Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  “I shall try.”

  “Perhaps it would be better for you if your dress were loosened,” he suggested. “Your manner of dress is constricting, I think.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Would you like me to help you loosen your clothing?”

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes,” she said, “that would be most agreeable and perhaps it might help me to sleep. But a woman’s dress is fairly complicated. I can loosen the buttons on this stomacher—that is this piece of clothing that is stiff and unwieldy, here in front of my chest and abdomen—if you will push down the sleeves of the dress while I unbutton it.”

  He nodded and did so, but his next words to her were ones of surprise, as he said, “There is yet more clothing beneath,” he said.

  “Yes, that is my chemise,” she explained as she pulled the bodice of her gown down from around her shoulders. “If I turn my back to you, do you think you might unfasten my stays? There is a lace that holds my corset in place. Do you see them?”

  He nodded.

  “If you will but loosen those, I can remove my corset, which will allow me a chance to catch my breath.”

  His fingers were already at work over the lacings, and his gentle touch, there upon her back, was like magic. Every nerve in her body came alive.

  When the corset fell apart, and her breasts spilled out over the shape of it, she felt oddly liberated, as well as relieved. She inhaled deeply.

  “Why do white women wear these things?”

  “ ’T is the style, and one must attain a small waistline somehow. The expense of beauty, I fear, is ofttimes one of discomfort.”

  “Nyoh. Indeed, it seems to be so.”

  He pulled the garment from her, and it was odd, for it was pitch-black within their lean-to. Yet, she could feel his gaze upon her.

  “How strange it is,” he whispered, “that we have been often in each other’s arms, yet I have never beheld you in the flesh. It is to be regretted that you are forced to wear so many clothes, for one such as you would be beautiful to go without any.”

  “Without any clothes? Sir Eagle, what you suggest is scandalous.”

  “It may be, but still there are not many who could retain their beauty without the adornment of clothing. You are such a one.”

  She sighed. “How you flatter me; it is much too dark in our shelter to see me in the altogether. But I admit, sir, that I like your praise very much all the same.”

  “No flattery,” he admitted. “I speak but the truth, for there is a trickle of light to reveal you. Besides, I can see well enough with my hands.”

  And with those hands, he was roaming over her bosom and the curves of her stomach as though he would memorize every hill and valley of her form. Again she sighed. “Then come, Sir Eagle, if you wish to see me completely naked, help me to remove my skirts, as well. There is still much work to do before I can safely say that you have seen me in the altogether.”

  She could almost feel Black Eagle’s delight. And though the darkness did not allow her to witness his smile, there was a note of humor in his voice as he said, “I would be most pleased.”

  She sat before him in nothing but her chemise, her hose and her shoes, which to Marisa’s way of thinking was the same as being naked. This, to her frame of reference, was as far as her undressing went. However, it seemed that Black Eagle wished to remove even this last article of clothing, and when he made a motion to take off her chemise, as well, Marisa backed away from him.

  “Sir,” she said, “what is it you intend?”

  “To see you unclad. Are we not removing all of your clothes?”

  “But am I not already naked?”

  He laughed, the sound soft and deeply masculine. But when she didn’t join in with the joke, she could practically hear him frown. He said, “Naked? Do you jest? There is still this slip that hides you.”

  “You wish me to remove my chemise, as well?”

  “Nyoh, yes.”

  “But sir, even a lady long married does not allow her husband such privileges.”

  “Does she not? I thought I understood the Englishman, but this is a strange custom for a man to have,” he said. “Still I would like to take this underdress off of you.” He was already pulling the chemise up over her head.

  She sighed. But she assisted him nonetheless, holding her arms up over her head.

  She’d thought he would simply slip the clothing off. However, he caught and held her arms up over her head, and with her hands caught in her gown, he knelt in front of her, bringing his lips unerringly to the taut nipples of her breasts.

  At first touch, excitement filled her, and she felt naughty, sexy, desirable. She was utterly naked, as bare as she had come into this world, and as she knelt before him, her femininity found a safe harbor within his masculinity. It was an empowering experience, and she swayed against his sensual onslaught, a fire rousing to life within her.

  Then he removed the chemise completely, and he lay her gently back against their cushion of padded pine boughs. Immediately, the fragrance, not only of fresh pine, but also of his own earthy scent assailed her senses. It occurred to her that she might always, from this moment forward, associate these smells with him.

  He bent over her and toward her, coming down to rub his own bare chest against her own. It was a heady experience and she swayed against him, raising her hips to meet his.

  He groaned. The sound was like music to her.

  While one of his hands held him balanced over her, his other hand kneaded her breasts. And then he set one of his knees into position, there at the junction of her hips, stabilizing him and allowing his kisses to range lower and lower over her abdomen. She cast her head back and opened her chest up to him, letting the fire that this man kindled rage over her.

  And he answered her gift, suckling on her breasts, her stomach, down to her belly button. However, when his lips wandered ever lower and lower over her, she became slightly alarmed. His kisses were rambling in a direction wherein lay her most intimate secrets.

  “Black Eagle,” she whispered, coming up onto her elbows. “What is it you intend doing?”

  It took him a moment to answer, though eventually, he said, “To love you.”

  “Yes, I am most happy about that,” she replied. “But how do you intend doing it?”

  She sensed more than beheld his grin. “You will see. Lie back. You will enjoy it.”

  “But—”

  His growl interrupted her. It was deep, masculine and incredibly sensuous. And then he had positioned himself over her, there at the apex of her legs. First his fingers found her most private spot, but then his lips followed where his fingers had been.

  Dear Lord, she thought as she caught her breath. How was a person to bear such pleasure?

  It was glorious. It was resplendent. And as her soft, high-pitched moans caught on the air, it seemed to urge him on. All at once, his kisses exploded, his tongue, being the instrument, bringing her to a fine-tuned crescendo. She squirmed, she wiggled, her legs opening to him to give him full access.

  It was magic, it was enchanted, she being the recipient of his adoration. On and on it went, until at last, the ecstasy was almost more than she could bear, and she found herself once again tripping over the edge. She moaned, she sighed, and she strained against him as the tempest of release rocked her body. Over and over again, her body pitched with pure elation.

  “Dear Lord,” she moaned. Incapable of speech for the moment, there was nothing else she could think of to say. And after a moment, she simply uttered, “Dear Lord,” again.

  But it wasn’t over. He had come up over her, his lips immediately finding hers in an all-out consuming kiss.

  “Are you ready for all of me?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Oh, yes, please.”

  Again, he growled, the sound so incredibly masculine, she thought she might melt. At last he became a part of her; it felt right, so very, very right. Briefly, he held himself over her, as he
bent down toward her, to whisper into her ear, “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Enjoy it?” she repeated. “Do you tease me? How could I not enjoy it? Indeed, sir, I am uncertain that word adequately describes what I have experienced this night.”

  She felt his smile, as he bent his head against her neck. He murmured, “I am glad.”

  And then, without further conversation, they were repeating the act of love all over again, he bringing her up once more to that place where all is right with the world. He rocked against her, and she met his every thrust, moving against him with all the adoration she had to give.

  Over and over he bore up within her, she meeting his thrusts, and contributing to their spiraling frenzy. His face was only inches from her own, and though it was almost pitch-black within their tiny shelter, she looked up at him, admiration in her gaze as she said, “I love you!”

  His response was not verbal. Instead his exertions became fast and furious. There was that fine-tuned sensation again, a fire, an excruciating happiness building up within her, its location centered at the junction of her legs. Exquisite excitement filled her, and as she spiraled into the realm of pure pleasure, she felt him release his seed within her.

  Her moans echoed his low-pitched groans. His body came down over her, and yet now and again, he shuddered within her. At last he lay atop her while a few more higher-pitched moans escaped her lips. Inadvertently, she tightened her muscles, there at the junction of her legs, the action eliciting a further groan from him.

  He said, “That feels good.”

  “Yes.”

  “We will marry,” he said simply.

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said. There was nothing else to say. Indeed, for all practical purposes, they already were married.

  This was her life now, her new life.

  “Yes,” she repeated, loving the sound of the word, loving him. Log cabin or manor house, it mattered not. She belonged to this man. Perhaps she always had.

  Eighteen

  Days passed. Days of wonder, of excitement, days that were consumed with searching for Sarah, but they were also days spent making love in the cool evenings, walking hand in hand through the multicolored forests of the Adirondacks, learning new facts about trees and herbs and plants, spotting and admiring deer, moose, elk. Never had Marisa appreciated nature so fully, never had she given so much thought to the miracles she witnessed about her.

  Each day was different, each day she discovered some new and awe-inspiring detail about the land that she had, up to this time, taken for granted. Happiness was theirs. Indeed, it was as though she and Black Eagle had momentarily stopped the earth midturn.

  Eventually, however, the world could no longer hold off its reality, and as though making up for its negligence, the intrusion into their paradise came in the form of violence.

  On this day, Black Eagle had been up, awake and away, as usual. He had left Marisa in their shelter, her task being one of defense: She was to clean and reload their weapons, sharpen their knives and hatchets, and see to any other tool that they might utilize for defense. Black Eagle had left to go in search of Sarah, but before he’d gone, he had given her explicit instructions: remain quiet. If an enemy approached, she was to first go perfectly still, while using her mind to plot an escape. Then, as soon as she had formed a plan, she was to take fast and furious action.

  There was to be no going to and from their lean-to while he was away. He’d instructed further, no singing, no talking to oneself, nothing.

  Marisa wasn’t about to disobey. Besides, she’d discovered that when Black Eagle wasn’t with her, her courage waned. Indeed, she would have been hard-pressed to leave their hideaway on any account.

  But this was an unusual day. The first moment she sensed that all was not as it ought to be was the mere crack of a twig, like the sound made beneath a footfall. Immediately, she went still, as Black Eagle had instructed.

  She waited.

  If it were Black Eagle, he would soon make himself known to her with the special call they’d arranged between them. Minutes passed, and still there was nothing, no indication that whoever was out there was Black Eagle.

  Instinct made her want to speak out, to query and discover the identity of her intruder. But wisely she kept her silence.

  What if it were a bear? A mountain lion? A wolf? Worse, what if it were one of the Ottawa warriors returned?

  On this last thought, her stomach somersaulted. Had Black Eagle erased their tracks from their previous day’s wanderings? What was it he’d said about constructing their shelter? That it was one thing to fool a white man, it was quite another to trick an enemy scout.

  To add to her worry, she was more than aware of the unusual abilities of these Indian scouts. They were uncommon, these scouts. From the telling of it, it seemed to her as if they operated in a world that was half real, half spiritual. If whoever was out there were a scout, would he be able to sense her presence? Would he be able to hear her breathe?

  Crack!

  The sound split the air in two. Again, she froze. The noise had been closer to her this time. Was this to be her last day upon this earth? Her heart raced. In truth, so frightened was she, she dared barely breathe.

  Then it happened. Upon looking up through one of the cracks in their bark walls, she beheld the red-painted face of an enemy warrior. He was awful. He was big, bulky and ugly.

  Was he one of the Ottawa? If so, it didn’t escape her consideration that if he found her, he would kill her. Terror shot through her, and she almost gasped aloud, barely catching herself in time.

  Had the warrior sensed her thoughts? Sensed the life on the other side of those logs? What did he see? What did he hear? Could he sense her breathing? Her heartbeat? Could he smell her scent or the remnants of the small fire they’d built last night? The gunpowder she’d been handling?

  He reached out toward their shelter, as if he knew it were there somewhere. His hand grasped hold of one the sticks Black Eagle had constructed as part of the structure’s deception. All he needed to do was pull on that stick, and their lean-to would be revealed.

  She waited for it to happen.

  But all at once, the warrior paused and looked off as though he had caught sight of something or was listening to some noise. He straightened.

  What did he see? What did he hear? Marisa listened closely, but she could distinguish nothing over the pounding of her heart.

  Through the tiny crack in the bark, she watched as the warrior stood up straighter, his eyes fixed on a thing in the distance. And then, as silently as he had come, he disappeared out of her view.

  Was he still there? Or had he left the valley?

  She waited, and she waited. Coming silently up onto her knees, she took a position beside the crack in their walls, staring out through it. Ah, there he was, off in the distance, leaving their valley in a crouched over run. Marisa sat perfectly still, in thought. She didn’t know whether to be glad of his departure, or worried because of it.

  What had caused him to go? Were there more of them? Had he gone to get reinforcements? Or had Black Eagle come back somehow? Had he seen the warrior and managed to distract him?

  And if Black Eagle had, was he now in danger?

  A disturbing thought occurred to her. What would she do if something happened to Black Eagle?

  Since coming to this valley, he had been gone from her many times, but she hadn’t worried about him. Perhaps she should have been. How would she know if something did happen to him? If he didn’t return, should she go and try to find him?

  And if she did leave to try to find him, how was she to do it? She had no sense of direction, no way to know how to locate him or how to find his trail, let alone how to survive in the wilderness.

  But on that thought came another. If something had happened to him, what would she do? Would she even want to go on without him?

  Marisa’s thoughts overwhelmed her. It was simply too much loss for her consideration. First Sarah, and now this.<
br />
  So she sat and did nothing. Worried, frantic, contemplating her life now and in the future. It wasn’t at all surprising, therefore, that hours later, she was still sitting in the same spot, still aware that she was alone and still worried. Worse, there were tears falling down over her cheeks. She hadn’t even been aware of crying.

  Something was wrong. Darkness was approaching, and still Black Eagle hadn’t returned.

  What to do? Should she stay here? Go look for him?

  Anything seemed better than nothing. To stay here when there was the possibility that Black Eagle was hurt or in danger didn’t seem right. And yet, what good would she be to him?

  Despondent, she looked down, gazing at the weapons she’d been cleaning. Weapons . . . She’d forgotten about them.

  That’s when it occurred to her: weapons. With these tools that were lying here in her lap, she could be a force to be reckoned with.

  That’s all it took to decide her. Picking up a knife and its case, she strung it around her neck where she would have easy access to it. She then bent forward to grasp hold of the musket. At last she rose up from the position she’d been keeping for hours and hours.

  At first her leg muscles protested, but then, as she stepped out of the shelter and into the dim light of evening, she realized she was glad. Glad to be here. Glad to be well armed and ready to protect her man, if need be.

  She didn’t know what direction to take, but again, anything was better than nothing.

  Black Eagle couldn’t be certain what had caused him to sense the presence of the enemy. Perhaps it was a disturbance in the air. Maybe it was the lack of the normal sounds of the forest, for there should have been birds singing or an occasional sighting of an animal. There wasn’t.

  He frowned. He had left their shelter early in the morning, had been en route to the rapids, there to search another section of the river for Miss Sarah. But suddenly, he had stopped short.

  There was another being in the forest. It didn’t matter how he knew it, the point being that he knew it.