Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  Too cu­ri­o­us not to see who it was, Jole­na threw her blan­kets asi­de and craw­led to the tiny ope­ning of her tent. Her bre­ath se­emed sud­denly lod­ged in her thro­at and her he­art skip­ped a be­at as she wat­c­hed Spot­ted Eag­le le­ave the cam­p­si­te car­rying a lar­ge bow, a qu­iver of ar­rows at his back. With an an­xi­o­us he­ar­t­be­at, she wat­c­hed Spot­ted Eag­le un­til he be­ca­me hid­den in the sha­dows of night.

  Without fur­t­her tho­ught, she scram­b­led from her tent and be­gan fol­lo­wing him.

  Chapter Eight

  Cicadas vib­ra­ted the­ir wings and ma­de lo­ud buz­zing so­unds on all si­des of Jole­na as she crept along be­ne­ath the tre­es, the ci­ca­das' song drow­ning out the rus­t­ling of the cot­ton­wo­od le­aves over­he­ad as a brisk wind blew thro­ugh them.

  Fear ma­de Jole­na's thro­at dry, for she had yet to see Spot­ted Eag­le. She was even be­gin­ning to think that she sho­uld turn back, to re­turn to the sa­fety of the camp.

  Then the spill of the mo­on's light re­ve­aled Spot­ted Eag­le's mus­c­led body thro­ugh a bre­ak in the tre­es, whe­re he was sit­ting be­si­de the ri­ver, se­emingly in de­ep tho­ught.

  Jolena's pul­se be­gan to ra­ce, won­de­ring if Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld pos­sibly be thin­king abo­ut her. Co­uld he ha­ve wis­hed her the­re? She felt fo­olish for al­lo­wing her fan­ta­si­es to con­ti­nue ca­using her to be­li­eve the im­pos­sib­le. Just be­ca­use she had ex­pe­ri­en­ced stran­ge, sen­su­al dre­ams abo­ut an In­di­an, she co­uld not ke­ep al­lo­wing her­self to be­li­eve that this Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or was, in­de­ed, the man of her dre­ams. That was not pos­sib­le, and she must stop thin­king that it was!

  Yet she co­uld not help wal­king to­ward the Blac­k­fo­ot, her he­art po­un­ding har­der with each step she to­ok clo­ser to him. She knew that she sho­uld not be ac­ting li­ke a lo­ose wo­man, ac­tu­al­ly se­eking out the com­pany of a ma­nand not any man, a han­d­so­me In­di­an war­ri­or!

  But not­hing less than a bolt of lig­h­t­ning stri­king her de­ad wo­uld pre­vent her from go­ing to Spot­ted Eag­le, to talk and to…

  Jolena's fa­ce flo­oded with co­lor as she stop­ped her tho­ughts, fe­eling sha­me­ful for on­ce aga­in al­lo­wing her­self to think such things abo­ut Spot­ted Eag­le. She must ga­in con­t­rol of her tho­ughts and her de­si­res, for he was now only a he­ar­t­be­at away as she step­ped out in­to the spill of the mo­on­light. Not far away, whe­re the hor­ses we­re re­ined up­s­t­re­am, they whin­ni­ed softly.

  She jum­ped when Spot­ted Eag­le sprang sud­denly to his fe­et, an ar­row al­re­ady drawn from its qu­iver as he tur­ned qu­ickly on a he­el, his lips par­ting and his eyes wi­de­ning when he fo­und Jole­na stan­ding the­re fro­zen, it se­emed, to the gro­und as she ga­zed with star­t­led eyes up at him.

  Spotted Eag­le easily slip­ped his ar­row back in­to its qu­iver and bent and la­id the lar­ge bow on the gro­und be­si­de him, his eyes ne­ver le­aving Jole­na. His he­art thun­de­red wildly aga­inst his ribs, fin­ding her even mo­re in­t­ri­gu­ingly be­a­uti­ful be­ne­ath the play of the mo­on­light. He ga­zed at the mag­ni­fi­cent li­nes of her body as the wind pres­sed her skirt and blo­use tightly aga­inst it, then wat­c­hed the wind pus­hing the dark clo­ud of her ha­ir back from the fi­nely cut li­nes of her fa­ce. He de­si­red her as he had ne­ver de­si­red any ot­her wo­man, ex­cept when he was a boy with the de­si­res of a man for a wo­man twi­ce his age.

  He was that boy aga­in, de­si­ring a wo­man no less than then, and per­haps even mo­re. He had to fight back spe­aking Swe­et Do­ve's na­me, for su­rely the Gods had sent her back to him, to lo­ve with a man's he­art and a man's body.

  Jolena co­uld fe­el his eyes on her, as tho­ugh he we­re bran­ding her as his, and blus­hed be­ne­ath the clo­se scru­tiny. Yet she did not lo­ok away from him with lo­we­red eyes. She held her chin high and squ­ared her sho­ul­ders even mo­re, which ma­de the mag­ni­fi­cent swell of her bre­asts even mo­re pro­no­un­ced.

  "I did not me­an to dis­turb yo­ur mo­ments alo­ne," Jole­na fi­nal­ly sa­id, her words se­eming to co­me in a mad rus­has mad as the be­at of her he­art over be­ing this clo­se to Spot­ted Eag­le and to be si­lently ad­mi­red by him. "If you want me to, I can turn back and re­turn to the camp."

  Spotted Eag­le sa­id not­hing for a mo­ment, then drew him­self out of his re­ve­rie and re­ac­hed a hand out to Jole­na. "No, do not re­turn to the camp unes­cor­ted,'' he sa­id, gi­ving her a scol­ding lo­ok as he frow­ned. "You we­re fo­olish to co­me this far alo­ne." He re­ac­hed out a hand to her. "But now that you are he­re, ok-yi, co­me. Sit be­si­de me. The night is warm. The mo­on and stars spe­ak gently from the sky to me. Enj­oy them with me."

  "Thank you. I wo­uld lo­ve to," Jole­na sa­id, her kne­es we­ak at the tho­ught of ta­king his hand.

  When she re­ac­hed her hand to his and his flesh met hers as he cir­c­led his fin­gers aro­und hers and drew her on to­ward him, Jole­na's bre­ath was suc­ked away and drawn de­ep down in­si­de her, ca­using her to sway from lig­h­t­he­aded­ness. She swal­lo­wed hard and ste­adi­ed her­self, then mo­ved to­ward him.

  Her kne­es trem­b­led as he hel­ped her down on­to the warm grass be­si­de him, reg­ret­ting it when he re­le­ased her hand.

  Jolena co­uld not ke­ep her eyes off his un­co­ve­red chest. She had ne­ver se­en such mus­c­les, and he was ba­re of ha­ir, un­li­ke her whi­te brot­her and fat­her, who­se chests we­re co­ve­red with fe­at­he­rings of gol­den ha­ir.

  Beneath the light of the mo­on, the sle­ek­ness of Spot­ted Eag­le's cop­per skin was very tem­p­ting. Yet she was not da­ring eno­ugh to pla­ce a hand the­re, to fe­el how it might re­sem­b­le her own when, at age six, she had sto­od in front of a mir­ror and had run a hand over her body, won­de­ring why it was dif­fe­rent in co­lo­ring than her play­ma­tes'.

  She had then dis­co­ve­red how smo­oth and soft her cop­per skin was and to­ok pri­de from that ti­me on that it was of that co­lor and tex­tu­re.

  "You fol­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le to ri­ver," he sa­id, yet not lo­oking at her. "That was fo­olish. Many cre­atu­res stalk at night."

  Jolena felt aw­k­ward, kno­wing that to re­ve­al the truth to him was to open her so­ul and he­art to him. In­s­te­ad, she sa­id so­met­hing el­se, ho­ping that might sa­tisfy him, at le­ast for the mo­ment. "I co­uld not go to sle­ep," she sa­id softly. "I, too, fol­lo­wed the path of the mo­on to the ri­ver." Then she told a lie that she tho­ught was ne­eded. "I had no idea you we­re he­re. Aga­in, I'm sorry if I've be­co­me a bot­her to you. Just say the word and I'll le­ave."

  Spotted Eag­le qu­ickly lo­oked her way. "You will le­ave when I le­ave," he sa­id. "My we­apons will pro­tect you."

  Jolena was sur­p­ri­sed that he was be­ing so tal­ka­ti­ve with her. All day, in the pre­sen­ce of ever­yo­ne el­se, he had be­en gra­ve, si­lent, and re­ser­ved.

  She was glad that he was mo­re open with her. She so badly wan­ted to qu­es­ti­on him abo­ut what the­re was abo­ut her that was fa­mi­li­ar to him, and then tell him abo­ut her dre­ams and what they might ha­ve fo­re­told.

  She al­so wan­ted to prod him for an­s­wers to her qu­es­ti­ons abo­ut the In­di­ans in this area, abo­ut whet­her or not he knew of a fat­her who­se child had be­en lost to him eig­h­te­en ye­ars ago.

  But now that she was he­re, the op­por­tu­nity sta­ring her in the fa­ce, she co­uld not find the words to ask him an­y­t­hing. If he was from her tri­be, then she wo­uld want to be ta­ken to his vil­la­ge to me­et her true pe­op­le.

  Perhaps even her true fat­her.

  Then she might ne­ver want to re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is,
to the man who had ra­ised her with much lo­ve and warmth. She felt a ke­en de­vo­ti­on to Bryce Ed­monds.

  "Whenever you wish to re­turn to the camp, I wo­uld be gra­te­ful for wha­te­ver pro­tec­ti­on you lend me as I ac­com­pany you the­re," Jole­na sa­id, ner­vo­usly dra­wing her legs up be­fo­re her and cir­c­ling her arms aro­und them to hold her skirt in pla­ce.

  Spotted Eag­le ga­zed at her, smi­led, and nod­ded. As the­ir eyes loc­ked in an un­s­po­ken un­der­s­tan­ding, he was re­min­ded of the many qu­es­ti­ons that he wan­ted to ask her, yet at the sa­me ti­me he saw no ne­ed to ask her why she had be­en ra­ised as whi­te, for he be­li­eved he al­re­ady knew the an­s­wer. He wo­uld wa­it for the per­fect ti­me to tell her.

  When he knew that her he­art be­lon­ged so­lely to him, then he wo­uld tell her…

  "You li­ke stars and I li­ke but­ter­f­li­es," Jole­na sa­id, la­ug­hing aw­k­wardly as she wren­c­hed her eyes from his, fe­eling the dan­ger in his hypno­tic sta­re. She co­uld fe­el her­self be­ing pul­led de­eper and de­eper in­to the mysti­que of this man, her very so­ul crying out to be held by him.

  She wan­ted to ex­pe­ri­en­ce ever­y­t­hing with him. She wan­ted to sha­re her de­epest fe­elings and emo­ti­ons with him, if he wo­uld al­low it.

  For now, she must ma­ke small talk only. She must mo­ve slowly in­to this true kno­wing of him and his pe­op­le. She did not want to reg­ret la­ter so­met­hing that she might do now be­ca­use of the sen­su­al let­hargy that she was ex­pe­ri­en­cing at his ne­ar­ness.

  She wan­ted it to be to­tal­ly right when she mo­ved in­to his arms and al­lo­wed him to te­ach her the true me­aning of be­ing a wo­man…

  "You se­ek a spe­ci­al but­terfly," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id softly. "I ha­ve se­en it. So­on I ho­pe you will al­so see its lo­ve­li­ness."

  He was glad to be drawn in­to small talk, kno­wing that this wo­uld de­lay what he so badly wan­ted to do. He had wa­ited a li­fe­ti­me for her, and it was hard not to hold her and tell her that she was al­re­ady ever­y­t­hing to him wit­ho­ut even that first kiss.

  In ti­me, he tho­ught to him­self.

  In ti­me, the mo­ment wo­uld be right for him to draw her in­to his arms, to kiss… to hold… and to cla­im her to­tal­ly as his.

  For now, he wo­uld just enj­oy be­ing with her, ab­sor­bing her every mo­ve, her every word, her every smi­le.

  All of the­se things ple­asu­red him mo­re than he wo­uld ha­ve ima­gi­ned a wo­man co­uld af­fect him ever aga­in.

  But she was not just any wo­man. She was the mir­ror ima­ge of Swe­et Do­ve.

  She was Swe­et Do­ve's da­ug­h­ter.

  "I ho­pe you are right," Jole­na sa­id, gi­ving him a swe­et smi­le, then tur­ning her eyes away from him aga­in when she felt him lo­oking at her at tho­ugh she we­re so­met­hing pre­ci­o­us. "And I do thank you for no­tif­ying tho­se at the fort that you sig­h­ted the eup­ha­ed­ra. I enj­oy wat­c­hing and stud­ying the in­te­res­ting li­fe cycle of but­ter­f­li­es. It was my fat­her's de­epest de­si­re long ago to find the ra­re, elu­si­ve but­terfly. I ho­pe to ful­fill his dre­am by ta­king it ho­me to him for his col­lec­ti­on."

  "Collection?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, dra­wing Jole­na's eyes back to him by the gu­ar­ded way he had sa­id the word. "How do you me­an… col­lec­ti­on? Ralph spo­ke of this at the fort. I did not un­der­s­tand then. I do not un­der­s­tand now. I tho­ught you we­re co­ming only to study the but­terfly, to ta­ke yo­ur know­led­ge back to the whi­te pe­op­le who le­arn and te­ach abo­ut such things as that."

  Jolena nod­ded. "I will ta­ke my know­led­ge of this but­terfly back with me, but I will al­so ta­ke a spe­ci­men," she ex­p­la­ined. "My fat­her must see the but­terfly to fully ap­pre­ci­ate its lo­ve­li­ness. One can­not tell so­me­one so­met­hing is lo­vely and ex­p­ress it in a way that this per­son can see it as the one who se­es it fir­s­t­hand. If I find the ra­re but­terfly and catch it, I will be ta­king it to my ailing fat­her. That is my pur­po­se for be­ing he­re."

  "Ailing?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, ra­ising an eyeb­row. "Yo­ur whi­te fat­her is not well?"

  Jolena's pul­se be­gan to ra­ce as she no­ted his re­fe­ren­ce to her whi­te fat­her. Ob­vi­o­usly, he was awa­re that her true fat­her was so­me­one ot­her than Bryce Ed­monds.

  She lo­oked away from Spot­ted Eag­le, thin­king this wo­uld be the wrong ti­me to del­ve in­to tho­se qu­es­ti­ons that she so badly wan­ted an­s­we­red.

  Later.

  Later when they we­re drawn to­get­her with mo­re ease and un­der­s­tan­ding.

  "My fat­her is not well at all," she mur­mu­red, te­ars bur­ning the cor­ners of her eyes as she saw her fat­her in her mind's eye. "His legs are pa­ral­y­zed. He is al­so we­ake­ning ge­ne­ral­ly. I fe­ar ter­ribly for him. I must find the ra­re but­terfly be­fo­re… be­fo­re…"

  She co­uld not help the de­ep sob that le­apt from her thro­at at the tho­ught of her fat­her dying be­fo­re she co­uld see him aga­in.

  Embarrassed for al­lo­wing her emo­ti­ons to get so out of hand so qu­ickly in the pre­sen­ce of this man who­se fa­ce had so of­ten fil­led her mid­night dre­ams, she stum­b­led to her fe­et.

  "I must re­turn to my tent," she sa­id, wi­ping the salty te­ars from her lips. "I've sta­yed much too long as it is."

  She star­ted to run away but was stop­ped ab­ruptly by a firm grip on her wrist. Her kne­es we­ake­ned, and her he­art se­emed to stand still for a mo­ment. She tur­ned slowly aro­und and ga­zed up in­to Spot­ted Eag­le's dark eyes as they sto­od fa­cing each ot­her in the mo­on­light, her he­art now ra­cing out of con­t­rol.

  "Why did you stop me?" Jole­na as­ked, bre­at­h­less from the tu­mul­tu­o­us emo­ti­ons swim­ming thro­ugh her.

  "Did I not tell you that I wo­uld es­cort you back to the camp?" Jole­na smi­led softly up at him. "I gu­ess I for­got," she mur­mu­red. She glan­ced down at his fin­gers still cir­c­led aro­und her wrist, then up in­to his mid­nig­ht-dark eyes aga­in. "You can un­hand me now. I don't ne­ed any fur­t­her re­min­ding."

  Spotted Eag­le's he­art throb­bed and his eyes ra­ked over her as he still held her by the wrist and drew her slowly to­ward him.

  "Stay with me to­night by the ri­ver," he sa­id, the words rus­hing ac­ross his lips wit­ho­ut even any con­s­ci­o­us fo­ret­ho­ught. "You are lo­vely, so very lo­vely. Let me hold you. Let me kiss you."

  Stunned and thril­led at the sa­me mo­ment by his sud­den de­ci­si­on to bring mo­re in­to the­ir re­la­ti­on­s­hip than me­re talk of but­ter­f­li­es and stars, Jole­na felt diz­zi­ed from the pas­si­on his sug­ges­ti­on evo­ked wit­hin her. She fol­ded wit­ho­ut he­si­ta­ti­on in­to his arms. They kis­sed da­zedly, his arms nud­ging her clo­ser.

  A no­ise from so­mew­he­re clo­se by drew them qu­ickly apart. When a black pan­t­her ap­pe­ared at the ed­ge of the cle­aring, its gre­en eyes glin­ting in the mo­on­light, Jole­na be­ca­me frig­h­te­ned and dar­ted off in the op­po­si­te di­rec­ti­on.

  The pan­t­her bo­un­ded af­ter Jole­na, as Spot­ted Eag­le sto­od numb at the sight…

  Chapter Nine

  Her kne­es too we­ak to run any lon­ger, Jole­na tur­ned aro­und and sta­red with a throb­bing he­art at the pan­t­her, which al­so stop­ped, cro­uc­hing, its eyes gla­ring at her. Too frig­h­te­ned to lo­ok past the pan­t­her to see what Spot­ted Eag­le was do­ing, Jole­na sto­od fro­zen on the spot, her scre­ams se­emingly fro­zen in the depths of her thro­at.

  As the pan­t­her be­gan slin­king to­ward Jole­na on its belly and fo­ur paws, Spot­ted Eag­le ac­ted swiftly. He not­c­hed an ar­row on­to his bow, and just as the pan­t­her's gre­at m
o­uth ope­ned with a ro­ar and it le­apt sud­denly at Jole­na, Spot­ted Eag­le sent an ar­row flying thro­ugh the air.

  Jolena felt fa­int as she wat­c­hed the pan­t­her le­ap to­ward her, then gas­ped when a whis­t­ling ar­row pi­er­ced the sle­ek fur of the cat's back. She co­ve­red her mo­uth with her hands and sto­od wild-eyed as she wat­c­hed the pan­t­her fall to the gro­und on its si­de, how­ling in ra­ge, then spring to its fe­et and le­ap at her aga­in.

  Spotted Eag­le had al­re­ady not­c­hed his ar­row on his bow a se­cond ti­me and this ti­me ma­de a mo­re ac­cu­ra­te aim, sen­ding his ar­row in­to the he­art of the ani­mal.