Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Other Books By
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Copyright
MOONLIT DESIRE
“This moon, all I need is you,” Bright Arrow murmured in a heavy voice.
“I need you too,” Rebecca responded.
Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to an expanse of thick grass and, kneeling, he gently placed her on the soft covering. For a time, he was content to visually explore her face in the moonlight. Then slowly he came forward until his body was touching hers. Reaching out his hand, he fondled her cheek, then ran his fingers through silky hair. Finally, all restraint disappeared as his mouth closed over hers.
Bright Arrow’s lips deftly and hungrily captured Rebecca’s. It had been so long since they had felt such passion searing their flesh. In this heady moment, nothing and no one else existed. It was a time for total possession, for complete giving and taking and sharing. Their hearts pleaded and their desires soared.
The Sioux warrior covered her face with kisses, and rained them down her throat. His eager fingers untied the fastenings of her dress and slid it from her shoulders to expose her satiny flesh to his greedy senses. Rebecca didn’t stop him as he removed her clothes; she shifted to assist him.
His eyes swept over her with barely controlled desire, and she could not contain the low moan that escaped her lips. “Bright Arrow, please…”
Without hesitation he drew her into his possessive embrace. Soon they were rapturously entwined in their private haven…
JANELLE TAYLOR
ZEBRA’S BEST-SELLING AUTHOR
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Stolen Ecstasy
Janelle Taylor
To my very good friend Fred Mertins, III.
And to Carin Cohen, my ex-Zebra editor, whom I shall miss greatly.
And lastly to Elaine Duillo, for this and many other exquisite bookcovers. Thanks for your talent and accurate expression.
Acknowledgments:
My thanks to Joe Taylor, Jr., for his assistance with many outdoor/hunting facts.
And again I thank my good friend and helper Hiram C. Owen of the Sisseton/Wahpeton (Dakota Sioux) Tribe from the Lake Traverse Reservation.
If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not…
—Shakespeare, Macbeth
But stronger than all…is… fury, Fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils.
—Euripedes, Medea
[Yet], they that sow in tears shall reap in joy,…bearing precious seeds.
—Psalms 125:5-6
Prologue
Dakota Territory
April, 1804
Rebecca Kenny moved quietly along the forest path. She usually took great delight in feeling the cool, moist earth beneath her bare feet. But, she reflected, how could she enjoy nature when her world was falling apart? She halted abruptly, then slipped behind a spruce to observe her husband as he sat beside a narrow stream. How he had changed since he had been exiled from his people sixand-a-half years ago. Where was the man she had loved and married, the indomitable Sioux warrior Bright Arrow, son of the legendary Chief Gray Eagle? Her beloved had become a stranger, a man she didn’t know or understand.
Rebecca inwardly raged at the sight before her tawny eyes. It was as if her husband had lost all interest in himself, in life, and in his family. Self-pity and resentment had been more destructive than the ravages of revenge. Gone were his former energy and enthusiasm; instead, he had become lazy, gloomy, listless, and melancholy. His lackadaisical behavior proclaimed he had nothing and no one to live for any more. Her angered mind screamed at him, What about your family? What about your pride?
Undesirable emotions implanted themselves within her each day like wild seeds, and she wondered how long she could prevent them from germinating, from becoming seedlings which could grow into strangling vines. If only she could look into the future and determine which emotional seeds would grow and which would die. And the most destructive seed was fury, fury directed not only at her love but at her own helplessness. She had to find a way to unearth and destroy those powerful seeds…
Each month—no, week—the situation worsened. They were becoming as estranged from each other as he was from his tribe and parents, and his apathy was taking its toll on Rebecca. She felt she was to blame for his detached state, for he acted as if he no longer found her desirable, as if his love and passion for her were gradually vanishing. He never exercised or honed his skills and instincts. Hunting was difficult, for his keen senses and quick reflexes had become dulled through lack of use.
Why must he travel this self-destructive course? She wondered. Why did guilt gnaw at him until he was willing to do anything to benumb its anguish and power? As the days passed, it became clear to Rebecca that he was losing his prowess and his special appeal. His deterioration was a travesty of his former greatness, and sometimes she feared she would grow to hate him for allowing himself such a slow and agonizing defeat.
When they had met, Bright Arrow’s body had been a sensual blending of black and bronze, a healthy body of exceptional beauty and appeal. He had been so handsome and virile that she had lost her wits and will before him. His presently drab hair had been the shade of a crow’s wing beneath a full moon; his eyes had gleamed like highly polished jet. Now they were as lifeless as his company. His coppery brown body had once been hard and strong, but now it was fat and flaccid to the touch. He moved sluggishly and without his former gracefulness. At one time he had moved as invisibly as a soft breeze across a cloudless sky, yet now he trudged awkwardly and loudly through the forests which had so often before yielded its treasures to his silent mastery.
A mere glance from him had once sent ripples of desire and happiness over her body. Rebecca had believed then that no matter what blows fate dealt them, she would never love or desire another as she did this majestic creature. But the unique man she had met, loved, and wed no longer existed. In his place was a pale and pathetic ghost.
He sat cross-legged and slump-shouldered on the stream’s bank, so lax and still
that she almost thought he was dozing. He was so deeply ensnared by his moody thoughts that his no-longer-keen instincts failed to detect her approach and intense stare. If she had been an enemy, she silently mused, he would be dead and scalped at this very moment!
Rebecca envisioned the mental path he traveled, a trail he had walked too frequently during these many years. She knew that path by heart, for she had journeyed it at his side. Tears blurred her golden brown eyes and sadness filled her heart, for she felt there was nothing she could say to ease his suffering and nothing she could do to alter his intolerable condition. Perhaps it was too late to save Bright Arrow from himself.
She wanted to scream at him, to force him to see what he was doing to both of them. She had tried that ploy, and it had failed. She had pleaded, cried, reasoned, argued, and threatened; nothing had reached him in his selfimprisoning world of indifference. Many nights she had imagined daring ways to catch his attention or to shock him back to reality, but in the light of dawn she had seen how futile and foolish they were. First Bright Arrow had to care; he had to want to change, to live again.
His parents had been accurate when they had warned of the demands and perils of a mixed marriage between a white girl and a Sioux Indian. If she were going to be fair, she would have to admit that her beloved had not realized the extent of his sacrifices before he had claimed her as his wife. He had never imagined that his tribe would banish him for his choice, not when his father was chief, not when he was a dauntless warrior with numerous coups! But what could a loving father or powerful chief do when the council voted against his son, the son who would have become the next Oglala chief if Fate had not intervened? How foolish for the council to deny the tribe his enormous skills and prowess. How sad and cruel for fate to demand such a high price for love.
Rebecca knew all too well that a short distance to the north the Cheyenne River flowed swiftly. To the south was the summer camp of Brave Arrow’s family and tribe, and the sacred Black Hills, the Paha Sapa—winter encampment of the Oglalas and other tribes—were to the west. There were three divisions in the Sioux Nation: Lakota/Teton, Nakota/Yankton, and Dakota/Santee. In each division were many tribes and bands, and all tribes were members of the Seven Council Fires of the Sioux, Dakota Oceti Sakawin. Her husband had been a member of the Oglala tribe in the Teton branch. His people were all about him, but they seemed forever beyond his reach.
She leaned against the tree and permitted her mind to roam through the past. Bright Arrow had been a courageous and daring warrior when they had first met in 1796, she as his white prisoner. In spite of their differences and the objections of others, they had fallen in love, a love too potent to resist or deny. Even after she had saved Bright Arrow’s life and proven her mettle and value, the council had demanded she live as his kaskapi, his captive; but that had meant being considered nothing more than his witkowin, his whore. Her beloved would not permit such a degrading role for her, nor would he allow any future children to be viewed as “half-breed bastards.” His pride and love had been so strong that he had rebelled against his people’s orders. He had bravely vowed that if they could not live as honorable mates in his camp he would take Rebecca and leave. That had been almost seven years ago; and nothing had changed— nothing but her handsome and virile husband…
With these memories still filling her thoughts, the auburn-haired beauty of twenty-five returned to their cabin, a home which they had built together in those early days before he had allowed this wasting disease to attack his mind and body. Within its confines, three small girls slept peacefully. With all her heart, Rebecca believed she would have forced her husband to return to his people if not for the children; she loved him that much, and each day it became more unbearable to watch his disintegration. But it was the children who would suffer most, for their appearances were unmistakably Indian and, without their father, they would be forced into the white world or be trapped between two warring cultures.
As for Rebecca, her olive flesh and deep brown eyes falsely suggested she might be part Indian. Except for her flaming chestnut curls, her looks did nothing to attest to her white blood. She had often thought that her misleading appearance had been the reason Bright Arrow had accepted her so easily. If only his people could also overlook her white heritage. They had adamantly refused and, in doing so, Rebecca felt they were partly responsible for this predicament.
At first she had been loyal, understanding, and patient. She had comprehended that what Bright Arrow had lost was consuming him as viciously as a fatal disease. His tribe had taken away his rank, his honor, his customs and ways, his adventures, his family, his people. Worse, they had stolen his spirit and his destiny; they had severed his life-circle. He could not adjust to such losses. The more time that passed, the more her husband changed, and the more he resisted their present life together. Tears ran down her cheeks as she wept for what had been and for what she despaired could never be again.
Rebecca sat down on the bench that Bright Arrow had constructed near the cabin door. Time had not lessened his displeasure at living inside a “white man’s dwelling.” But they had been alone in the wilderness and such a dwelling had been necessary for the protection of his family against harsh winters, wild animals, and bitter enemies. As she sat, she reflected that the name Bright Arrow—a name once feared and admired and envied— had vanished from before the eyes of his tribe and foes. But had they forgotten his existence? Could they have forgotten? At twenty-six, he should have been at the peak of physical prowess. No man had possessed more valor, cunning, or daring! While her girls napped, she would give herself time to think. There had to be something she could do.
Rebecca recalled the awful days following her parents’ deaths from a fever and those two years with her menacing uncle, Jamie O’Hara. It was that vile creature who had brought her into the Sioux domain, and his dreams of riches and his greed had gotten him killed, along with a small troop of soldiers. Following a raid on her uncle’s camp, Bright Arrow had taken her captive. From the moment their gazes had fused, she had been enchanted by the handsome and masterful warrior who had rescued her from a soldier’s brutal attack, but she had fled in fear as he battled another warrior for her possession. Bright Arrow had pursued and captured her.
From the night he first took her innocence upon his mat, her heart and body had been enslaved by him. He had been so gentle and tender for a man of such strength. In the forest that first night, their hearts, bodies, and spirits had become as one forever. And if a great warrior could love her, respect her, and accept her, she could not understand how his people could be so set against her and their union. Was it such a horrible crime that her skin was white? she had wondered. If it had been possible, she would have become an Indian!
They had endured many hardships and perils, and they had savored countless moments of passion and joy. But they had not heeded the warnings of his family and the objections of his people. They had been young and in love, refusing to see beyond their forbidden emotions and need for each other. It was as if some mystical arm of revenge had been extended over the land to seize and punish them.
During Rebecca’s captivity, Bright Arrow had been taken prisoner by white soldiers, who threatened to execute him unless he could be traded for his father. She had risked her life to secure his escape. And beyond this courageous deed she had been an obedient slave. But no matter what she did, the Sioux would not look past her white skin and allow her to marry Bright Arrow. She had often wondered if it might have been different had he not rejected so many Indian maidens in favor of a white slave or not been the son of Chief Gray Eagle.
At fifty-three, Gray Eagle still sparked fear in his enemies and respect in his people and allies. It was said that no greater warrior than Gray Eagle had ever ridden the open Plains. If Bright Arrow had not been banished for marrying her, this would no longer be true, for at nineteen Bright Arrow had been close to equalling his father’s prowess. He would have made a great chief one day, if he had not rej
ected the laws and customs of his people. He had done the unforgivable; he had refused his heritage and defied the council—all for a white love.
Rebecca could not forget Gray Eagle’s ominous words as she had left his side to help rescue her imprisoned love. “If you help him escape… I will return you to my son. Even so, a slave is all you can ever be to him. Is this enough for you?” he had challenged her. Her naive response had been, “Yes, Gray Eagle. Even a small part of him is better than none. I will do nothing to dishonor him before the eyes of his people.” But she had done worse; she had loved him and enchanted him, then stolen him from his people and his fate. She had allowed him to believe that love was an unbeatable force, that it could conquer their foes. Just as sadly, she had also believed their love could triumph over all obstacles. But years had passed and he was still an outcast.
Now her husband was being destroyed. He could not live as half a man, a man without his life-force, his honor, his very reasons for existence. He lived neither in the white world nor the Indian world. He was a warrior without a war, an arrow that couldn’t fly. He was lonely for his Indian family and culture; he was hungry for the lost days of adventure and danger. He yearned for the life which he had left behind him. He had not been born to be a trapper, living in a wooden enclosure, existing alone with only his wife and children. They could have joined another friendly tribe, such as the Cheyenne, but his pride would not allow it.
Bright Arrow was like a captured eagle leashed to a post. His keen abilities were being weakened by inactivity while his mind was allowed to imagine a state where he could revel in his freedom and prowess, where he could test himself against other forces. He had been tricked by Fate, and his bonds were those of love and responsibility. To break his leash would cost him dearly. And although he had not complained or spoken of such denials and losses, Rebecca knew he missed the ceremonies, the hunts, the raids, the suspense, the victories. He had broken his life-circle, and he could not find an acceptable way to repair it.
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