Forbidden Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  As he saw things, he had two choices: obey the trappers’ command, or kill Alisha before they could harm her. For certain, he did not trust either of these unseen men. Even if Alisha had not been pregnant, he knew that she could not withstand an attack by two, rough men. His mind was working fast. Enlightenment suddenly flooded his black eyes. He winked at Alisha.

  He boldly called out in excellent English, “I am not an Indian. My wife and I are from Fort Pierre, up north a ways. It was burned out by the Sioux a while back. We’re heading downriver to St. Louis. We’re only dressed like Indians to get through this territory safely.”

  He waited for his words to have some favorable effect upon their attackers. There was total silence for a short time. Then, the two men began to consult with each other across their heads.

  “What’cha think, Buck?” the first man called out.

  “I say the red bastard is lying through his Injun teeth! I heard ‘bout that Fort Perr. Wadn’t no survivors. Injuns kilt everbody. I say we cut out his lying tongue,” came the second man’s opinion.

  Alisha cringed in terror, for she knew too well what such men did to Indian maidens. In desperation she shouted to him, “He is not lying! We are from Fort Pierre. We escaped the Sioux who attacked there. I swear it,” she frantically added.

  “How ‘bout that! They both speak Enlush. Where’ju lern our tongue, gurl? Yore man teach’ cha? She’d be worth some easy cash to Old Frenchy,” he slurred.

  “We are not Indians!” she angrily shouted, knowing they did not want to accept the truth. “Look for your-self,” she recklessly challenged them. “I have green eyes and auburn hair. You know Indians do not.”

  The second man did not permit her even this small victory. “Ya cud both be half-breeds. Anybody knows half-breeds er just as dangerous as reglar Injuns. ‘Sides, a man’ ud be a fool to let ya git away,” he threatened her with an evil laugh and sneer.

  As Powchutu was trying to think of some safe way out of this precarious situation, he allowed Alisha to divert the men’s attention with her questions. He was furious with himself for allowing these two ruffians to overtake him. A thought flitted through him: now he knew how Gray Eagle must have felt when he had allowed Powchutu to surprise him at the river. The similarities between these two dangerous situations did not sit well with him; it hovered like some evil omen.

  The course of action was decided for him; one of the trappers fired a musket shot, striking him in the upper left arm. Although he had not winced or cried out, blood flowed down his tanned arm like water rushing over a cascade. He prepared himself for their coming attack, guessing that they were about to rush them. As the first man raced from the dense cover of the nearby bushes, he tensed for a battle. But before they could tangle, the second man had his knife blade at Alisha’s throat. Powchutu instantly assumed a crouched, alert position.

  “Drop it, Injun, or yore woman’s dead!” he snarled out between clenched, rotting teeth. The stench of his body and clothing was enough to make her want to retch. One hand held the broad skinning knife near her throat, while the other one held a large mass of her hair in a painful grasp. At Powchutu’s reluctance to obey his last command, he angrily twisted her hair and jerked it roughly, snapping her head backwards.

  A loud scream was torn from her lips, and Alisha unexpectedly struggled to wriggle away from his tight grip. The man muttered a curse and moved to kick her in the buttocks as a warning. Ignoring the stinging pain on her scalp, Alisha managed to turn her body around to attack his knees and to try to make him fall. But the kick was already in rapid motion. She was forcefully struck in the lower abdomen instead of her derrière.

  Lights danced ominously before her blurred vision; nausea swept over her, and she swallowed rapidly to control it. Excruciating agony in the depth of her womanhood threatened to envelop her in darkness. A loud humming sound filled her ears. Her face was ashen, making her large green eyes appear like two emerald stones on a white background. She helplessly doubled over in overwhelming torment, clutching protectively at her stomach. Moans of steadily increasing pain escaped from her colorless lips.

  The brute simply assumed that her pain was caused from the blow that he had inflicted upon her. Accustomed to fighting with men, mainly Indians, he did not realize how forceful and damaging his swift blow had been. Irritated by what he thought a ruse, he roughly grabbed her two upper arms and yanked her to her feet. He shook her violently, hoping to terrify her into total obedience. His relentless, cruel actions only served to increase Alisha’s suffering. He cursed her and began to shake her even more convulsively.

  Alisha was completely unaware of Powchutu’s strained voice yelling at the man that she was pregnant. He warned the man whom he was fighting with what would happen to both of them if she were injured. But the malevolent man only laughed at him and taunted him with what he would do to Alisha once Powchutu was dead.

  Infuriated, Powchutu tried to free his knife from his attacker’s grip. But tragically, Powchutu was making time-consuming mistakes in his strategy; his urgency to be done with this man was taking its toll on his strength. He had helplessly watched the effect of the other man’s impact upon Alisha’s slender body. He was in a near frenzy to get free and go to her aid. He was not using his skill and power to the best of his ability. He would frequently risk a glance in Alisha’s direction, inadvertently permitting the other man to prolong the deadly struggle between them. They danced in a duel of death. Powchutu’s face suddenly filled with unyielding determination to have this matter settled quickly and favorably.

  Feeling a sticky wetness between her legs, Alisha feared what might be taking place within her weakened body. Dauntless strength came from sheer desperation, desperation to protect this last link with the man she still loved. She resolved that she would not lose this baby, not even if she had to kill to insure its safety. She fearlessly increased her struggles with the trapper whose intentions were to ravish her. She slapped at him, and she clawed at his scarred face with broken nails which left tiny rivulets of blood.

  During their struggle, he succeeded in throwing Alisha to the hard ground. He instantly flung himself upon her seductively positioned form. He grasped her head between his large hands. In lecherous delight, he stared at her. Aware of her entrancing beauty for the first time, he wantonly and coarsely hunched his swollen manhood against her. His lewd, hungry grin warned her of his intentions. His gaping look of lust was as clear as the sky above her.

  Alisha tried to close her ears to the indecent remarks which were flowing from his drooling lips. He ripped at her bodice; he yanked at her hem. He was nearly beside himself with uncontrollable desire. He was like a rutting beast who was governed by undeniable, animalistic lust. His crazed eyes told her that there would be no stopping his defilement now, nothing short of his death.

  She wildly resisted his brute strength while nearly fainting from severe cramps. She knew the danger to her life and to that of her unborn child from this man’s intended violation. She prayed that she would have the energy to delay him until Powchutu was free to help her. If Powchutu lost his battle with the other man, she knew that she was as good as dead.

  The trapper grasped her proud, trembling chin. Before she could react, he brought his mouth down upon hers.

  Alisha never knew what stopped her from gagging into his mouth. Her small hands beat at his muscled back and clawed at his leather jerkin. His squat, thickset body was unmovable. His scraggly beard chafed her delicate skin, and his fingers dug into the tender flesh of her chin. As his odious mouth savagely ravished hers, her right hand somehow touched his knife sheath at his flabby waist. Her quavering fingers automatically closed around the thick handle of his skinning knife. She cautiously eased it from its holder and slowly brought her hand upwards; her sole intent was to halt his brutal attack upon her by cutting his face.

  Just as her hand was neck high, he glanced up and called out to his friend, “Better hurry, Jeremy. She’s a real looker. Lot’a fire
in’er. She’ll warm our beds fur a long time. You kin have yores just as soon as I git mine.”

  “Be right there,” came a breathy reply. “This Injun’s dead,” he confidently added.

  Hearing their threat, Alisha fearfully screamed, “No-o-o,” in a wailing tone. As the lone word escaped her lips, the knife came up and sliced the trapper’s throat.

  Blood spurted from the open wound like a raging geyser, splattering over her face and chest. Frothy bubbles eased from the gaping red line. For a brief moment he stared at her in utter disbelief, then in painful reality. But before he could retaliate, he fell across her: dead.

  In rising panic Alisha shoved his limp, heavy body off hers. Dazed and frightened, she slowly sat up. Waves of dizziness and agony swept over her entire body. She stared at the bloody form beside her; her glazed eyes passed to her own bloody hands and chest. She did not have the wits to react to the outraged shout beside her as the other trapper knocked Powchutu aside and made a dash for her.

  His yell was as piercing and menacing as the war cry of an Indian warrior. Before Powchutu could recover his balance, the trapper had buried his dagger deep into Alisha’s left shoulder. In her state of shock and terror, she did not even feel this new pain. All she felt was the endless agony which was threatening to rip her apart. Her last conscious memory was the lurid sight of someone else’s blood upon her two shaking hands. As she helplessly sank to the ground, Powchutu gave the Sioux war cry and charged the man like one insane with bloodlust.

  This time, the battle between them was brief and deadly. Thinking Alisha slain, his rage knew no limits. In less than five minutes, both men lay dead in their own blood. Powchutu rushed to where Alisha lay on the blood-soaked earth, ashen and motionless. His joy was boundless as he quickly discovered that she was still alive.

  As easily as possible, he carefully withdrew the dagger from her shoulder. He cursed the lack of medical supplies once again. Blood poured from her jagged wound, saturating her dress and matting her long hair. While he nervously considered what to do for her, he placed his open palm against the wound to staunch as much blood as possible. Without any medicine, all he could do was to bandage the wound and pray for her life.

  As his frantic eyes darted about, they alighted on the streaks of blood on Alisha’s legs. As gently as he could, he rolled her to her side and looked beneath her. The back of her doe-skin dress was drenched in bright red blood. He realized the worst of his fears. Alisha was miscarrying.

  For once, he was totally ignorant of what to do for her. The woman he loved more than life itself was rapidly bleeding to death in his arms, and he was helplessly unskilled to help her. He let out a loud groan of anguish, then vowed in anger, “Damn you, you bloody bastards! I could kill you both again.”

  Another white man eased into the small clearing just to the right of Powchutu’s back. His senses dulled by his great pain and worry, Powchutu was unaware of his presence. The stranger’s keen blue eyes promptly took in the evil sights before him, their unmistakable meaning very clear to him. Distressed by such senseless hatred and murder, he swore aloud. “My God, what happened here? Is she hurt badly?” he inquired, more so to let the man holding Alisha tightly in his arms know that he was no threat to either of them.

  Powchutu was instantly on his feet, his stained knife in his hand, ready to do battle with this newly arrived enemy. The other man propped his bow and quiver of arrows against a tree, then slowly lifted his hands upwards to indicate a truce. They faced each other, each sizing up the other.

  Powchutu sarcastically asked, “These your friends?”

  “Nope. But I do know who they are: Jeremy Brown and Buck Conners. Bad lot. Been a lot of trouble in these parts lately. Sooner or later, I knew they’d get something like this.”

  Powchutu’s keen gaze hastily assessed this newcomer’s manner. He seemed cautious; yet, not the slightest bit threatening. He was dressed in the typical trapper’s attire: fringed buckskins and high-topped moccasins.

  His full, dark hair rested just above his broad shoulders. He appeared rugged and powerful and had weathered, tanned skin. The creases around his mouth and near the corners of his eyes showed that he smiled and laughed a great deal.

  This towering stranger patiently permitted Powchutu’s close scrutiny. In the final analysis, it was his clear, honest eyes and kindly manner which dismissed Powchutu’s suspicion of him. The stranger said with obvious sincerity, “Sorry I didn’t arrive sooner. The odds might’ve saved your woman’s life. Your wife?”

  Powchutu risked a quick glance at Alisha. The anguish in his eyes told the stranger a great deal about his emotions. Without thinking, he shook his head no. “Sister?” came the next obvious question. As Powchutu replied negatively again, the man asked if she still lived.

  Powchutu defensively stated, “If you value your life, get away from here. She’s hurt bad. I need to tend her, not mix words with a stranger. Not one with friends like those two,” he snapped, nodding his head in the direction of their bodies.

  “Like I said before, they weren’t friends of mine. I have a cabin not too far from here. You’re welcome to use it. I got medicine and bandages there. Either take my word for it and let me help you with her, or I’ll be on my way. Fact is, she’s bleeding pretty bad. I’d say you need some skilled help with her.” Sincere concern could be easily detected in his drawl.

  The aura around this particular white man told Powchutu that he could be trusted. Powchutu said, “You’re right. The name’s Powchutu. I was the scout at Fort Pierre until the Sioux wiped it out a while back. We were heading downriver to St. Louis when these two men bushwhacked us. My medicine bag was stolen back at the Omaha camp when we stopped there for supplies.” Powchutu did his talking as he was tending to Alisha, hoping to halt the steady flow of blood until he could get her to this generous man’s cabin.

  “Name’s Joe Kenny. I’ve done lots of scouting for wagon trains heading out this way. Gave it up after my last run. Too much trouble and too little reward,” he remarked, followed by a somber laugh. “From now on, it’s strictly trapping and hunting for me. Who is the girl with you?” he inquired as he leaned over to assist Powchutu.

  Taking in the first full view of her face, he inhaled loudly and sharply. “Alisha Williams!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Sakes alive! What’s she doing here like this?”

  Chapter Six

  Powchutu turned a suspicious gaze to Joe’s shocked face. Coming back to full alert, he curiously questioned, “You know Alisha?”

  “Sure I do. I scouted for her uncle’s wagon train about a year or so ago. We were good friends. Never met a better woman in my life. She’s dressed like an Indian. You, too. What happened to her? What’s she doing here with you?”

  “Later. She’s been stabbed in the shoulder, and she’s also miscarrying. One of the men tried to rape her; they struggled while I was fighting with that other man. She killed him. Hell, I don’t know anything about female matters. She’s bleeding to death, and I can’t even help her,” he snapped at his own incompetence and frustration. “I promised her I wouldn’t ever let anyone hurt her again. Some help I turned out to be…”

  “Let me take care of her. I’ve had lots of practice with babies and female troubles. In my travels, I’ve done just about every kind of medicine and doctoring that’s possible. Even cut off a man’s leg one time. Bit by a rattler. Gangrene set in. Surprised the hell outta me when he finally pulled through, almost good as new,” Joe modestly confessed as he worked on the unconscious Alisha.

  He chatted, trying to calm Powchutu. “I’ve even had lessons from several Indian medicine men: shamans, they call themselves. Smart men, you know? I can’t stop the bleeding out here,” he finally confessed. “We’ll have to get her back to my cabin and work on her there. I’ll carry her. You bring my weapons and any of your gear you don’t want stolen by stray braves.”

  Without asking for Powchutu’s agreement, Joe took over the situation. He wrapped Alisha in the
blanket which Powchutu handed to him. He lifted her light frame in his strong arms, then gave the scout the directions to his cabin. As Powchutu anxiously gathered their belongings, Joe headed off into the trees to their right.

  He abruptly halted and called back over his shoulder, “Best shove these two bodies into the river, Powchutu. Wouldn’t do to attract a pack of wolves during the night.”

  After a brisk ten-minute walk, Joe shoved open the door to his cabin and walked inside.. He gently lay the lovely woman down upon his narrow bunk bed. He turned to gather what supplies and medicines he would need in order to try and save her life. It was evident that she had lost a great deal of blood and that she was growing weaker by the minute. For the first time in his life, Joe felt incompetent and afraid.

  He came back to stand beside the bed, gazing down at Alisha’s pale face. “Often wondered what happened to you, my beautiful lady,” he murmured to himself. “Thought I’d drop in on you and your people later in the spring. What a waste… If I told your people once, I told them a hundred times to settle near the Omaha or Pawnee. No, they had’ ta challenge the mighty Sioux for their lands. Fools! I warned them over and over. They should’a listened to me. I bet they’re all dead or captured by now. Else you wouldn’t be here with a half-breed scout from a burned-out fort. I wonder just what you mean to him…that look on his face tells me you’re mighty special to him… but what about you, pretty lady? Is he special to you, I wonder?”

  He lovingly caressed her cheek. He sadly muttered, “The trouble is, it’s women and children who suffer the most. Stubborn men deserve their fates; innocents like you do not. Can’t imagine how you got away from them. That scout has a lot of explaining to do.”

  As he carefully placed his knife inside Alisha’s bodice and his hand on her neckline, Powchutu came inside the doorway. He instantly halted in fear and in shock. He finally managed to shout, “What are you doing, Kenny? I’ll kill you if you harm her!” He rushed forward to attack Joe.