Forbidden Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  Joe flashed him an irritated glare. “I can’t hardly tend her wounds when they’re covered up, can I? The easiest thing to do is to cut off her dress. Any unnecessary movements will cause more bleeding. She’s already lost too much blood as it is. Alisha is perfectly safe with me, Scout. We’re old friends,” he acidly reminded him.

  Watching the warning glare become an apprehensive stare, Joe curiously inquired, “What is Alisha to you, Scout? How’d you two get away from the Indians? Anybody else alive back there?”

  As he talked, he carefully cut away Alisha’s torn and soiled dress. In case she might need this dress later, he was painstaking in removing it; he cut it straight down the front, then across both shoulder seams. Very gently he lifted her slender body and told Powchutu to pull it from beneath her. Seeing how much she was hemorrhaging from her female parts, he glanced up at the scout and stated clearly, “You’re right, Powchutu. She’s definitely lost her baby. I best halt the bleeding as soon as possible or we might lose her. Your child?”

  Powchutu had turned away, unable to look upon her bloody body in his guilt-riddled frame of mind. “No,” he admitted without even realizing that he was answering Joe’s question. “It was Gray Eagle’s. It’s all my fault. I should never have helped her escape from him. Will she die, Joe? All I wanted to do was to protect her from his cruelty and hatred, just to get her back to her own people where she belongs. It wasn’t right for her to be his captive slave, for him to treat her so savagely. She should be free and happy,” he absently murmured in a solemn tone.

  Joe was staring at him in stunned disbelief. “Did you say the child was Gray Eagle’s, the Sioux warrior? Son of Chief Running Wolf?”

  Powchutu’s onyx eyes met Joe’s startled blue ones. His bitter opinion of Gray Eagle was evident in his cold eyes and frigid tone. He was blaming Gray Eagle for her illness, for it was his fault that she was in a position to be attacked by those two trappers. The only guilt that Powchutu placed upon his own shoulders was the burden of not protecting her against further harm. He had permitted someone to harm her while she was in his keeping…

  “That’s right, Kenny. He attacked their fortress, killed all her people, and captured her. She’s been with him most of the time since midsummer.”

  Astonished at this incredible news, Joe argued, “But he has never taken a white female captive before, not that I’ve heard about. God, he hates the whites! Why Alisha? Why didn’t he let one of his warriors have her? Gray Eagle and Alisha?”

  “There has never been a woman like Alisha,” Powchutu said solemnly. “You should know that. Even the indomitable Gray Eagle could not resist her. She was his woman until a few weeks ago. I helped her to escape from him,” he proudly boasted.

  “Are you saying Gray Eagle loved her?” The tone of his question was so strange that Powchutu’s curious gaze devoured his unreadable expression.

  “Look at her back. There you have your answer,” he retorted in anger.

  Joe inhaled sharply at the sight of the healed lash marks. His hand went out instinctively to touch the ghostly scars upon Alisha’s ivory skin. He moved his hand over them, mentally determining their age. His mind was in a violent maelstrom; his thoughts ran one way and then another. He appeared more deeply shocked and angered by this new fact than by the news that Gray Eagle had enslaved Alisha.

  Before he could speak, Powchutu fumed, “Yes! He did that to her. That, and far worse things. From the first time he took her captive, he has treated her this brutal way. Three times she tried to escape from him. Each time he refused to let her go. Whatever it took to get his way, he did it and took her back to his tepee. He was worse than an animal.”

  “It’s clear there’s a lot to tell. Later. Right now, we’ve got to stop this bleeding. About the only way I know how is to pack her with clean strips of cloth. First, we’ll need to boil it with some medicine. You put the water on, and I’ll get the strips ready. You can dress her shoulder wound while I take care of her other problem.”

  For the first time, Joe noticed the still bleeding wound on Powchutu’s upper arm. He grabbed a clean strip of cloth and secured it around his hard bicep. “That’ll halt the bleeding. Looks like a flesh wound. I’ll tend it later. Best we try to save her life first.”

  After the water came to a rapid boil, Joe dropped a measured amount of yellow powder into the pot; he then placed long strips of white cloth into the same pot. While they were boiling together, Joe took some of the warm water and proceeded to bathe Alisha.

  As he gently removed the drying blood and dirt, he took great pains to ignore her curvaceous body. As fiercely as he tried to concentrate upon her condition, her enticing figure succeeded in reminding him of how long he had been without a woman and of how frequently his thoughts had been upon this very female. Right about then, he was so confused by the events of this unnatural day that he was not sure what he felt or what he thought.

  When she was clean, Powchutu set to tending the knife wound upon Alisha’s shoulder. Joe moved between her spread legs and began to carefully insert the sterilized, medicated strips of cloth into her vagina, just as he had once seen a doctor do in a similar case. He recalled that the doctor told him that the tight packing should halt the hemorrhaging and force clotting. He knew that the packing should be left in place for three days, then very cautiously moistened and withdrawn. He worked slowly and gently, pushing the strips into place with the butt of a hunting knife. Already aware of the fact that he did not have any forceps, he decided that he would worry later about the personal way the strips must be removed.

  Powchutu finished long before Joe did. As he continued his work, Joe explained what he was doing and why. Powchutu thanked him for his help and for his much-needed knowledge and skill. Joe smiled as he accepted Powchutu’s gratitude. After completing his task, he told Powchutu they would have to wait until much later to learn if Alisha would require any laudanum for her pain. Joe thought it best not to administer it to her until she roused. That way, they could discover if she had some other injury that they had overlooked. It would also let them know of her real condition. All they could do now was to wait and to watch.

  Joe cleared away the medical supplies, wash basin, and used cloths. He covered Alisha with a light blanket, then turned to the scout. He cleaned and dressed Powchutu’s injury. After placing salve upon the lacerated flesh, he rebound it snugly. His keen gaze recognized the intense way the scout was staring at the unconscious Alisha.

  As Powchutu had done previously, Joe covertly sized up this strange man who had mysteriously appeared with the white woman. Joe’s piercing gaze glanced over the powerfully built man before him. Beneath his leather weskit, Joe could see strong, hard muscles which flexed and rippled with his agile movements. His long, firm legs which gave height to his towering frame were encased in buckskin leggings and high-topped moccasins. His skin was bronze; his piercing eyes were midnight black. The square angles of his face made him appear a handsome, yet sardonic looking, man.

  His daring, strength, and courage had been proven in the bloody clearing. His concern and affection for Alisha were undisguised. His manner was reserved, somewhat secretive and defensive. Joe came to realize that, depending upon how the scout was dressed and how he behaved, he could pass for either a white man or an Indian: a fortunate trait in these parts. Joe was baffled by this man who appeared open, honest, and sincere; yet, Joe sensed mystery and guile. He was alarmed by something which he could not place his finger on—and he was determined to know all about the half-breed.

  As they sat drinking coffee and talking, the subject was Alisha and her recent past. Powchutu informed Joe of her capture and of her life in Gray Eagle’s camp. He went on to explain about her attempted escape and the beating Gray Eagle gave her for it. He sullenly related the events of her rescue by the cavalry from the fort. He angrily disclosed their vile treatment of her until her recapture by Gray Eagle.

  Joe was astonished by the daring of Gray Eagle; it was incredible t
o think that he would simply ride up to the fort gates and demand the return of his white captive. He was also shocked and angered by the soldiers’ cowardice in complying with the demand to release Alisha or die. Naturally he was further surprised to learn of Alisha’s acceptance among the Indians as Shalee, the daughter of Black Cloud of the notorious Blackfoot tribe. But Powchutu promptly told Joe that even this event had not spared the girl from the cruelty of Gray Eagle. It seemed impossible for her to be free of him. Joe could not comprehend why the infamous warrior would go to such lengths to possess a woman that he so obviously disliked. He gradually concluded that there was more to this strange behavior than the scout was telling.

  He listened closely and intently as Powchutu blurted out the same terrible lie that he had told Alisha. The scout did not dare tell anyone the real truth. He was even uncertain as to why he was confessing so much to this total stranger. He decided that it had to do with her past friendship with this man.

  Joe had no choice but to accept the words of Alisha’s liberator. The scars upon her body declared Gray Eagle’s brutality. Joe readily saw that Powchutu was in love with Alisha and that he had risked his own life to rescue her. He could also discern what her present condition was doing to him. Reading all these emotions in the scout’s eyes, he concluded that this man was suffering as much as she was. Yet, there was some niggling, intangible detail about Powchutu which gnawed at the edge of his keen mind. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was strange, for they had never met before.

  Putting aside this weird sensation, Joe asked, “Why would the warrior marry her, then try to kill her? The facts don’t seem to add up right to me….”

  Once more, Powchutu related his side of the truth. He shrewdly inquired, “You told me you led her people out here. That means you knew her pretty well, right? Can’t you imagine how she might react to such cruelty? She’s generous, tender-hearted, and peace-loving. She would go for a truce, right? She hoped this marriage would be that truce. She did everything he demanded. It was never enough for him. He didn’t want her, but he wouldn’t allow any other man to have her. He seemed to enjoy hurting her. He didn’t want her to be happy with the people at the fort, so he came after her. He wouldn’t let her marry Brave Bear. He wouldn’t let her leave with me, not unless…unless I helped her run away from him. Our lives won’t be worth anything if he catches up with us.”

  The astute Joe caught the change in the half-breed’s voice, but could not explain it. Powchutu went on with his narrative, “That day when I found her on the plains, he had just ridden off and left her without food or water. He came riding into his camp with a sad look on his face. Said she had been killed by some enemy warriors. He didn’t fool me. I knew he was lying. I searched and searched for her until I found her. I prayed he hadn’t killed her yet. Even though it had been two days since he left her there, she could not believe he would do such a thing without some just cause. But, I tell you, his only cause was hatred for the white man. She has never understood this kind of blind hatred and senseless killing. Gray Eagle chose her to bear his hatred of the white man, to endure torture and punishment.”

  Joe deemed it best not to tell this angry, bitter man that he had met the notorious Gray Eagle on several occasions, but not in a very long time. He did not tell the scout that he was probably the only white man who had escaped the wrath of the most feared Indian in history. Yet, knowing the great warrior as he did helped to convince him of Powchutu’s deceptive tale.

  In his wildest imagination, Joe could not picture the truculent warrior capturing a white female and holding her prisoner in his tepee. The fact that he later married her was utterly incomprehensible and incongruous. To think of Alisha as the slave-wife of Wanmdi Hota was too farfetched to accept. That is, unless Gray Eagle had some secret, satanic plan in which he wanted to use her in a particular way. He wondered if the scout had already determined the real motives: hatred and pride.

  For certain, Gray Eagle was a very proud man, perhaps too proud and too protective. Joe had always respected his courage, superior skill, cunning, power, and magnetism. He was a man to be greatly feared and wisely obeyed; yet, he commanded respect and affection. He was as well-known for his generosity as he was for his avowed hatred of the intruding white man.

  Joe admitted to himself that Gray Eagle was the main reason that no more whites had come this far west to settle. It was this unconquerable warrior himself who had taught Joe the reality of the war between their two races. Once, they had fought off a band of renegade warriors, only to discover later who had been the other man behind that next boulder.

  Both men being intelligent and reputable, they quickly acknowledged the prowess and value of the other. They mutually exchanged a new-found truce and friendship. They had camped on that same spot for three days, sharing stories and adventures, gaining a new respect and insight into the other’s thoughts and ways, and building a bond of trust and affection. Afterwards, they had occasionally run into each other along the trails. More than once Gray Eagle had spared his life or had ordered it spared. Joe was not a man who easily forgot friendship or help. It was gradually becoming clear to Joe that the warrior whom he had known, befriended, and admired was not this same man who had tried to destroy someone as precious and as beautiful as Alisha Williams.

  Knowing Alisha from the past only increased his anger toward Gray Eagle and these acts of violence. Punishment of male enemies was one thing; putting innocent females to the lash was quite another. Totally baffled by this news, Joe could only assume that something had radically changed in Gray Eagle. He was temporarily saddened by the loss of such a great man. This feeling of betrayal gradually lessened and was replaced by bitterness and anger.

  If Joe had doubted Powchutu’s statements at first, it was not for very long. Within two days, Alisha was running a high fever and was now delirious. Joe winced in anguish as he empathized with Alisha as she revealed the choppy tales of brutality and hatred which she had endured. His heart went out to this gentle, loving creature who had won his calloused heart on their way out West. He could recall the many times when she had freely offered her help, even her food and water ration, to others who were less fortunate than she. He could remember how she had personally doctored the sick and how she had assumed the chores of anyone too weak to do them. She had done this all without grumbling, without wanting any thanks, without any extra benefits, or without regard to her own safety.

  Joe had been quick to notice that she was a special kind of woman, the kind who did not come along very often. In some ways, she had too many good qualities, for people were constantly taking advantage of her. If not, then they jealously found ways to make her suffer for her beauty and gentle nature. It infuriated Joe to see such a rare blossom treated so badly. He could only reluctantly imagine the terrors that she must have endured since he had last seen her: penniless, vulnerable, abused, and alone.

  As the days crawled by, Joe and Powchutu took turns bathing Alisha’s hot, moist brow with cool, wet cloths. They constantly forced liquids down her dry throat. They caught rabbits and netted turtles to make nourishing soup for her. On the third day, Joe removed the vaginal packing with great care and some difficulty. Both men were ecstatic to learn that the dangerous hemorrhaging had ceased.

  An infection had inflamed the knife wound on Alisha’s shoulder. It had grown puffy and an angry red; the surrounding area began to fill up with pus. On the fourth day, Joe announced to the scout that he was going to open the infected wound, drain it, pour medicine into it, and then sear it shut with the heated blade of his knife. Seeing no other choice, he allowed Joe to do as he had suggested.

  Even in her continued state of unconsciousness, Powchutu had to hold her down when Joe opened the festered injury and when he later cauterized it with the white-hot blade of his knife. As Powchutu held her down, Alisha twisted and groaned in agony. Her delicate cheekbones raged a bright red against the whiteness of her flawless complexion.

  As
Joe held the torrid blade against her skin, she cried out in defiance. The two men’s eyes met and locked in mutual understanding and sympathy, for it was to Gray Eagle that she spoke. They assumed that she was dreaming of past tortures and was pleading for release.

  Many times Alisha called Gray Eagle’s name. Over and over the tragedy of their lost and treacherous love spilled from her lips. As Joe tended the lovely woman, he heard her tell of horrors that caused him to wince in anguish and disbelief. Frequently he turned his face away, knowing he should not be overhearing the intimate details of their nights and days together; yet, he could not leave her side when she was so ill.

  Ensnared in a feverish world, Alisha returned to those days of happiness and blissful nights of love. Gray Eagle was holding her fiercely and possessively within his strong embrace. He was trailing fiery kisses over her willing mouth and creamy breasts. Her mind swirled in a peaceful, intoxicating sea as he entered her body to skillfully—almost desperately—make love to her. He had always known how to strip away her will and reason, even on the first night he had taken her.

  Alisha envisioned him lying upon her naked and eager body. She felt his sensual mouth upon hers. She sensed the power, prowess, and masculinity which exuded from her invincible, magnetic warrior. His lovemaking was all-consuming, lovemaking she could not deny. His hands and lips carried her to the heights of passion and fulfillment.

  Many times Gray Eagle had skillfully driven Alisha to the point of mindless frenzy in her insatiable need for him. In the beginning, she had lacked the knowledge or experience to resist him; later, she had lacked the willpower and desire to do so. She had loved him from that first moment their eyes had touched as bitter enemies. But love and desire had quickly dispelled their hatred and hostility. They had shared a love which was overpowering and complete.