Black Eagle

by Karen Kay

  Soon, the lone figure of a man emerged from the forest. Buckskin-clad, he was tall and brown skinned, with long, black hair that hung well past his shoulders. He’d been hunting this day, very far from his home, and from deep within the forest, he’d felt the breeze and heard the rustle of the water. It had called to him.

  Stepping quietly toward the water, he looked up, his gaze one of admiration for all this, the splendor of the woodlands. Squatting down and setting his musket onto his lap, he bent over to partake of a drink from the water’s cool depths.

  Instantly he sat up, alert. From out of the corner of his eye, he’d caught movement, and glancing toward it, he recognized the image of a piece of clothing—a woman’s skirt waving in the wind. Rising, he stepped toward it to get a better look, if only to satisfy his curiosity.

  That’s when he saw a white woman, blonde-haired and slim.

  Was she alive?

  After hauling himself up onto the rock where she lay, he bent over her. He placed his fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. Her body was cold, so very, very cold, and he was more than a little surprised when he felt the sure sign of life within her.

  The pulse was weak, but it was still there.

  Turning her over, he was surprised at her pale beauty. Of course, being Seneca and from the Ohio Valley, he’d had opportunity to witness the unusual skin color of the white people. But it wasn’t as familiar a sight to him as one might reckon.

  Who was she? How had she gotten here? And what had happened to her?

  Glancing in all directions, he took in the spectacular sights of the forest. Where did she belong? Who did she belong to?

  But there was nothing to be seen, no other human presence to be felt within the immediate environment. There was nothing here but the ever-expansive rhythm of nature.

  Using his right hand to brush her hair back from her face, he noted again how cold she was, but he couldn’t help but be aware of how soft her skin was as well. Putting his fingers under her nostrils, he could feel the weak intake and outflow of breath. She was alive, but only just. If she were to live through the night, he had best get her to a place where he could nurse her.

  Taking her up in his arms, he stepped off the rock and headed into the forest. If he hurried, he could make it to a good spot before darkness fell.

  Then hopefully he could find out who she was…if she lived.

  “Did you find her?”

  Black Eagle knelt in front of Marisa, gathered her into his arms and brought her up to her knees, where he drew her body in toward his. He caressed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, as though she were a precious gift from the gods, then he commenced kissing her face, her neck, her hair.

  Though he was worried and rushed, for he was aware that the enemy would be looking for them, he first had a duty toward this woman. He dreaded telling her what he must, but there was no use hiding the facts from her.

  “Neh, no, I did not find her,” said Black Eagle at last, holding Marisa tightly against him. “There is no sign of Miss Sarah. I fear she has washed away to her death.”

  “No!” Marisa caught hold of him, her grasp so strong it left red marks on his arm. “No! I refuse to believe it!”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “I know she is alive. I know it!”

  “If you desire, we can stay in this place a little longer, and I will continue searching for her.”

  “Yes, please. You would do that?”

  “I will.”

  “Perhaps I can help.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He took note that Ahweyoh was cold, that she was shivering, and in order to restore some warmth to her body, he rubbed her arms up and down. She responded to him in an unusual manner. At first, she remained mute, simply receiving his attention, but then slowly she came alive, and her lips began an intimate exploration of him, there against his throat. Her fingers wound into his hair and brushed against his scalp, and he thought that if possible, he might likely choose to remain here like this if he could.

  At the very least, after the nightmare of Thompson’s betrayal, as well as the ordeal of the rapids and falls, her attention toward him was a little like stepping into a bit of paradise. Mayhap the Creator, in His wisdom, was tempering the horrors of this day with some semblance of honor and love.

  Black Eagle groaned, and she whispered, “I thank the dear Lord that you are alive, and I thank you for following me into the falls. You could have easily left me to my fate.”

  “Not possible.”

  “I fear to disagree. It would have been more than possible.”

  He shook his head. “Not and remain true to you and to myself. Besides, whatever may come between us in the future matters little when I care for you. Yes, I am bound by the rules and mores of my people, but it doesn’t follow that I do not love you, for I do. Whether I like it or not, whether you like it or not, your fate is also my own.”

  She gulped, then whispered, “I have been wrong, Black Eagle. I have been very wrong.”

  “Shhhh,” he uttered. “Do not try to talk.”

  “No, I must. You have been right. It is not true that one person is another person’s better because of birth. The English think of the Indian as beneath them, not worthy or smart enough to have rights. Yet look at you. Look at me. I would not be here but for you. How can I ever thank you properly?”

  He nuzzled his head into her neck. “I think that you are going about it in a very good way right now.”

  “Truly?” As if his words gave her courage, she ventured outward in her exploration of him, her kisses seeking out his cheeks, his eyes and nose, his lips. Her hands twined in his hair, and she confided, “I thought to never see you again, and were that to have been so, my feeling of loss would have been beyond endurance. How happy I am that you are here, and that I am here, and that we are together.”

  “I too. I too.” He returned her embrace, kissing her, deeply, lovingly, sacredly.

  It had been said by the elders that if a man saves another from a certain death, the rescued person belongs thereafter to that man. But, wise though this philosophy was, he felt the opposite was true for him.

  He belonged to her. And since he could never marry her, he, like she, would probably never marry. How could he when she would hold his heart for all his life?

  In his adoration of her, his tongue ranged into her mouth, withdrew from it, then reached in again, exploring the depths of her, thrilling to the clean taste of her. Once more, he groaned. And when she surged forward against him, he met her every movement.

  She whispered, “Black Eagle, I little understand how it is possible after all that we have been through today, but I fear that I want…love.” When she added, “Do you object?” he thought he might likely go out of his head.

  “Object? What sane man would object to an act of love?”

  “I am glad to hear that you’re willing.” Her touch was broadening out in her survey of him, her palms extending lower and lower, down to his chest, which at present was bare. Sometime today, somehow, he’d lost his shirt. He hadn’t really taken note of the fact until this very moment. But he was glad of it. There was nothing to stand between his skin and hers.

  “There is a tattoo here on your chest and the same on your arms, as well.”

  “So there are.”

  “They are wolves.”

  “It is my clan.”

  She nodded. Farther and farther down her touch ranged, her fingers coming to linger over his very erect, arousingly male nipples. He shuddered with delight. And when her lips followed where her fingers led, he growled deep in his throat.

  “I want you to love me,” she murmured, as she rose to run her tongue over his lips. “I want to know in as elemental a way possible that you are, indeed, real.”

  “I already love you. But I will make love to you, if onl
y to demonstrate that we are still here, still in one another’s arms.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Her fingers fell down over him, to sweep away his breechcloth, hesitating over his stiff and erect manhood. She groaned, and if possible, his hardening expanded. He might have brought her up over him, but she had already taken charge, and she moved into position so she was straddling him. Bringing up her skirts, she settled herself down over him, joining their bodies in a most rudimentary way.

  She sighed, and he moaned. Then she began to move against him sensuously, and bending toward him, she kissed his lips while her tongue delved deeply into his mouth, exploring his taste as thoroughly as he had many times done to her.

  He was, indeed, a willing and active recipient of all she had to give, and he let her take the lead until soon he felt her begin that inevitable spiral toward release. It was an exquisite plateau she sought, and as her need for his strength consumed her, he took over command of their lovemaking, surging up within her. All the while his tongue swept the inner sanctum of her mouth, mirroring the active admiration of their bodies.

  She grabbed hold of his shoulders, and her squirming took on a sensuality that had him spiraling out of control. He felt her plunging from that precipice, felt her release, and almost instantaneously he was bursting within her.

  But it wasn’t over. As their bodies clung to one another, they became as one, together soaring upward above their physical being. Never had he felt so close to another human being. Nor had he ever experienced being so close to eternity, as though by the act of love, some secret that bound them to this earth was revealed.

  With her, worlds opened to him. With her, he felt capable of anything. He loved her.

  When she whispered, “I love you. I will love you always,” it felt as if the whole world had shifted.

  He smiled, and bringing her head down to his, he kissed her long and hard. Words escaped him. And in the end, all he said was, “I too. I too.”

  They must have dozed momentarily in each other’s arms, for his manhood was still within her when he awakened suddenly. Alert, he listened, but he could hear little but the rush of the rapids. “We must leave here at once and seek shelter.” He kissed her gently, then pushed her up, disengaging himself from her.

  “Yes.” She settled her skirts around her and moved to sit at his side. “I do have a question I forgot to ask. Did you find any sign of Thompson?”

  Black Eagle grimaced. “I found nothing of him. No trail, no clue, not even a remnant of his clothing.”

  As she straightened, she said, “At least I now understand why there were so many accidents on the trail.”

  “Yes, I fear he was the cause. But come, we must move along. We are not yet in a safe place. Can you walk?”

  She nodded. “Where will we go?”

  “Not far. But because our enemies will look for us, we have need to discover a place that will be so well hidden, it will disappear into the landscape. The Ottawa will not give up our trail easily, I think, and they will send their scouts out looking for us, so I must build us a shelter very well. Know this, it is one matter to try to fool the white man into not seeing what is there before him—it is another to try to trick an Indian scout.”

  She sighed. “I suppose you are right, but won’t they think we’re dead? Why are they so persistent?”

  “Because we killed four of their own. They will not forget easily. By now they will have discovered that there are no bodies, except perhaps that of Miss Sarah.”

  Marisa caught her breath.

  “They may, even now, be searching the ground for clues as to what has happened to us. If we remain here, they will certainly find us, and our fate will be sure and exact. We must go.” Arising, he helped her to her feet. “We must go quickly. Can you run?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then come. We had best find a good place to erect a shelter. It may take some time.” With this said, Black Eagle headed into the woods. “Lift your skirts,” he said to her before he broke into a run. “The material you wear tears easily and could leave a trail.”

  She nodded, and then they were away.

  They had literally run through the forest, sweeping over paths that weren’t really paths, jumping over logs and branches, looking for what, Marisa could only conjecture. They climbed up a steep hill, ran down into the surrounding valley. And still they didn’t stop.

  With each footfall, Marisa became more and more concerned over Sarah’s fate. It seemed to her that they were traveling far away. Were they leaving her behind?

  At last she had to know, and she called out to Black Eagle, who was far ahead of her in the lead. “Sir Eagle, how will we ever find Sarah, if we go so far away from the water?”

  With her question, Black Eagle stopped his forward progress and turned back toward her. Patiently, he waited for her to catch up to him, and then said, “We have not traveled far from the falls. I am circling the lake and the rapids, looking for a part of the environment which will enable me to make a shelter that will not be easily recognized for what it is.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiled at her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” she said at once, not realizing that she was until he mentioned it.

  Motioning to her to come close, he opened a bag that hung from his shoulder, and he offered her the pemmican within it. She took a handful, and plopping it in her mouth, she chewed. The dried meat, which was mixed with fat and berries, tasted wonderful, more pleasing it seemed than the richest meal she’d ever eaten. It was so good, she observed, “I’m surprised this didn’t get soaked by our escapade in the water.”

  “It is a little wet.”

  “Hardly. ’Tis very appealing,” she said between bites.

  He smiled at her and bent down to steal a kiss. However, no more had he done so, than he was straightening up, and he was happily grinning. But he wasn’t looking at her.

  “There.” He pointed. “There is what I’ve been looking for.”

  She gazed in the direction he indicated, but she could see nothing that could bring such delight. “Truly?”

  “Nyoh, and it is all because of you. Come, I will show you our new home.”

  It was ingenious. It was simply brilliant. A large elm tree had fallen on its side, leaving a gap of about four feet between its trunk and the ground. Branches were spread out everywhere over the earth.

  Looking at it in the raw, Marisa was less than pleased. Were they to spend the night inside a tree?

  But that was before Black Eagle went on to erect a shelter. First he cut off some of the tree’s upper branches, then he spread them sideways over the trunk, which created a lean-to, complete with enough branches over the top to form a roof. The real stroke of genius came in the form of scattering other branches over the ground, around and over the shelter, so that the hideaway literally disappeared into its surroundings.

  Further landscaping with limbs, leaves and tufts of grass hid the shelter even more by simply making it appear to be a part of the tree. Inside the shelter, pine boughs became their floor, while tree bark he had carefully cut from the bottom of the elm tree provided them with a ceiling.

  Their door also consisted of tree bark. So, too, the walls of their shelter.

  Black Eagle then went back to the stream to fill one of his bags with water, while another bag that he carried with him contained enough pemmican to see them through several days.

  The shelter wasn’t large—it was only about four feet in height—but it was big enough and long enough to allow them to lie fully down. That it was also warm and waterproof made it a bit of a haven in the wilderness.

  Black Eagle had no more than set up the structure, than he left, giving her strict instructions to be quiet and to make no fire. It was to be his task, he told her, to backtrack and erase their trail from the forest floor.

&n
bsp; She meant to busy herself with little tasks, making their shelter more habitable, but in the end, she capitulated to the tiredness of her body, and it wasn’t until Black Eagle crawled into their shelter that she awakened.

  “It is I,” he announced, and scooted in through their doorway.

  It was dark inside the shelter, and she realized she had slept the rest of the afternoon and evening away. Streams of moonlight filtered in through a few of the openings in their ceiling and walls, making Black Eagle barely visible to her. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she said, “Welcome home.”

  “Ah, that it were really true. That we could share a home together and that I was returning from the hunt, loaded with game to serve us for many a supper in the months ahead.”

  She smiled. “It does sound quite lovely, doesn’t it?”

  “Nyoh. But now that we are alone and are safe from our enemies—at least for the night—I would look at you more closely. Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Let me see.” His hands came out to run over her head, over to her face, on down to her neck, her shoulders, her back, down lower still. He threw up her skirts and felt her legs, down her calf muscles to her feet.

  “Nothing hurts?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “It is good. I am glad.”

  She paused, then asked, “Did you see signs of the Ottawa?”

  “Neh, but that is not necessarily a good sign. Their scouts will be almost undetectable. I can only hope that this structure I built will avoid their notice. But we should prepare ourselves by loading our guns, sharpening our knives and hatchets and making ready anything else we will need to protect ourselves.”

  She nodded.

  “When I am out tomorrow searching for your friend, you can do this.”

  “Yes.”

  “But now, much as I would desire to make love to you all night long, I think it best we get some sleep.”