Rebecca stirred and stretched, yawning and sighing contentedly. Her arm touched something dreadfully unfamiliar: another person was resting beside her! Her panicked gaze flew open wide and she hastily sat up to see who dared this brazen insult.
Her alarmed eyes fused with the calm, ebony ones of the Indian brave who was casually propped upon his right elbow, watching her closely. Last night’s events flooded her mind, breaking through the defensive barrier of her mind like a rain-swollen river assaulting a weak dam. The handsome brave smiled up at her, remaining in his reclining position. Deceived and charmed by his continued amicable behavior, her brownish gold eyes softened as she returned his gesture.
She hesitantly confessed, “I was afraid. I…thought you were…someone else.” Her look of relief pleased him, mystified him.
Without words, he reached up and gently pulled her down beside him. His hand playfully traced the exquisite features of her lovely face and stroked the softness of her tousled curls. When he leaned over to kiss her, she caught her breath in eager anticipation. New flames leaped within her body, as within his. Any logical reason to resist her new-found love deserted her spinning mind.
He expertly fanned those igneous coals of smoldering passion until a raging fire blazed within them, encompassing them in an emotional furnace which refined and purified their unity, forging and joining them together in spirit and heart. Neither would be satisfied until this feverish wildfire was extinguished in the only way possible, which it was. In the contented, relaxing afterglow of their third union, he bored his obsidian eyes into her amber ones and huskily vowed, “Rebecca, Bright Arrow…winyan.”
He noted the startled look of surprise and uncertainty which captured and brightened her serene expression at his second choice of words. She dauntlessly and lovingly caressed his chest as she smiled and whispered, “Yes…Bright Arrow’s winyan…”
He kissed her lightly upon her forehead before he left her side to bathe off in the stream. As he washed and then dressed, she lay there daydreaming about him and all they had shared. Who was this intoxicating interloper who had trespassed upon her body, demanding she become his willing property? Yesterday she had been a supple, green bush; today she was in full bloom like a delicate Yucca plant, one which was beautiful and pure white, one which could be plucked or destroyed by a careless hand.
She tranquilly concluded, life is so very strange and unpredictable. How is it possible for such feelings to be so all-consuming and sudden?
He came back to where she was. He pointed to the stream-and softly commanded, “Yuzaza, Rebecca.” He gallantly assisted her to her feet as she timidly held the blanket up before her. He glanced at her tight grip upon it, then studied her rosy face. He chuckled mirthfully, then repeated his order for her to bathe.
His back was to the stream as she followed his command. He rolled up the blankets and secured them to his horse. He turned to find her anxiously staring down at her torn clothing which was totally unusable now. He came to her side and led her over to his splotched Appaloosa. He mounted with graceful agility. He leaned over to lift her up to sit before him. Once again she held on to the blanket to keep it from slipping away from her naked body. She timidly refused to meet his humorous gaze.
He grinned mischievously as he playfully tugged upon a curl which rested upon her creamy breast. He pulled her trembling body close to his before he prodded his animal to move out. Knowing she had many surprises in store for her today and for many days to come, a frown lined his forehead and knit his brow in deep thought. He was irritated to discover his sadness and anger at the reality it would never be this way between them again. He was helpless to prevent the loss of something very special. He hadn’t even returned to his people yet and already he was feeling the pains and misery of her sacrifice. He was infuriated by the fact that duty and honor controlled his life more than he himself did! It would be impossible and even dishonorable to keep her, and yet he wanted her so much that it frustrated and angered him. Why did the laws and customs of his people overrule his wishes?
As he became aware of his brooding line of thought, he chided himself for his weakness and foolishness. He was a warrior! The loss of this scrawny slave should mean nothing to him! He must harden his heart against her; he must control his forbidden desire for her. He must remember at all times who and what they both were…
If this was only a cruel joke upon her, then why wasn’t he laughing or relishing it? He could easily envision the amused looks upon the faces of his war party when he rode into camp with her nestled against him. Surely he could count many coups for this feat of great prowess. Then why wasn’t he pleased with his accomplishment? Why wasn’t he looking forward to revealing it to his warriors and to her? He knew why; whatever this mysterious attraction was between them, it would brutally end the moment he exposed his treacherous betrayal.
He ordered his mind upon another, less weighty, subject. How many warriors could wipe out a white woman’s people, enslave her, ravish her, and then have her eagerly cling to him in open love and acceptance? No one could deny the naked passion which flickered brightly and uncontrollably in her doelike eyes. To extract all he could from her before their closeness was ended, he would willingly deceive her with this loving treatment which was so clearly disarming and enslaving her, which would appear only a cruel ploy once the truth was out. By the time they came to his braves’ camp, she would be so enthralled by him that she would artlessly reveal his powerful hold upon her spirit and body. Hopefully, she would be so ensnared in his lover’s trap that she would be unable to resist him even after he proved unworthy of her love, acceptance, and trust. Hopefully, she would be wise enough to follow his future commands without forcing him to punish her. He refused to dwell upon the pain his deceit would bring to her and upon their fragile, forbidden union. There was no hope for a relationship between a white girl of seventeen and a Sioux warrior of eighteen.
Bright Arrow decided to treat Rebecca as what she was: his captured foe, his white slave and whore. He would not reveal his gentle treatment to her. He would allow his people to believe she had helplessly fallen under the awesome spell of Bright Arrow, invincible son of Gray Eagle. That was a logical tale since he was desired by countless women, white and Indian, younger and older.
Just as Rebecca anxiously questioned their destination, Bright Arrow reined in his horse and pointed to her plundered wagon. To prevent a forest fire, the wagons had not been set ablaze. They had been left to display a grisly warning to other white settlers who might pass this way in their greedy encroachment upon Indian lands.
The sight which greeted her eyes was ghastly. She buried her face upon his firm, smooth chest. Tears burned his muscled flesh. “Why did you bring me here, Bright Arrow? Do you wish to hurt me or to torment me? We must go,” she pleaded sadly. “There is so much death and pain here.”
He kneed his horse and moved closer to Jamie O’Hara’s wagon, one he knew from his previous scouting. He grasped her chin and lifted it. He read the agony which was lucidly engraved in her somber eyes. He smiled, then touched the blanket around her. “Rebecca heyake. Wayaketo,” he stated, telling her to look inside the wagon for her clothes. After all, he couldn’t take her home stark naked.
He lifted her as easily as a feather and placed her bare feet upon the tailgate of the wagon. “Ya. Rebecca heyake. Bright Arrow o’winza,” he stated as he tugged the blanket free from her nude body.
She shrieked in dismay and hastily attempted to shield her shapely frame from his smoldering gaze. He laughed, enjoying the sight she made. He held up the blanket and mischievously shook it, saying, “Bright Arrow o’winza.” He pointed into the wagon and declared. “Rebecca heyake. Ya,” he said, motioning for her to enter it.
Enlíghtenment dawned on her. She slipped inside and rummaged through her trunk. It was obvious she couldn’t take very much with her, so she settled upon a cotton skirt and blouse. She pulled out another similar outfit, both of blue chambray, her normal serving attire from Jamie’s roadhouse back in St. Louis. She sat down to pull on a pair of lowcut mocassins from the bottom of her trunk. Her father had made them for her, but her hostile uncle had refused to permit her to wear them. Surely this brave would not object to them! She savored their soft comfort, pushing aside thoughts of her deceased parents.
She folded the other skirt and blouse and placed them upon a square of green material. She quickly brushed and braided her hair, then put the comb and brush in the same bundle. She gingerly lifted out the small, tanned skin which had a picture upon its inner surface: a miniature oil drawing of her parents which had been done by a travelling artist who had passed by their cabin while journeying through the rugged wilderness. He painted unknown wildlife, dauntless settlers, stirring landscapes, and wild Indians. It had been a treasured gift to her for her assistance and great interest in his work.
“Rebecca, ku-wa,” Bright Arrow called out for her to return, wondering at her delay.
She hurriedly placed the precious painting within her small bundle and secured it tightly. She made her way past the boxes of gear and crates of goods which were of no use to Jamie O’Hara now. “I’m ready,” she softly replied, extending her arms to him.
He hesitated momentarily as his appreciative gaze scanned her appearance. She was softly innocent and naively trusting. She exuded youthful vitality. He astutely noted the braids and the mocassins. He wondered if she were trying to make some point with them or if there was some importance to her possession of them. He smiled and reached out to take her. Once more she buried her face against his muscled chest as they traversed the full length of the ravaged camp. In the midst of her new love and confusing experience, she had totally forgotten about the Indian raid! Now, she had to blot it out of her mind again.
She placed one arm around his narrow waist and held onto her prized bundle with the other. They rode away from the nightmare which had begun her trek to destiny. The wind tore her words of gratitude from her lips, but he still heard them. How he dreaded to hurt this gentle creature…
As she rested her head against his brawny shoulder, Rebecca’s thoughts were playing hide-and-seek with her logic. Her new life seemed a puzzle which she could not piece together. She concluded that if it was her destiny to be an Indian slave, then she could not have selected a better man if she had been allowed to do the choosing herself! From the corner of her eye, she studied him.
Bright Arrow seemed kind, thoughtful, gentle, and understanding. He was unlike the wild savages that populated the tales she had heard along her journey West. In fact, he was more of a real man than any white one she had ever met. He was definitely strong, brave, alert, and cunning. He was so very handsome and virile. He was the most beautiful and magnetic creature she had ever seen or known. He was being so patient and friendly with her, even though she was his captive enemy. He was indeed a rare man. Yet, she ignored one vital fact: Bright Arrow was the son of Gray Eagle himself…
Admittedly, her feelings and thoughts were colored and controlled by his friendly conduct. She sighed peacefully and snuggled up to him. His embrace tightened around her. Her trusting, naive nature did not warn her of the inevitable deception. To Rebecca, her submission to Bright Arrow seemed right, natural.
It had been two lonely, unhappy years since her parents had died so suddenly and unexpectedly. Her eager, empty heart yearned for the love, joy, and acceptance which Bright Arrow was guilefully showing her. She had not felt this safe and happy in two years; it was delightful and irresistible; it was stimulating and exhilarating. Her youthful heart had never known such fulfillment and she failed to question it.
They rode for hours, only halting briefly to rest his horse. Rebecca’s shyness gradually departed as he offered her some dried strips of meat and bread pones; things prepared by his mother for his raid. They ate, then drank from a nearby stream. Later, they remounted and headed out again—she mistakenly assuming he was happily taking her home to his village.
About mid-afternoon, Bright Arrow abruptly reined in his horse. She glanced up at him. He seemed to be listening for something. His gaze fused with her inquisitive one. Before she could ask if something was wrong, his mouth came down upon hers. His kiss was brief, but pervasive. It ended almost before she could respond to it. He scrutinized her startled expression, as if it held some special meaning for him. She was confused by his fathomless, intense gaze. As she stared into those obsidian depths, she felt adrift in an endless black ocean. She smiled. He glanced over her auburn head as if willing his keen eyes to see through the verdant copse before them. When his gaze returned to hers, it was stormy and dismal. Something was troubling him. Did his acute senses detect danger?
When he spoke in his tongue, she could not comprehend his words or intentions. “I wish it did not have to be so, Rebecca. But I am bound to my laws and ways, just as you are to yours. This game between us was unwise. It will cause you much sadness and pain. I cannot spare you what is to come. Had I but known of what was to grow between us, I would not have come after you yesterday. I should have yielded you to Standing Bear. My loss of face could not have pained me more than your loss of will. It would have been better not to have known you this way than to lose you now. You are white, and I am Oglala; our destinies cannot be joined. For what I must do, you will hate me. Still, I cannot change the hatred between our peoples. If I but had the courage and strength, I would draw my knife and end this magic, forbidden thing between us here and now. Hate me if you must, but you are mine…for a while longer.”
He kissed her again, slowly and hungrily. She was baffled by his mercurial moods and the turbulent mixture of emotions which made his voice tremble. She could sense some turmoil within him, some reluctance and desperation which bewildered her. He picked her up and placed her behind him. He pulled her arms around his waist, binding her wrists before she guessed his intention. He inhaled deeply, then slowly released his breath.
She innocently said, “This isn’t necessary, Bright Arrow. I can hold on without falling off. The thong hurts. I did not understand your words,” she declared to this quicksilver creature. “I would never escape from you.”
As if she had not spoken at all, he kneed his horse into a fast gallop. She told herself he hadn’t understood her words either. She decided he must have done this for her safety at his currently swift pace. No doubt he was eager to reach camp or there was peril in the wind.
But within the hour, she comprehended the meaning of her bonds. Even so, she still did not realize the full implication in his change of mood and behavior. It would be hours before her ravaged heart and mind would accept the obvious truth.
As he called out to the band of braves who were just ahead of them, she could sense his growing excitement and pride: The group halted its steady progress to await them. Her conduct played right into his wily scheme, for as they approached the group, she pressed close to him for solace and protection.
He slightly calmed her fears by whispering over his left shoulder, “Rebecca Bright Arrow winyan.” Slyly deluding her, she relaxed against him.
The warriors joked and talked in their tongue, jesting about the lowliness of Rebecca’s position. He laughed heartily as he related the highlights of their night together. He shrewdly weaved a colorful, intriguing picture of punishment and pleasure. No one doubted his words as they witnessed the way the white girl clung to him and acted toward him. They applauded his great prowess and trickery. His companions openly admired Rebecca’s beauty and courage. Confused and unnerved by their scrutiny of her, Rebecca snuggled even closer to Bright Arrow and innocently rested her satiny cheek against his hard back. How she wished she were sitting before him, enjoying his protective embrace!
“She must be very wise, Bright Arrow, for she bows to your power and skill…both in battle and upon your sleeping mat,” one brave gleefully quipped. The other warriors chuckled and ribbed each other, delighting in this stimulating sport.
“What female could find the will to deny the prowess of our noble chief’s son?” another jested, bringing more hearty laughter and genial agreement. “Have we not witnessed his great magic and prowess many times?” he roguishly asserted.
“Perhaps she was only afraid to resist you, or perhaps too empty-headed to know how,” yet another brave taunted. “She clings to you as a feather to a greasy hand. How will you pry her free, oh noble warrior who is as true and straight as an arrow in flight?” Several pairs of midnight eyes brazenly scrutinized her comely face and provocative figure.
Bright Arrow laughed heartily. He joshed, “Look at her, Sitting Elk. Who would wish to free himself of such beauty and pleasure? Perhaps one day I will permit you to see where her real value lies. The women we have taken to the Tipi Sa cannot even compare with the one who…slept upon my mat last night,” he jauntily ventured in a suggestive tone which clearly indicated his real meaning.
Howling laughter filled the warm air. An innocent Rebecca never suspected the intimate topic of this conversation which they were so obviously enjoying. Generous offers were made to him for sharing this special prize. “It is too soon to share what I tasted only last night, my friends. When I have taken my fill of her, I will trade her for the best offer,” he smugly announced, to prove his interest in her was superficial.
“But what if there is nothing left when your greedy appetite is sated?” the first warrior asked.
“She is like the snows upon the sacred mountains; each time she melts and feeds water to the thirsty land, there is always more snow to come and to replace what has gone away forever. She is like the mighty river to the west; she has more to offer than any of us could ever take,” he boasted dramatically, then threw back his head and laughed.
They eyed her closely, observing things in her which caused envy in their minds and lust in their bodies. Rebecca warily watched this jocular band of warriors, pressing as closely to Bright Arrow as she could. What were they saying? Why were they inspecting her like stolen booty? Even though she could not understand their Oglala words, she certainly comprehended their lustful looks and desirous moods.
It was that precise moment when the tense Rebecca astutely surmised she was being discussed in some assessable manner. Her face grew red and hot guessing these men knew what had taken place the night before. Noting the absence of Kate and Lucy, she assumed them to be with the other half of the war party. Perhaps the women were a gift meant to soften the blow of killing that insidious warrior who had challenged Bright Arrow?
She fearfully recognized the same desirous expressions and sensuous attitudes which had characterized the lewd men at Jamie’s roadhouse and upon the wagon-train. Yet, her protector and lover Bright Arrow was not a Captain Jake Selby nor truculent Jamie O’Hara. He was nothing like them, or so she naively thought…
“It is just as well, my friend, for her eyes are only for you at this time,” Deer-Stalker solemnly commented. “See how she clings to him, how she looks at him, how she touches him? Does your flesh burn like the fire, Bright Arrow? For my eyes and loins do from just watching her. Can you not share her for only one night to ease these pains and curiosity within me?” he teased his best friend.
“It would be unwise, my friend. She is new to a man and to the sleeping mat,” he announced seriously. “To lend her to others would cause rebellion. I prefer to spend my time and energy enjoying her, not punishing her for defiance,” he stated, a roguish grin tugging at his sensual mouth.
“She has known no man but you!” Sitting Elk exclaimed, jealousy and fiery passion sparkling brightly within his walnut eyes. The others eyed her with new covetousness. She quivered at the bold stares which devoured her.
“I was the first to take her,” Bright Arrow haughtily confessed. “Yet, she reaches out as one who has known many men and many fiery nights as we shared. She possesses a powerful magic which I must keep a watchful eye upon. It would be cruel and unwise to tempt my friends to be placed under her spell as Standing Bear was. I have touched this magic and it is for me alone to enjoy. Once it has dulled, then others can take her. Come, Wi soon sleeps for the night. We must make camp,” he suggested, ending this conversation which ultimately made him feel ashamed of himself.
They headed for a suitable area within an hour’s ride. Rebecca was suspicious of the way Bright Arrow forced her to gather firewood and to prepare a cheery fire for him and his men to enjoy. She was then bound to a sturdy ash tree, too far away to profit from its warmth and light. As if she were suddenly invisible, the men totally ignored her! They sat around the blaze, talking and laughing and eating. She pondered and feared this drastic change within Bright Arrow. He was suddenly as forbidding and cold as a blizzard in the midst of winter. He behaved as if nothing extraordinary had ever passed between them!
At last, he left the others to come over to her, acting as if she should be grateful that he was recalling her presence! He casually untied her bond, which encircled the tree, but only long enough to allow her to eat and to drink the food he nonchalantly tossed into her lap. The aura which now surrounded him was unfamiliar and frightening, for it was potent and undeniably foreboding. The moment after she asked herself why he was so different around his men, she knew the dreadful answers: She was white, his enemy; he was a warrior, Gray Eagle’s son. Before his band of warriors, he must show only the expected conduct, that of a captor’s. She knew she must adjust herself to the intrepid man who was now standing before her, for they would never be alone again…
Hurt and disillusioned, she lowered her head and nibbled at the strips of dried meat and cakes of bread. Tears blurred her vision, several dropping upon her hands and lap. Heartache clutched at her chest; anguish constricted her throat. She angrily and proudly brushed away her tears with her bound hands. She dared not look up at him, for to do so would only reveal the torment she was experiencing. Too full of conflicting emotions to be hungry, she set the food aside after the first few bites.
Her suffering instilled the irritating response of remorse within Bright Arrow. He caught himself wishing he did not have to treat her this cold way. Her withdrawal from him somehow haunted him. He scolded himself for wanting to comfort her. Yet, she looked so fragile and so vulnerable sitting there with her head bowed, her heart full of pain and her eyes full of tears. It was clear that she had trusted him completely. He almost wished this wasn’t a game to humiliate her, to prove his superiority over her. He actually missed the warmth of her body and the glow of her radiant smile! These feelings and thoughts were dangerous and shameful. The sooner he learned to ignore her, the better it would be for both of them! But willing such an act and doing it were as different as the Indian and the white man.
“Wota. Mni,” he offered in a voice cautiously devoid of all emotion. When she did not seem to understand, he placed the food and water back in her lap, stressing, “Wota. Mni.”
For a second time, she put them aside. “I’m not hungry. Hiya,” she softly refused them. “I was a fool to trust you,” she sadly confessed.
“Wonahbe?” he inquired, pointing into a thicket, ignoring her charge of betrayal. His inquiry about her need for privacy was clear, for she recognized that familiar word from earlier.
Mortified, she still nodded yes. He pulled her to her feet and led her off into a thicket not far away. “Ya,” he said, indicating for her to go on alone.
Both knew she could not escape and to try would only prove dangerous for her. After she returned to his side, she thanked him in a strained whisper. Even so, she did not look up at him. She kept her eyes upon his fringed buckskins and beaded mocassins.
“Ku-wa,” he commanded, motioning for her to follow him.
Bright Arrow permitted Rebecca’s bound hands to rest in her lap as he wound a rope around her chest and the tree twice before tying it securely. To ward off the night chill, he tucked a blanket around her shoulders and another one around her legs and feet. This time, she did not argue against the needless bonds. Even though he knew she would not attempt to escape, she must surely know that his pride prevented him from revealing his trust in her or his respect for her intelligence. From now on, Bright Arrow decided, he would treat her as was expected of an Indian brave.
He wondered what it was about this girl that made it impossible to keep his thoughts from her. “Istinma,” he murmured softly, closing her lids with their tear-soaked lashes. His finger gently trailed down her cheek to remove the salty streaks there, then softly traced across her quivering lips. “Kokipa ikopa,” he whispered, knowing she was indeed afraid.
Rebecca flinched at his tormenting touch; pain knifed her broken heart at the tenderness which permeated his incomprehensible words of comfort. “Do not touch me, Bright Arrow. Do not even speak to me. I shall never forgive this betrayal. I will forget all that has passed between us before tonight. Your punishment was cunning, my beloved enemy, for even brutality could not have hurt me more. Enjoy your savage joke. I hate you…” she vowed in a hoarse tone…but both knew it was a lie.
Bright Arrow vowed he would ask his father to explain the many wasichu words which she had spoken that were still unknown to him. On second thought, he concluded it might be best to ask his mother to translate this girl’s words. Shalee also secretly knew this enemy’s language. Perhaps Rebecca had said things to him which were better left unknown to his father! For this reason, Bright Arrow paid close attention to the English words which he did not know. Each time she spoke one, he would mentally repeat it to himself until he was sure to recall it later when he could talk privately with Shalee.
He stood up and left Rebecca to bear her anguish alone. Soon, the entire camp was asleep, all except the captive girl, who wept silently far into the chilly night, and Bright Arrow, who was all too aware of her pain and all too troubled by guilt.
Rebecca did not know which betrayal hurt more, his treachery or her own body’s weakness. Either way, the damage was done and had to be dealt with before he attempted to trick her again…He had vividly shown her that his actions and words were dishonest. She concluded this love was a terrible thing, for it was cruel and painful.
Rebecca gradually awakened to the dawning of a new day. The sky was clear and intensely blue in the vast Dakota Territory. The May air was crisp and fresh, promising a warm sunny day. Several birds vainly tried to outsing each other. The braves had begun to stir. It was but an hour before they were riding for the Oglala camp.
Rebecca had no choice but to lean against Bright Arrow’s solid frame because of her bonds around his waist. His warmth and smell filled her nostrils and cruelly attacked her traitorous emotions. How she wished she was not riding with him, touching him, inhaling his manly scent.
When they rode into the Oglala camp, many of Bright Arrow’s people gathered around them, jubilant and curious. The raiding party was congratulated, cheered, and questioned. Few paid any attention to the girl tightly secured to Bright Arrow’s body. They saw she was clearly the personal captive of their leader’s son. As female captives were a common sight, they did not deserve any special attention. Since she was already claimed, she would not be offered for trade or sale—today.
The excess of goods and treasures were generously shared with those in need or were traded to the highest bidder. Boastful stories about the cunning, daring attack upon the Bluecoats’ wagon train were bandied about.
When things settled down, Bright Arrow walked his horse over to his family’s tepee. It was one of the largest and most colorful in the camp, highly decorated with the numerous coups of his father. Bright Arrow cut Rebecca’s bonds free, then slid off the animal’s back. He reached up, seized the girl by her tiny waist, and lifted her down beside him. She was a treasure so small and yet so valuable! He handed the reins to a boy who led the splendid mount away to be watered and rubbed down.
Bright Arrow grasped Rebecca’s forearm and pulled her inside the tepee. His parents were not there. He assumed them to be walking in the nearby forest for it was their custom about this time of day. He released his grip upon her arm, walked over to a mat, tossed her small bundle upon it, then turned to face her.
She had not moved from the spot where he had released her after entering this private abode. She stood watching him, her eyes large and sad. He studied her a few moments, pondering what he was supposed to do or say now. This situation was as new and trying for him as it was for her.
“Ku-wa, Rebecca,” he called out, signalling for her to come to him.
She tensed and paled, also ignorant of what was expected of a captive white girl. She quaked; her legs refused to obey his command. When he repeated it more sternly, she was compelled to move forward by the sheer force of his commanding tone. She slowly and reluctantly walked over to stand before him. She stared straight ahead at the bronze flesh of his chest. She glued her eyes to the silver arrow he wore as if entranced.
When Bright Arrow reached out and touched her cheek, she jumped and inhaled sharply. He lifted a heavy chestnut braid and tossed it over her shoulder. With one hand behind her neck and the other around her waist, he pulled her rigid body up to his. His eager mouth came down on hers, determined to instill the same hunger in her which gnawed at him. But Rebecca remained rigid and unresponsive.
Another savory kiss followed, then another. His lips nibbled at her ear, then pressed feathery kisses upon her tightly closed eyes. She quivered in uncertainty and desire for he gradually shattered her resistance. By the time his mouth returned to hers, she no longer wanted to remain cold and stiff within his imprisoning embrace. With a soft moan of defeat, she surrendered her will to him. She feverishly returned both his kisses and embraces, matching his ardor and desire. God, how she needed this loving contact and acceptance!
Without warning, his loving assault ceased. He held her possessively against his taut body, commanding his overheated passions to cool. He could not permit his parents to unwittingly walk in upon such an explosive situation. He, son of Chief Gray Eagle and Princess Shalee, could not be discovered in the throes of unbridled passion with a white captive. He must seek out his parents and explain why he had brought home his captive. In dread, he speculated upon their mixed reactions. He could not determine how they would respond to this unusual deed, for no warrior fought the encroachment of the white-eyes as fiercely as his own father.
He pulled away from her and huskily commanded, “Yanka, Rebecca.” Craving her almost beyond any measure of control, he knew he needed some fresh air and a definite change of scenery. He did not realize his voice was laced with softness, sadness, and reluctance.
Rebecca looked up at him in confusion and open desire. He gently pushed her to a sitting position upon his mat and said, “Yanka, Rebecca. Bright Arrow ya Gray Eagle, ya Shalee.” He motioned he would leave to find his parents. He touched his lips and gave the sign for talk. “Ia a’ta, Shalee. Rebecca yanka.”
Dread also consuming her, she nodded her comprehension. She, too, could not imagine what they would say or do about her sudden presence in their tepee. She had heard plenty about the illustrious Gray Eagle. Tragically most of it had not been from her father, his friend from times long past.
Bright Arrow smiled encouragingly and left. He walked into the edge of the woods and called out their names. It was not long before an answer came. When he joined them, his parents were standing beside the river, arms about each other as two young lovers who could not touch enough. The brave wondered at this magic which still passed between a woman who was nearly thirty-eight summers and a man almost forty-four. Yet, theirs was an ageless and powerful love: one he craved to experience and to enjoy himself. This romantic sight warmed his racing heart. In turn, they each embraced Bright Arrow, relieved to have their only son home safe.
Shalee’s forest-green eyes lovingly caressed her beloved son, a warrior whose towering size and nearly matchless prowess belied his eighteen years. He was so much like his father in appearance and character. She wondered why her heart did not burst when filled with so much love, pride, and happiness.
“A’ta…,” he hesitantly began, alerting Gray Eagle to his problem. He smiled at his lovely mother. She affectionately returned it. He slowly began to relate his incredible tale which would rapidly alter each of their lives…