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Savage Illusions

Page 81

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Smiling, she re­ac­hed a hand to her brot­her's arm. "I ho­pe you both will be happy," she sa­id.

Chapter Thirty-One

Shivering in the co­ol bre­eze of the mor­ning, Jole­na sto­od so­lemnly by, wat­c­hing Kirk pre­pa­ring to le­ave for Fort Chan­ce. Word had be­en re­ce­ived that a ri­ver­bo­at wo­uld be pas­sing thro­ugh and wo­uld be ma­king a stop at Fort Chan­ce. Kirk had just eno­ugh ti­me to get the­re.

Jolena frow­ned as she wat­c­hed Kirk help Mo­on Flo­wer in­to her sad­dle, then swung him­self on­to a hor­se that had be­en as­sig­ned him for the jo­ur­ney.

Then her eyes we­re drawn aro­und and she smi­led we­akly up at Spot­ted Eag­le. "I'm glad that you are ri­ding with the war­ri­ors who are ac­com­pan­ying my brot­her to Fort Chan­ce," she mur­mu­red. "And I un­der­s­tand why you don't want me to go with you. Ple­ase hurry back, my lo­ve. The nights are get­ting col­der. The blan­kets will be cold and empty wit­ho­ut you at my si­de."

"It is go­od that you un­der­s­tand why you must stay be­hind," he sa­id, lif­ting her chin with a fo­re­fin­ger, so that her lips we­re only a bre­ath away from his. "Go­od-byes might be har­der to say if you are aga­in thrown in­to the li­fe of whi­te pe­op­le at the fort. It is best not to tempt you."

"Darling, I know it wo­uld be fu­ti­le to ar­gue with you, to tell you that I think you are wrong abo­ut that," Jole­na sa­id. "So I shan't, and I shall stay with my pe­op­le and le­arn mo­re of the­ir ways whi­le I am wa­iting for you to re­turn to me."

"It sho­uld be only one night that I will be go­ne from you," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, ig­no­ring Kirk's gla­re when he brus­hed a kiss ac­ross Jole­na's lips. He then whis­pe­red to her. "And if the blan­kets do not warm you eno­ugh, let yo­ur mind re­call our mo­ments to­get­her. Will that not warm you thro­ugh and thro­ugh, my wo­man?"

"I can't do that," Jole­na mur­mu­red, smi­ling softly up at him. "It wo­uld truly be best if I think of ot­her things whi­le you are go­ne from me. Re­cal­ling our mo­ments to­get­her wo­uld ma­ke me want you too much at a ti­me when you are be­ing de­ni­ed me."

"Perhaps this se­pa­ra­ti­on will be go­od for us both," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, chuc­k­ling.

He le­aned even clo­ser to be su­re that no one el­se co­uld he­ar, es­pe­ci­al­ly Kirk. "Wa­iting will en­han­ce the ple­asu­re,'' he whis­pe­red. "When I re­turn, we will ma­ke lo­ve as tho­ugh it we­re the first ti­me."

"My every he­ar­t­be­at will co­unt the mi­nu­tes for yo­ur re­turn," she whis­pe­red back, gi­ving him a soft kiss, then mo­ved away from him and went stiffly to her brot­her.

"Kirk, I ho­pe the­re are no hard fe­elings bet­we­en us," she sa­id. "And ple­ase, ple­ase do yo­ur best to ma­ke fat­her un­der­s­tand. He, of all pe­op­le, sho­uld. He is the one who to­ok me from my true pe­op­le. He had me for many ye­ars, as his own. My true fat­her will ha­ve me for less, for his ye­ars are al­re­ady too many in num­ber to co­unt many mo­re."

Kirk sat stiffly for a few mo­ments as si­len­ce fell li­ke a wall bet­we­en him and Jole­na, then he re­ac­hed a hand to her che­ek.

"Sis, I hold no grud­ges," he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "If it we­re me, and had I be­en de­ni­ed my true pe­op­le for so long, I am su­re I wo­uld do the sa­me as you. Ple­ase be happy, sis. That's what's im­por­tant now. That you are happy in yo­ur de­ci­si­on to li­ve with the Blac­k­fo­ot pe­op­le. You… ha­ve my bles­sing."

Jolena knew that he was sa­ying things that he did not fe­el and was gra­te­ful that he co­uld do this for her, pla­cing his true fe­elings asi­de to de­al with la­ter, af­ter he was away from her.

"Thank you, Kirk," Jole­na sa­id, a sob lod­ging in her thro­at. She ga­zed at Mo­on Flo­wer, her spi­ne stif­fe­ning at the tho­ught that this Blac­k­fo­ot ma­iden was de­ce­iving Kirk. But still she co­uld not find it in her­self to warn Kirk, for he was a man now and sho­uld be ca­pab­le of ma­king his own de­ci­si­ons wit­ho­ut a sis­ter's in­ter­fe­ren­ce.

Spotted Eag­le mo­un­ted his hor­se and gu­ided it next to Kirk's. "Whi­te brot­her, it is ti­me to le­ave," he sa­id, then tur­ned his eyes to Jole­na aga­in. "When the sun ri­ses aga­in and sli­des up­ward to the hig­hest po­int in the sky yo­ur man will re­turn to you."

"

Please be ca­re­ful," Jole­na sa­id, ner­vo­usly clas­ping and un­c­las­ping her hands be­hind her.

Spotted Eag­le nod­ded, then ro­de on ahe­ad to jo­in the ot­her war­ri­ors who we­re ri­ding with him.

Kirk and Jole­na sta­red at one anot­her a mo­ment, then Kirk nud­ged his he­els in­to the flanks of his hor­se and ro­de away, Mo­on Flo­wer du­ti­ful­ly at his si­de on her whi­te ma­re.

Jolena wat­c­hed un­til they be­ca­me only spots on the ho­ri­zon. Then she tur­ned aro­und and lo­oked at the ac­ti­vity in the vil­la­ge.

The sun was just ri­sing. Thin co­lumns of smo­ke we­re cre­eping from the smo­ke ho­les of the lod­ges, as­cen­ding in­to the still mor­ning air. Ever­y­w­he­re out­si­de, wo­men we­re busy car­rying wa­ter and wo­od. So­me we­re dig­ging in a bank ne­ar the ri­ver for red clay, which wo­uld be used for pa­int.

Inside the­ir dwel­lings the wo­men we­re pre­pa­ring me­als.

The men we­re co­ming out and star­ting for the ri­ver. So­me we­re fol­lo­wed by the­ir chil­d­ren. So­me we­re car­rying tho­se too small to walk. When they re­ac­hed the wa­ter's ed­ge, they drop­ped the­ir blan­kets and plun­ged in­to the cold wa­ter.

Jolena knew now that win­ter and sum­mer, storm or shi­ne, this was the­ir da­ily cus­tom. The Blac­k­fo­ot had be­en ta­ught that this ma­de them to­ugh and he­althy and enab­led them to en­du­re the bit­ter cold whi­le hun­ting on the ba­re, ble­ak pra­irie.

Jolena had al­re­ady eaten her mor­ning me­al with Spot­ted Eag­le be­fo­re he left and now plan­ned to do many things to help pass her long and lo­nely day wit­ho­ut Spot­ted Eag­le ne­ar.

As so­on as the wo­men left the­ir dwel­lings and be­gan the­ir da­ily cho­res, Jole­na jo­ined them, fol­lo­wing the­ir le­ad so that she co­uld le­arn the pro­per way to do ever­y­t­hing. To­day the wo­men we­re ma­king fo­ods from dri­ed me­at, the thic­ker parts of the buf­fa­lo ha­ving al­re­ady be­en cut in lar­ge, thin she­ets and hung in the sun to dry.

The back fat of the buf­fa­lo was al­so dri­ed and wo­uld be eaten with the me­at as Jole­na had eaten her bre­ad and but­ter when she li­ved in Sa­int Lo­u­is.



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