by Karen Kay
Planned or coincidence, it little mattered. The point was that he would be well-advised to be on his guard. Events concerning this party might not be as they seem.
The morning dawned dark and rainy, cold and dismal. Not the sort of weather one treasured when traveling. It hadn’t started out well, either, not from the very beginning. Upon stepping from the inn, Sarah had been struck from above by a heavy branch, which had been precariously perched on the roof of the establishment.
Luckily, outside of a bruise to her arm, no damage had been done. But the accident had delayed their start. In truth, Marisa felt more than a little happy to remain where she was for the time being. After her wet escapade the previous night, she was in no mood to travel in the rain.
Black Eagle, however, was insistent, it apparently being his opinion that a day consumed in rain-weary travel was a day well spent.
“We must leave as soon as your maid is ready to proceed,” Black Eagle had told Marisa only moments ago. She had been huddled in a corner of the tavern, where she had been looking out one of the hut’s small windows, awaiting a change in the weather.
“But why?” Marisa had asked.
“Because the rain will afford us a measure of safety. If a war party is about, unless it is pressed, it will seldom move its position when the weather is bad.”
Marisa had sighed. “But it is wet, it is cold, and after last night…”
“You should prepare yourself well. If you have brought a heavy coat, wear it.” With those final words he had turned to leave, perhaps to make ready for the journey ahead.
After last night, Marisa realized she wanted no further arguments with the man, and so she had capitulated and retired to the room she’d shared with Sarah. Both women had readied themselves as though they expected a blizzard. Luckily both she and Sarah had brought along umbrellas, as well as heavy, woolen capes for traveling. This, in conjunction with their riding habits, might serve as adequate protection. Marisa hoped it would be so.
Because of all the delays, their party had once again secured a late start. It was noon, and both the innkeeper and Black Eagle had been working nonstop, equipping the horses for travel.
Marisa, upon stepping foot from the inn, glanced back at the establishment. In reality, she was more than a little apprehensive about leaving. Perhaps it was because their departure today signified a farewell from the civilized world, even more so than their exit from Albany, which had seemed a relief.
It did not escape her that from here on out, her life, and Sarah’s too, might very well depend on Black Eagle’s skill. It was the wrong time to have second considerations, but truth be told, she was beginning to wonder if she had really done well in arranging this journey. What had seemed a good idea at the time was fast becoming an ordeal.
However, whether it was a mistake or not was a moot point at present. The deed was done. There was nothing for it but to press forward and hope for the best.
Sheets of rain had drenched them all the day through, with seldom a letup, and Marisa was cold, wet and ready to stop, set up camp and recover. However, it appeared this was not to be an option. Rather than sleep under a rainy canopy, Black Eagle had determined that they must keep moving, even though night had long ago fallen over the land.
Somewhere in the middle of the evening, Marisa had decided that traveling in the darkness was eerie. Trees that during the day were already thick and full seemed to take on a spooky façade in this unlit realm. Their branches hung in a phantomlike manner, as though shadowy arms and fingers were reaching out to capture. Even the hooting of an owl was fast becoming unnerving.
In addition, Black Eagle no longer led their procession so far in advance. Rather he stayed close beside both herself and Sarah, as if he would protect them from any danger, be that of a human or animal influence…or perhaps that of wandering spirits. Even Thompson, who guarded them from the rear and who usually hung so far back as to be undetectable, was staying close by.
“Do you intend to travel all night long?” Marisa asked Black Eagle when he had ventured within hearing range.
“Nyoh, yes,” he answered without looking up at her.
“But why?”
“It is safer.”
“And yet we are wet and bone weary and deserve to stop.”
He shrugged. “But at least we are alive and safe. Besides, there is some adventure to be had in traveling through the night.” He slanted her a glance.
“Oh? And what would those adventures consist of?”
“The exploits of storytelling, of course.”
“While we are traveling and in the rain?”
“Nyoh,” he said. “Although the Iroquois ofttimes believe that one should not tell stories in the woods for fear the animals will hear and become alert to the ways of humans, I think the rain makes it safe. I cannot participate, but you and your friend could relate stories to each other, as long as you keep your voices low. When it stops raining, we will make camp.”
“And if it continues to pour all through this night, as well as tomorrow?”
“Then we will carry on and make good time through Adirondack country, I think.”
She sighed, and Black Eagle hurried forward, placing himself out of hearing range. As he had suggested, Marisa and Sarah began to relate various fairy tales to one another. Unfortunately for the both of them, it seemed to cause them to become uncommonly sleepy.
Crash! Boom!
Marisa’s horse shimmied, causing Marisa to come wide awake. Beside her, Sarah’s mount was neighing. Both women reached down to calm their animals.
Another streak of lightning darted through the sky, followed almost immediately by an even louder blast of thunder. These acts of nature, coming so closely together, appeared to set the night on fire. Again the horses protested. Above them, the heavens rolled with white light, hurling swiftly across the sky, and the rumbling of thunder overhead pressed down on the two women ominously.
Looking up, Marisa was struck by the observation that were the lightning not quite so close or the outbursts so frightening, the sky might have provided a beautiful show. But with the crashing of the thunder, the trembling of the ground in reaction, and the fear of a lightning strike seeking them out personally, it was hard to appreciate what might have been a natural fascination.
Crash! Boom!
All at once Black Eagle appeared close beside them, and taking a stand on the ground between the two horses, he took hold of the animals’ reins, leading their mounts himself.
Crack! A streak of light slanted through the sky, striking the earth much too close, perhaps only a mile away. An almost instantaneous roar followed, and the ground reverberated under Nature’s assault.
Her horse reared.
“Whoa!” Black Eagle sang out to the animals, and Marisa watched as the muscles of his arms strained to keep hold of the two animals, effectively grounding them both. She was caught in the act of admiring the sight, when it came.
A flash of light. Bang! Boom! Crack!
A tree directly in front of them teetered.
Her horse again reared, but this time it jerked its reins partially out of Black Eagle’s grasp, and before Black Eagle could grab back complete control, the animal jumped forward, and it was gone, ripping itself away from Black Eagle’s hold.
Instinctively, Marisa screamed, which frightened the animal all the more, and with nothing to hold it back, her mount streaked away from the pack, shooting through the trees and brambles at an alarming rate. Instantly, Marisa’s world changed, centering on her struggle to keep from falling. Her screams faded, and since the night was black as sin, she realized her only option, if she wished to remain alive, was to lean down over the animal, pray that its feet were true, and it would not fall, and hold on for dear life.
She tried to calm the horse with soft words, but it was impossible; over the rain she coul
d not be heard. Besides, she, also, was panicked, and she was afraid her voice might communicate even more fear to the animal.
How long her mount leapt through the forest, inflicting danger to both their lives, she could not be certain. It felt like a lifetime, 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 a shallow stream, 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, 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!”
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 it 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 was stamping through the water, leaping and jumping through 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. Coming 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 opened his arms wide to receive her. She didn’t even think. She threw herself at him.
It was a coming together of bodies. They were both 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 to him that she thought he must be afraid the water would sweep her away.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. 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 her mouth, exploring her as if his most important mission in life were to know her every nook and cranny, not only of her mouth, but of her being as well.
“Please,” he uttered against her lips. “Please say the words to release me from my oath to you. You know I can do nothing more unless you unbind me, and I—”
“Yes. Yes, please. I free you from it.”
He sighed and rested his lips against her cheek.
And then he was kissing her again, as the fingers of one of his hands became free and began to explore her; his palms lingered over her breasts. Suddenly, all her previous protests seemed invalid, and she groaned, pushing herself in closer to him. Indeed, she felt like she couldn’t get close enough to him. His response was to moan deep in his throat, and without preamble, he lifted her skirts to her waist.
Petticoats and chemise became a cushion, welcoming him to her. When his fingers came down to explore the warmth and inner sanctum of her femininity, she swooned against him. He groaned, and the masculine sound urged her further into passion; she mirrored him with a higher-pitched moan.
Her response appeared to drive him mad with passion, and placing his arms around her buttocks, he lifted her over him. It was inevitable. They had already once partaken of the delight that lit the flame between them, 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 with him, savoring each precious moment he was within her.
The rain had turned soft, as though it, too, conspired to bring them together. She moved sensuously, and he thrust into her, out, into her again, over and over, the strength of his arms holding her up so she could fidget in a most time-honored feminine way.
Perhaps it was because of her near escape from death. Or maybe it was closer to the truth to admit there was simply something about this man that excited her. Whatever it was, she wondered if she had ever experienced any happening in her life which was more powerful or more precious.
Excitement was building at the apex of her legs, and having once experienced love’s finale, she recognized the sensation for what it was—a moment of wonder, of pure sexuality. As she pushed toward its peak, her breathing was oddly loud and rapid although, most delightfully, it appeared that what she was experiencing further impassioned him.
She pressed herself upward, her head back, giving herself up to him as he accepted, thrusting within her. And then it happened; she, who was precariously perched on a precipice, tripped over the edge of that elevation, spiraling into a blur of fulfillment.
She strained forward, throwing herself at 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 loved one another, and then he released his seed inside her. She followed him almost simultaneously, reaching her plateau again, crying out into the rain-soaked forest, and he groaned, the sound purely male and erotic.
It was perfect bliss. Indeed, it was sensual beauty, and if she were to be honest, it was love. Defiantly, as the pleasure of sexual satisfaction filled her body, the truth of her feelings rose to confront her forcefully.
She loved this man. It was an inescapable truth; it was also an enormous, terrible thing to realize. For it created more problems for her, and it changed nothing.
She was not so foolish as to deny the wonder of it, however. She loved him. And she need no longer wonder why it felt so right to be in his arms.
Her musings came to an end quickly, for Black Eagle was still hard and full within her. Once again, he stirred against her and within her, and the marvel of his lovemaking began all over again.
Once more he brought her to that precipice; once again she tripped over its edge, ascending, 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. At last he halted long enough to say, “I have never admired another being as much as I do you. And were I different, or you different, I would never walk away from you. But I long ago vowed to help my people, and I…” He left the rest unspoken.
She inhaled deeply, once, then twice, and lifting her chin, so as to give him easy access to her neck, she whispered, “I know. You need say no more.”
It was a strange understanding between them, for she realized that his people were likely as prejudiced as hers, and that he was bound to them. Perhaps it was sinful of her, but his commitment to his tribe suited her. She didn’t want to love this man. Indeed, the realization of her feelings had come as a shock to her, not as a happy r
ecognition.
And yet she too had never felt so much admiration for another living soul. Did this mean that loving him would change the direction of her life? Change her? Make her feel differently toward the institution of marriage?
Never. The idea of shifting her ideas about her future, simply because she loved a man, went against her most basic decisions. She had never wanted a man in her life, didn’t want a man to invade her privacy now, not in any manner. So to contemplate such a reversal of attitude made her feel physically sick. Truly, while her heart expanded with newfound awareness, her stomach twisted.
As his hand touched hers, she looked away, ignoring the tear that caught in her eye. She would never tell him. She might love him for the rest of her earthly existence, but she would never say the words to him. She couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.
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 to ease their hunger. Every now and again, he would stop, take her in his arms and steal a kiss. Not that there was much stealing about it. Unfortunately, for her peace of mind, she was a willing participant.
The empathy that flowed between them was bittersweet, because she knew that this was all they would ever have—this journey to New Hampshire. When it was over, they would go their separate ways. He to lead his people, and she to live her life as a happily unmarried heiress.
On a certain level Marisa realized she was being dishonest with Black Eagle, for she felt great affinity for him. And were she another woman, she might be inclined to say as much to him.
But it was unnecessary. He probably didn’t want to hear a heartfelt declaration anyway. So she found herself voicing instead, “I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”