Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  The track was long, perhaps a two or three mile run. Several fields had been cleared to make the track, and later today it would be used for other games, as well. However, these fields dipped into and out of the forests, and perhaps this made the race more interesting to the runners, but difficult for the spectators. The track did make a large circle that would eventually bring the runners back to the starting point, which was also the finishing line. But that didn’t make the spectator’s anxiety less.

  “Look there!”

  “I see them!”

  The runners were coming back, headed toward them from the opposite direction. Who was in the lead? Was it Black Eagle? She edged forward, straining to see.

  It was Black Eagle in the lead, along with another youth, one whose name she had never learned. The two were coming into the finish line neck and neck.

  As they sped across that line, it was evident that Black Eagle won. But perhaps he had done so only by a nose. The youth had been right on his heels.

  The crowd yelled and cheered, and several well-wishers rushed forward to congratulate not only Black Eagle, but the youth who had put him to the test. Among them was a beautiful, young Indian woman. Marisa took note.

  “It is good that Black Eagle won,” observed Laughing Maid. “The boy who almost beat him is the brother of White Doe.”

  “White Doe?” asked Marisa.

  Laughing Maid nodded toward the pretty woman.

  “Who is she?” asked Marisa.

  “She is the one who broke your husband’s heart by marrying another. It is said that she was in love with Black Eagle, but because his family was poorer than Good Shield’s, she passed Black Eagle by. It is said that she still loves Black Eagle, and were Black Eagle a little less proud, that she would allow him to have an affair with her.”

  “Is that possible here, where everyone knows everyone else?”

  “Of course it is possible. But do not worry. Black Eagle is an honorable man, and Good Shield is a faithful husband to White Doe and a good father to their children. It may only be gossip, also.”

  “Yes,” said Marisa. “It is probably no more than gossip. People do like to talk.”

  Still, as Marisa looked at the woman, it was a less than amicable glance. She said, “Perhaps I will go and congratulation my husband, as well. Come, Pretty Ribbon, let’s go and give my husband a kiss.”

  When Pretty Ribbon nodded, Marisa pushed forward, through the crowd, eventually elbowing her way to the center of attraction. As she approached Black Eagle, she noted that White Doe stood by his side, smiling up at him, as though she deserved his extra-special attention.

  We’ll have none of that, thought Marisa, and coming directly up to Black Eagle, she stood unashamedly before him. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up to place a kiss on his lips.

  He responded immediately, pulling her in close to him, deepening the kiss, acting as though none of the other people who stood around them existed. She whispered, “Congratulations!”

  But his only response was a low growl, as his tongue took advantage of her open lips and invaded her mouth. She responded with much the same fervor as he, and the kiss went on and on. Even the people around them began to comment:

  “They are newly married. It is only natural.”

  “They are in love.”

  Several people laughed.

  Eventually, he broke off the kiss, but only to pull her even closer in his arms, and bringing his head down to inhale the fragrance of her hair, he said in English, “Perhaps I should ask White Doe to stand by me every day of my life.”

  Marisa broke apart from him. “Oh, you! You knew!”

  He grinned at her. “Of course I knew. And I like it. Pretty Ribbon, can you go and find your other sister? Ahweyoh and I are going to our quarters.”

  And when Pretty Ribbon nodded, Black Eagle said to Marisa, “Come. There are some things we need to do.”

  Marisa grinned.

  Lifting up the bark door of the longhouse, Black Eagle escorted his wife into its dark interior. Since most everyone was at the festival, the dwelling was almost deserted. He had no more than closed the door, when he backed her up against one of the posts and stole a kiss.

  “You flirted with me before the race,” he stated between kisses, speaking in English.

  She laughed. “Yes, I did.”

  Reaching down to grab hold of her buttocks, he pulled her in toward him. “Do you not realize,” he asked, “that it is difficult to race when your blood is pooling in the center of your body? ” He kissed her again.

  “Oh?” She wiggled out of his embrace and ran down the corridor to their own quarters. He followed.

  “Nyoh. And now comes your punishment.”

  “Ah! And what punishment is that?”

  He caught up with her and brought her into his embrace again, but this time he tickled her ribs.

  “Stop that!” she demanded, but she laughed nonetheless.

  He repeated his teasing, running his fingers up and down her sides. She squirmed.

  But he didn’t release her. Instead he kissed and tickled her at the same time.

  At last she freed herself, and laughing up at him, she opened the bark partition that separated their quarters from the others. She flung herself onto their bed, but the landing was soft, since the bed was made of corn husks.

  With another “come-hither” look in her eye, she said, “Can you not think of any other kind of punishment for me?”

  He growled at her before he followed her down onto the bed and he kissed her. “Take that,” he said.

  She giggled.

  “And that,” he whispered as his tongue licked her lips.

  “Oh, my dear husband, these are, indeed, cruel and unusual punishments.”

  “There are others that come to mind,” he said, “I can think of many penances I would like to demand from you. But for now I find that instead of retribution, I would rather play. Not the lacrosse game I am supposed to take part in yet this day. I fear it would not go well, anyway, because I am distracted by . . .” He gave her a knowing look. “Things, and I think that I should like to do nothing better than spend the day with my wife. After all, I am free to decide what kind of games I care to play.”

  She was already untying the blouse of her dress, and crawling up onto her knees on the bed, she slowly lowered her blouse until it fell off of her, her glance at him pure enticement.

  She said, “And what sort of games were you thinking of playing, Sir Eagle?”

  He sighed, sat up to pull the bark partition back into place and said, “Fun, exciting and thrilling games.”

  Ahweyoh was already leaning her hips in toward him and moving against him in a way that made his blood boil. He came up onto his knees before her, and said, “Do you know what you do to me?”

  “I think so, but—”

  Whatever else it was that she’d been about to say was lost to the air. He caught her and kissed her long and hard, grinding his hips in against hers. Then he nudged his face into the crook of her neck, and he murmured, “Does that give you an idea of how I feel when you seduce me?”

  She laughed. “Why, sir, I don’t know what you mean. I am a young maid after all. I think you will have to be more explicit.”

  “That is possible. That is entirely possible.” His hands felt her everywhere, but this time minus the tickling. Instead, he intended seduction. She sighed, and in response he felt himself grow bolder.

  He pushed her down so that she was lying beneath him. Already his hands had spanned her full breasts.

  What happiness! What joy! He brought his head to her chest and with his lips, he did adore her. First he lingered over one breast, then the other. After some time, he raised himself up and said, “Your flirtation at the race comes at a bad time since I have been away several days on the hunt and I have been very much missing my wife.”

  “Oh?” She drew her shoulders back, and with head thrown back, gave him full reign over her. “Missing her h
ow?”

  He looked up at her and smiled briefly before continuing his adoration. “You are a seductress.”

  She giggled. “I should hope so. I would hate for you to have to pine after White Doe.”

  He shook his head. “White Doe made her choice long ago, and she is married to a good man. In truth, I am glad she did not choose me. If she had, I would not now know your warmth, and I would be less a man because of it.”

  “Less a man?”

  “What good is a man without a good woman beside him? Would he have the warmth of children around him?”

  “But she would have given you that.”

  “So she would have. But she wouldn’t have made my heart sing. She wouldn’t have inspired me to arise each day to do nothing more than make her smile. Indeed, I would be only half alive without you, the woman of my dreams.”

  She stared at him for some time before she said, “I love you.”

  “As I love you.”

  “But, sir, long have I been attracted to your golden tongue. I fear you have seduced me with your stories from the start of our acquaintance.”

  “Seduction? Perhaps. But stories? I merely say the truth as I see it,” he said. “However, we talk when I wish to be making love.”

  “True.”

  His hands were already at her skirt, and he pulled it off her with ease. He caught his breath. There she lay before him, pale, naked, luscious.

  He said, “I am a lucky man.”

  “Perhaps,” she answered huskily, “but more than that, you are a good man. You are the man I love. The man whom I hope I have seduced into spending the afternoon with me.”

  He grinned down at her. “I fear that you have captured me for the whole day, and your whole life.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.” He smiled, but at the same time a sadness filled his heart. Was there a reason for it? Maybe. He said, “Ah, I much prefer Mohawk clothes to the white man’s. They are easier to remove.”

  Again, she laughed. “At your service, sir.”

  He commenced to loving her; he felt her everywhere, down her sides, over her chest, to her belly, her hips, around to the heart of her sexuality. Her skin was soft, her scent sweet, and it drove him to distraction. He had never felt more ready for a women.

  His lips soon followed where his fingers led. That she wiggled against him, teasing him, sent him practically reeling. In truth, so inspiring was she, he found his breath catching in his throat.

  But he cautioned himself against too much action, too soon. Slowly, slowly. He would give her all the pleasure it was within him to give. In this way, regardless of what the future held for them, she might always remember their lovemaking . . .

  He had no way of knowing how long she would be with him. He hoped a lifetime, but he didn’t fool himself. Life held no guarantees.

  Perhaps it was a vision of things to come, but already he feared her loss. If she ever desired to leave and go back to the whites, he would take her. It would destroy him to do so, but he would do it.

  There was also the white man to consider. To his people a woman was free to make her own choice. But this was not so in the white man’s world. It was as if the white man thought of his women as possessions, instead of as mates.

  Indeed, if the whites knew she were here, her desires would not be considered. Nor his. They would take her.

  But enough. She was here now. And she was his wife.

  As he slid his lips down her breasts to her belly and beyond, he whispered, “I worry.”

  “You do?”

  “You have been here now for a full moon, and I am uncertain. I wonder, are you happy?”

  “Very.”

  He came up onto his elbows over her. “Do you tell me true?”

  “I am very happy, my husband. And with good reason. I have a family of my own. I have a husband whom I adore and who loves me in return. Though a woman’s work here is great, I admit, it is not all consuming and everyone is so kind to me. Plus, I feel an independence here that is hard for me to explain. This experience is new to me. Are all your women considered . . . equal?”

  “We are all of us human beings,” he said, kissing the inside of her leg.

  “Yes, but there are those who consider themselves to be above a mere human being. I used to think this, too. I no longer do.”

  He came up onto his elbows over her, and gazing up at her, he said, “The white man’s beliefs are ofttimes foolish. What is a man without a woman? He has bad clothes, bad food, no happiness and no children. Why would a man seek to enslave that being who completes him? Only a man who has lost his reason, who himself is less than a human being, would seek to do this.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “It is what I think. It is what most of my people think.”

  “That would explain much. It would also offer a reason why I feel so free here. It’s very empowering. I only wish Sarah were here to experience this. She would . . . She would . . .” Her voice broke.

  “I, too, feel Miss Sarah’s loss,” he said. “After the festival, we will have a condolence ceremony to console you. I would have asked for it immediately, but such ceremonies must be done properly with full ritual and this is not easy to accomplish in the fall when there is so much work to do in preparation for winter. But when the winter moons are upon us, we of the Mohawk tribe will console you.”

  “You will?”

  He nodded.

  There were tears in her eyes; tears she tried to hide from him. But he wouldn’t let her. Instead he raised himself up over her, kissed her lips, and bringing up a finger, he wiped her tears away.

  She said, “Thank you, Black Eagle. You are good to me.”

  “And I hope to be even better to you. Now lie here still, and enjoy.”

  “Lie still? How is that possible, when you make me want to burst with joy?”

  He groaned. “You flatter me. But”—he smiled—“I would not have you talk any other way.” And coming up over her, he looked down at her, trying to see to her very being, and when he kissed her, his tongue invaded her mouth with such intensity and ardor, he might have been branding her. In truth, maybe he was. She was his. He would have the whole world know it.

  Downward his kisses spread, centering over her body, his lips ranging lower and lower until at last he found the feminine haven he had been seeking. Her sighs and moans were pure enchantment and he kissed her directly there, where he knew her desire culminated.

  He loved her. Somehow the words in neither tongue seemed fiery enough. He truly loved her. And her heated response affected him like fire to kindling. He gloried in her response, watched as she met her pleasure.

  Ah! Sweetness! Pure sweetness!

  He wanted her. All of her. It was time.

  Rising up onto his knees, he brought her legs up and onto his shoulders, pressing his masculinity against her and making himself a part of her. Staring down at her, looking deeply into her eyes, he gazed into her soul. He knew exactly who she was. And he loved her.

  He was rigid and hard, he was halfway to satisfaction, yet first he would tell her a matter of importance, and he said by way of a pledge, “I little know what the future holds. Our way may be hard, but I would keep you with me. Always.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she said, “How I love you.”

  “And I love you, my wife.”

  The stimulation was almost more than he could easily stand. But he refused to meet his own pleasure until she was consumed with hers. He watched as the excitement built up within her, witnessed the beauty of her struggle as she reached toward pleasure. Still he held back until he felt the beginnings of her release and then he joined in with her, thrusting deeply into her. Ah, what beauty. What pleasure.

  Over and over the elation washed through him, his thrusts deep into her as though he would make his claim upon her here and now. All he had, all he would ever be, he gave to her. Freely.

  He only hoped it would be enough.

>   Twenty-two

  Afternoon passed to night, night to morning, and still they lay abed, surfacing only occasionally for sustenance. No one bothered them, not even when Black Eagle failed to show for the lacrosse game. Indeed, the morning hours of the next day found them awake, then snoozing, awake again, then more snoozing.

  And still they loved. It was as though they both knew it might never last, as though by unspoken yet mutual agreement, they would horde their time now, even if it meant blocking out the rest of the world.

  Black Eagle lay against her, and he was exhausted. But he would not leave his wife’s side. As long as she needed him, he would muster up the wherewithal to satisfy her . . . somehow.

  It was Ahweyoh who was the first to mention that perhaps they might seek out the company of others. She said, “I hear there is dancing at night during the festival.”

  “There is.”

  “Is it the sort of dancing that I can do?”

  “I could teach you, or your sisters could. Are you wanting to attend?”

  “Perhaps. Tell me, my husband, do you think we might have made a child last night?” She grinned at him.

  His heart swelled. He said, “I would be the happiest man on earth if we did, for I can think of no better joy than raising a family with my wife, she whom I love with all my being.”

  “I want a child. Somehow a child is . . . permanent.”

  He nodded. “Yes. A child is permanent. Perhaps a child might bridge our two worlds, as well. But I fear that this might not be good for the child. As soon as possible, we should find a safe place where we can stand together, if only for the sake of any children we might bring into the world.”

  “What are you saying? That you fear for our future? Because if so, let me assure you again that I have never been happier.”

  “It is not you I fear, but rather what the white people will do if they know you are here . . .”

  She frowned. “Then we shall not let them know.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Nyoh. We should not let them know.”

  She smiled. “I am so happy. It is hard for me to think seriously, though perhaps I should.”