Tender Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  She hesitantly made the sign for truce and friendship. He keenly observed her expressions and movements, intrigued and astonished. His puzzled expression falsely told her that he did not understand. She fretted and probed her memory once more. She placed two fingers to her lips and made the sign for talk as she whispered, “Talk wasichu?” She repeated her first two signs and stated firmly, “Rebecca lakota. Peace. Friendship.”

  A contemptuous scoff and truculent laughter were her answers. Still, she persistently tried to bridge the communication gap between them. Pointing to herself, she stated “Rebecca.”

  Touching his golden chest, he announced his Oglala name, “Wanhinkpe Wiyakpa.” Pride and self-assurance emanated from him; yet, he had responded.

  Elated and relieved she smiled, hesitantly repeating his difficult name. “Lakota?” she ventured in wishful anticipation. Her soft smile tugging irritably at his warring heart.

  He shook his dark head. “Rebecca wasichu. Rebecca kaskapi.” He observed her closely to see if she comprehended the words “white” and “captive.”

  “Hiya understand,” she replied, touching her forehead with the sign of confusion. She was certain by now that “hiya” meant no!

  He pointed to the coppery skin upon his arm and declared, “Wanhinkpe Wiyakpa Oglala. Rebecca kaskapi, wasichu,” he explained their differences, stroking her arm to indicate its color.

  He gently seized her wrists and bound them with a leather thong. Pointing to her bonds, he stated, “Rebecca kaskapi.”

  She stared at the bonds, then up at him. The confining thong made his word quite clear: prisoner. Naturally she, like all other whites, had heard of the mightly Oglala; they were accurately rumored to be the most powerful tribe in the Sioux Nation. She feared to ask her next question, but could not resist knowing the truth. “Gray Eagle Oglala? Wanmdi Hota?” she unnecessarily clarified the name which could strike terror into the heart of even the bravest white man or Indian foe.

  He inhaled sharply, then glared at her in stunned silence. Who was this girl who knew signing and who called his father by both his English and Oglala names? How did she know which tribe he belonged to; for most whites collectively called them Sioux, no matter which of the seven different tribes they spoke of!

  “Wanmdi Hota Oglala. Wanmdi Hota a’ta. Wanhinkpe Wiyakpa Oglala,” he insolently declared he was the son of the infamous Gray Eagle just to terrify her.

  She echoed his new word in confusion, “A’ta?”

  At her coaxing look and vivid interest in him and his words, he impulsively devulged part of the valuable secret which his father had cautioned him against recklessly or foolishly giving away. He pointed to the shiny arrow which was suspended from the thong around his neck. He spoke his name in Oglala, then said it in English, “Bright Arrow.” He inwardly hoped this delicate girl had heard many colorful tales about him.

  “Your name is Bright Arrow?” she hastily seized upon this narrow path of verbal exchange, his name unknown to her.

  Instantly aware of his boastful slip, he skillfully covered his annoyance with himself. He presented her with a puzzled look. He pointed to her and said, “Rebecca,” then to himself and declared, “Bright Arrow,” as if that was all the English he knew! His white name was all this dainty and compelling girl was going to cleverly pull from him!

  He squatted and picked up a pointed stick. He began to scratch upon the smooth surface of the damp ground. When he pointed to the marks, she knelt down beside him to study them in the rays of the full moon. He tapped the limn of a female stick figure and stated, “Shalee.” In turn, he tapped the rough sketch of a smaller masculine figure and cheerfully declared, “Bright Arrow.” He touched the larger figure of a man who was wearing a chief’s flowing bonnet and beamed with love and pride as he disclosed, “Wanmdi Hota! Gray Eagle, a’ta.” He then enclosed the three figures within a single tepee, repeating their names together. He firmly stressed, “A’ta!”

  Whether his word meant chief or father, his limn was as clear to her as a spring morning upon the open plains. She stared at him in utter astonishment and panicky comprehension. She trembled. “You’re…Gray Eagle’s son…” She swallowed loudly and with great difficulty. She was a captive to the son of the most notorious chief of the Sioux!

  Her incredulous gaze slowly and anxiously passed over his striking face and virile frame. She was as quick witted and alert as he was. “Without a doubt, you could be no one else,” she apprehensively agreed with her own mental conclusion. “Of all the warriors out here, why you?” she murmured in dread, calling to mind the countless tales of Gray Eagle’s hatred and warfare with the whites. From what she had heard, the Sioux battled the encroaching whites more fiercely and successfully than any other tribe. Their chief was feared and respected by all who entered this territory.

  She nervously glanced at her bound hands. “Bright Arrow’s kaskapi?” she inquisitively whispered to test his motives and control. Discovering his identity only increased her confusion about him and his odd conduct. What would such a great warrior want with a lowly enemy?

  She nearly swooned when he insensibly expounded upon her precarious position. She openly stared at him as he uttered his decision about her destiny.

  Angered by his previous error in judgment and caution, his tone was belligerent and smug as he vowed, “Rebecca Bright Arrow winyan.”

  “Winyan?” she uncontrollably echoed, fearing to learn the meaning of that portentous word.

  He seemed to search his own mind and memory for a word which she might comprehend. But in reality, he merely sought a word or sign which would not give away any more hints to his vast knowledge of her tongue. He pointed to her and exclaimed, “Winyan.” When her eyes still revealed cloudiness, he drew a female figure upon the ground. “Winyan,” he snapped impatiently, tapping the sketch. “Rebecca winyan! Rebecca Bright Arrow winyan. Squaw!” he tersely sneered to clarify any remaining doubts. Surely she had heard that repulsive word!

  “Squaw?” she repeated in disbelief. Her stunned look said she indeed knew about that scornful rank. “I’m to become your woman? But I’m white, and you’re Oglala!” she absurdly argued, as if that difference had anything to do with her new role. Fear gripped her heart. “Rebecca wasichu! Bright Arrow Oglala! Bright Arrow Gray Eagle’s…” Not knowing how to say son, she altered to, “…A’ta. Hiya squaw! It’s impossible…”

  His expression waxed cold, revealing total indifference. He was usually cool-headed, stoic; and patient. But this girl had a curious way of destroying each of those vital traits! Nettled he growled, “Hiya Winyan! Rebecca wasichu squaw!” he voiced the contemptuous difference between her conclusions.

  Consumed with panic, she shouted, “I can’t be your squaw! I’ve never known any man! We can’t…” The full reality of her perilous situation rapidly sank in. He was going to make her his slave to serve him in any and every way! No! her mind screamed. This could not be happening…“Koda,” she foolishly and futilely pleaded.

  He impassively shook his head. “Hiya koda. Squaw.”

  Her heart was beating so heavily and rapidly that he could see its forceful movements in the vein in her throat. To him, she appeared more frightened of him as a man than as an Indian foe! “Rebecca squaw,” he devilishly repeated again just to frighten and annoy her.

  “No! Hiya!” she screamed at him. “I won’t let any man treat me that way! I’ll die first!” she bravely claimed.

  Bright Arrow withdrew his deadly blade from its leather sheath. She guessed he had comprehended her words and was about to comply with her challenge. Instead, the knife performed a much different task; he seized the front of her tattered dress and nonchalantly slashed the flimsy material from neck to hem. She gasped in shock and embarrassment. She struggled to move away from him and his probing gaze.

  His taunting laughter filled the ominous silence which was broken only by her ragged breathing and the soft murmuring of the brook. Careful not to nick her arms, he steadily worked
until the soggy dress was held high within his grasp like a trophy of battle. He grinned roguishly at her, watching the crimson look which exposed her shame and terror. He casually tossed the demolished dress aside and reached for her again.

  She vainly attempted to roll free of his seeking hands, but found herself pinned to the hard ground with his right knee pressing into her abdomen. She struck out at him with her bound hands. He easily captured them and pinned them above her head with only one of his powerful hands. Her face whitened as the knife headed for the shoulder straps of her white camisole. She squirmed, but could not prevent his determined intention. Within moments, the camisole and petticoat and bloomers were lying with the dress.

  Her face flamed a brighter red. She closed her eyes against his scrutiny of her naked body. The only thing she could deny him was the pleasure of her pleas. They would accomplish nothing more than to draw hearty laughter and taunts from him. She wondered how she could ever endure this agonizing, degrading treatment.

  Something strange was taking place! He was gently drying her off with his blanket! He pulled her to a sitting position and began to dry her long hair as much as possible. When he handed her the damp blanket from his hand and indicated for her to complete this task, she seized the blanket from his grasp and placed her back to him. She wrapped it around her chilled frame and snuggled into its warmth and protection.

  Lusty chuckles reached her ears. When she turned to glare at him, she froze in disbelief and panic at the vision of masculine virility standing there: naked, resolved, and very obviously aroused! She had never viewed a nude male before; yet, she realized here was a magnificent, perfect specimen. She cringed in horror as alarm travelled her features and settled within her wide gaze, knowing his intentions. She tore her luminous eyes from the sight before them. She covered her face to hide this vision of brawny manhood from her mind and to conceal her modesty.

  He placed another blanket upon the ground beside her and lay down. He reached for her. She flinched from his touch. She acutely felt and smelled his proximity. Danger invaded her mind and body. She did what she had promised herself she would not do; she pleaded for release and for mercy.

  Following a brief and fierce struggle, she was imprisoned beneath him upon his blanket. He stared down at her. She was like a timid, frightened doe. Their gazes met and fused as she softly beseeched, “Please, Bright Arrow, Hiya…”

  She was breathtaking and fragile in the soft moonlight. Her amber eyes were gentle and compelling. Her voice was like a flower, silky and inviting. She was defenseless and vulnerable. A novel feeling of tenderness and potent desire flooded his taut body. If he wanted to experience the many delights she had to offer, then he could not be brutal with her. He smiled, thinking what a joke it would be on her if he could trick her into yielding to him: her enemy and treacherous captor.

  His sensual smile was beguiling, disarming. She stared at it, speculating upon its meaning. Her watchful gaze returned to his alluring, igneous eyes. His hand tenderly pushed some straying locks of damp auburn hair from her face, then lovingly caressed her golden cheek. She tensed as his finger ever-so-lightly moved over her quivering lips. She watched him intently as his hand and gaze lazily explored her face. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was trying to tenderly seduce her rather than to brutally rape her! Fear mingled with another, unknown emotion.

  When his mouth came down to claim her lips, he had to hold her head still between his hands. His pervasive kiss told him it was her first real one. Pleased, he deepened his next one, knowing she was too inexperienced to resist him long. His romantic onslaught was calculated and utterly intoxicating. She quivered apprehensively as he placed feathery kisses upon her eyes, face, neck, and mouth. He skillfully nibbled at her ears and lips. Helpless, she had no choice but to allow his seeking, stirring assault.

  He shifted to lie half on her prone body, allowing him the freedom to discover her entire frame. Having visited the “wokasketipi” where the female slaves—Indian and white—were held until sold or traded, he was very experienced with the female body. He had often joined other braves in a game to test their sexual prowess by seeing who could extract an uncontrollable response from a female who was selected for her beauty, appeal, or hefty appetite upon the mats. That enjoyable, educational sport had taught him many things about female ways. Too, there was the added knowledge learned from captured whores who tried to use their talents to win favor or mercy from the braves.

  Having been raised in a tepee with his parents, he also knew the vast difference between carnal sex and love; for no two people loved as deeply, strongly, or passionately as Gray Eagle and Shalee. Of innocent mind and virginal body, this girl would be no match for his sexual prowess! Besides, he had already recognized the unwitting look in her eyes which declared her thoughts about him as a man! The others would certainly enjoy hearing about his success when he related it to them tomorrow, and that delightful deceit strengthened his purpose.

  As his eager mouth worked upon her lips and ears, his deft hands stroked and fondled her renegade body. His blissful game was measured. As fiercely as Rebecca tried to prevent any response of pleasure from his actions, she could not. When his warm and moist lips travelleddown to tease at her full breasts, she trembled and moaned in irrepressible hunger. She pleaded again until his mouth silenced her words. He stormed her virginal castle until it lay conquered, totally within his powerful control.

  The pain and shock of his initial entry brought on another brief struggle. Yet, he patiently continued his enticing caresses and fiery kisses until the hurt faded. She was now his; this truth gave him a heady sense of power over her—and it also inspired a deep emotional bond which he failed to notice. She was his…

  With the pain gone and his gentle assault intensified, she could no longer resist the callings of her own fiery body to extinguish this consuming fire which gnawed hungrily at her womanhood and attacked her youthful, romantic heart. Her will and reason were swept away in the violent surge of passion which flooded her body and mind. She denied all reality but him. Soon, she was like a rough, white stone which was ready and willing to be artistically shaped into a valuable arrowhead which would bravely attack the unknown. He calmly chiselled, chipped, smoothed, and honed her. The moment of completion of his task came…

  Her slender arms went up to encircle his neck. Her still-bound hands pulled his head closer to hers; her graceful fingers played in his ebony hair. She pressed her eager body tightly to his; her lips hungrily accepted his kisses. Her body and mind craved some new and forbidden hunger which it instinctively knew he could feed and sate.

  He briefly questioned her powerful attraction to him, for no other female had ever responded or yielded to him in this stimulating manner. Never had he experienced such pleasure and such intense hunger. When sheer ecstasy exploded within him, he discovered a stunning satisfaction and a rapturous aftermath which were both new and frightening. He had made this girl a woman, a woman whom he already desired as he had no other. Why was this union so unlike the many others he had experienced? he asked himself, disturbed and angered by the powerful magic which she had cast upon him. She had reached and shaken the very center of his being, and that troubled him deeply.

  When his labored breathing slowed and eventually returned to normal, he lifted his head and stared down at her. She, too, was gazing up at him. Her eyes were filled with this same mixture of turbulent emotions: confusion, serenity, alarm, surprise, and fierce desire. Desire? he questioned his own perception. Her next words increased his confusion and worry…Her eyes and voice revealed an intense honesty that haunted him. She was just as troubled and distressed as he was!

  “I don’t understand what happened between us, Bright Arrow, and you can’t explain it to me. I’ve never known or felt anything like that before. So strange…and so powerful…If love is like this, then why do so many women fear and despise it?” she absently reasoned aloud, totally mystified by this bold contradiction and th
e unfamiliar emotions which-were still racing through her. “There was some pain, but it was brief. How could such a thing feel so wonderful and be…” She flushed a deep crimson as she suddenly became aware of her own voice and wanton words. She quickly and defensively hushed.

  If he had not comprehended her misuse of the word love for sex, he would have laughed at her childish notions. So, he deduced from her naive confession, he had given her great pleasure with little discomfort. He smiled down at her and confidently announced, “Rebecca Bright Arrow squaw.” Unprepared to sacrifice this intoxicating closeness of spirits and bodies too quickly, he relished his pretense of gentleness and affection.

  His stirring tone and disarming expression denied any insult in his claim. Enamored and enchanted, she smiled and demurely admitted, “It would appear that way…” She eased her bound hands over his head, puzzled by how they got there. She pondered her lack of restraint and abandonment of will and reality. Curious about these unknown feelings and wildly wonderful sensations, she boldly ran her forefinger over his sensual lips as he had done to her earlier.

  “Are kisses always like that?” she asked, forgetting their language barrier. She touched her own lips to see if they felt any differently now that he had deftly plundered them. “No man has ever kissed me like that before. It causes such strange reactions. I do not understand such feelings, Bright Arrow,” she artlessly confessed, wishing he could explain them to her. Evidently he knew a great deal about love and women! she surmised, irrational jealousy flooding her romantic heart.

  Another time flashed vividly across her dazed memory: her struggle with Jake Selby. “No,” she murmured softly as if absently thinking aloud. “All kisses aren’t like that. Captain Selby was mean and rough; his kisses were disgusting and painful.” Those conclusions brought new mysteries to the hazy surface, ones which she couldn’t explain or comprehend.