Immediately, livid prints appeared on her ashen cheeks. She quivered like a leaf in a strong March wind. Her panic-stricken face drained of al its remaining color, except for the bright red prints on her cheeks and the bruises already forming on her delicate cheekbones. Her lips were slightly parted and dry. She breathed in erratic, shalow pants. He released her and stepped back a few paces.
He held out his hand to her, repeating his previous command and daring her to refuse again. She stared at the outstretched hand as if it were a snake about to strike. She raised her hands to touch her stinging cheeks. She stared incredulously at the man she had come to love and fear above al others. Too terrified to refuse, she extended a cold, quivering hand to him.
Yielding to his command and power would not be enough this time. The look in her eyes and on her face moments before demanded to be punished and corrected. He captured her hand in a grip of iron and began to bend her fingers backwards. He would wipe out any and al defiance left in her this very night. Never would she look at him that way again, nor treat him with such open disrespect and hostility. She would see and feel what it was like to push him too far.
In his fury, he increased the pressure as his eyes blazed into hers. Knuckles cracked loud in the stil silence. Pains shot into her hers. Knuckles cracked loud in the stil silence. Pains shot into her wrist and up her forearm. Furiously, he vowed, you wil not fight or resist me this way, Little One. You wil do as I command without hesitation.
Once more, she gazed pleadingly at White Arrow in agony and fear. He watched the scene in suppressed hostility and rage, but dared not interfere. She comprehended she could expect no help from him. Her eyes returned to Gray Eagle’s face. She recaled the night in the smokehouse clearly and knew it would not do any good to beg or apologize. He would do as he wished. Tears blinded her vision and she had to blink several times to clear it. She determined he would have to break her hand before she would grovel further to him, like some whimpering, beaten animal. Why did he receive so much pleasure from her suffering?
Incensed, her other hand flew up to slap him. Before the blow landed, he easily captured it in the same viselike hold. Inflamed at her daring action, he increased the pressure again. He could not believe she had dared to strike him. Would he be forced to break her hand before he broke her wil? Why could she not learn her lesson and yield to his greater power and position?
Thankfuly, only White Arrow had seen this audacious outburst. The penalty for striking a chief or his son meant certain death! Would she never fear or respect him so much that she would cease this futile and foolish struggle?
She bit into her cheek to keep from crying out. Blood began to flow from the corner of her mouth and eased down her chin. You must yield and beg mercy, he vowed. I wil have it no other way!
It took every ounce of her wilpower to remain silent. He gritted his teeth and tightened his hold, increasing the tension. He wondered just how much more she could stand before giving up. wondered just how much more she could stand before giving up. Her bravery and determination annoyed, yet pleased him. But it also angered him to be forced to continue this display of power. As he applied more pressure, she began to kneel in hopes of reducing or weakening his grip. By the time she was to the ground on her knees, he had eased to one knee, staying just close enough to retain his hold and the pressure.
“The past few days have al been lies and tricks! You stil hate me as much as ever. You wil never alow me to penetrate that wal around your heart. That is, if you even have one. I wil not beg mercy from you this time, Wanmdi Hota. You’l have to crush both my hands before I yield. I hate you! You’re a savage! A bloody savage! I’l never belong to you, ever! I’l die before I let you touch me again.” She accused boldly, “Murderer! Kiler of women and children! Beast! One day, I’l cut your evil, black heart out with your own knife!” She yeled at him in anger and pain, hoping he could grasp a few of the words, or at least their tone and meaning. Disregarding the Indian custom, Chela threw the flap aside and entered at that heated moment. She had heard the angry voices coming from inside his teepee and could not resist the chance to see Alisha punished or shamed. She smiled sardonicaly as she witnessed the duel of wils, knowing who the victor would be. She was surprised and angered he did not kil her immediately for her actions. He is too easy with this white whore, she fumed. He wil be sorry for this one day and for the way he has shamed me before the other women. He is mine and no other wil have him … no one…
She looked at the determination and rage on his face, and the suffering and defiance on the white girl’s. This was more than she had hoped for. He would see now he must kil or trade her. His pride demanded he break her spirit and wil first. She felt heat pride demanded he break her spirit and wil first. She felt heat spring inside her loins and fil her with desire as she watched him hungrily. His hard muscles rippled with each movement. He possessed a spirit no other warrior could compare with. She watched the handsome face with the crooked half-smile and the flashing, angry, black eyes, the color of darkest night. Her ebony eyes caressed his body like a physical touch. I must have you soon, Cante, she thought. These fires which burn within me wil surely go wild if they are not fed! How can you desire a white whore over your chosen one? She must be destroyed to end this magic she casts over your eyes.
Chela remained at White Arrow’s side watching happily.
“What has the ska winyan done to lose favor with him? Is he going to kil her? He must!” She boldly taunted, “How much longer wil the greatest Oglala warrior yield to a mere ska witkowin?”
White Arrow whirled to face her in disbelief and anger. He ordered her to silence and respect. His look momentarily did just that. He looked forward again. Chela continued to glare icily at him. Comprehending his true meaning, she hissed, “She has you under her magic also. You wil both regret the day you found her and brought her here. She wil only bring trouble and an evil curse. If he cannot find the courage to kil her, then he must trade her to the Cheyenne. She must not remain here.”
She stared at him contemptuously, then sauntered over to Gray Eagle’s side. She encouraged more pain and suffering for the white girl she hated above al others. Sarcasticaly, she implored,
“Let me help you, Cante. I wil happily cut her to pieces. I can remove that face which blinds you both. A few cuts and scars and she wil no longer be so beautiful and desirable.”
At Chela’s appearance and the sound of her vindictive, At Chela’s appearance and the sound of her vindictive, venomous voice, Alisha stiffened in renewed determination. She would not yield before them. Gray Eagle saw the new spark of fire and rebelion in Alisha’s face and eyes, and was furious at Chela’s appearance.
Soon, the pain became excruciating and she knew she could not hold out much longer. He saw the flickering of doubt and hastily pressed his advantage.
In desperation, she struggled to think of some diversion. Noting the smirk on Chela’s face, she thought, I wil teach that cruel, selfish girl a lesson of my own. I wil tempt him right before her eyes. Recaling how she had seen Chela flirt with him in front of her, she copied her actions.
Softening her gaze and tone, she spoke to him, “I love you, Wanmdi Hota. No matter how much you hurt me or hate me. I have loved you since the first time I saw you.” A note of pride tinged her voice and face as she continued with the first thing that came to mind. “You stood there so proud and daring that day, chalenging them with your very presence and power. How I wanted you, without even knowing it or why. But in time, I wil escape from you, for you wil never forgive or forget that I am white and your enemy. Why must it be so, Wanmdi Hota? Why did you act as though you wanted me al these weeks? Why did you alow me to believe I could… that we could… no matter now…” As she pressed her body to his, her eyes searched his for a flicker of hope. She tried to concentrate on anything other than the pain in her hands and Chela’s chattering voice. She wanted to scream at her to shut up and to leave. She whispered to him, so close he could feel the win
d from her breath, “I would gladly have been your slave if you did not force me to endure the torture of my people. I could you did not force me to endure the torture of my people. I could love you with al my heart if you would only alow it…” She leaned forward and shocked them al by kissing him passionately and boldly.
Chela went wild with rage and jealousy. She grabbed Alisha’s hair and yanked fiercely, puling her away from him. She screamed at Alisha, “Witkowin! How dare you? He is mine! I wil kil you for this insult.”
Without a change in his expression or position, Gray Eagle spoke to White Arrow, “Wanhinkpe Ska, get her out before I kil her.”
Chela released Alisha’s hair and stared dumbfounded at him. The deadly calm of his tone told her he meant what he said, but stil she questioned, “Surely you would not punish or kil me because of this ska witkowin? What is she but a kaskapi and witkowin? Do I hear you right?” She glared at him in fury, chalenging him to deny her words or defend himself. He did neither.
He did not respond to her accusations in any way as White Arrow dragged her out of the teepee. Boldly, she fought, kicked, and cursed him as she hurled insults and threats at al of them. He would deal with Chela later. Right now, there were more important things at hand. His obsidian eyes bored into Alisha’s. Unable to resist any longer, her resolve crumbled and she wept openly. She wondered why she had not been fuly aware of his sadistic nature by now. Hadn’t she been shown enough evidence of it?
She moistened her dry lips and swalowed her pride. Solemnly, she spoke, “I am no match against your strength or hatred, Wanmdi Hota. If it matters at al, I yield.”
She could not check the flow of tears which folowed her She could not check the flow of tears which folowed her submission. As they streamed down her cheeks, she lowered her head in defeat and despair.
His victory concluded, he released his grip. She gently massaged her hands and wrists as the tears dropped onto them. Time passed, but he did not move away or speak. He lifted her chin with his fingers and gazed into it, trying to decide how much to believe of what she had said. Were her words only lies brought out by her pain or as a taunt? Why should it even matter what she thought or felt? But for some reason, it did.
Reading the suffering in her emerald eyes, he knew he should have controled his anger. He should not have struck out at her so brutaly. Were her feelings so wrong or her actions so unexpected?
Perhaps she would not have fought him if she had known why the prisoners had to die. But he would and could not be placed in a position of explaining his judgments and actions to her or any winyan. She must accept these things without defiance or questions. She looked sadly into his eyes and asked, “Why do you hate me so much, Wanmdi Hota? What have I done to you that you want to hurt me this way? Is it only because I am white? If only you could talk to me, or I to you, then you could tel me how to stop this hatred between us. There is so much I do not know or understand. If only I could hate you as you hate me…”
Her words and torment cut deeply into his heart. He was tempted to tel her everything, but could not. Fora time, he wished he were not Wanmdi Hota, but only a man. But man cannot change who or what he is and what he must do. He puled her into his embrace and held her tightly for a long time. Can she not feel or know that I do not hate her? he anguished. Can she not see this is how things must be for now and accept it? If only I were freed from how things must be for now and accept it? If only I were freed from my obligations and responsibilities to my people, then I could tel her the truth and reveal my love to her.
Alisha was bewildered by his fierce embrace and brooding silence after what had just taken place between them. He was as changeable as the winds. One minute he was as violent and destructive as the monsoon; the next, as warm and gentle as a prairie breeze.
Her battle-weary spirit offered no resistance. What good did it do to fight him? He was always the victor in their wars. Besides, she needed this smal comfort he offered. She wilingly and limply melted into his arms and clung to him, maybe for the last time, she grieved.
He is probably deciding my fate right now, she thought, and there is nothing I can do to influence it in any way. Abruptly, he released her and left quickly, without a word or backward look. She sat staring at the trembling flap for a time, pondering what his actions might be. I was a fool, she thought with dismay, to interfere tonight or to have believed everything would work out some day. How could I have forgotten for one minute what I am or what he is truly like? What difference does it make now? It’s too late to recal my words or actions. It would be far easier to recal the sands of time in an hourglass. I wil die as al the others did before me. But why has he waited so long? Why did he even bother to keep me at al? There is no understanding him or his ways. She sat there stil and silent awaiting his verdict.
Gray Eagle had left quickly, not trusting himself to be near her any longer. Something drastic must be done, he decided, and I dread it. I must be alone to plan how to handle this matter. He walked along in a deep, solemn mood. Quietly, he passed He walked along in a deep, solemn mood. Quietly, he passed the rows of teepees and corral where the horses grazed contentedly on lush buffalo grass. His scent was so familiar they hardly noted his passing.
He finaly halted on a smal, sandy knol and gazed intently out across the vast, empty plains. Barren, and yet, he knew even now in the soft twilight, life was just beginning for the night creatures. When hunwi showed her face at night, she gave them the signal to come to life and carry on with their purpose.
This night was so like, and yet so unlike, many others before it. Many times, he had walked alone in the night or ridden off alone in the cool pre-dawn to ponder his thoughts and troubles. When he would go out alone and sit quietly on a grassy knol or on a high boulder in the rosy dawn or silver twilight, he was as one with the land and the Great Spirit. He could think, plan, and listen with his mind and heart. He could reason what was best for him and his people. His burden was so great with his father away. He must prove his wisdom, courage and leadership to himself and his people.
Why now, of al times, had he found this white girl who was such an obsession with him? Why was her life so important to him?
Was he not a great and fierce warrior of the mighty Oglala? Was he not Wanmdi Hota, son of a chief, and she, a mere white female slave, worthless of al possessions? Why had the wasichus not remained in their own lands to the East? Why did they have to encroach and defile his lands and forests?
I cannot hold out my hand to her in love or acceptance. I must stand true in strength and honor before my people and the Great Spirit. The laughter from the other tribes at my taking her would be heard as coyotes in the wind. They think she is unworthy of my heard as coyotes in the wind. They think she is unworthy of my touch and acceptance, or any warrior’s. They do not see the winyan I see and know. They did not see her courage at her fortress against her own people for me. They have not seen her suffer at my hands for herself and her people.
He could not comprehend why this should matter to him either. He should be rejoicing in her suffering, or that of any white eyes. He should laugh and be happy when he saw her pain and sadness. But my heart does not beat happy at these things, he grieved. I cannot tel her what she must do or why. I cannot tel her why her people must be punished and die. I cannot praise her work and learning, even though both have been great and good. These are things a slave must accept in silence. Why is this problem so difficult to solve and understand? The sadness and pain in her eyes and voice rip at my heart like the eagle rips at his captured prey. The time for possessing her heart and spirit was the night of the storm when she came to me so openly and freely. That time has passed and cannot be returned. If I had but given her a word or a sign of love that day … no! She is a ska ista and I am Oglala. Our paths are set and guided by the Great Spirit. Each must walk his own. She wil forever be a white slave, and I, an Oglala warrior. I must be strong! I must not let her love and my desire for her reach me, except on my o-winza at night.
We met as enemies and so it must remain until Wakantanka wishes to change it. I can only pray and hope he wil some day.
The capture of the wahmunkesa tonight forced her to turn once more to Wanhinkpe Ska instead of me. If only for one moon I was not Wanmdi Hota, then I could love and comfort her. In my anger and suspicion, I strike out at her too harshly, causing much more pain and hate. Submission wil be easier for her if she did more pain and hate. Submission wil be easier for her if she did come to fear and hate me, but do I want it so?
His heart cried out, you do not wish her to hate you. Fear you, sha, but hate, never. His brain replied, but why should it matter to you if she hates you? You could kil her with one slash of your knife, or sel her for only one crippled horse! He smote his breast and shouted aloud, “I am Wanmdi Hota! How dare she do this to me. I could crush her with my bare hands if I wished it so.” Pride and power surged through him at these thoughts.
He stood up and stared up at hunwi. “I wil yield to no winyan!
Does she not see I cannot? Surely she cannot believe a warrior could love a white slave! Winyans are to work for their owners and obey them in al things. She is not even my winyan. She is only my slave. I own the very life she has. She must come to learn this. It is not my way to feel these things for a winyan. She brings out a weakness in me which I cannot alow to show. These thoughts and feelings send warnings to my mind. A warrior cannot hold these feelings in his heart for the life of an enemy.”
Savage Ecstasy Page 23