Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  She tried to calm the horse with soft words, but it was impossible; over the rain she could not be heard. Besides, she, also, was panicked, and she was afraid that her voice might communicate her own fear to the animal.

  How long her mount leapt through the forest, inflicting danger to both their lives, she could never be certain. It felt like a lifetime, however, and as pictures of her life flashed by her mental eye, she wondered if this was to be her last day upon this earth.

  She heard the pounding of another horse approaching her from the rear. Was it Sarah come to save her? Or Black Eagle? Or was she imagining it?

  Suddenly her nag splashed into water, showering her with a curtain of water, but it hardly mattered. She was already soaked from head to foot.

  It did do one thing, however. It slowed the animal down.

  “Whoa!”

  She recognized Black Eagle’s voice.

  “Whoa!”

  And then he was there beside her, riding Sarah’s mount, and he was reaching out for the reins of her steed. He shouted at her, “Fall!”

  “Fall? ” she yelled back at him. Was he crazy?

  “The water will cushion you. I can only hold back your horse for a moment. Fall!”

  Only later, in a brief moment of safety, did she realize that she must instinctively trust Black Eagle, for she did exactly as he instructed. She threw herself off her mount, spiraling down into the rushing brook, which, because it was shallow, instantly carried her downstream.

  The water was perhaps only two feet deep. But that was enough to cushion her plunge and when at last she was able to find her footing, she came up onto her knees, coughing and spitting up water.

  Looking around, she noted that Black Eagle had hurled himself off his mount, and that he was stamping through the water, leaping over it in an effort to get to her as fast as possible.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked as soon as he caught up with her, and coming down onto his knees, he ran his hands over her face, her neck, her arms and chest, on down to her waist.

  “I am fine, I think,” she said between coughs. “Merely frightened.”

  He let out his breath, and seemingly satisfied, he sank back on his heels. He was kneeling directly in front of her, when he said, “I beg you to never do that again.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Come here,” he said, opening his arms wide to receive her. She didn’t even think. She threw herself at him.

  It was an infusion of body against body. They were both of them cold, and she was shivering, but as the water gurgled around them where they sat, knee to knee and thigh to thigh, heat began to fill her, and her head came down to rest in the crook of his shoulder. The water, which was at thigh level, pushed against them, and his arms pressed her in so tightly against him, that she thought he must be afraid that the water would sweep her away.

  And then he was kissing her as though he might never stop. At first his lips were rough over hers, but then, as passion took hold of them both, his lips became gentler, his tongue delving into and out of her mouth, exploring her as though his most important mission in life was to know her every nook and cranny, not only of her mouth, but of her being, as well.

  The kisses never stopped, but the fingers of one of his hands became free and began to explore her, and his palms lingered over her breasts; she groaned and pushed herself in closer to him, wiggling against him, as though she were struggling toward an inevitable result, one that she recalled all too well from the previous evening. His response was to moan deep in his throat, and without preamble, he lifted her skirts up to her waist.

  Petticoats and chemise became a cushion, welcoming him to her. And when his fingers came down to explore the warmth and inner sanctum of her femininity, she swooned against him. Again he groaned, again the sound urged her further into passion, and she mirrored him with a higher-pitched moan.

  Her response seemed to drive him mad, and placing his arms around her buttocks, he lifted her up over him. It was inevitable. They had already once partaken of the delight that was flaming between them even now, and pushing his breechcloth out of the way, he pressed her up and down over his rock-solid manhood.

  She caught her breath. Dear Lord, this felt so right. It was right, and as he became more and more a part of her, she moved against him, savoring each precious moment that he was within her and a part of her.

  The rain had turned soft, as though it, too, conspired to bring them together. She moved sensuously against him, and he thrust into her, out, into her again, over and over, the strength of his arms holding her up so that she could fidget in a most feminine way.

  Perhaps it was because of her near escape from death. Or maybe there was simply something about this man that excited her. Whatever it was, she wondered if she had ever experienced anything more powerful, yet more precious? It could not be.

  An excitement was building down there at the apex of her legs, and, having once experienced love’s finale, she recognized the sensation for what it was. It was a moment of wonder, of pure sexuality, and as she pushed toward its peak, her breathing was strained, rapid and, most delightfully, it appeared that what she was experiencing was mirrored in him.

  She pressed herself upward, her head back, giving herself up to him, as he accepted, thrusting upward and inward within her. And then it happened; she, who was precariously perched on a precipice, tripped over the edge of that elevation, spiraling into that blur of fulfillment.

  She strained against him, that she might expand on the feeling, begging him without words for that firmness she craved, and he gave her exactly what she desired, pressing up hard within her. Faster and faster they strained against each other, and then he released within her; she followed him almost simultaneously. As the rain gently fell over her, she cried out into the silence of the rain-soaked forest, and he groaned, the sound pure male sexuality.

  It was perfect bliss, it was sensual beauty, and it was love. Defiantly, as the pleasure of sexual satisfaction filled her body, the truth of her feelings rose up to confront her forthwith, so that she could no longer deny what was so obviously true.

  She loved this man. It was an inescapable truth; it was also an enormous, terrible thing to realize, for it was all wrong.

  But she was not so foolish as to deny it. Not this time. She loved him. And she need no longer wonder why it felt so right to be in his arms.

  But dear Lord, she reflected, what was she to do?

  She was given little chance to ponder the possibilities, however, for Black Eagle was still hard and full within her. Once again, he was stirring against her and within her, and the marvel of his lovemaking was beginning all over again.

  Once more he brought her to that precipice; once again she tripped over its edge, once again she was ascending upward, as though their love were so great, her spiritual being expanded.

  Afterward, he picked her up and carried her to shore, where he set her down on the stream’s white, rocky shoreline, its pristine pureness a contrast with the dark, cloudy sky overhead. He came down beside her, instantly wrapped her in his arms, and there they sat, each one quiet, each one content it would seem, to be at peace with their own thoughts.

  Sweetly, yet seductively, he leaned down to spread kisses over her cheek, downward and over toward her ear, then anew to her lips, and he said, between each and every kiss, “I love you.”

  She inhaled deeply, once, then twice, and lifting her chin, so as to give him easy access to her neck, she whispered, “I know.”

  For the moment, it was all she would confess, but she reckoned that he understood. There was no going back for her or for him. They were in love with one another. What they were to do about this newfound love, remained unknown, for to live their lives with one another could never, never be.

  It took them little time to find the horses, since the animals had not strayed a great distance from the stream. Nor did they ride the nags back to where Sarah and Thompson were waiting. Instead, they walked, hand in
hand, and like lovers everywhere, they couldn’t seem to find a position that was close enough. Every now and again, he would stop, take her in his arms and steal a kiss. Not that there was much stealing about it. She was a willing recipient.

  On a certain level Marisa realized she should confess that there could never be a future for them. But somehow the words would not find their way to her lips. Instead, she found herself saying, “What would I do without you? You, who have recused me twice, and in so many days?”

  His response was an odd one, for he said, “So long as I live, breathe and walk upon this earth, you will not have to do without me. In truth, I fear it will be difficult for you to get rid of me.”

  She should have told him then and there. It was important that he be reminded that their lives could never be entwined. But she didn’t tell him. It simply wasn’t in her to do so.

  Instead, she savored every moment with him, for she realized that this might be all she would ever have. There could not be a repeat. And with her hand grasped neatly within his, she pulled on him, bringing him closer to her, and placing her arms around his neck, she said, “I fear to think what would have become of me if I’d had my way and left you behind. I do hope, however, that these accidents are not to become a pattern.”

  “I, too,” he said. “I, too.”

  Twelve

  After a week on the trail, Black Eagle was more than aware that their days were becoming strewn with too many mishaps. At present, they had stopped and set up camp for the night. Thompson was with the horses. The women were by the stream, rinsing their dishes after the evening meal.

  Black Eagle was sitting atop a log, with knife and stick in hand. He was apparently whittling, apparently focused on the shape that was forming on the stick. The truth, however, was that his thoughts were far away.

  What was the cause of the accidents? At first Black Eagle had wondered if the women were naturally clumsy. Or perhaps the fault was the weather, since they’d had almost a solid week of rain. But lately he was beginning to speculate that something more sinister might be at work.

  That these misfortunes had resulted in only minor injury was hardly the point. That they were happening and that they were sometimes of a fatal nature was the real worry.

  One of the mishaps had been related to a fire that the wind had carried into the midst of the women. The result had been that Sarah’s dress had caught fire. What had made the incident extreme was that it had happened at a time when they hadn’t camped close enough to water to put the fire out.

  Luckily, there had been dirt, and much of it close at hand. Black Eagle, Marisa and Thompson had rolled Sarah round and round in the dirt, and though Sarah had required a bath later, it was a small price to pay. At least she had come away with her life, and outside of the shock and a few scratches, there had been little damage.

  There was more. There had been the morning three days ago, when Black Eagle had awakened much earlier than the others; he had been away from their camp, hunting. Halfway through the morning, screams from the women had made his heart stand still, and he had rushed back to camp dreading what he would find.

  It had been worse than even he could have imagined. A rattlesnake had taken up residence within the women’s midst; it had been coiled and ready to strike.

  To add to the horror, Thompson had been carelessly aiming at the snake, and had he fired, the shot would have maimed Ahweyoh, who was in his line of fire.

  Only the utmost presence of mind had enabled Black Eagle to throw a knife fast enough to prevent Thompson from firing that shot. An arrow then sent directly into the head of the snake had ensured that no danger had come to his precious Ahweyoh, who had been closest to it.

  That this had happened on top of another accident the day previous when one of the horses had kicked out at Sarah, barely missing her head, was stranger yet, since something had fallen onto the horse from above it. A close inspection afterward had found a fallen tree branch; he had also discovered curiously that Thompson had climbed that tree at some time during their stay.

  Was it a coincidence?

  Or perhaps a wiser question was, were these incidents intended or not?

  The problem was, though he was highly suspicious, Black Eagle could prove nothing. Nonetheless, he was finding himself awakening each day, worrying what new misadventure might lie in wait for the women. An even further concern was that he might not always be near to ensure their continued safety.

  Noting lazily that Ahweyoh had finished her chore and was stepping toward him, as soon as she came into range, he voiced, “There have been many accidents on the trail.”

  “Yes,” she said as she sauntered in closer to him.

  Not looking up from his work, he said, “Is it your and Miss Sarah’s custom to have so many ills befall you?”

  “No,” she answered, “I admit it is not.” She sat down beside him and placed her legs out in front of her, appearing to be stretching her calf and thigh muscles. “ ’Tis strange. Have you been considering some theory as to what is happening to cause this?”

  He shrugged. “A little. But I have nothing to report except to tell you that you were in Thompson’s line of fire the day when you awoke to find a snake as a bedfellow. Had Thompson fired, you might have been killed.”

  She nodded. “That’s why you stopped him from shooting?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you think Thompson was being careless? ”

  “It is either that or he aimed to do you harm.”

  “To do me harm? Surely not. Is that what you think? ”

  Black Eagle didn’t answer the question, nor did he defend himself or his theory, rather he said, “I’ve also discovered that Thompson had climbed one of the trees that hovered over the horse that day when it kicked out at Miss Sarah. I believe a branch had fallen on the horse, which caused its reaction.”

  Marisa met this news with silence. After a time, however, she said, “Do you suspect Thompson is trying to do us harm?”

  “It is either that or these accidents are the subject of misfortune.”

  Again, Marisa was silent.

  He proffered, “You can decide for yourself which is it. I’m merely speaking to you to inform you of what I have found.”

  “But if it were intended, why would he do it?”

  Again, Black Eagle shrugged. “Have you insulted the man?”

  “No.”

  “Have you done his family any harm?”

  “Of course not. In truth, I don’t believe he has a family.”

  “Then perhaps it is coincidence,” said Black Eagle. “I have no proof of wrongdoing, and it is well that if a man is going to accuse another, he should be certain of his facts.”

  “I see. What do you suggest we do?”

  “Stay alert. Check over your supplies daily, prepare yourself for anything and be surprised at nothing. But stay alert.”

  She nodded. “How many more days do you think we have on this trail before we find ourselves in Abenaki country?”

  “Not many, perhaps two or three.”

  “And will we change the manner in which we travel once we are in Abenaki territory?”

  “Nyoh, yes, since it will be dangerous to travel during the day, we will sleep when the sun is up and travel by moonlight. The Abenaki hate the English almost as much as they do the Mohawk. So, yes, we will change the time in which we travel.”

  “Will that cause the danger of these accidents to become even more . . . dangerous?”

  He paused, then said, “It is so.”

  She rocked back on the log where they sat and she swallowed hard. “A gunshot, a scream, any loud noise could prove disastrous?”

  “It is so.”

  She sat up and placing her hand over his thigh, she said, “Tell me what else to do.”

  “I little know since I cannot predict these accidents. All I can advise is to stay alert, and once we reach Abenaki country, to remain quiet, no matter what happens.”

  “I fea
r it will be difficult,” she said, rubbing her hand over his thigh muscle. “However, I am glad that you’re here. Thank you.”

  He nodded, and ceased his whittling long enough to squeeze her hand. They sat, looking deeply into one another’s eyes, before he set back to work with knife and stick. Marisa rose and swung around, and in doing so came face-to-face with Thompson, who was looking at her as though she had taken leave of her senses, as if she were a breed apart.

  But he said not a word to her. Quietly, he turned and walked away.

  Marisa swung back toward Black Eagle. “Thompson was standing behind us. Do you think he heard us?”

  “He might have done so. Therefore, beware,” he said. “Trust nothing, and keep your eyes open.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I will.”

  “Thank you, Sir Eagle,” said Marisa, as she stepped up to her horse, where Black Eagle was checking the gear on her mount. He nodded toward her, petted the animal and offered Marisa a hand up.

  Marisa accepted his assistance, and as she found her seating, she smiled down at him. How he had changed in regard to English custom, she thought. When they had first started their trek, he’d not lent her any assistance on either mounting or dismounting from her horse. Now, however, he didn’t miss an opportunity to help her. However, whether this was due to an inclination toward English manners, or from a desire to touch her was in question.

  Of course, she had changed, too. Over and over her thoughts turned to Black Eagle’s observations about king, country and servitude . . . and her step-uncle, John Rathburn. Ungraciously, perhaps, John Rathburn was becoming the loser in her musings. Was it wrong to believe that some people were beneath you? That some men and women were born to toil for another? That being cunning and accumulating wealth was more important than life?

  Or were all people born with innate freedoms? Details so intrinsic that they could not be detached from one?

  Marisa didn’t know. Once she had thought she had known. Now she wasn’t so sure.