Forbidden Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  Gray Eagle smiled haughtily and shrugged his powerful shoulders. “If you ain’t interested, just say so. Too late for nonsense,” he stated. “Just heard you were willing to pay big for the hair of Gray Eagle. If not, then I done killed him for nothing.”

  His words had a noticeable impact upon Jeffery. Excitement and pleasure filled his eyes. He could hardly control the exuberant trembling in his voice. His blind eagerness to place those two items in Alisha’s hands this very night caused him to throw all caution to the wind.

  Studying the man before him, he decided if anyone could take on the mighty warrior and come out the winner, this man could. He would decide later how to get rid of him. He could hardly wait to realize his longawaited dream. “Sounds as if we do have some dealing to do.”

  He quickly downed his brandy and placed the empty glass upon his desk. “Who are you? Where’d you come from?” Jeffery quizzed the man who had just claimed to have the courage and skill to defeat his formidable foe.

  “I believe you wanted to see me real bad,” the man stated, to Jeffery’s bafflement. “You already know, don’t you?” he added, further increasing his confusion.

  Jeffery scanned the man from shiny black head to dusty black boot, trying to recall if he had indeed ever met this man. -There was something vaguely familiar about him, but he could not quite place it. He did not appear to be a man one forgot easily.

  Jeffery’s curious gaze swept over the man’s attire, seeking some clue to his statement. A brown leather sheath with a hunting knife was secured to the wide belt at his waist, his only weapon from appearances. The man was dressed in leather breeches, a dark blue shirt, leather jerkin, and black boots. The way his dark hat dipped low over one eye added an ominous air to his visage. His stubble-free face made it possible for Jeffery to note his amusing, sarcastic leer.

  “I wanted to see you? About what? I don’t even know you!” Jeffery countered to learn more about this perplexing man. “If it’s money you’re after, I keep very little cash here. I’ll trade you my wife’s jewels for that scalp you mentioned,” he declared to learn if the man had only been taunting him with the answer to his dreams. Hoping to prevent any violence from this disturbing man, he added temptingly, “Those jewels are worth a lot of money…”

  He laughed to ease his mounting tensions. “Course if you want cash for the scalp, you’ll have to wait until morning. I can get the money from a friend of mine.” If he could stall this man until morning, he would have his men take care of him.

  Gray Eagle’s lazy, humorous laughter filled the room, letting Jeffery know what he thought about his proposition. He smoothly replied, “Jewelry? I have no need for such things. But I do have a wanapin you want bad… real bad.” As he was speaking, he casually tossed his eagle amulet to Jeffery.

  Instinctively Jeffery caught the necklace which was thrown to him. His greedy eyes locked on the item in his sweaty hand. A broad grin settled upon his face; his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He looked up at the man before him and chuckled. “By God, you did defeat him! How? Where? When?” he shouted in excitement.

  “Only once has he been defeated. Never again. I have met him many times, but I did not know you valued his life so highly. Why do you seek his life at such a great price?”

  “It’s a private matter. You should have told me right off you only came to collect the bounty! Hell, man, you could’ve used the front door! You nearly scared ten years off my life coming through the window like that. Thought you were a robber; I might have shot you! You got his scalp, too? Give it to me,” he ordered, eagerness evident in his eyes and trembly voice.

  Seeing, the man’s hands were empty, he feared his denial of that treasure. “Where’s the scalp!”

  Gray Eagle nonchalantly tossed his hat across the room and taunted, “Right where it always was, Yellowhair.” He grinned as he lightly tugged at it, joking lazily, “Just a little shorter.”

  For the first time in his entire life, Jeffery nearly passed out from shock and fright. He visibly shuddered in fear and in belated recognition. He blamed his deadly mistake on the fact he had only viewed this man from a distance that last day at the fort. Yet, he knew that face should have been emblazoned upon his memory for all time. His face gradually lost all normal color, and his deep voice trembled, “You…”

  “How much bounty did you offer for my hair and wanapin, White Dog?” he taunted in light of Jeffery’s terrified stare.

  “Should I foolishly trade them for your wife’s jewels?” He drew his knife from its sheath and absently fingered its shiny, sharp blade.

  With that joking statement, Jeffery seized upon a desperate plan. “I’ll trade you my life for my wife,” he shouted, almost laughing at the ridiculous rhyming of his cowardly offer.

  Gray Eagle did laugh; he vividly scorned the weakling before his steady gaze. “I have no use for a woman who would marry a man such as you, Yellow-hair. Your life is what I demand. You escaped my vengeance once before; never again,” he vowed icily.

  Jeffery’s eyes mirrored his rising fear and anxiety. “Not even if my wife is your ex-captive, the woman you destroyed Fort Pierre to regain, the woman who has twice escaped your camp,” he nervously wheedled, “…the beautiful Alisha Williams?”

  Gray Eagle’s eyes narrowed and hardened at the mere mention of her name. “She is dead,” he declared coldly.

  “Dead? No way! She’s upstairs asleep right now. She came here after she left your camp with that half-breed scout Powchutu. She married me,” he informed the silent warrior.

  This unexpected news was like a forceful physical blow. The dauntless warrior stiffened and straightened to his full and towering height, his facial expression fathomless. A statement he made long ago came to his warring mind: “The Great Spirit will guide me to them, or them to me.” He recalled his words to White Arrow: “The Great Spirit will not permit such dishonor to fall upon me without payment. She lives only as long as the Great Spirit allows it. She will pay, my friend. Before I leave the face of Mother Earth, she will pay…” Jeffery sensed his strange interest in the illusive Alisha. “She’s a pain in the neck! Why you ever wanted her back, I’ll never know! But you’re welcome to her. For my life, that is,” he added, his lagging courage given a false rise.

  Gray Eagle instantly halted his hasty exultation. “If she is here, I do not need your permission to take her. As you said, she is a great deal of trouble and annoyance. If she is your wife now, she will die this same night with her evil husband. She is nothing to me, White-eyes! Her life is not worth one single hair from my scalp. I will trade nothing for her. Your life is mine, Yellow-hair; prepare to die,” he advised, shifting his knife to a threatening position in his strong hand.

  With that warning, Jeffery panicked and made a wild dash for the door. Gray Eagle agilely bounded over the desk with one easy leap and reached it at the same time. There was a fierce and desperate struggle between them. Jeffery knew instantly that he was out-classed in every way. He had permitted himself to grow flabby and sluggish. On the other hand, Gray Eagle was at his peak. The fight lasted only a few moments.

  Jeffery attempted to grab the knife, but found it buried in his right shoulder instead. He winced in pain as the bright red blood gushed from the jagged wound. He tried to knee Gray Eagle in the groin. His struggles were feeble and futile. Besides greater strength and skill, Gray Eagle also had greater motivation on his side. The battle was won almost too quickly and easily.

  With Jeffery pinned to the floor, he sneered, “Never again will you buy the scalps and possessions of my Indian brothers! For what you once did to my people and village, Yellow-hair, you die!”

  Another brief struggle ensued, followed by a knife buried deep within Jeffery’s satanic heart. Gray Eagle arose and stared down at his dead foe. At last their private war was over. It had ended in the death of one of them, just as they had both known it would. He retrieved his amulet from Jeffery’s desk and placed it around his neck.

  Jeffery’s
earlier taunts came back to claim his attention. He left the study and made his way up the staircase. He checked every room as he came to it, finding each one empty. Near the end of the long hallway, he approached the very last door. At last, the truth or the deceit in Jeffery’s claim would be evident in a few more moments.

  Gray Eagle slowly eased open the bedroom door, making sure he made no sound which might alert its possible inhabitant. He gingerly slipped inside the spacious, dimly lit room. His keen gaze seized upon the slender, feminine figure which was poised before an open window. He curiously and apprehensively studied the incredible sight before him, not daring to make a hasty judgment.

  Thick masses of auburn curls flowed down her back almost to her small waist, like water rushing down a rocky cascade. One ivory hand gently clutched a fold in the blue drapes, while the other rested lightly across her abdomen. She was scantily attired in knee-length pantalets and a snug, matching white camisole with narrow lacy straps; an outfit which did very little to conceal her shapely figure. His groin annoyingly tightened.

  Her respiration appeared slow and even from the light rise and fall of her shoulders. One ankle was slightly raised from the blue floral carpet and rested lightly against her other bare foot. The balmy April breeze gently ruffled wisps of chestnut hair. She was evidently in very deep thought. She remained totally motionless, as if she were an exquisite carving from delicate white stone. Yet, there was something about her aura which said she was anything but relaxed and carefree. It seemed an eternity passed as he simply stared at the back of the white girl before him.

  “Is it possible?” he asked himself. “Has Yellow-hair spoken the truth for once? My wife? Alisha alive and here with…”

  Rage flooded his powerful body as the dam on his control shuddered and gave way. Countless possibilities settled in on his warring emotions. He could not imagine how Gordon had escaped the massacre at Fort Pierre. He could not comprehend Alisha’s marriage to this treacherous white-dog. Logic failed to give him any reasonable answers to his many questions.

  That day long ago, she had escaped with Powchutu. He could not understand how she had come to be with Yellow-hair instead… married to him, the words thundered into his murderous thoughts. She had dared to marry another man, his sworn enemy!

  But he had not as yet viewed her face. He suddenly wondered if Jeffery’s last taunt had only been an attempt at revenge. His mind was besieged with jumbled thoughts. He had come to seek out and to destroy the enemy of his people, the enemy whose bounty had challenged him to come here. Even in his wildest dreams, he had not imagined he would find his lost wife, and definitely not as the wife of his most hated white enemy! There was only one way to learn the truth: to view the face of the woman at the window.

  In many ways he had lived and yearned for this precise moment, the moment when his past betrayal could be avenged, the moment when his taunting gaze could lock with her terrified one. Yet, he hesitated for a few moments more, wondering what he would do if that girl was indeed his traitorous wife. Unable to decide her permanent fate that quickly, he soundlessly moved forward to stand behind her. He was close enough to touch her without any effort; yet, he did not.

  The fragrant odor of jasmine left her body to float into his nostrils. Without his awareness, he tensed at her innocent assault upon him. He realized the dreaded significance of the next few minutes and of his first reaction. Although he had planned this event many times before in great detail, dreamed of having her at his mercy, he was caught unprepared to face it. It had been so unexpectedly thrust upon him. Two victories of revenge in one night seemed too incredible to be true.

  How should a man react to a long-anticipated moment, yet one he never dreamed to share? If this girl was not Alisha, he could do whatever he wished with her. It was entirely possible that Gordon had only chosen a woman who favored Alisha. Long ago Gordon had made his intense desire for her known. Yet, Gordon had also spoken of her escape with the scout. If this girl were Alisha…

  Alisha never knew if it was his familiar manly odor and magnetic aura which had signalled his presence, or if it was a sudden sensing of danger which caused her to whirl around. Her forest-green eyes widened in disbelief; her noticeably sad face blanched snow white. Her respiration was instantly ragged and swift; her slim body trembled at the instant awareness of her vulnerable position.

  She stared at the intoxicating man who was standing before her startled gaze, unable to absorb the full implication of his mysterious and incredible presence here in her bedroom. His name had helplessly escaped her parted lips at the first sight of him; she had used his Oglala name, not his English one. His keen, alert senses noted every one of her reactions. He cautioned himself to patience, for he recalled her disarming manner all too well.

  Her wide gaze slowly swept over his entire appearance,

  that of a virile white man. She absently passed over his garments, but openly stared at his shortened hair. Even disguised, she would have known him anywhere. Her confused, frightened gaze locked with his stoic one.

  She blurted out, “How did you find me?” She naturally assumed his arrival to mean he had relentlessly tracked her down after discovering she did not die.

  He did not answer her; his fierce stare never left her face. Her frantic gaze went past him to the closed door. She knew his powerful body blocked any path of escape. He read each of her moves as if they were his own. She knew she was trapped, cornered like defenseless prey by a vicious predator. Her resigned gaze came back to fuse with his steady one.

  The true meaning of her next words failed to reach his keen mind. “Have you come to correct your last mistake? You should have killed me that morning you found me in the wilderness. You should not have ridden away and left me behind.” There was a look in her eyes which he could not comprehend.

  His jawline grew taut at the reminder of that treacherous day. Instinctively his hand gripped his knife handle and pulled it from its sheath. The tip of the sharp blade came to rest near her pounding heart. Her eyes absorbed his hard features one last time. She closed them and waited for her coming death. Tears began to trace a narrow path down her cheeks, but she wisely accepted this long-postponed fate.

  She did not plead for her life. She did not attempt to reason with him or to excuse her past action. She made no attempt to bribe him or to resist him. She did not call out for help, nor did she ask about her husband’s fate.

  He found these actions strange and disquieting. She seemed almost too willing to die, almost too eager to accept her justly earned punishment. Or was it that she was only trying to die quickly and painlessly? No doubt she suspected and feared vengeful torture before death. Yet, her total passivity was perplexing. It was only natural for a woman to attempt some type of feminine guile!

  At his lengthy delay, she opened her eyes. She stared into his dark gaze. His black eyes were filled with obvious anger and hatred. He was in no hurry to finalize his deed; he was savoring his victory too much to end it swiftly and mercifully. Knowing of his savage nature where she was concerned, she dreaded the eventual outpouring of his violent revenge.

  She mentally berated herself for ever loving or wanting him. She wondered why, after all this time, he had finally come to extract some final penalty from her. That last day in the desert following their disastrous marriage, he had bid her a last farewell. Why did he have to return and further gouge her still-festering wounds? Would he pursue her all the way to the gates of eternity?

  She mentally cursed her traitorous heart and prurient body; for even now, all she wanted was to reach out and to caress his taut cheek. She wanted to be embraced in his strong arms, to feel his sensual lips upon her own, to hear him whisper those same words he had vowed in the desert that fateful day, to run her hungry hands over the length of his virile body. God help her; she wanted to fall upon the floor and make endless love to him.

  At such bittersweet thoughts and tormenting emotions, more tears eased down her soft cheeks. Her lips and chin tr
embled as she struggled to control them. She lowered her head to conceal all of these unforgivable, warring emotions from his perceptive mind.

  But in his anger and elation, he mistakenly read her expressions as those of fear and of guilt. “Your husband is dead,” he stated succinctly with an ice edge to his voice.

  Her head jerked up instantly. She had totally forgotten about him! “You killed Jeffery?” she stupidly inquired, as if such an act of violence was impossible for him.

  His following words came through gritted teeth, “Did you expect me to let him live after all he had done to me? I allow no one to dishonor me or to escape my punishment! He kills my red brothers and sells their possessions to other evil men like himself. He dared to demand my scalp and wanapin for his bloody collection! He offered much bounty. Many came. I grew weary of guarding my life at all times. You did not tell him I was dead,” he added mysteriously.

  The truth hit her hard: he had come after Jeffery, not her! If Jeffery had not insisted upon his scalp, he might never have found her again. Gray Eagle was not a man to have as an enemy, nor one to so recklessly challenge. Besides being evil, Jeffery was a fool… a dead fool. She stared at him with a look of disbelief and shock in her eyes.

  He erroneously assumed it to mean she was indeed surprised to see him alive. Another idea occured to him; she must have learned of his survival and had begged Gordon to succeed where Powchutu had failed. His scalp and wanapin had been ordered for her! This new thought increased his anger and resolve. Yet, maybe she had hidden her murderous deed from her second husband. Perhaps she was terrified by his success when she had assumed it to be impossible. No matter the truth!

  “Three times you have chosen the wrong man to protect you from me! Did you think Yellow-hair could help you more than Brave Bear or that half-breed scout? He is more of a coward than the weakest brave,” he sneered contemptuously. “Yellow-hair is dead now!”

  “I did not kn…” She began to deny his accusations and her knowledge of Jeffery’s bounty, then halted. She should not be forced to explain herself to her traitorous husband! Besides, two of those unfortunate protectors were now dead men: dead because of her. Remorse and sadness filled her.