She abruptly questioned, “Why didn’t you hurt me like he did? Why were your kisses so unlike his?” Consternation filled her as she refused to face the truth which was boldly staring her in the face with piercing, laughing jet eyes. In horror, she recalled something her father had once told her. He had said that a special man evoked inexplicable, wonderful emotions within a woman who was in love with him. Was this what he had been referring to? Was this how she was to judge who was to become that special, unforgettable man of her heart?
“No!” she cried out in panic. “It cannot be true! How could I possibly love you? We’re strangers! We’re different! We’re enemies!” Distressed deeply by such thoughts, she attacked him, “Why did you kiss me like that! Why did you force me to feel such wicked things! You are evil and cruel, Bright Arrow! No!” she cried out as if in physical pain. “It cannot be true! I won’t allow it!”
She glared up at him, holding him totally responsible for the betrayal of her own body and mind. He had surely tricked her! “This is all your fault! I know nothing of such things!” she angrily shouted at him. “Hiya squaw!” she forcefully denied his terrifying and masterful hold upon her and her wanton attraction to him.
Amused, he laughed genially. “Ni-ye mitawa, Rebecca,” he reiterated his claim upon her, totally confident in his enthralling power over her life and her body. He smiled tenderly and caressed her cheek. If she so stubbornly demanded, he would unselfishly prove these things to her again…
She shoved his hand away from her face. “No! Hiya!”
Challenged and obsessed, he leaned forward and kissed her thoroughly. When one kiss failed to halt her struggles, he assailed her senses with many more. She fought against him and her aching need for him. She lost the battle to him even before he made his first move. Within moments, the raging passion which consumed her could not be bridled; it raced through her like a wild stallion across the open plains, reveling in its freedom and joyful existence.
If possible, their possession of each other was more satisfying than the first time. He shuddered from the stunning impact of their union. When she lay exhausted and snuggled into the protective, inviting embrace of his arms, he savored this unique tranquility and this previously unknown feeling of completeness and supreme joy. At that precise moment, he knew he would never give her up until she failed to make him feel such powerful and wonderful feelings. He would take her time and time again until her magic was dispelled forever. He would seek out her secret allure which could drive a man wild with desire, could shake his body with such fierce unions, could grant him such total peace and relaxation, and set her apart from all other women. He would take and enjoy all she had to offer before he could part with her. When that day came, he would share her with his best friends and allow them to discover why he had kept her for so long and to instill envy within them for his having possessed her first.
It never occurred to Bright Arrow that he would never wish to part with his gratifying white captive. It never entered the brave’s mind that Rebecca’s magic was so strong and compelling or that it would increase to the bittersweet point where he would battle anyone and anything to keep her forever! Yet, those times and days were destined to come…
Weary in body and relaxed in spirit, Rebecca was quickly asleep within her lover’s arms. Suddenly vexed by this portentous magic which came in the form of white skin, he was briefly tempted to tie her to a nearby tree for the remainder of the night just to prove she meant nothing to him. Guilt gnawed at him.
Before he could push her out of his arms and off of his blanket, a night chill passed between them. She shivered and nestled closer to his warm frame. She smiled in her deep slumber and murmured his name. Such was the undoing of his cruel intent. He studied the lovely white creature who was now his captive.
Rebecca was his! If he so desired to sleep with her body touching his, then who could stop him! Besides, she fit nicely and perfectly against him; she was soft and enticing. She was small and helpless. A delicate girl was no threat to a powerful warrior! She filled him with heady power and excitement. She was also his responsibility. It was up to him to safeguard her health and life. If she caught a chill and took sick, she could die. That horrible thought distressed him more than he cared to admit. She was a fragile flower which could too easily and carelessly be destroyed.
He enfolded her within his warm arms and held her possessively. The rest of the night passed without either of them moving from their entwined position.
Chapter Three
Rebecca stirred and stretched, yawning and sighing contentedly. Her arm touched something dreadfully unfamiliar: another person was resting beside her! Her panicked gaze flew open wide and she hastily sat up to see who dared this brazen insult.
Her alarmed eyes fused with the calm, ebony ones of the Indian brave who was casually propped upon his right elbow, watching her closely. Last night’s events flooded her mind, breaking through the defensive barrier of her mind like a rain-swollen river assaulting a weak dam. The handsome brave smiled up at her, remaining in his reclining position. Deceived and charmed by his continued amicable behavior, her brownish gold eyes softened as she returned his gesture.
She hesitantly confessed, “I was afraid. I…thought you were…someone else.” Her look of relief pleased him, mystified him.
Without words, he reached up and gently pulled her down beside him. His hand playfully traced the exquisite features of her lovely face and stroked the softness of her tousled curls. When he leaned over to kiss her, she caught her breath in eager anticipation. New flames leaped within her body, as within his. Any logical reason to resist her new-found love deserted her spinning mind.
He expertly fanned those igneous coals of smoldering passion until a raging fire blazed within them, encompassing them in an emotional furnace which refined and purified their unity, forging and joining them together in spirit and heart. Neither would be satisfied until this feverish wildfire was extinguished in the only way possible, which it was. In the contented, relaxing afterglow of their third union, he bored his obsidian eyes into her amber ones and huskily vowed, “Rebecca, Bright Arrow…winyan.”
He noted the startled look of surprise and uncertainty which captured and brightened her serene expression at his second choice of words. She dauntlessly and lovingly caressed his chest as she smiled and whispered, “Yes…Bright Arrow’s winyan…”
He kissed her lightly upon her forehead before he left her side to bathe off in the stream. As he washed and then dressed, she lay there daydreaming about him and all they had shared. Who was this intoxicating interloper who had trespassed upon her body, demanding she become his willing property? Yesterday she had been a supple, green bush; today she was in full bloom like a delicate Yucca plant, one which was beautiful and pure white, one which could be plucked or destroyed by a careless hand.
She tranquilly concluded, life is so very strange and unpredictable. How is it possible for such feelings to be so all-consuming and sudden?
He came back to where she was. He pointed to the stream-and softly commanded, “Yuzaza, Rebecca.” He gallantly assisted her to her feet as she timidly held the blanket up before her. He glanced at her tight grip upon it, then studied her rosy face. He chuckled mirthfully, then repeated his order for her to bathe.
His back was to the stream as she followed his command. He rolled up the blankets and secured them to his horse. He turned to find her anxiously staring down at her torn clothing which was totally unusable now. He came to her side and led her over to his splotched Appaloosa. He mounted with graceful agility. He leaned over to lift her up to sit before him. Once again she held on to the blanket to keep it from slipping away from her naked body. She timidly refused to meet his humorous gaze.
He grinned mischievously as he playfully tugged upon a curl which rested upon her creamy breast. He pulled her trembling body close to his before he prodded his animal to move out. Knowing she had many surprises in store for her today and for many days to
come, a frown lined his forehead and knit his brow in deep thought. He was irritated to discover his sadness and anger at the reality it would never be this way between them again. He was helpless to prevent the loss of something very special. He hadn’t even returned to his people yet and already he was feeling the pains and misery of her sacrifice. He was infuriated by the fact that duty and honor controlled his life more than he himself did! It would be impossible and even dishonorable to keep her, and yet he wanted her so much that it frustrated and angered him. Why did the laws and customs of his people overrule his wishes?
As he became aware of his brooding line of thought, he chided himself for his weakness and foolishness. He was a warrior! The loss of this scrawny slave should mean nothing to him! He must harden his heart against her; he must control his forbidden desire for her. He must remember at all times who and what they both were…
If this was only a cruel joke upon her, then why wasn’t he laughing or relishing it? He could easily envision the amused looks upon the faces of his war party when he rode into camp with her nestled against him. Surely he could count many coups for this feat of great prowess. Then why wasn’t he pleased with his accomplishment? Why wasn’t he looking forward to revealing it to his warriors and to her? He knew why; whatever this mysterious attraction was between them, it would brutally end the moment he exposed his treacherous betrayal.
He ordered his mind upon another, less weighty, subject. How many warriors could wipe out a white woman’s people, enslave her, ravish her, and then have her eagerly cling to him in open love and acceptance? No one could deny the naked passion which flickered brightly and uncontrollably in her doelike eyes. To extract all he could from her before their closeness was ended, he would willingly deceive her with this loving treatment which was so clearly disarming and enslaving her, which would appear only a cruel ploy once the truth was out. By the time they came to his braves’ camp, she would be so enthralled by him that she would artlessly reveal his powerful hold upon her spirit and body. Hopefully, she would be so ensnared in his lover’s trap that she would be unable to resist him even after he proved unworthy of her love, acceptance, and trust. Hopefully, she would be wise enough to follow his future commands without forcing him to punish her. He refused to dwell upon the pain his deceit would bring to her and upon their fragile, forbidden union. There was no hope for a relationship between a white girl of seventeen and a Sioux warrior of eighteen.
Bright Arrow decided to treat Rebecca as what she was: his captured foe, his white slave and whore. He would not reveal his gentle treatment to her. He would allow his people to believe she had helplessly fallen under the awesome spell of Bright Arrow, invincible son of Gray Eagle. That was a logical tale since he was desired by countless women, white and Indian, younger and older.
Just as Rebecca anxiously questioned their destination, Bright Arrow reined in his horse and pointed to her plundered wagon. To prevent a forest fire, the wagons had not been set ablaze. They had been left to display a grisly warning to other white settlers who might pass this way in their greedy encroachment upon Indian lands.
The sight which greeted her eyes was ghastly. She buried her face upon his firm, smooth chest. Tears burned his muscled flesh. “Why did you bring me here, Bright Arrow? Do you wish to hurt me or to torment me? We must go,” she pleaded sadly. “There is so much death and pain here.”
He kneed his horse and moved closer to Jamie O’Hara’s wagon, one he knew from his previous scouting. He grasped her chin and lifted it. He read the agony which was lucidly engraved in her somber eyes. He smiled, then touched the blanket around her. “Rebecca heyake. Wayaketo,” he stated, telling her to look inside the wagon for her clothes. After all, he couldn’t take her home stark naked.
He lifted her as easily as a feather and placed her bare feet upon the tailgate of the wagon. “Ya. Rebecca heyake. Bright Arrow o’winza,” he stated as he tugged the blanket free from her nude body.
She shrieked in dismay and hastily attempted to shield her shapely frame from his smoldering gaze. He laughed, enjoying the sight she made. He held up the blanket and mischievously shook it, saying, “Bright Arrow o’winza.” He pointed into the wagon and declared. “Rebecca heyake. Ya,” he said, motioning for her to enter it.
Enlíghtenment dawned on her. She slipped inside and rummaged through her trunk. It was obvious she couldn’t take very much with her, so she settled upon a cotton skirt and blouse. She pulled out another similar outfit, both of blue chambray, her normal serving attire from Jamie’s roadhouse back in St. Louis. She sat down to pull on a pair of lowcut mocassins from the bottom of her trunk. Her father had made them for her, but her hostile uncle had refused to permit her to wear them. Surely this brave would not object to them! She savored their soft comfort, pushing aside thoughts of her deceased parents.
She folded the other skirt and blouse and placed them upon a square of green material. She quickly brushed and braided her hair, then put the comb and brush in the same bundle. She gingerly lifted out the small, tanned skin which had a picture upon its inner surface: a miniature oil drawing of her parents which had been done by a travelling artist who had passed by their cabin while journeying through the rugged wilderness. He painted unknown wildlife, dauntless settlers, stirring landscapes, and wild Indians. It had been a treasured gift to her for her assistance and great interest in his work.
“Rebecca, ku-wa,” Bright Arrow called out for her to return, wondering at her delay.
She hurriedly placed the precious painting within her small bundle and secured it tightly. She made her way past the boxes of gear and crates of goods which were of no use to Jamie O’Hara now. “I’m ready,” she softly replied, extending her arms to him.
He hesitated momentarily as his appreciative gaze scanned her appearance. She was softly innocent and naively trusting. She exuded youthful vitality. He astutely noted the braids and the mocassins. He wondered if she were trying to make some point with them or if there was some importance to her possession of them. He smiled and reached out to take her. Once more she buried her face against his muscled chest as they traversed the full length of the ravaged camp. In the midst of her new love and confusing experience, she had totally forgotten about the Indian raid! Now, she had to blot it out of her mind again.
She placed one arm around his narrow waist and held onto her prized bundle with the other. They rode away from the nightmare which had begun her trek to destiny. The wind tore her words of gratitude from her lips, but he still heard them. How he dreaded to hurt this gentle creature…
As she rested her head against his brawny shoulder, Rebecca’s thoughts were playing hide-and-seek with her logic. Her new life seemed a puzzle which she could not piece together. She concluded that if it was her destiny to be an Indian slave, then she could not have selected a better man if she had been allowed to do the choosing herself! From the corner of her eye, she studied him.
Bright Arrow seemed kind, thoughtful, gentle, and understanding. He was unlike the wild savages that populated the tales she had heard along her journey West. In fact, he was more of a real man than any white one she had ever met. He was definitely strong, brave, alert, and cunning. He was so very handsome and virile. He was the most beautiful and magnetic creature she had ever seen or known. He was being so patient and friendly with her, even though she was his captive enemy. He was indeed a rare man. Yet, she ignored one vital fact: Bright Arrow was the son of Gray Eagle himself…
Admittedly, her feelings and thoughts were colored and controlled by his friendly conduct. She sighed peacefully and snuggled up to him. His embrace tightened around her. Her trusting, naive nature did not warn her of the inevitable deception. To Rebecca, her submission to Bright Arrow seemed right, natural.
It had been two lonely, unhappy years since her parents had died so suddenly and unexpectedly. Her eager, empty heart yearned for the love, joy, and acceptance which Bright Arrow was guilefully showing her. She had not felt this safe and happy in
two years; it was delightful and irresistible; it was stimulating and exhilarating. Her youthful heart had never known such fulfillment and she failed to question it.
They rode for hours, only halting briefly to rest his horse. Rebecca’s shyness gradually departed as he offered her some dried strips of meat and bread pones; things prepared by his mother for his raid. They ate, then drank from a nearby stream. Later, they remounted and headed out again—she mistakenly assuming he was happily taking her home to his village.
About mid-afternoon, Bright Arrow abruptly reined in his horse. She glanced up at him. He seemed to be listening for something. His gaze fused with her inquisitive one. Before she could ask if something was wrong, his mouth came down upon hers. His kiss was brief, but pervasive. It ended almost before she could respond to it. He scrutinized her startled expression, as if it held some special meaning for him. She was confused by his fathomless, intense gaze. As she stared into those obsidian depths, she felt adrift in an endless black ocean. She smiled. He glanced over her auburn head as if willing his keen eyes to see through the verdant copse before them. When his gaze returned to hers, it was stormy and dismal. Something was troubling him. Did his acute senses detect danger?
When he spoke in his tongue, she could not comprehend his words or intentions. “I wish it did not have to be so, Rebecca. But I am bound to my laws and ways, just as you are to yours. This game between us was unwise. It will cause you much sadness and pain. I cannot spare you what is to come. Had I but known of what was to grow between us, I would not have come after you yesterday. I should have yielded you to Standing Bear. My loss of face could not have pained me more than your loss of will. It would have been better not to have known you this way than to lose you now. You are white, and I am Oglala; our destinies cannot be joined. For what I must do, you will hate me. Still, I cannot change the hatred between our peoples. If I but had the courage and strength, I would draw my knife and end this magic, forbidden thing between us here and now. Hate me if you must, but you are mine…for a while longer.”
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