Black Eagle

Table of Contents

 

 

She bit her lip and exhaled. Moonlight, indeed, was this man's friend. As the silvery beams outlined the rises and falls of his face, she thought he was perhaps more handsome than any man had a right to be. He was tall, proud, incredibly male, and, the good Lord help her, she had never felt more female.

Sadly, he was also the exact sort of person her step-uncle would forbid her from.

Perhaps it was this that triggered that latent spark of rebellion, and she asked, “Sir Eagle, tell me. Do Indians kiss? ”

If he were startled by her question, he didn't show it. Instead, he stepped toward her. He answered calmly, “Of course.”

“But I mean, do they kiss, lips to lips, like the English do? ”

“I believe” he muttered, as he placed his arm against the tree, “that the English cannot claim complete ownership over something so common as a kiss. All human beings enjoy much the same thing.”

As he spoke, his head had descended so closely to hers that she realized she could read his thoughts; it was an unbelievably intimate feeling, as though he had become a part of her. He wanted to kiss her. She knew it as surely as the fact that she wanted to be kissed.

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BLACK EAGLE

 

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / May 2009

Copyright © 2009 by Karen Kay Elstener-Bailey.

 

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eISBN : 978-1-101-05062-0

 

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For Michael Badnarik, author of the book
Good to Be King
and
the step-father of the Constitution
who first taught me that
we are all kings and queens
here in the land of the free
and the home of the brave.

 

A special thanks goes out to the following very beloved people, who are Gen Bailey's Warriorettes. You have not only my appreciation, but my respect and admiration.

For my brother-in-law, Robert Bailey.

 

Your warmth, your humor, your kind-hearted encouragement, as well as your presence in my life will never be forgotten. In all things, save one final moment, you never let me down.

 

Thank you for the time you were here in my life. I am better for your presence.

 

With love,
Gen Bailey

Flintlock in hand, with powder horn thrown over his shoulder, bow and quiver full of arrows strapped across his back, the lone runner's feet flew over a bloody path that wound through the forested valley of the Adirondack Mountains. As he jumped over a barrier of branches blocking his path, he caught his breath. Offshoots from tree limbs and debris cracked as his foot hit against them. But he didn't fall. It was simply not an option.

With barely a miss of a beat, the young warrior, Black Eagle, brought himself back into pace, continuing onward, ever pushing himself faster.
I will be swift as the eagle,
he repeated to himself silently.
Since the life of my good friend, Sir William Johnson, depends on my speed, I dare even the West Wind to be faster than I.

Behind Black Eagle and in the distance, shots and cannon fire, from the battle that was still waging, echoed against the quiet of the forest. It was a strange comparison. Particularly so, since the fighting would likely carry on throughout the remainder of the day. But for Black Eagle, the battle had ended. His friend, William Johnson, lay wounded from the battle and now required help; assistance that Black Eagle and a few of the chiefs were determined to provide in the form of a medicine man and the Water-that-runs-swift.

There is no doubt I will be successful. No creature, not even the eagle, himself, is faster than I. I will save my friend.
With this thought in mind, Black Eagle picked up his speed.

 

“Did ye send him? ”

“We did.”

“Did ye tell him it was for me? ”

“We did.”

The officer let out a pent-up breath. “Then it is certain I am that the lad will be successful. How long will it be taking now?” asked former trader and Indian agent William Johnson. He grimaced as he tried to sit up.

“If Black Eagle meets with no resistance, we should rendezvous with him by nightfall at the Water-that-runs-swift.” It was White Hair speaking, an aged warrior from the Oneida tribe.

Johnson fell back against the sturdy tree that sheltered him. “Good,” he said. “Good. 'Tis glad I am that ye sent Black Eagle, for I could not be liking a young man more if he were my own son. Indeed, while possessing the wily wit of a Mohawk, Black Eagle yet has the manners of an Englishman. Havena I seen to that myself? ”

“He is also the fastest runner in all the Mohawk Nation,” said White Hair.

“That he be. That he be. At least we won the skirmish this day, thank God.” Again Johnson grimaced in pain. “Where is Dieskau, the French commander? ”

“He has been taken to your bed, and your surgeon is with him now.”

“Dieskau will also need to journey with us to the Water-that-runs-swift,” said Johnson. “I fear that if we leave him behind, upon our return, we may find him scalped.”

White Hair frowned, then said, “If you tell the warriors to leave the commander alone, they will do as you say.”

“And can ye be promising me that? ”

White Hair hesitated a little too long.

“No,” said Johnson. “The French commander will come with us. The Water-that-runs-swift shall help him, as well as myself. Are the others with ye ready to take us there? ”

“They are,” replied White Hair.

“I thank ye for yer friendship,” said Johnson. “Where is my good friend and yer chief, Henrick? He should have met me here.”