Savage Ecstasy
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Other Books By
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Acknowledgment
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 Fifteen
Copyright
Alisha stared up into Gray Eagle’s face and tried to move away. But she immediately discovered that she was trapped under his body. Helplessly, she met his gaze, and’ saw that his eyes burned with a look she did not understand, or want to …
She fought to turn her face from the Indian brave, but his hand held her chin securely. He forcefuly pressed his lips against hers and kissed her deeply and hungrily.
The young woman’s senses reeled. She did not know how to resist him. And now, she didn’t know even if she wanted to. Never before had she been kissed like this. Never before had she felt a man’s arms like this. In her daydreams of the brave, never had she imagined that her body could feel such exquisite passion. As Alisha’s hunger and passion for Gray Eagle coalesced into one fiery blaze, she thought, if only we weren’t enemies … enemies!
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)
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Savage Ecstasy
Janelle Taylor
Dedicated to: Michael, who made it all possible, and Angela and Alisha
LOVE’S CRUEL ARROW
She came to a wilderness, vast and wide;
Adorned with great beauty and innocent pride. Searching for freedom and a wondėrous new life; But instead found hatred and bitter strife.
To feel her dreams shatter and fade;
To watch the wanton destruction of plans made. To first know love and its cruel game;
To endure its counterpart and know great shame. To meet a man with courage and fame;
To suffer the torment that he is to blame.
To live in darkness and not be spared;
Rejection from the very one whose love she shared. A forbidden love looked down on with scorn;
Sweet like the rose, but painful its thorn.
Forced to endure prejudice from minds so narrow; To be pierced in her heart by love’s cruel arrow. Janelle Taylor
This book is a work of fiction. Any historical names, places or events that occur have been used in a fictional context and reflect the author’s interpretation of the facts for the sake of her work. Acknowledgment to: Hiram C. Owen of Sisseton, South Dakota for al his help and understanding with the Sioux language and facts about the great and inspiring Sioux Nation. Thank you.
Chapter One
Alisha opened the door to their smal, one-room cabin and stepped outside to absorb the warmth of the sunlight. The fragrant scents of verdant nature and late spring flowers floated in the balmy air. The bright sun beamed down on the fortress yard, which was cluttered by many one-room cabins, each an exact replica of the ones surrounding it. Only the varying colors of curtains fluttering in and out of open windows or a rugged work bench attached to the side wal of certain cabins marked minute differences to the naked eye. She recaled how quickly and efficiently the cabins had been constructed. The men had insisted on speed, size and style to provide the needed protection against weather and the precious privacy denied on the trail.
She inhaled the fresh breeze from the surrounding forest that gently blew over the tal, spiked fence and through the slightly open gate, cooling its occupants as they labored and played. She was thinking of how very different it was here from what she had imagined or had been told. She laughed lightly to herself as she recaled visualizing vast wastelands and tangled forests, filed with clutching vines and thick underbrush. She remembered the tales she had heard about huge, strange beasts and heathen red savages who ran around half-naked, performing terrible rituals and deeds against the whites and other tribes.
Instead, she had found dense green forests; lazy, roling hils; majestic rock formations; winding rivers and lucid, sparkling streams. She pictured the prairies and vast grasslands that stretched streams. She pictured the prairies and vast grasslands that stretched far as the eye could see, acres dotted with smal, flowering bushes and mangled trees. She had discovered rugged landscapes which were covered with various sizes and types of cacti and white yuccas.
She wondered how long it would remain this way with groups such as theirs and others ever pressing westward, how long it would be before those great plains she saw would be filed with sheep and cattle. How long before the forests were cut down for lumber needed for homes and new towns or cleared for farms and fields?
How long before this wilderness succumbed to progress and change and this very spot was another Liverpool or Harrisburg? It saddened her to think that someday this beauty and splendor would no longer exist. She thought this land should inspire the peace and freedom they al hungered and searched for—but would it?
She hugged the stoop post, swaying back and forth, thinking how wonderful her new life would be. Her mind flitted from one thought to another as a bee from flower to flower colecting nectar. Her thoughts briefly settled on the huge, hairy creature the scout had caled abuffalo. She had seen a herd spread out for miles and miles against the blue horizon on the open plains, covering the vast grasslands like a giant, black carpet. She recaled how a sudden stampede had sounded like roaring thunder, shook the ground and was heard and felt for miles. The scout had told her how the Indians hunted them, using their skins for clothing, shelter and shoes; and their bones, hooves, horns and entrails for sewing, tools, utensils and numerous other purposes. He had commented that many tribes depended almost solely on them for everything they needed to sustain life as they knew and lived it.
Lazily Alisha looked around the enclosure at the women as Lazily Alisha looked around the enclosure at the women as they went about their daily chores and tasks while the smal children played. She quickly turned her face away from the place where two men were gutting and skinning a beautiful, white-tailed deer. She wondered why that task could not have been done outside the fortress wals. She watched the strong muscles in the backs of several men flex and strain as they chopped firewood. Many others were going about their chores oblivious to the others around, caught up in their own little worlds of thoughts and work. She glanced through the half-open gate into the forest and sighed lightly. With June almost over, spring stil lingered on the land. She remembered how glorious fal had been and how terribly harsh and cold the winter. This climate was so different from the one back home in Liverpool. She recaled how her mother had hated the fog and cold, damp mist and would constantly ask to go to the South of France during those worst seasons. How she would have loved this warm sunshine, the fresh air and skies the color of periwinkle satin and heather. A note of sadness touched her heart and spirit at these thoughts and memories.
Oh, Mama, her heart cried out, why did you and Papa have to die so young and leave me alone? Why couldn’t life go on as before? It wasn’t fair… such a terrible waste … tears glistened in her eyes for a few moments before she could bring her emotions under control.
Alisha wondered what happiness and surprises this new land and year of 1776 held in store for her and the others. Little did she suspect that in just a short time an event would shatter and change her life and thoughts for al time, that al she knew and loved would be cruely torn from her. Her innocence about life and human nature would leave her unprepared to face the brutality and the drastic would leave her unprepared to face the brutality and the drastic changes that she would be forced to witness and endure. She stood leaning against the post in a dreamlike trance, reminiscing about old times and planning new ones. Suddenly she became aware of the loud yels and commotion outside the fortress wals that steadily increased in nearness and pitch. The gate was shoved wide open and she saw a sight that she would long remember.
She stared at the scene in disbelief and astonishment. Some of the men from the fortress were bringing an Indian brave into the center of the yard. He was being puled forward like an animal by a rope around his neck and with his hands bound tightly behind his back. The raucous group brought many others running forward to see what was going on. They pointed at the brave as they talked excitedly amongst themselves. Some of the men taunted him and shouted insults at him. Others struck blows and puled at his braids. He was shoved from side to side roughly as in some game of tugof-war. She couldn’t believe what she witnessed with her own eyes and ears.
Ben Frazer, a burly blacksmith from Virginia, yanked on the rope, yeling, “Come on, you savage! Stop that dawdling or I’l break yore neck.”
At Ben’s movement, the brave stumbled and nearly fel. As he straightened up, he jerked his head backwards with powerful neck muscles, causing Ben to drop the other end of the rope. Ben cursed him as he leaned over to retrieve it. Like a flash of lightning, the brave brought his knee up with a smashing blow under Ben’s chin. Ben yeled out in pain as he spit blood onto the brave’s chest and drew back his fist and delivered a heavy blow into his stomach. Much to Ben’s surprise and anger, the only two noticeable effects Much to Ben’s surprise and anger, the only two noticeable effects of the blow were an exhalation of air and a slight backwards movement.
Ben shook his fingers painfuly and shouted jokingly to those nearby, “Damn! He’s got a gut of iron. ‘Most near broke me hand.”
Then he slowly added, “We’l just see if’n his back is made of iron.”
Jed McDoogan, who Alisha thought looked and acted like a weasel, pranced around him, taunting and shouting, “Blarney! If he ain’t a puck! Just look at that face, boys. Why it’s enough to scare the hair clear off’n me head.”
Horace Swint, the fortress’s self-appointed Don Juan, grabbed his braids and forced him to face him. He studied him for a minute, then agreed. “Yore right, Jed. I kin feel me hair jumping up and down in fear. Just look at that face! He must think he can scare us to death with just a look. Wel, he won’t be so brave or silent when we’ve finished with him,” he threatened boldly. Ben joined the laughter and shouted above the noise, "I bet we have him begging for mercy within an hour. Just you wait and see if’n it ain’t so.”
“Shucks,” Horace yeled. “I bet it only takes a few minutes. I’l wager you my best gun if it takes more’n half an hour to break him.”
Jed whispered, “You think maybe we could do some of them Injun tortures on him? Give ‘im a taste of his own medicine? I know of a few things I’d like to try on him. Couldn’t do ‘em here in front of the women folk, though.” They al exchanged knowing looks and laughed heartily. “Why don’t you see just how tough he is, Ben? Put a little squeeze on ‘im.”
Ben began to tighten the rope around the brave’s neck until his face began to discolor and his chest began to show signs of struggling for air. No one tried to stop the malicious actions of the struggling for air. No one tried to stop the malicious actions of the men. Hatred thick as smoke permeated the air. Alisha wondered what had come over these people. They acted as if they had captured a rabid animal. Why?
Many of the people were running about wildly, yeling and shouting. Bedlam had broken loose in the fortress and confusion ruled. They swarmed around him like the sharks had done the rancid meat dumped overboard from the ship on the way over here. What was possessing these people to behave this way? They showed him no mercy or humanity with any of their words or actions to him. As with any mob, sanity and reason had fled and there would be no stopping them. Stil, she knew that she must try to do something, anything and alone….
She ran to Ben. “Stop it!” she screamed at him. “He can’t breathe! You’re choking him, Ben! No!” She slapped at his hands and tried to grab the rope. She shouted at him again, “Ben, you can’t do this! Let him go! Stop it now before it’s too late!
Please…”
Seeing her look of anger and disbelief, Ben loosened the rope and spoke to her in childlike innocence, “Aw, Miss Alisha, we was only having fun. We ain’t gonna kil him yet.”
She looked at the brave to be sure that he was al right. He breathed heavily but his color had returned to normal quickly. She turned to Ben and said, “Strangling a man isn’t my idea of fun, as you cal it. You could have kiled him! Why? I don’t understand what this is al about. What did he do?”
Horace piped up acidly, “This ain’t no man! This here’s a real, live, heathern, bloodthirsty savage. Women should keep their pretty noses outa men’s business. This ain’t none of yore concern. Go back to your cabin and stay out of it.”
back to your cabin and stay out of it.”
Alisha glared at his face so ful of hate and contempt for the brave and asked, “Just what did he do to you, Horace?”
He snarled angrily, “He’s alive and an Injun, that’s enough for me!”
She studied his hate-distorted features in amazement, then inquired, “You mean that you hate him and would kil him simply because he’s an Indian?”
Horace gave her a quick, concise, “Yep!”
Alisha retorted, “That’s barbaric! And you cal him the savage? That’s realy pathetic, Horace. But then again, so like you…”
Horace flashed her a look of warning and said, "Don’t press me, Alisha.”
She quipped back instantly, “Don’t cal me Alisha! Only my friends can do that.” The jab hit home and he flamed at the insult. Ben intervened at that point. “Miss Alisha, maybe you best go inside if it bothers you to witness punishment.”
“Punishment!” she shrieked. “For what?”
“For being an Injun,” Horace shouted back at her. "Now stop your interfering or I’l personaly see to it that you do.”
She glared at him and whispered, “If you ever touch me again, I’l…”
Ben warned, “I told you once before, Horace, leave her be.”
The two men exchanged looks and Horace backed down once more.
The brave remained motionless and silent while they argued over what was to be done with him. Alisha argued, threatened and pleaded against al their suggestions, but was ignored and slowly pushed backwards by the circle of spectators that tightened around pushed backwards by the circle of spectators that tightened around the scene. She prayed for her uncle and the others to return soon. She knew the men were not thinking clearly and the group would soon be out of control.
The men decided that first they would flog him with thirty lashes.
Thirty, she thought, horrified. Men have died from less than twenty. I must do something! But what? I’m no match against al these strong men.
The men began to pul him toward the post used to butcher game. Ben was tugging on the rope, trying to drag him to it. The brave held back and resisted with al his might every step of the way. Jed and Horace shoved and pushed him from behind at each delay and hesitation.
Aggravated and angry, Horace suddenly laug
hed sardonicaly and tripped him. With quick nimbleness and alertness, the brave flipped in mid-air and landed on his side rather than face down in the dirt. As he was going down, the rope tightened around his neck and he choked and coughed. Swiftly he bounded back to his feet before Horace could deliver a vicious kick into his side. He crouched like a puma about to spring and faced his antagonist with eyes that blazed in unconcealed fury and hate. Horace drew back slightly as he watched the brave’s jaw grow taut and the muscles in it quiver. His eyes narrowed and flamed dangerously at the men, who overlooked this warning and would live to regret this day and its events.
Squeals of delight and laughter filed the air. Taunts and jests flew from al directions at his apparent helplessness. “Been drinking too much firewater, Injun?” “They just don’t grow Injuns like they used to.” “I bet he ain’t bathed in à year or more. What’cha say used to.” “I bet he ain’t bathed in à year or more. What’cha say wegive ‘im a bath, boys?” “Ben, you oughta teach yore Injun some manners.” “Hey! how about doing us a little war dance, redskin?”
“Heck! I’d like to hear some chanting and praying.” “Who’s yore tailor, boy? That’s realy some nifty garb. I bet we could win us a prize with that outfit over in Paris, France.” “Somebody get us some paint and we’l fix his face up right for a change.” “Yeh! And paint a yelow strip down the coward’s back.” The ribbing went on and on until Horace became the center attraction with his antics. He yeled out, “Watch this!” At that, he stiffened his body, held his head high and tried to mock the brave’s dignified stance and tried to calm his grinning face to mock his stoical mask. He could do neither.
New bursts of laughter rippled the air and others joined in the gestures and tried amidst howling laughter and encouragement to imitate his walk, stance and facial expression. Catcals, hoots and hisses filed the air like sirocco winds from the desert during a sand storm.