Forever Ecstasy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Other Books by

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments and Special Thanks to:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Authors Notes

  ROMANCE FROM JO BEVERLY

  Copyright

  FORBIDDEN PASSION

  “I’ve never met a woman like you, Morning Star,” Joe murmured. “I want to be with you all the time. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to hold you in my arms.”

  Sun Cloud’s daughter raised her hand and stroked his cheek. “It is the same with me, Joe. What shall we do?”

  The desire in her voice was more than he could resist. With a ragged sigh, he captured her sweet lips in a fierce kiss.

  “I want you so much, Morning Star. I can’t help myself,” he whispered.

  Before she could tell him she felt the same way, his lips met hers once more. How could such powerful feelings be wrong? A savage and bittersweet longing swept through her. She could not summon the will to refuse what she wanted and needed with all her soul…

  ROMANCE FROM JANELLE TAYLOR

  ANYTHING FOR LOVE (0-8217-4992-7, $5.99)

  DESTINY MINE (0-8217-5185-9, $5.99)

  CHASE THE WIND (0-8217-4740-1, $5.99)

  MIDNIGHT SECRETS (0-8217-5280-4, $5.99)

  MOONBEAMS AND MAGIC (0-8217-0184-4, $5.99)

  SWEET SAVAGE HEART (0-8217-5276-6, $5.99)

  Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from the Publisher. Send cover price plus 50¢ per copy for mailing and handling to Penguin USA, P.O. Box 999, c/o Dept. 17109, Bergenfield, NJ 07621. Residents of New York and Tennessee must include sales tax. DO NOT SEND CASH.

  Forever Ecstasy

  Janelle Taylor

  For:

  the family of Hiram Owen, in loving memory of my

  dear Dakota friend, translator, and adviser

  who passed away 8/31/88.

  Wakantanka nici un.

  Eileen Wilson, who loves Gray Eagle

  and his heirs as much as I do.

  Debbie Keffer, for her kindnesses.

  and,

  my many friends and readers at Sinte Geleska College

  and St. Francis Indian Mission.

  Acknowledgments and Special Thanks to:

  Marvene Riis, Archivist, Cultural Heritage

  Center in Pierre,

  Lawrence Blazek, Mayor of Marcus,

  Gary LeFebre of Lodgepole,

  The Pierre Chamber of Commerce,

  Ken Wetz, Mayor of Newell,

  The staff of Bear Butte State Park,

  Spearfish and Sturgis Chambers of Commerce,

  and

  many historical societies and staffs of historical sites

  in the friendly and generous state of South Dakota.

  Prologue

  Dakota Territory, 1831

  “As the sun last slept, Grandfather gave me a vision,” Standing Tree told the men gathered in the meeting lodge at their winter camp in the Black Hills. “Before I speak it, let us prepare ourselves.”

  The Oglala shaman lifted the sacred catlinite pipe and fingered the smooth red bowl on a four-foot stem that had ceremonial beads and feathers attached at the joining point. His wrinkled fingers packed tobacco inside it, then took a burning stick from the fire and lit the fragrant contents. Standing Tree raised the pipe upward to honor Wakantanka—the Great Spirit—and downward to honor Makakin—Mother Earth. Next, he saluted each of the four directions: the east to summon enlightenment and peace, the south where warmth was born, the west which brought rain, and the north which offered fortitude. “As I share your breath, Grandfather, open my heart and mind to receive and accept your sacred message,” he invoked. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs, held it there for a moment, then exhaled curls of smoke that went heavenward. He passed the pipe to the man at his right, the Oglala chief, Sun Cloud.

  Strong hands accepted the sacred item. The supplication to the Great Spirit was repeated. Then the pipe was passed to the next man, to continue around the group until all participants had done the ritual four times. During this reverent ceremony, no one talked and all meditated.

  Sun Cloud gazed at the buffalo skull, weathered and bleached by Wi—the sun—and Makajou—the rain, that was lying on the mat before the shaman in a place of honor. It was painted with the colors and symbols of nature, and was stuffed with a mixture of sweet grasses. The buffalo was viewed by Plains Indians as the most powerful animal of the Great Spirit’s creation—a generous and clever gift to His children to provide them with food, shelter, clothing, tools, and medicine.

  Sun Cloud shifted his gaze to the Medicine Wheel that was mounted on a tall cottonwood post, the same tree chosen for the Sun Dance ritual. The wheel’s surface was divided by four bars which represented the four directions: west for danger, north for life, east for knowledge, and south for quiet: the influences and forces of life. Made of brain-tanned hide stretched taut over a willow hoop, its roundness told of their belief in the Circle of Life: Canhdeska Wakan. Hair, heart-beads, fur, and feathers decorated it. Another buffalo skull was attached to its center to signify Lakol wicho’an, the traditional way of life, and Pte Oyate, the spiritual life. All spokes radiated toward the center—the heart and meaning of life, which was total harmony with one’s self and with nature. That skull was painted white to express purity. A Hoop of Life hung beneath the Medicine Wheel.

  The Hoop of Life symbolized all stages of man’s existence: the never-ending circle of life from birth, to maturity, to old age, to death, then rebirth in the Spirit World. Four bars and four feathers were displayed on its surface for the four virtues of wisdom, courage, constancy, and generosity. The four directions to which it pointed were the same as those of the Medicine Wheel. Here, too, the four points radiated toward the center for total harmony. The chief repeated the pipe ritual a fourth time.

  A fire glowed in the center of the large tepee. Its undulating flames created shadows against the buffalo-hide wall which seemed to breathe with a spiritual life of their own. A flap was opened at the top to allow smoke to escape, but it did not release the fire’s heat. It was cold outside the meeting lodge on the moonless night. The floor was the earth upon which the Indians lived. The men sat on buffalo mats, huddled in several circles around the blaze, their bodies also giving warmth to each other.

  The only sounds heard were the soft breathing of the men, the invocation words, and the crackling of burning wood. No wind howled around the tepee. No dog barked. No child cried. No horse neighed. It was as if all creatures and forces of nature sensed and honored the gravity of this moment.

  Many smells filled the air: the sweetness of cherrywood sticks and special grasses in the fire, the animal-skin mats upon which they sat and the hide walls which surrounded them, the fragrant tobacco in the pipe, the dirt beneath them, and the grease—human and animal—upon their bodies for protection against winter’s chill. No man seemed to feel the stinging of smoke in his eyes or mind the familiar odors. All were too ensnared by suspense and a feeling of oneness.

&nb
sp; The Oglala chief, council members, and high-ranking warriors were eager for their shaman to reveal his vision. Standing Tree commanded their respect, awe, and loyalty. He was a man of wisdom, mystical insight, healing skills, and “powerful magic.” All remained still and silent as the spiritual leader of their tribe rose to enlighten them.

  “Grandfather spoke to me in a sacred vision while I slept,” he began. “We have been at peace with the white-eyes for many winters, a peace that came from the loss of our great leader, Gray Eagle, father of Chief Sun Cloud. But Grandfather warned that a season of bitter conflicts and greed will destroy that peace. The Great Mystery showed me two men. One’s face was hidden from my eyes, but Grandfather said he carries Oglala blood. A chief’s bonnet lay at his feet, torn from his head by evil. In the winters to come, Grandfather will make his heart grow restless. He will call the lost warrior back to the land of his people to share our destiny.” The shaman was quiet.

  Chief Sun Cloud pondered the holy man’s words. Bright Arrow—his brother—had been driven away by evil, but had returned. Powchutu—his father’s brother—had been driven away by evil, too, but had returned. Both were dead now. “Your words confuse me, Wise One,” he said. “If he is of our blood and tribe, why do we not know of him? What evil drove him from our people? When was the past moon that witnessed such a black deed?”

  “I do not know,” the sixty-year-old man answered. “His face and markings were not clear. We will know his words are true when he speaks them to us. When white trappers and traders came to our land, we met them as friends. We let them trap our streams and hunt in our forests. We made truce and trade with them. What they have seen and done here calls other white-eyes to our lands; many of them will be evil and dangerous. A dark moon in the winters to come will flood our land with white-eyes, and war will thunder as a violent storm across it.”

  “Why would the soldiers attack?” the chief reasoned. “Since my Grandfather’s time, we let the whites roam our lands and draw maps of our hills and valleys, our forests, plains, and rivers. We let trappers and traders build posts to sell goods to whites and to Indians. We let soldiers cut trees and build forts so we could observe them and learn their ways. When battles came between our two peoples, it was the whites’ doings. They asked for treaties, and we gave them. Eleven winters past we made a new truce with them. The one called Derek Sturgis took the paper I signed to their Great White Chief Monroe. The fort was abandoned, and the soldiers left our territory. As promised, they have not returned to threaten us. When Colonel Leavenworth came with troops eight winters past to seek our help to defeat the Arikaras, we gave it; they thanked us, presented us with gifts, and rode away.” Sun Cloud kept his probing gaze on the older man.

  “Such good things will not halt what is to come, my chief. Trouble will be reborn, but its life will be cut short by the warrior Grandfather sends to us. A long peace will follow—”

  Smiles, nods, and murmurs of relief took place before Standing Tree could finish his sentence. They ceased when he continued. “But more white-eyes will journey here in great numbers. Their hungers will bring even darker and bloodier suns. They will crave all Grandfather has given to us: our lands, our animals, our rocks and trees, our grasses, our lives, our honors, and our freedom. They can have none of those sacred gifts unless they destroy us. Many seasons after I begin my walk at Grandfather’s side, they will try to do so, and my people will resist. The white-eyes will come to fear and do battle with the Dakota Nation as they do with no other. The Tetons will lead all tribes of the Seven Council Fires and our allies in the last battle for survival. Grandfather did not reveal the final victor to me.”

  Sun Cloud was angered by this news. “We trusted the White Chief, and we kept our word. Why can he not honor his? Must we drive all whites from our land and stop others from coming? Will not their number and strength grow faster and stronger than the grasses upon our plains?”

  “We cannot keep them away until time is no more. Feed upon the seasons of peace ahead, for many of starving will come. The first trouble will bring the two men that Grandfather revealed to me in my sacred vision.”

  “How can this be?” Sun Cloud asked. “My brother was slain in battle with the Crow this summer past. Bright Arrow has no sons to challenge me. He has no grandsons who match your words. My memory knows of no man who lost the chief’s bonnet and was driven away. If it was long ago, how can a distant evil hold such power? Who seeks my rank?”

  “My vision did not say he wants to take the chief’s bonnet from Sun Cloud. It said he was denied his rank, land, and people and that Grandfather will draw him to us for help in a time of great danger.”

  Sun Cloud’s heart pounded inside the bronzed flesh of his broad chest, scarred by the Sun Dance ritual. “My son is ten winters old. Do you speak of him? Will he be taken from us, but returned one moon?”

  “I do not know. His face was kept hidden from me. When the moon comes, Grandfather will reveal all to me. I will speak His words to you.”

  “What of the other man, Wise One?” a council member asked.

  “He is a white-eye who will come to help us defeat our enemies. He is unlike other white-eyes. He will prove himself worthy to become our blood brother. His words and ways will be hard to accept and obey, but we must do so to survive. The white-eyes will not honor the treaty we signed. After many snows have covered Mother Earth with their white blankets, our land will be darkened by dangers. The blood of many, Indian and white, will soak into Mother Earth. Peace lies within the grasp of the white-eye whose hair blazes as the sun and in whose eyes the blue of sky lives. His heart will side with us. Many foes, Indian and white, will try to defeat him. An Oglala maiden will be chosen to ride with him, and she will become a skilled warrior at his side. She will guard his life and help defeat foes.”

  “Why does Grandfather use a white man?” another elder asked.

  “I do not know. But I do know his eyes are as blue and calm at the sky when he will appear. His voice will blow as a strong wind one moon and as a gentle breeze on another. His attacks will beat as heavy rain upon our foes. His glory will shine as brightly as the glowing ball in the heaven where the spirits live. His anger at those who threaten us and betray us will rumble as loud thunder. As with snow in our sacred hills, his heart and mind are pure. He will come when Grandfather says the time is here. The maiden who is chosen to battle with him will know a great destiny; her legend will speak of She-Who-Rode-With-The-Sky-Warrior.”

  “Who is this maiden, Wise One? Why must a female ride with a white warrior to defeat our enemies?” A third man asked the question in all their hearts.

  “I do not know.”

  During the ensuing silence, Sun Cloud glanced at the pictorial history of his Red Heart Band that was painted upon a tanned buffalo hide that hung on the lodge’s wall. It recorded the events that had taken place since the birth of his grandfather, Chief Running Wolf. It told of past conflicts with whites and with enemy tribes. Sun Cloud dreaded the scenes that would be added to it one day. His dark eyes scanned the faces of his warriors and tribal leaders. He wondered who would live to see those ominous times. The thirty-four-year-old chief wondered if he would still be their leader then. “When will this black sun come?” he asked in a grave tone, believing the shaman’s medicine powerful and his counsel wise.

  “I do not know,” Standing Tree said once more. “But not for many, many winters.” He took a seat cross-legged on a buffalo hide.

  Sun Cloud did not understand the meaning of this strange and distant vision. Yet he trusted and believed the mystical shaman and the Great Spirit. His father, the legendary Gray Eagle, was with Wakantanka; as was his mother, Alisha Williams, a white captive whom his father had loved and married. Bright Arrow and his wife had joined their parents last summer. Sun Cloud felt it was good and merciful when the Great Spirit called mates to His side on the same sun, as it had been with his parents and his brother. He knew it must be hard and lonely to live without the love of
your heart.

  Sun Cloud heard the others leaving the meeting lodge while he was deep in thought. Except for the Crow, Shoshone, and Pawnee, peace had ruled their land since the treaty with Sturgis in 1820. That truce had followed the ambush of his father and a painful struggle with his brother over the chiefs bonnet. He had won that honor and duty and won the hand of Singing Wind. Years of joy, success, and love had ensued.

  Now it was nearing time to begin his son’s warrior training, and he prayed the man in Standing Tree’s vision was not his only child. Singing Wind, his beloved wife, would bear another child when summer came. Perhaps it would be another son. No matter, a second child at last would bring much pride and happiness to his heart. He would make certain there was no confusion or conflict over which child would follow him as chief, as there had been with his brother eleven summers ago.

  The Red Heart chief of the Oglala/Teton branch of the Dakota Nation got to his feet. He flexed his muscular body and told himself that if dark moons were ahead, he must enjoy all the bright ones until then. A man’s destiny could not be changed; his Life-Circle was drawn by the Great Spirit before his birth. There was no need to worry over distant threats. Grandfather would always be there to guide, protect, and love His people.

  A hungry smile softened his handsome features. Sun Cloud headed for his tepee and his wife, who would chase away the night’s chill with fiery passion. Until Grandfather sent Sky Warrior to them, he would forget the perilous times ahead. For the present, all the chief wanted to think about were his wife, his young son, and the child Singing Wind carried.

  Chapter One

  May 1851

  “Hello in camp! Can I join you for coffee and rest?” Joe called out before approaching the camp. It was a precaution he had quickly learned to take in this wild Dakota territory to avoid getting shot by accident.