Brazen Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  The reason for the soldiers’ presence here was all too clear in the Indians’ minds. They slew and maimed with an urgent need to right the wrongs done to them and to prevent future ones. Yells of warning and cries of agony were scattered over this perilous spot. In the beginning, the odds had been fairly even; but as time passed, the odds rapidly swung in the warriors’ favor as the soldiers helplessly fell beneath their superior skills.

  Another fact was petrifyingly clear to Collins: Gray Eagle had personally demanded to battle him. Each warrior he had rushed toward had grinned at him and refused to fight him. Within moments, he was encircled by five warriors who held lances aiming into his body. He was trapped, and no one made any attempt to battle him. Having heard tales of agonizing tortures at the hands of these Indians, Collins feared he knew his imminent fate too clearly. Determined to die quickly, he lunged at several men, only to be driven back into the center of this precarious circle by harmless nicks from those sharp lances.

  “Cowards! Are you afraid to fight me? Does it take five of you to defeat one white man?” he shouted his contemptuous challenges, to no avail. Heart-stopping terror caused him to shudder. He was unable to do anything but watch his entire troop massacred, slain while he helplessly awaited a fate worse than theirs.

  Several soldiers managed to reach their horses and mount them. Two were instantly yanked off to continue a bloody and useless battle. Another soldier screamed with searing pain as his back was stormed by countless arrows. Some escaped with warriors hot in pursuit, resolved no man involved in this incident would survive to participate in another one. From the troop, only three men would live to reach Fort Henry to report their staggering defeat to a white-faced Hodges.

  As Red Cloud forcefully sent his knife into the gut of one soldier, he sneered coldly, “For Turtle Woman, white dog!” Over and over he plunged the blade into the dead man’s body, until Talking Rock jerked him aside and shook him to clear his wits.

  Little Beaver received the most damaging wound as a pistol hurled a ball into his left shoulder. Immediately he was encircled by three warriors, who prevented his death in his weakened condition. “Lie still, Capa Cistinna! Save your strength and blood while we slay the white dogs.”

  Others received minor cuts and scrapes, but nothing serious. Soon, all Bluecoats lay dead or dying, except Collins. No one offered aid to those writhing in agony or supplied a release from their torturous fates. When all was settled, the other warriors slipped into the circle around Collins, ever increasing the circumference of its menacing fence of awesome points.

  Collins whirled this way and that, watching the self-assured warriors with rising alarm. The warriors would taunt him with laughter and sneers each time he plunged forward to entice one to stab him, only to find himself shoved backwards without a single injury.

  With only groans of pain to sever the silence, an opening appeared in the wall of truculent foes. The towering, bronze figure that stepped forward needed no introduction; it was none other than the mighty Eagle himself. The circle closed instantly behind him. Collins stiffened in dread. What would they do to him? His knees trembled with weakness, threatening to give way.

  “What are you waiting for, you savage?” Collins’ shaky voice demanded with false courage.

  Gray Eagle smiled, mocking the vulnerable man who had dared to think of attacking his camp and slaying all who lived there. As if he possessed all the time in the world, Gray Eagle leisurely removed his breastplate of linked eagle-bones. Next, he casually removed his moccasins and wanapin. As he stood barefoot and clad in long buckskin pants, Collins wondered at his curious actions. Each item was passed to the warrior behind Gray Eagle and set upon the ground outside the circle. Assuming a spread-legged stance, Gray Eagle merely stared at Collins!

  Collins struggled as he abruptly found himself imprisoned by several warriors who did nothing more than remove his shirt, hat, and boots! The human circle was completed once more. Collins glanced down in bewilderment, clad only in his deep blue pants. “What the hell are you pulling, Gray Eagle?” he nervously shouted.

  The hearty laughter that left the robust chest of the stalwart warrior sent chills over Collins’ lean and flexible body. Without warning, a heavy knife was tossed at his feet. Collins stared at the shiny weapon, but made no move to grab it. As a cobra before the hypnotic flutist, he observed the legendary warrior with intrigue and fascination.

  A knife gleamed brightly in the right hand of Gray Eagle, the whiteness of his teeth sparkling just as brightly as he smiled ominously at the confused white man. “So, the legend fears one measly Bluecoat,” Collins taunted.

  “Gray Eagle fears no man, Indian or white, surely not a groveling dog like Collins,” the vital voice mocked him in distinct English! “You wished to challenge and destroy Gray Eagle. Here is your chance. Do you only murder innocent women and children? Where is your pride and courage now, Bluecoat?”

  Collins went stark white and shuddered: “You speak English?” he hoarsely inquired, utterly shocked by this unknown ability.

  “I speak the tongue of white dogs. You have challenged me, Collins. Fight for your life. No warrior will help me. If you conquer Gray Eagle, you go free. If you fail, you die by my hand alone.”

  Astonished by this news, Collins sneered, “I don’t believe you! If I kill you, they’ll torture me, and we both know it!”

  “I give my word of honor you go free if you defeat me. I speak no lies as white dogs do. If you cower in fear and refuse, I will let my warriors punish you for days until you die. It is a leader’s right to be slain only by another leader. It will be so; Gray Eagle has spoken.”

  “You’re saying if I kill you, I’ll be set free?” Collins pressed smugly.

  “I give my word. Fight for your life and honor, white-eyes.

  Collins leaned forward and picked up the knife, his gaze never leaving Gray Eagle’s. “Then come and take me, you filthy savage.”

  “The fight is to the death, white dog,” Gray Eagle needlessly taunted, stepping forward.

  Such struggles were familiar to Gray Eagle. He observed the white man closely. “Let’s just see if you’re as good as they claim,” Collins murmured, studying the man intently.

  Each man knew that a split-second delay in his reactions could cost him his life. A fighter needed to be on constant alert. Their eyes met and fused, never leaving each other’s face. Both men dropped forward to stooped positions, feet apart, arms and hands hanging loose, and knees bent and flexed. Collins’ face shouted his hatred, while the warrior’s remained impassive. Torchlight offered a dazzling view of animosity and glittering blades.

  They slowly and thoughtfully circled each other, each assessing the weaknesses and strengths of his competitor. Collins shouted and slashed out at Gray Eagle, missing his nimble foe, who easily dodged the thrust. Gray Eagle laughed merrily, making no attempt to send his blade home too quickly, playing with the life of his enemy.

  Fury filled Collins. He knew without a shadow of doubt that he was no match or competition for this powerful Indian. Half-crouching, Collins began a new attack. He half-turned to throw the warrior off guard, then rapidly whirled and kicked at his groin as he lashed out with his knife. Gray Eagle chuckled as he parried the blows and sliced into Collins’ left arm. Collins gaped at the swift flow of blood down his arm, then glared at the grinning Indian.

  “You bastard! I’ll kill you for that!” he thundered, rage inspiring strength and daring.

  “Words cannot slay Gray Eagle.” The taunt stung his ears.

  Collins badly and desperately flirted with death, practically begging the noble warrior to end this charade. Gray Eagle refused to comply, dancing in and out as he nipped at the soldier’s body. Shiny beads of moisture shone upon Collins’ chest and face, while Gray Eagle’s revealed none. Collins knew he was going to die, but he vowed to strike some injury upon his enemy’s body first. Collins’ upper torso was bare, and his numerous wounds could be viewed. Suddenly, feeling himself
clothed in a liquid red shirt, he realized the warrior’s sport at his expense: harmless slashes upon his chest, back, and arms.

  Easily evading and injuring his foe, Gray Eagle knew the folly of distraction and excessive pride. A wounded animal was exceedingly dangerous. Collins was showing signs of fatigue and strain. It was difficult not to flaunt his superiority and imminent triumph. Muscles taut and cramped, Collins searched for some devious ploy to assist him.

  The ultimate insult came when Gray Eagle dauntlessly tossed his knife aside and dared Collins to defeat him! “You arrogant snake!”

  Collins came forward as Gray Eagle motioned him to do so. In the flicker of an eye, the knife was knocked from his grasp and his body hit the hard ground. He jumped up, his weapon out of reach. He lunged at the Indian, his breathing labored. Grunts of exertion came forth as they struggled. Acutely aware of his waning strength and the persistence of his rival, Collins fought wildly.

  “Shall I halt while you pick up your knife, white dog? You are weak as a child without it,” the puissant warrior scoffed.

  “If you’re fool enough to give me the advantage, why not?” Collins sneered, going for his weapon.

  Collins raced forward, the knife held high. Gray Eagle seized his wrist and twisted forcefully, drawing a cry of pain from the white man’s pale lips. The blow into Gray Eagle’s stomach never fazed him, but Collins’ fist ached. When the warrior followed his lead and delivered a staggering blow into his gut, Collins doubled over in agony. But as he went forward, he thrust his head into Gray Eagle’s stomach. For the first time, the puissant warrior went down. Collins was upon him in a flash, the knife hurling down toward his exposed heart.

  Before Collins knew what had happened, he was lying upon his back beneath the warrior, his hands pinned to his sides with the warrior straddling him. Collins resisted as Gray Eagle imprisoned one arm beneath his powerful knee. Catching his wrist in a grip of iron, Gray Eagle raised the hand holding the knife. His ebony eyes glued to Collins’ horror-filled blue ones as he began to lower the knife. When Collins attempted to loosen his grasp upon the weapon, Gray Eagle’s hands squeezed over his to prevent his release.

  “For a man who slays helpless women and children, you fear death greatly. Die in honor, white dog, for you never lived in it.”

  Collins thrashed to no avail as the gleaming steel was plunged into his heart by his own hand. He gaped at the warrior above him as the racking agony ended his life. His body went limp. Gray Eagle released his grip upon the dead man’s hands, sending the shout of victory into the oppressive silence.

  He stood up. “We ride for home, Oglala,” was all he said after this stunning victory.

  Shalee sat upon the stony ground with her forehead resting upon her raised knees, arms tightly encircling her legs. Her eyes were closed as she fervently prayed for the survival of her love. Time seemed to cease its passage as she awaited his fate. Sensing the importance of this span of time, everyone was still and silent.

  “The warriors come!” went up the excited and elated shout.

  Shalee’s head jerked upwards; her eyes welled with tears. She could not pull her gaze from that of her husband as he strolled forward, his attention and gaze on her alone. Relief surged through her body, compelling her to her feet. With a cry of joy, she raced into his open arms.

  He gathered her tightly against him and refused to release her for a long time. “It is over, Little One, for now.”

  Other cheerful warriors came forward to greet their loved ones and to take them back to camp. Shalee couldn’t bring herself to inquire about the fates of the soldiers. Gray Eagle did not tell her he had placed their bodies upon their horses and ordered several braves to take them to within sight of Fort Henry as a warning against future treachery.

  When Running Wolf was safely placed in his tepee under the watchful eye of the medicine chief, Gray Eagle took the hands of his wife and son and entered his own tepee. After their son had finally tired of hearing the tales of the day’s cunning and battles, he fell asleep in his father’s arms. Gray Eagle lay him upon his sleeping mat, gazing down in love and relief. No matter what future his first son chose, he would always love and respect him.

  He turned to find Shalee’s yearning look upon him. He came to join her upon their mat. As a smoldering green gaze fused with an igneous ebony one, they knew words could come later, much later. He reached for her and drew her close. Her eyes searched his lithe frame for any sign of injury. Finding nothing to mar its beauty, she smiled contentedly.

  He pressed her down to the furry mat and kissed her thoroughly. As if to prove they had forever to live and to love, they came together in leisurely ecstasy, gradually feeding their smoldering embers until they flamed with blazing desire. His mouth savored the sweet taste of her lips and breasts, teasing each in turn. His warm hands stroked her slender, shapely body. She felt tense, yet utterly relaxed. She felt fiery, yet blissfully cool. Her body raged with delightful torment, yet it relished intense pleasure. She enjoyed this heady feeding, yet she ached with hunger. He was rapture, yet torture. How she loved this man who had stolen her heart so long ago.

  As he explored her body, she reveled in the feel of his vital flesh. His movements were deliciously slow and deliberately enticing. She yielded her all to his masterful onslaught. As their inferno built to an explosive level, he whispered his love to her many times. When he could halt the stormy tide no longer, it ravaged his control and shook them with sublime rapture. They clung together in fierce love and sailed along upon the now peaceful sea of brazen ecstasy.

  When she lay curled into his arms, she started to tell him about Running Wolf and Leah. He silenced her with a kiss first, then with, “Sleep now, my love. We will talk of such matters with the new sun.”

  Exhausted, they slept until dawn announced her new face. The day began with recountings of their recent triumphs. The council met very early that morning. It was decided to attempt another buffalo hunt while the Bluecoats licked their wounds and regained their strength.

  “First, we hunt buffalo. Then, the Blackfoot will join us for the Sun Dance. We must strike while the Bluecoats sleep from our wounds.”

  Shalee glanced up to discover White Arrow’s lingering gaze upon Wandering Doe, who timidly returned his smile. Happiness filled her heart as she nudged her husband. Their gazes met and fused knowingly. “Soon, our brother will know the love and joy we share,” he remarked.

  Hand in hand, they strolled along. When they stopped to talk, Gray Eagle asked, “What happened while I chased our enemies?”

  Shalee pondered how much she should tell him. She began cautiously, praying he would not suspect the critical point she would be compelled to overlook: Powchutu. She described the fight with Leah and Running Wolf’s courageous rescue. She exposed Leah’s treacherous scheme. He smiled as those words struck a happy nerve. She ended her narration with the episode of Sturgis. Finding this event curious, Gray Eagle’s full attention centered upon its meaning.

  “You believed his words of peace?” he probed in a strange tone.

  “Yes. He could have slain me and allowed us to die.”

  “I was there to protect you and the others,” he corrected her.

  “I did not know you were near, nor did he,” she added softly.

  “That is so. Still, a white man cannot be trusted.”

  “What about men like Joe Kenny and those two you allowed to escape?” she hinted gravely, pointing out his inconsistency.

  “As always, Grass Eyes, you speak wisely and gently. Some whites are not bad,” he conceded lightly.

  She laughed merrily. “If they did not fear the shadow of the mighty Eagle and his hatred, other whites would lean toward peace. If you but hinted at truce, others would jump with joy.”

  “Your eyes cloud with wishful dreams, Little One. Gray Eagle is the Indian to them, not just a man.”

  “You can never be just a man, my love. You stand above others and all know this. If not for your prowess,
the tribes would war separately against their mutual foe. You alone fuse them into one awesome force, which the whites fear. To make truce with you is to entice truce from others. They know you as leader; they must win your favor first. Many winters ago you told me one man could not control the destiny of many peoples. But you are such a man. Where you lead, others follow. What you suggest, others listen to. The word of Gray Eagle is powerful. Only you possess the means to inspire peace.”

  “You wish me to parlay with this Sturgis?” he asked quietly.

  “I wish our sons to know life as you once knew it. Only peace with the white man can offer this. They will never be driven out and kept out forever. Peace is the only path to walk now. The destiny of the Indian is within your hands, my love. Ask the Great Spirit to guide you in this grave matter. Listen to His words, not the resentment in your own heart. Those who have died cannot return to us, but the lives of others can be spared. Is peace so impossible?”

  “When we have hunted and returned, I will seek a vision from Wakantanka during the Sun Dance. If He so wills, I will parlay with Sturgis.”

  She hugged him until he laughed. “I cannot promise peace, Shalee, only to seek the will of the Great Spirit,” he added, chuckling.

  “That is all I ask, my love,” she whispered tenderly.

  The following weeks passed swiftly in laborious activity. This time, only a few hunting parties left camp at the same time. Braves were sent along to guard them, while one band of warriors guarded the camp. Three weeks later, the first buffalo hunt was completed with great success and without any hostile incidents.

  The camp was busy with preparations for the Sun Dance and victory celebration when two events took place: Word came from Sturgis about a meeting between himself and Gray Eagle, and Leaning Bush was placed upon the death scaffold. White Arrow politely waited for a week’s mourning to pass before he approached Wandering Doe for her hand in joining, but not before she had politely rejected Talking Rock’s proposal. Still agonizing over the loss of his wife, Talking Rock readily accepted her refusal, also having learned of the affection between White Arrow and this girl.