Savage Illusions

e­turn to so­me sort of na­tu­ral li­fe back in Sa­int Lo­u­is."

Jolena ga­ve him a wis­t­ful sta­re, thin­king that not­hing wo­uld ever be the sa­me aga­in­not sin­ce she had ar­ri­ved at her ho­me­land, and had ex­pe­ri­en­ced how it felt to be to­tal­ly, min­d­les­sly in lo­ve.

"Jolena?" Kirk sa­id, le­aning clo­ser. "You are go­ing to re­turn with me to Sa­int Lo­u­is, aren't you? You aren't go­ing to al­low yo­ur he­art to be swa­yed in­to sta­ying to se­arch out yo­ur In­di­an he­ri­ta­ge? If that hap­pens, I'll cur­se the day I ag­re­ed to ac­com­pany you on this ex­pe­di­ti­on."

"Kirk, don't bla­me yo­ur­self for an­y­t­hing that might hap­pen," Jole­na sa­id softly. "Don't you know, de­ar brot­her, that so­oner or la­ter I wo­uld ha­ve co­me to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory an­y­how, to find an­s­wers to qu­es­ti­ons that ha­ve pla­gu­ed me sin­ce I re­ali­zed the­re was a dif­fe­ren­ce bet­we­en me and my whi­te play­ma­tes? I must find an­s­wers, Kirk."

Kirk ga­zed at her si­lently for a mo­ment lon­ger, then pla­ced his arms aro­und her sho­ul­ders and drew her aga­inst him. He stro­ked her long, dark ha­ir, un­der­s­tan­ding the ye­ar­nings in her he­art.

He knew that if it we­re he, it wo­uld be no dif­fe­rent.

The mo­un­ta­ins in the dis­tan­ce we­re shro­uded be­ne­ath the pur­p­le clo­ak of night. The mo­on was dap­pling the land that stret­c­hed out be­fo­re Spot­ted Eag­le with a sil­ver she­en as he ro­de hard to­ward his vil­la­ge, fe­eling no less torn now than when he had cast that last lo­ok upon the wo­man he lo­ved. He wis­hed he we­re two per­sons so that he co­uld be in two pla­ces at on­ce­with his wo­man and with his fat­her.

Until he ma­de Jole­na to­tal­ly his with a com­mit­ment of mar­ri­age, he had to ac­cept the­se ti­mes when he wo­uld be se­pa­ra­ted from her.

In his mind's eye he was ac­ting out the­ir sen­su­al mo­ments to­get­her, and how it had felt to crad­le her clo­se whi­le they had ma­de pas­si­ona­te lo­ve.

His body cra­ved to be with her now as then.

He wis­hed to tas­te her lips.

He wis­hed to fe­el the mag­ni­fi­cent sof­t­ness of her bre­asts aga­in wit­hin the palm of his hands.

He qu­ave­red at the tho­ught of flic­king his ton­gue over one of her nip­ples, fe­eling how this wo­uld ma­ke Jole­na mo­an with ple­asu­re.

Sweat be­ading his brow, the­se tho­ughts we­re the last thing that he sho­uld be thin­king abo­ut at such a gri­evo­us ti­me, when his fat­her might be spen­ding his last mo­ments on earth. Spot­ted Eag­le for­ced him­self only to con­cern him­self abo­ut his fat­her.

He frow­ned and his jaw tig­h­te­ned as he re­mem­be­red exactly what Whi­te Mo­le had sa­id, trying to de­ter­mi­ne whet­her or not Spot­ted Eag­le, the son of the po­wer­ful Blac­k­fo­ot chi­ef, Chi­ef Gray Be­ar, might ha­ve over­re­ac­ted to the news bro­ught to him.

It was stran­ge that it was Whi­te Mo­le who de­li­ve­red the mes­sa­ge to him. Stran­ge that it was not…

A sud­den re­ali­za­ti­on stop­ped him in mid- tho­ught, as tho­ugh a bolt of lig­h­t­ning had struck him. If his fat­her was ailing, no war­ri­or from his vil­la­ge wo­uld send the mes­sa­ge by way of so­me­one not of his vil­la­ge, Spot­ted Eag­le tho­ught, sud­denly dra­wing his hor­se to a halt. If his fat­her was truly ailing, a war­ri­or of his vil­la­ge wo­uld ha­ve se­ar­c­hed un­til he fo­und him, to gi­ve him the mes­sa­ge fir­s­t­hand. De­pen­ding on ot­hers was not the way of his pe­op­le. The Blac­k­fo­ot of his vil­la­ge we­re a clo­se-knit pe­op­le who­se he­arts be­at in the sa­me rhythm.

Something was not right abo­ut this mes­sa­ge that had be­en bro­ught to him.

Especially the mes­sen­ger.

All that he co­uld co­me up with was that his de­ep con­cern for his fat­her had pre­ven­ted him from thin­king cle­arly. He knew that his fat­her did not ha­ve many days left on this earth. Per­haps one mo­re win­ter, su­rely no mo­re than two. He even felt gu­ilty for le­aving the vil­la­ge for any length of ti­me, fe­aring his fat­her might ne­ed his de­ci­si­on on this or that.

Yet if Spot­ted Eag­le sta­yed be­hind be­ca­use of this, he knew that it wo­uld ta­ke his fat­her's self-es­te­em away, es­pe­ci­al­ly if his fat­her gu­es­sed why his son wo­uld not le­ave him for mo­re than a sun­ri­se at a ti­me. His ta­king on the du­ti­es of a gu­ide had gi­ven his fat­her mo­re ti­me to fe­el im­por­tant and ne­eded.

Spotted Eag­le's eyes nar­ro­wed, re­ali­zing that so­me­one had du­ped him, yet won­de­ring who­and why?

What did an­yo­ne ga­in by his ab­sen­ce from the wa­gon tra­in of but­ter­f­ly-se­ekers?

His bre­ath ca­ught in his thro­at when he ca­me up with an an­s­wer to his qu­es­ti­ons that se­emed lo­gi­cal.

"Jolena's brot­her," Spot­ted Eag­le his­sed, his he­art po­un­ding an­g­rily at the tho­ught of her brot­her be­ing this de­ce­it­ful.

Before the wa­gon tra­in left Fort Chan­ce, Kirk must ha­ve so­ught out Whi­te Mo­le and pa­id him many hor­ses to do this tric­kery. Spot­ted Eag­le re­mem­be­red how easily Whi­te Mo­le had li­ed.

He felt a des­pe­ra­te ne­ed to get back to Jole­na. He wo­uld show her brot­her that no ploy his whi­te man's mind might co­nj­ure up wo­uld ke­ep Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le apart!

He ga­zed down at his hor­se. He was a po­wer­ful stal­li­on that co­uld en­du­re hard tra­vel, but Spot­ted Eag­le did not want to push his hor­se to the li­mits of its en­du­ran­ce.

Spotted Eag­le ga­ve the ri­ver at his right si­de a lin­ge­ring sta­re, then slap­ped his stal­li­on's rump and gently nud­ged it with his he­els, easing his mo­unt in­to the shal­low ri­ver.

After his hor­se had drunk his fill and se­emed res­ted eno­ugh, Spot­ted Eag­le tur­ned his stal­li­on aro­und, left the ri­ver in a gre­at splash, and ro­de in a hard gal­lop ac­ross land that he had just tra­ve­led. He knew that by the ti­me the sun hung di­rectly over­he­ad in the sky to­mor­row, he wo­uld be ga­zing in­to his wo­man's eyes aga­in.