Wild Ecstasy (15 page)

She loved him in that fashion, the strange ritual even firing her own desires again. When he placed his hands at her waist and lifted her atop him in a sitting position, so that his hardness was soon inside her, again she was introduced to a new way of loving him.

Riding him, moving with him as he drove himself up into her, she held her head back and closed her eyes, feeling a strange soft melting energy warming her insides. The air became heavy with the inevitability of release, each stroke within her promising more.

And then they both seemed unable to hold the energy back any longer, and in unison trembled and shook against the other.

When the bliss slowly ebbed away, Mariah crept from atop Echohawk and snuggled next to him, feeling so wonderfully at peace, deliciously in tune with the man she loved.

When her fears of his discovering who she was began edging back inside her consciousness, she quickly cast them aside.

For now she must forget the doom that awaited her when she revealed all truths to the man she loved. For now there was a pure and beautiful understanding between them.

She glanced over at the meat cooking over the fire, ravenous, yet not wanting to give up whatever time she had with Echohawk to eat. Food meant absolutely nothing to her in his presence.

Echohawk was all that she desired.

Only him.

Chapter 15

—Jefferys

 

 

 

Sunrise splashed a golden sheen through the smokehole overhead. After a breakfast of pemmican cakes made of meat, dried and pounded to a pulp, and wild honey, Mariah was filled with joy as she left the wigwam with Echohawk to again accompany him to target practice. Just as they reached their tethered horses, a familiar voice behind them drew them around.

“There is something I would like to show you,” Chief Silver Wing said, a mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes. He beckoned with a hand. “Come with me to my dwelling.”

Having grown comfortable even with this noble, powerful chief, Mariah walked in a casual gait beside Echohawk as they went with Chief Silver Wing to his wigwam.

“
Nah-mah-dah-bee-yen
, sit,” Silver Wing said, gesturing toward mats that lay thickly cushioned beside the lodge fire. Snug in a finely dressed buffalo robe that befitted his high position, he sat down opposite them, reaching for something inside a small buckskin pouch that hung from the waistband of his fringed breeches. “I may have something of interest for you, Echohawk.”

Mariah eased down onto a mat beside Echohawk. Then her whole world as she had come to know it these last wonderful days was threatened as she saw what Chief Silver Wing took from the pouch. She paled and stifled a gasp as she looked warily at a gold-framed pair of eyeglasses that he was handing toward Echohawk.

Eyeglasses! she fretted to herself.

Her whole body became enveloped in cold shivers as she guardedly watched Echohawk take the eyeglasses, seemingly puzzled by them as his fingers familiarized themselves with their shape and with the glass that lay within the frames.

“What is this?” he asked, still fingering the object. “It feels like what I have seen white people wear. I believe they are called eyeglasses?”

“
Ay-uh
, I offer you eyeglasses that I took from a white pony soldier many, many snows ago while defending my village against their attack, long before the time of our mutual friend Colonel Snelling,” Chief Silver Wing said, nodding. “I have heard that eyeglasses are supposed to better one's vision. You have a problem with your eyesight. Perhaps they will benefit you somehow—make you see. Wear them. See if there is magic in them.”

Mariah felt light-headed in her fear as Echohawk continued feeling the glasses, his fingers smoothing slowly over the lenses.

This was the moment she had dreaded most.

His discovery of who she truly was!

If the eyeglasses should work for Echohawk, he would soon see to whom he had given his heart and his total trust.

With that thought, an ill feeling swept through Mariah. One moment she had been so happy her heart had sung, and the next, her whole world was tumbling around her.

Mariah's heart pounded and she held her breath as she watched Echohawk slowly slip the eyeglasses onto the bridge of his nose.

Echohawk squinted as he looked through the lenses; then the blood pumped maddeningly through his veins in his excitement over discovering that,
ay-uh
, he
could
see! The eyeglasses
were
made of some sort of white-man magic! He could make out everything distinctly!

A slow smile tugged at his lips as he turned to Mariah, having so badly wanted to see the woman of his heart.

But what he discovered made everything within him turn cold. The person he was seeing—the woman he had poured out his feelings to—had a face familiar to him before his eyesight had been impaired.

Then his gaze moved jerkily to her hair, seeing its length.

His gaze went to her dress as he now recalled that on that dreadful day of many deaths she had not been dressed as a woman, but as a lad!

Ay-uh
, that had been the difference the day of the attack. She had been disguised as a boy, to fool him and his people. It had been the dark ash spread on her face to strengthen her disguise that day that had kept him from seeing the truth!

Mariah went limp with fear, having seen within his eyes the horror of recognizing who she truly was. She was frozen to the spot, afraid to move, then flinched when he suddenly leaned close to the lodge fire and gathered up a handful of ashes.

A scream froze in her throat when he turned suddenly to her, roughly spreading the ash all over her face. She wanted to die when he let out a ear-splitting wail when he fell back away from her and gazed at her knowingly.

“It was you!” he cried, rising shakily to his feet. “Without the ash on your face, I . . . I . . . was not sure. But now I am! You are not at all who you pretend! You betrayed me! You betrayed all Chippewa! You are an enemy!”

“What is this?” Chief Silver Wing asked, dismayed at Echohawk's performance. “Why did you color her face with ash? Why do you call her an enemy? She has proved her loyalty to our people! She cannot be an enemy!”

Mariah finally found the courage to scramble to her feet. She reached a hand out to Echohawk, tears streaming from her eyes. “Please listen,” she cried. “Oh, Echohawk, that day . . . it was not of my doing!”

But she could not find it within herself to go further with her confession. She could not openly blame her father. Thus far, Echohawk did not know his identity. She would not be the one to point an accusing finger at him. If she did, she would never be able to live with herself.

So she stopped short of what she knew had to be said to make Echohawk believe her. She could not involve her father, even though he did not warrant such protection from her. But to convince Echohawk that she had been forced to join the raid, a full explanation was needed.

“Echohawk, I love you,” she murmured, still reaching a hand out to him. “I love your people. And Nee-kah! I feel toward her as though she were my sister—a sister that I never had! Please don't turn me away! Please . . . ?”

Her words did not seem to reach him at all. He stood solemnly still, coldly staring at her, his arms folded across his chest. She took a shaky step away from him; the hatred in his eyes appalled her very soul.

Sobbing, her heart breaking, having lost everything now because of her evil, marauding father, Mariah turned and fled from the lodge.

Blinded with tears, she ignored Nee-kah as she cried out for her to stop. She ignored the Chippewa people as they stopped and stared at her in her frenzied flight toward her horse. She was only vaguely aware of mounting the horse and grabbing the reins, for everything within her seemed dead and empty.

She had lost Echohawk!

Not only that, she had lost her very reason for living.

Wheeling the horse around, Mariah sank her heels into his flanks and sharply snapped the reins. Tears splashed into the wind as she rode through the village, dogs yapping at her heels, children shouting at her in dismay.

She was glad when she reached the outskirts of the village, able then to send her steed into a hard gallop across the flower-dotted meadow. She was no longer numb inside. With the realization of what had truly been lost to her came the hurt. She could hardly bear these feelings ravaging her insides, racking her body with torture. Everything within her now ached, especially her heart.

When she heard a horse fast approaching from behind, she did not take the time to glance over her shoulder to see who it was. She feared many things. Now that her true identity had been revealed, Echohawk could have sent a brave to stop her escape. Soon she could be tied to a stake in the center of the village, a victim of their vengeance—of intense hatred.

But she would not save herself if it meant seeing her father take her place at the stake—or at the end of a hangman's noose—for his crimes against the Chippewa. He deserved punishment, certainly, but she would not be the one to cause it.

Never!

Terror leapt through her when out of the corner of her eye she discovered the horse pulling alongside of her. Her eyes widened and she screamed when an arm reached out and grabbed her, dragging her onto the other horse. She was held firmly on the lap of her pursuer as he drew his reins tautly, stopping his horse.

Her pulse racing, weak with fear, Mariah turned and gazed frantically up at the man whose muscled arm held her prisoner. Her heart bled when she saw that it was Echohawk, the hate in his eyes no less as he looked down at her through the eyeglasses.

She swallowed hard, then tried to squirm free of her bondage, surprised when he let go of her and she tumbled away from him and the horse to the ground. Dazed, she lay there for a moment; then, when a shadow fell over her, her eyes turned slowly upward, and she recoiled against the ground when she found Echohawk staring flatly down at her, his arms folded stiffly across his chest.

“Echohawk, I didn't mean you any harm,” she cried. “I did not purposely betray you. What I did, caring for you and learning your ways, was done from the goodness of my heart. The day of the raid, I—”

Her words were stolen from her when he leaned over and grabbed her by the arms and jerked her to her feet. Echohawk now seemed to be a giant as he towered over her in his anger. When he began shaking her, her senses seemed to scramble, yet she heard what he shouted at her, understanding well the word he spoke in his Chippewa tongue.

“
Gay-gay-nah-wi-shkee
, liar,” Echohawk gritted out between clenched teeth, his eyes two points of fire as he continued shaking her. “Liar! You . . . are . . . a . . . liar!”

He released her so suddenly she again fell to the ground.

Devastated by his accusation and tormented by his final good-bye, she watched him mount Blaze and ride away, tears flowing fiercely from her eyes.

And when he was gone from her eyesight, she buried her face in her hands, her crying having turned to low sobs.

She had lost everything.

Everything!

And all because of a father who did not deserve such loyalty as she had afforded him, she thought bitterly to herself.

Slowly regaining her feet, Fort Snelling again her destination, she went to her horse and pulled herself into the saddle. As she urged him to a gallop, a sudden pain gripped her insides. There would be no more moments in Echohawk's arms, ever again.

* * *

The day had been grueling, Mariah having stopped only to get an occasional drink and to wash from her face the dreaded ash that had condemned her in Echohawk's eyes.

It was now growing dusk and she thankfully saw Fort Snelling in the distance, relieved to finally be there after her long and arduous ride.

Mariah knew that everyone in the area considered it the finest fort in the Mississippi valley; the white settlers looked upon it as the last outpost of western civilization and the only thing keeping the uneasy peace between the Chippewa and Sioux tribes. The Indians considered its founder, Colonel Snelling, their friend, and so they had never attacked the fort.

Though Mariah's father disliked Colonel Snelling, he had to admit that the man had done a fine job of designing and building the fort. Unlike many others, it was built of stone, and had a four-story commissary that could hold four years' worth of food for the three hundred enlisted men and twenty officers who were stationed there.

As Mariah drew closer, she admired the fort once again, as she had in the past. Its stone walls and hexagonal tower made it look more like a European castle than a western fort. Below the walls, a small settlement had grown up where traders and merchants supplied the needs of those traveling up and down the river. The rough-hewn buildings hummed with activity as construction continued while merchants called out greetings to customers and unloaded goods that had recently arrived.

Mariah caught sight of several canoes traveling the river, manned by copper Indian braves, passing silently on their way to the fort. Waves of melancholia swept through her, she missed Echohawk so much. She then looked toward the banks of the river, where many braves were unloading the hides they had brought along to trade.

Not wanting to be swallowed by grief again over her loss of Echohawk, Mariah sent her horse into a faster gallop, soon entering the wide gate that led into the courtyard of the fort. Inside the twelve-foot stone wall was a diamond-shaped parade ground, as well as housing for the officers, two barracks for the enlisted men, a suttler's store, and a number of other shops. The tall hexagonal tower that defended the fort had rooftop cannons aimed out at the prairie and loopholes through which rifles could be fired. Glancing up at the soldiers patrolling the walls, Mariah understood why the fort's inhabitants felt safe and secure at all times.

Then she became aware of something else—many eyes following her as she rode on toward Colonel Snelling's house, which was set at the east end of the parade ground. Mariah held her chin high, ignoring the gaping soldiers on all sides of her. Everyone seemed to be eyeing her, no doubt curious about the Indian attire she wore.

As she had previously done, she silently admired the colonel's house, thinking that he'd created a gracious home for himself and his family despite its wilderness setting at the edge of the prairie. Like the fort, it was built of stone, and the style was Georgian. It would have been right at home on an English estate.

When she drew rein in front of the house, she had to reach deeply within herself for the courage to go and knock on the door, begging assistance from those who clearly disliked her father for one reason or another. Although they had treated her with much kindness in the past, she feared that when faced with her request for assistance, they would surely see her as a nuisance in their lives.

But they were her only hope, now that she had lost Echohawk's trust and love.