Black Eagle (20 page)

Luckily, outside of a bruise to her arm, no damage had been done. But the accident had delayed their start. And in truth, Marisa felt more than a little happy to remain where she was for the time being. After her wet escapade the previous night, she was in no mood to travel in the rain.

But Black Eagle was insistent, it apparently being his opinion that a day consumed in rain-weary travel was a day well spent.

“We must leave as soon as your maid is ready to proceed,” Black Eagle had told Marisa only moments ago. She had been huddled in a corner of the tavern, where she had been looking out one of the hut's small windows, awaiting a change in the weather.

“But why?” Marisa had asked, turning her attention to him.

“Because it is usually a safer time to travel. If a war party is about, unless it is pressed, it will seldom move its position when the weather is bad.”

Marisa had sighed. “But it is wet, it is cold, and after last night . . .”

“You should prepare yourself well. If you have a heavy coat, wear it.” And with those final words, he had turned to leave, perhaps to make ready for the journey ahead.

After last night, Marisa realized she wanted no further arguments with the man, and so she had capitulated, and had retired to the room that she'd shared with Sarah the previous night. Both women had readied themselves as though they expected a blizzard. Luckily both she and Sarah had brought along umbrellas, as well as heavy, woolen capes for traveling. This, in conjunction with their riding habits, might serve as adequate protection. Marisa hoped it would be so.

However, because of all the delays, their party had once again secured a late start. It was noon, and both the innkeeper and Black Eagle had been working nonstop, equipping the horses for travel.

Marisa, upon stepping foot from the inn, glanced back at the establishment. In reality, she was more than a little apprehensive about leaving. Perhaps it was because their departure today signified a farewell from the civilized world, even more so than their exit from Albany, which had seemed a relief.

Perhaps the feeling might also be due to the fact that now that she had been on the road, the truth of how much her own and Sarah's life depended on the skills of Black Eagle and Richard Thompson became a full actuality. In truth, since her escapade the previous night, she was beginning to wonder if she had really done well in arranging this journey. What had seemed a good idea at the time, was fast becoming an ordeal.

However, whether it was a mistake or not was a moot point at present. The deed was done. There was nothing for it but to press on forward and hope for the best.

 

 

Sheets of rain had drenched them all day long, with seldom a letup, and Marisa was cold, wet, ready to stop, set up camp and recover. However, it appeared that this was not to be an option. Rather than sleep under a rainy canopy, Black Eagle had decided to keep moving, even though night had long ago fallen over the land.

Somewhere in the middle of the evening, Marisa had decided that traveling in the darkness was eerie. Trees that during the day were already thick and full, seemed to take on an additional facade in this unlit realm, giving them a ghostly appearance. Their branches hung in a phantomlike manner, as though shadowy arms and fingers were reaching out to capture. Even the hooting of an owl added to the gloom.

In addition, Black Eagle no longer led their procession so far in advance. Rather he stayed close beside both herself and Sarah, as if he would protect them from any danger, be that of a human or animal influence . . . or perhaps that of wandering spirits. Even Thompson, who guarded them from the rear, and who usually hung so far back as to be undetectable, was staying close by.

“Do you intend to travel the night through?” Marisa asked Black Eagle when he had ventured so close by her as to be within hearing range.

“
Nyoh
, yes,” he answered without looking up at her.

“But why?”

“It is safer.”

“And yet we are wet and bone weary, and deserve to stop.”

He shrugged. “But at least we are alive and safe. Besides, there is some adventure to be had in traveling through the night.” He slanted her a glance.

“Oh? And what would those adventures consist of?”

“The exploits of storytelling, of course.”

“While we are traveling, and in the rain?”

“
Nyoh
,” he said. “Although the Iroquois ofttimes believe that one should not tell stories in the woods for fear the animals will hear and become alert to the ways of humans, I think the rain makes it safe. I cannot participate, but you and your friend could relate stories to each other, as long as you keep your voices low. When it stops raining, we will make camp.”

“And if it continues to pour all through this night, as well as tomorrow?”

“Then we will carry on and make good time through Adirondack country, I think.”

She sighed, and Black Eagle hurried forward, placing himself out of hearing range. But as he had suggested, Marisa and Sarah began to relate various fairy tales to one another. Unfortunately for the both of them, it seemed to cause them to become uncommonly sleepy.

But their drowsiness was destined to be fleeting. So far the weather had produced nothing but rain. That was about to change soon.

 

 

As Marisa's horse shimmied, she came wide awake. Beside her, Sarah's mount was neighing. Both women reached down to calm their animals.

Another crack darted through the sky, followed by an even louder blast that appeared to set the night on fire. Again the horses protested. Above them, the heavens rolled with white light, hurling swiftly across the sky, and the rumbling of thunder overhead pressed down on the two women ominously.

Looking up, Marisa was struck by the observation that were the lightning not quite so close or its rumbling so frightening, the sky might have provided a beautiful show. But with the crashing of the thunder, the trembling of the ground in reaction, and the fear of a lightning strike seeking them out personally, it was hard to appreciate what might have been a natural fascination.

All at once Black Eagle appeared close beside them, and placing himself between the two horses, he took hold of the animals' reins, leading their mounts, himself.

Crack!
A streak of light slanted through the sky, striking the earth much too close, perhaps only a mile away. An almost instantaneous roar followed, and the ground reverberated under Nature's assault.

Her horse reared.

“Whoa!” Black Eagle sang out to the animals, and Marisa watched as the muscles of his arms strained to keep hold of the two animals, keeping them both grounded. She was doing little more than admiring the sight, when it came.

A flash of light!
Bang! Boom! Crack!

A tree directly in front of them teetered.

Her horse again reared, but this time it jerked its reins partially out of Black Eagle's grasp, and before Black Eagle could grab back complete control, the animal jumped forward, pulling its reins completely out of Black Eagle's hands.

Instinctively, Marisa screamed, which frightened the animal all the more, and with nothing to hold it back, her mount shrieked away, shooting through the trees and brambles at an alarming and dangerous rate. Instantly, Marisa's world changed, centering on her struggle to keep from falling. Her screams faded, and since the night was black as sin, she realized her only option, if she wished to remain alive, was to lean down over the animal, to pray that its feet were true, that it would not fall, and to hold on for dear life.

She tried to calm the horse with soft words, but it was impossible; over the rain she could not be heard. Besides, she, also, was panicked, and she was afraid that her voice might communicate her own fear to the animal.

How long her mount leapt through the forest, inflicting danger to both their lives, she could never be certain. It felt like a lifetime, however, and as pictures of her life flashed by her mental eye, she wondered if this was to be her last day upon this earth.

She heard the pounding of another horse approaching her from the rear. Was it Sarah come to save her? Or Black Eagle? Or was she imagining it?

Suddenly her nag splashed into water, showering her with a curtain of water, but it hardly mattered. She was already soaked from head to foot.

It did do one thing, however. It slowed the animal down.

“Whoa!”

She recognized Black Eagle's voice.

“Whoa!”

And then he was there beside her, riding Sarah's mount, and he was reaching out for the reins of her steed. He shouted at her, “Fall!”

“Fall? ” she yelled back at him. Was he crazy?

“The water will cushion you. I can only hold back your horse for a moment. Fall!”

Only later, in a brief moment of safety, did she realize that she must instinctively trust Black Eagle, for she did exactly as he instructed. She threw herself off her mount, spiraling down into the rushing brook, which, because it was shallow, instantly carried her downstream.

The water was perhaps only two feet deep. But that was enough to cushion her plunge and when at last she was able to find her footing, she came up onto her knees, coughing and spitting up water.

Looking around, she noted that Black Eagle had hurled himself off his mount, and that he was stamping through the water, leaping over it in an effort to get to her as fast as possible.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as soon as he caught up with her, and coming down onto his knees, he ran his hands over her face, her neck, her arms and chest, on down to her waist.

“I am fine, I think,” she said between coughs. “Merely frightened.”

He let out his breath, and seemingly satisfied, he sank back on his heels. He was kneeling directly in front of her, when he said, “I beg you to never do that again.”

“But I didn't—”

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms wide to receive her. She didn't even think. She threw herself at him.

It was an infusion of body against body. They were both of them cold, and she was shivering, but as the water gurgled around them where they sat, knee to knee and thigh to thigh, heat began to fill her, and her head came down to rest in the crook of his shoulder. The water, which was at thigh level, pushed against them, and his arms pressed her in so tightly against him, that she thought he must be afraid that the water would sweep her away.

And then he was kissing her as though he might never stop. At first his lips were rough over hers, but then, as passion took hold of them both, his lips became gentler, his tongue delving into and out of her mouth, exploring her as though his most important mission in life was to know her every nook and cranny, not only of her mouth, but of her being, as well.

The kisses never stopped, but the fingers of one of his hands became free and began to explore her, and his palms lingered over her breasts; she groaned and pushed herself in closer to him, wiggling against him, as though she were struggling toward an inevitable result, one that she recalled all too well from the previous evening. His response was to moan deep in his throat, and without preamble, he lifted her skirts up to her waist.

Petticoats and chemise became a cushion, welcoming him to her. And when his fingers came down to explore the warmth and inner sanctum of her femininity, she swooned against him. Again he groaned, again the sound urged her further into passion, and she mirrored him with a higher-pitched moan.

Her response seemed to drive him mad, and placing his arms around her buttocks, he lifted her up over him. It was inevitable. They had already once partaken of the delight that was flaming between them even now, and pushing his breechcloth out of the way, he pressed her up and down over his rock-solid manhood.

She caught her breath. Dear Lord, this felt so right. It was right, and as he became more and more a part of her, she moved against him, savoring each precious moment that he was within her and a part of her.

The rain had turned soft, as though it, too, conspired to bring them together. She moved sensuously against him, and he thrust into her, out, into her again, over and over, the strength of his arms holding her up so that she could fidget in a most feminine way.

Perhaps it was because of her near escape from death. Or maybe there was simply something about this man that excited her. Whatever it was, she wondered if she had ever experienced anything more powerful, yet more precious? It could not be.

An excitement was building down there at the apex of her legs, and, having once experienced love's finale, she recognized the sensation for what it was. It was a moment of wonder, of pure sexuality, and as she pushed toward its peak, her breathing was strained, rapid and, most delightfully, it appeared that what she was experiencing was mirrored in him.

She pressed herself upward, her head back, giving herself up to him, as he accepted, thrusting upward and inward within her. And then it happened; she, who was precariously perched on a precipice, tripped over the edge of that elevation, spiraling into that blur of fulfillment.

She strained against him, that she might expand on the feeling, begging him without words for that firmness she craved, and he gave her exactly what she desired, pressing up hard within her. Faster and faster they strained against each other, and then he released within her; she followed him almost simultaneously. As the rain gently fell over her, she cried out into the silence of the rain-soaked forest, and he groaned, the sound pure male sexuality.

It was perfect bliss, it was sensual beauty, and it was love. Defiantly, as the pleasure of sexual satisfaction filled her body, the truth of her feelings rose up to confront her forthwith, so that she could no longer deny what was so obviously true.