Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  “I suppose that if I were to put it to words, I would have to say that I would like to be loved.”

  Had he understood her correctly? Was she really admitting what he thought she might be? His body was already prepared for her, but perhaps not so his mind. Therefore, he would be certain, and he murmured, “I love you already, and I have probably done so since the first time my eyes beheld you. Never has a heart sung so gladly as mine did when I first looked upon you.”

  “No, I fear you do not understand me completely. This time tonight that we spend with one another is all that we will ever have—”

  “I must correct you in that idea, because—”

  “Please, let me finish,” she interrupted. “Our time together is short, tonight only I fear, and I find myself unable to let you go without . . .”

  He waited.

  “Sir Eagle, I want you to not only love me, but to make love to me.” She said it in a rush. “Perhaps I wish this as an act of defiance against my uncle. Pray, do not think that by admitting that I take away your influence upon me. In truth, I little know why I have chosen to do this. I can only say that it feels right, that I seem to be unable to leave you this night without coming to know what it might be like to love and to be loved. Perhaps I may never have this opportunity again. If I use you for this purpose, please forgive me.”

  “There is no need for me to forgive you. You do nothing wrong.”

  “In truth? ” she asked. “Mayhap only time will tell. All I am certain of at this moment is that . . .”

  “You wish to engage in a night of love . . .”

  She was silent, but she fell in toward him. It was her unspoken consent.

  He needed no further proof, and while his heartbeat hammered in his chest, he whispered, “A man would be foolish, indeed, if when presented with a gift as precious as what you offer me, he would question it too thoroughly.”

  She whimpered slightly.

  “Then come,” he said, “let us make ourselves as comfortable as possible.”

  As the night air took on an atmosphere of softness and security, he turned her round and pressed her back against the “wall” of the tree.

  “Is it safe here?” she asked in a voice no louder than a murmur.

  “I believe that it is, and though this is not the most comfortable, nor romantic setting, the white man seldom comes this far into the forest.”

  “Pray, I think you misunderstand me,” she said, “I mean is the tree strong enough to hold us if we should be too . . . active . . . ? ” She paused, while his heart quietly sang.

  His voice, he feared, trembled with unspoken emotion, as he said, “There is none so sturdy as the mighty oak. Her roots grow deeply in the earth, for her will to survive is great. She is strong and will protect us.”

  He sensed more than he could see that her gaze at him was wistful, urgent and sensuous. It was this last that caused him much trouble with logical thinking, he feared. Now that they had arrived at a degree of some safety, and he knew with certainty what was demanded of him, his body reacted in the age-old language of love.

  Pressing her up against the tree, he commenced to kiss her, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. She swayed in his arms, and he went quietly out of his mind. He pulled up her dress and pushed her up a little higher, his arms holding her. He whispered, “Have you ever been loved by a man? ”

  “Never, but please do not let that stop you. I want . . . this.”

  He groaned. “I, too,” he whispered. “I, too. Come, wrap your legs around me.”

  She obeyed as if only in this way could she ease the need within her. He kissed her lips, her face, her throat, all the while he held her above him.

  “Oh, please,” she urged, as she leaned her head back, opening herself up to his kisses. “Hurry. Please.”

  “Hold tightly to me,” he said, “for this will hurt at first. I am sorry, but it cannot be helped this, your first time.”

  “Hurt? How can something so exciting hurt? ”

  “I fear it cannot be helped. And I would be less a human being if I did not warn you.”

  “I . . . thank you, I think.”

  He reached up under her skirts to discover that pure femininity awaited him: There was no barrier of clothing to bar his access of her. He kissed her urgently, his tongue playing with her as he trailed his lips down over her cheeks, her eyes, her ears. And as he kissed her, and she sighed, he gradually made himself a part of her, there at the junction of her legs.

  But he could only go so far; he knew it hurt her. He stopped, he waited, and he said, “We will proceed only when you are ready. Know, however, that though it would be hard on me, I would tell you again that there is no need for you to go further into the deed if you have changed your mind.”

  “Sir Eagle,” she said, “it is not in my nature to stop when I have committed myself to a course. Please, make love to me.”

  He swallowed hard, wondering what he had done so right of late that he should deserve this little bit of paradise. At her acquiescence, however, he became more fully a part of her, continuing to halt for a moment with each thrust. Then it happened, and he felt her protective sheath surrender to him.

  Though his spirits soared, he was well aware of the hurt she was sustaining, and after another moment’s pause, he breathed, “There is no going back now. But the worst is over. When you are able, try to move against me. After the first few attempts, it may yet feel good to you.”

  Dutifully, she obeyed and its effect on him was more than he would have thought it would ever be. Indeed, as her hips moved over him, he quietly went out of his mind.

  Taking her lips into his own, he thrust his tongue into her mouth as urgently as if he would make love to her in this way alone. As he kissed her, he thrust his manhood into her sheath more urgently, then he retreated, repeating the motion over and over. And when she sighed, he sighed with her.

  The rhythm began in earnest, thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw. She tightened her inner muscles against him, and it was all he could do to hold back his seed from her and allow her some measure of pleasure.

  “Do you feel anything but pain?” he whispered urgently.

  “Oh, yes.” And she whimpered a little.

  He sighed, “I am thankful.”

  Her breathing was erratic, and when she strained against him at the zenith of her exertion, he gave to her exactly what he knew she craved. His seed burst from him and her cries of exaltation were caught by his lips. Over and over the pleasure washed through him until at last he stood quietly against her, his arms, as well as this thighs holding her up.

  He could barely move, was still very much joined with her, when the feeling of rightness swept over him. And as the scent of their lovemaking became heavy on the air, it alone seemed to act as an aphrodisiac. Indeed, instead of softening and becoming less, he found himself hardening, ready to continue.

  He moved against her, and to his amazement, she was ready for him all over again. And so they danced and they swayed to the rhythm of love, until at last well exhausted, they fell against each other.

  It felt so right, yet how could it be so? They were wrong for each other, and he knew it. Despite this, he had told her tonight that he had loved her. And strange though it was, he had meant it. However, if he had thought that he had loved her before making her his own, it paled in comparison to how he felt now.

  Nonetheless, even as his body rejoiced in hers, a wiser part of him questioned how this had happened. How had he fallen in love with someone who, because of their differences, could prove to be antipathetic to him?

  But with her body pressed up closely toward his, it was difficult to continue along this line of thought. Ecstasy was simply too pleasurable a mistress for such negative thoughts.

  Gradually he lowered her to the “floor” of their nook, and taking his blanket from around his shoulders, he made a bed for her, bending to place her gently upon it.

  “I will never forget you,” she whisp
ered.

  “Nor I, you,” he uttered, as he took her in his arms. Perhaps now would have been the right time to tell her that he was to be her guide through the wilderness, and that they would be spending much more time together.

  But alas, the words never found their way to his lips. Instead, as he laid down beside her, it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.

  He awoke much later, alone. He knew his mistake at once. He should not have fallen victim to his lethargy; he should have told her.

  It was strange that her preparation to leave had not awakened him. His exertions this night must have had more effect on him than he would have ever suspected.

  As he sat up and glanced around their woodsy nook, he wondered if it had been no more than a dream. Yet as he rubbed his hands over his face, he realized it could not have been so. His spirit felt too exhilarated for it to have been less than real. Plus, her tantalizing scent was still upon him. Perhaps, he thought, he would never wash again.

  He inhaled sharply, as the details of the previous few hours lingered in his memory. And he knew with certainty that he should have told her that their futures lay entwined. He cringed, for he suspected that she meant the experience to be one night, and one night, alone.

  To himself, he justified that he had tried to tell her. But, he admitted, his attempts had been meager. Perhaps he had feared that with the truth she might change her mind.

  There was no mistaking one detail, however. Her urgency had been such that there must have been some outside influence driving her to seek him out, since he was under no delusion that what she did, she did out of love.

  Something had caused this. But what?

  As he sat up, he thought that he would find out soon enough. Best to arise, bathe, and prepare to meet the day. After all, he was quite certain that as soon as she discovered her mistake, he would need his wits about him.

  Seven

  As Marisa stepped nearer to the Rathburn mansion, she feared to look too closely behind the trees, afraid that she might find some agent of her step-uncle’s there. Interestingly, she was not overly concerned over the enormous step into womanhood she had taken—there would be time to explore that later. Rather her mind was awash with reasons and excuses that she could forward to her guardian as a justification for her actions.

  Snap!

  What was that? Was it a twig cracking beneath someone’s foot? Although her eyes were well adjusted to the night, she felt momentarily blinded by fright, and she stopped, glancing to the right and to the left. But when nothing materialized to attack her, she stepped forward again, and within moments, broke into a run, the sound of her slippers echoing like a phantom over the ground of the forest.

  The hour was late. Perhaps John Rathburn would have retired. Was she being silly to hope that she might escape his wrath?

  If only . . .

  She, however, expected no mercy. Chances were that her guardian or one of his henchmen would be in attendance in the mansion’s corridors, watching for her return like a hawk might anticipate a mouse.

  As she ran farther, she at last burst out of the woods, and as soon as her footfalls fell upon the well-beaten path, her steps slowed. Her mind, however, raced. A consideration she hadn’t ventured until this moment, came to the fore of her mind, and it was haunting her: Might her actions tonight endanger Sarah’s chances of leaving?

  Though Marisa had certainly obtained John Rathburn’s agreement to release Sarah, might he not change his mind? It would certainly be in character for him to heap his wrath, not on the person responsible for his anger, but rather onto some other poor soul.

  Marisa frowned, and was mentally preparing herself a defense for this newly assumed injustice when all at once, the Rathburn mansion loomed largely in front of her. Swallowing hard, she opened the doors of the ballroom’s veranda and as quietly as possible, slipped into the house.

  Expecting to be halted and upbraided at any moment, she was more than a little concerned when the opposite happened. No one accosted her.

  Indeed, she even attained the third floor landing of her wing of the house, and let herself into her own quarters without being stopped or questioned. How strange it was, even eerie. Perhaps it was a symbol of good luck?

  But she feared she was being overly optimistic, since it would be out of character for John Rathburn to ignore an opportunity to bring his step-niece to task. Perhaps he would await her at breakfast.

  Marisa sighed, realizing that it did absolutely no good to ponder details that hadn’t presented themselves. She would learn soon enough what her guardian intended.

  Lighting a candle, she immediately set to work. There was much to be done if they were to leave at first light, which from all indications was only hours away.

  Should she seek out Sarah’s quarters and awaken her?

  No. Sarah was the dependable one. She was probably ready to leave, and had been so for many days.

  Dragging her trunk out to the middle of the floor, Marisa opened it only to find that it was already packed. Sarah’s doing, of course.

  Rummaging through the clothing, Marisa pulled out a clean chemise, as well as fresh petticoats. Her dress would need a change, and she opted for an ivory silk brocade with a patterned, floral design. It was cool to the touch, its silky texture sliding against her fingers.

  Her body would require a wash, as well, but first, closing the lid, she sat down on the trunk, whereupon she allowed her thoughts to drift to other matters. For the first time since leaving Black Eagle’s embrace, she took a moment to consider what she had done.

  Was she sorry? No.

  Would she commit the deed again, if the opportunity presented itself? Most likely.

  Her actions had been, in effect, a declaration of her independence, though perhaps this had been accomplished with some naivety, since only now did she consider that there might be a price to pay—in the form of a child.

  A child . . . The thought was extraordinarily pleasant, and she sighed. However, if a pregnancy did occur, she supposed her guardian would whisk her into a speedy marriage of convenience, one that would be, of course, financially prudent for him.

  However, upon further thought, she doubted that a child had been formed from this union tonight. Due to Sarah’s confidences, Marisa had taken to keeping track of the rhythm of her monthly cycle, and she was certain she had a fragment of protection.

  No, all things considered, Marisa was not sorry for her actions. Indeed, it was likely the opposite: This night would be imprinted on her consciousness for the rest of her life.

  She would never forget what had happened; she would never forget him. Perhaps now she could marry as her station in life, as well as her step-uncle, mandated was necessary.

  A gentle knock came at her door, and she sighed. Time to come back to the world as she knew it.

  “Come in,” she called softly as Sarah opened the door.

  Sarah entered tentatively. “Are you all right? ”

  “I am well,” said Marisa. “I am very well, though tired.” Looking up, Marisa started to smile, but the look quickly froze on her face. “Sarah,” she said, rising, “what has happened to you? ”

  Sarah bit her lip, looked away from Marisa, then winced. Her lip was swollen and there was a jagged line of red running from her eye to her nose, as though she had been slapped, or perhaps hit. There were also tears in her eyes and, upon close inspection, there was a rip in her dress.

  “Sarah? ”

  “I have been waiting for you, Miss Marisa. I’ve been hiding.”

  “Hiding?” Marisa gulped. “From what? Or from whom?”

  Sarah didn’t answer.

  “Sarah, who did this to you? ”

  “I . . . I escaped,” she said, taking a step forward only to collapse onto Marisa’s trunk.

  Marisa followed her and knelt down in front of her. “Was it my step-uncle who did this to you? Did he try to . . . ? ”

  Sarah shook her head. “’Twas not your guardian.
’Twas . . . someone else.”

  “Someone else? Someone close to my step-uncle? Who could it . . .” Marisa gasped. “Was it James? ”

  Sarah nodded. “It seems that James took it into his mind to punish me for what he thinks was a wrong that I committed against your . . .”

  “Yes? ” asked Marisa. “Against my . . . step-uncle? ”

  Sarah nodded.

  Marisa reached up to run her fingers over the rip in Sarah’s dress. “Did he . . . did he . . . I have always known that James was a bully, as well as a very bad butler, but . . . He didn’t manage to . . . Sarah, did he defile you? ”

  Sarah shook her head. “He tried to. He did have a whip, but no, I got away.” For a brief moment, Sarah gave the semblance of a grin. “I’m afraid the whip scared me and I bit him.”

  “Oh, my dear, dear, Sarah!” Sitting up onto her knees, Marisa took Sarah into her arms, and despite the ten year difference in their ages, for an instant, Marisa felt the older of the two. “Has anyone tended to your bruises? ”

  Sarah shook her head. “No. I’ve been hiding, waiting for you to come home.”

  “I see. Can you rise? If so, let us get closer to the candle-light, so I can assess the damage to you. And do not fear. After I have settled you a little, and ensured your safety, I will go to my step-uncle and—”

  “No! Please! I fear your guardian worse than I fear James.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Marisa shook her head frowning. “But James should be punished or he might be likely to do something like this again.”

  “True. However, are we not leaving soon? ”

  Marisa nodded. “Yes, we are. Perhaps we should go from here at once without any fanfare or ‘well thee do.’ Let’s mend your wounds, change your clothes, and as soon as you’ve rested a little, we will leave here. I swear, Sarah, once we are away, you needn’t ever return. I have obtained my guardian’s signature on a document that effectively makes this so.”

  “You have? But when? ”

  “Days and days ago.”

  “But why did you not tell me? ”

  “I was hoping to make it a present to you, as well as a surprise.”