Savage Illusions

She knew the dan­gers of set­ting out on her own in this un­ta­med land, yet de­ep down in­si­de her­self she re­ali­zed that the­re was so­me­one who had not mis­sed her es­ca­pe from the cam­p­si­te.

Spotted Eag­le.

She even sus­pec­ted that he was fol­lo­wing her.

She smi­led to her­self, pre­ten­ding not to he­ar his moc­ca­sins step­ping on a twig, cre­ating a crac­k­ling so­und that bro­ke the si­len­ce.

The ri­ver spar­k­led thro­ugh a bre­ak in the tre­es up just ahe­ad of her, and Jole­na hur­ri­ed her pa­ce, a to­wel thrown over her left arm and a bar of so­ap in the front right poc­ket of her skirt. The pis­tol was he­avy in her left hand and she now felt fo­olish for ha­ving bro­ught it. She had known that Spot­ted Eag­le wo­uld fol­low her. She had ma­de su­re that he had se­en her path of es­ca­pe from the cam­p­si­te.

Her smi­le fal­te­red as she tho­ught of Two Rid­ges. She had lo­oked for him, too, be­fo­re le­aving the cam­p­si­te, but he had be­en now­he­re in sight. So­me­how, she just co­uld not find it in her­self to trust him.

A stran­ge fo­re­bo­ding fil­led her. All the whi­le she had be­en con­fi­dent that Spot­ted Eag­le was fol­lo­wing her. Co­uld it ha­ve be­en, in­s­te­ad, Two Rid­ges? Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld ha­ve had ot­her re­asons for en­te­ring the fo­rest be­hind her. Per­haps he hadn't even se­en her.

Fearing this pos­si­bi­lity, Jole­na stop­ped short and swung aro­und, her eyes se­ar­c­hing the de­epe­ning sha­dows be­hind her, pra­ying that the man she lo­ved wo­uld be the­re­not Two Rid­ges!

As she wa­ited for the per­son who was fol­lo­wing her to show his fa­ce, her pul­se ra­ced. Her fo­re­fin­ger so­ught out the trig­ger on the pis­tol. The lon­ger she had to wa­it, the mo­re ner­vo­us she be­ca­me.

She fo­und her­self slowly lif­ting the pis­tol, hol­ding it up as a man might do, ta­king ste­ady aim. She pul­led back the lock with a flick of her thumb, her kne­es we­ak.

When Spot­ted Eag­le fi­nal­ly ca­me in­to sight, Jole­na sig­hed with re­li­ef and slowly lo­we­red the fi­re­arm.

Spotted Eag­le eyed the pis­tol wa­rily, then shot his ga­ze up, loc­king his eyes with Jole­na's. "And who did you think was fol­lo­wing you be­si­des Spot­ted Eag­le?" he as­ked. "I ha­ve ne­ver se­en you carry a fi­re­arm be­fo­re."

"That is be­ca­use I fo­und that I was not only fo­olish, but trus­ted too easily," Jole­na sa­id, her he­art ham­me­ring wit­hin her chest as Spot­ted Eag­le ca­me clo­ser.

She won­de­red if this strong de­si­re for him wo­uld ever les­sen. Just lo­oking at him diz­zi­ed her.

Spotted Eag­le step­ped up to her and re­ac­hed slowly for the pis­tol, then gin­gerly to­ok it out of her hand. "It is go­od that you are le­ar­ning to be ca­uti­o­us," he sa­id, nod­ding. "But still you did not an­s­wer me abo­ut who you tho­ught was fol­lo­wing you. You we­re re­ady to sho­ot who­ever it was. Tell me. Who has ma­de you fe­el thre­ate­ned?"

Jolena felt aw­k­ward, kno­wing that her fe­ar of Two Rid­ges was thus far un­fo­un­ded. Ex­cept for eye­ing her in that stran­ge way, he had not ac­tu­al­ly gi­ven her ca­use to be af­ra­id of him.

Not wan­ting to cast bla­me un­til she had just ca­use, Jole­na cast her eyes dow­n­ward. "At first I tho­ught it was you," she sa­id, slowly mo­ving her eyes up­ward aga­in. "But when you did not ma­ke yo­ur­self known to me, I be­gan to worry. That's why I de­ci­ded to re­ady my gun, in ca­se I was be­ing stal­ked by so­me­one who might harm me."

Spot

ted Eag­le ga­zed down at her with frow­ning eyes for a mo­ment lon­ger, fe­eling that she was not be­ing al­to­get­her trut­h­ful with him. Then he shrug­ged. The­re was no re­ason for her to eva­de the truth. The­re was no one ne­ar in this fo­rest ex­cept tho­se of the ex­pe­di­ti­on. He did not see any of them as a thre­at to her. If so, Jole­na's whi­te fat­her wo­uld not ha­ve chan­ced al­lo­wing such a per­son to ac­com­pany his da­ug­h­ter on such a jo­ur­ney.

"Say so­met­hing," Jole­na sa­id, smi­ling we­akly up at him. "Did I do so­met­hing so ter­ribly wrong?"

Spotted Eag­le pla­ced a hand on her che­ek, his do­ubts mel­ting away as he smi­led slowly down at her. ''No," he sa­id ten­derly. "You did ever­y­t­hing right. It was wi­se to carry a fi­re­arm whi­le you we­re away from the ot­hers. I can­not con­demn you for thin­king ahe­ad to what might hap­pen whi­le you are ta­king a bath in the ri­ver."

"How did you know what I was plan­ning to do?" Jole­na as­ked, la­ug­hing softly. "Are you not only han­d­so­me and in­t­ri­gu­ing, but al­so a mind re­ader?"

He nod­ded down at the to­wel. "That is how I re­ad yo­ur mind," he sa­id, chuc­k­ling low. His ga­ze shif­ted. "And I do not be­li­eve my sen­se of smell fa­ils me. Is that not al­so a bar of per­fu­med so­ap in yo­ur skirt?"

Jolena glan­ced down at the bul­ge in her poc­ket. "You are right on all co­unts," she sa­id, lif­ting smi­ling eyes up at Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in. "But now that you are he­re, I don't ha­ve the ne­ed for the pis­tol. You will ke­ep watch for me whi­le I bat­he, won't you?"

"Spotted Eag­le has his own re­asons for co­ming to the ri­ver," he sa­id, re­ac­hing one of his hands to her ha­ir and let­ting it drift thro­ugh his spre­ad fin­gers. "This war­ri­or ne­eds a bath, al­so. Do you think the ri­ver is lar­ge eno­ugh for both of us?"

"I think so," Jole­na gig­gled. "But who will stand gu­ard if we are both swim­ming and bat­hing?"

"Old Man, the chi­ef god of the Blac­k­fo­ot, lo­oks out for the Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or, and now his wo­man, al­ways," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, le­aning down and la­ying the pis­tol on the grass on the ri­ver em­ban­k­ment. " Ok-yi, co­me. A-wah-heh, ta­ke co­ura­ge. En­ter the wa­ter with me. Let me rub the per­fu­med so­ap all over you. Let my fin­gers awa­ken you aga­in to fe­elings of a wo­man."

Seeing the he­at of his de­si­re for her in the depths of his eyes, Jole­na felt her fin­gers trem­b­ling as she be­gan un­but­to­ning her blo­use.

As Spot­ted Eag­le be­gan un­d­res­sing, Jole­na's eyes fol­lo­wed his fin­gers, wat­c­hing as each new inch of flesh was re­ve­aled to her fe­as­ting eyes. Her pul­se ra­ced as he tos­sed his shirt to the gro­und.

She fi­nal­ly step­ped out of the last of her gar­ments, then kic­ked her sho­es asi­de and sto­od fe­as­ting her eyes on the sight of him­his mus­c­les, his tight, firm but­tocks, his flat belly that led to that val­ley bet­we­en his hips whe­re his pas­si­on for her was evi­dent in the way his man­ho­od sto­od out from his body re­ady, thick, its pur­p­le tip shed­ding a tiny drop­let of whi­te, cre­amy li­qu­id that he non­c­ha­lantly swept away bet­we­en his thumb and his fo­re­fin­ger.