she questioned curiously.

  Perspiration beaded upon his forehead. His brow furrowed in serious thought. “I dou’ it,” he finally admitted. “But we’d stan’ ae better chance o’ vict’ry an’ survival if he fell tae our bullets.” His frank honesty brought a smile to her face.

  “You seem to have many soldiers here. Why can’t they ride to his camp and take him prisoner? Or perhaps capture him while he’s raiding innocent people like us?”

  “’Tis naught tha’ easy, Rebecca. He’s quick an’ sharp. He’s nae ae fool. The way I see it, he knows ev’ry move I mak’ whilst it’s still in my haed! I hae tried tae trap him, trick him, bait him, an’ attack him. Nothing works. Maybe the Indians’re right. Maybe he does possess some pow’rful black magic or ae charmed life. ‘Is pow’r comes frae the devil, I daresae.”

  “Have you ever seen him or met him?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder and suspense.

  “Only frae ae distance through fieldglasses. I hae ne’er seen such ar’ergance an’ confidence. There’s ae look ‘n his eyes which could chill ye blood an’ soul. Ae man wad be ae fool naught tae respec’ him an’ his pow’r,” he declared to the young girl who knew all too well how that piercing ebony stare could unsettle a person!

  “This brave you captured, how do you know it’s his son?”

  “Mos’ Indians wi’out warpaint look much the same. But this lad is the spittin’ image o’ the Eagle himself. It’s somethin’ about their size, looks, an’ color which stands out,” he replied.

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured, intrigued by his description which sounded envious.

  “If they be naught Indians, ye could call ‘em han’some. They hae bold, insolent features. They look a’ muscle an’ pow’r. Then, their skin’s ae golden br’wn color; whereas, mos’ Indians ‘re ae reddish shade or ae deep br’wn. I wad recognize them anywhere.”

  “You called him a lad. How old is he?” she quizzed.

  “’Bout ye age. But in ev’ryway that counts, he’s ae full grown warrior. Just as vicious an’ hostile as his papa. He wad slit ye throat wi’out e’en thinkin’ about it.”

  She feigned shock and dismay. “Thank goodness you have him locked up securely. Are you planning to trade him for white captives or execute him?” she inquired, hoping to keep her tone from revealing her emotional interest in the brave’s fate.

  “I hae nae decided yet. One thin’ for sure, it wanna do tae kill ae lad of his impor’ance too quickly or too lightly. I’m kinda surprised his papa hasna come tae parlay for his release,” he muttered suspiciously. “Devils they be, but they hae close knit families.”

  “What if this Gray Eagle doesn’t know you have his son? Or he might think he’s dead already. Possibly he doubts you know who this brave is. If so, then to come here would only reveal his identity,” she reasoned.

  “Ye could be right. I hae considered that idea myself. But he’s ae smart one, an’ I’d bet my stripes he knows we hae him. If he knows me as well as I know him, he thinks I’m waitin’ tae see his reaction. He’s probably out there now within sight o’ us plannin’ some darin’ rescue. Nae put it past him. He’d challenge the Devil himself if he had somethin’ that belonged tae him!” he stated.

  “I’m afraid, Timothy. Why don’t you make some deal with him if he’s that dangerous and powerful? What if they attack us?” She feigned the appropriate fear and tremors which were certainly expected of her in this dire situation.

  “Wha’er I said, lass, He’s nae fool. He knows he canna tak’ this fort. If he tried, the first casualty wad be his son,” he remarked, confident in his own power.

  He surprised and thrilled her by asking, “Sae, wad ye lik’ tae tak’ ae peek at ‘im?”

  She had wondered how she could get close enough to give Bright Arrow her secret messages without seeming overly eager or looking suspicious. Anxiety filled her eyes. What if Bright Arrow showed recognition of her? Yet, Timothy read this apprehension as fear of any Indian.

  As she hesitated, he said, “Ye dinna hae tae, lass. I know ye fear an’ pain ‘re still fresh.”

  “If you’re certain he’s locked up securely, then I would like a look at him. Then, I can tell my children I saw the son of Gray Eagle himself. I’ve seen regular Indians and fiendish warriors before, but never one as important as this one. Is he as famous as his father? What’s his name?”

  He chuckled at her girlish notions of evil villains and romantic heroes. For now, her curiosity was greater than her fear, or so he assumed. “He canna harm ye, lass. He’s naught the Div’l ‘imself in spite o’ wha’ I said. For certain, he’s doing his damnest tae be ae match for ‘is father. But who can blame ‘em? In his place, I’d do the same. Name’s Bright Ar’er. Rumor calls him the shinin’ light tae guide his people. Says he’s straight an’ true lik’ ae real ar’er, an’ just as deadly. Come along. See for yeself if I should quake in my boots,” he teased.

  Just before they reached the blockhouse, she halted. Timothy reached out to take her hand. “Dinna worry, lass. He canna get tae ye. I’ll be right beside ye.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “With you beside me, I shouldn’t fear anything or anyone, Timothy. It’s just that I’m a little scared to look at another Indian after they attacked our wagon train and killed my people only a few days ago. If your men hadn’t rescued me in that arrowwood forest, that warrior with the red and green dots upon his face might have
found me and…” She ceased her talk, not because of her insinuation but because she needed to recall the other clues for the alert ears of Bright Arrow who was standing behind the wooden bars only a few feet from them, his face impassive and his eyes fathomless.

  “After travelling alone in that forest for two days, I was beginning to lose all hope of rescue. I was giving up when Sergeant Smith found me. I was so tired and hungry. I can almost hear those eerie birds that sing at night. Any other time, their singing might have been soothing and enjoyable. But I was too frightened. It was like evil spirits calling my name. But how could you understand? I bet you’d never known or felt fear in your entire life. I sometimes wish I were a man: strong, brave, and carefree.”

  “I’m sorely glad ye be naught ae man,” he joked lightly. “Fear is nothin’ tae be ashamed o’, Rebecca. It teaches us caution, an’ wisdom, an’ patience.”

  “This Gray Eagle you spoke of, what would you do if he offered a truce in trade for his son? What if he offered to exchange himself for his son? Just think of the fame you would receive: Lieutenant Timothy Moore captures the legendary Gray Eagle himself!” she exclaimed in excitement. “You said you knew this Gray Eagle well. Would he trade his life for his son’s? You said his death would deal the Indians a fatal blow. Why don’t you suggest it? That way, you could have a truce, Gray Eagle, and great honor all wrapped up as tightly as a rabbit in a hawk’s claw.”

  He chuckled mischievously. “It wad’na work, Rebecca.”

  “Why not? You said this Bright Arrow was as important as Gray Eagle. Besides, Gray Eagle must be getting old and his son is young. It only seems logical to save the younger warrior. If that were your son in there, would you let him die?”

  “Nae way! E’en sae, I’d find another way tae save him.”

  “But you just said no one could get inside this fort or would dare attack it,” she reminded him.

  “He knows I wad nae kill Bright Ar’er without ae great deal o’ thought. He’ll use that time tae come up wi’ some cunnin’ plan tae free him. Tell me, lass; if that was your son or husband, wad ye trade ye life for his?”