Savage Illusions Read online

  And, oh, what an­s­wers might he be ab­le to tell her abo­ut her he­ri­ta­ge?

  Could she be Blac­k­fo­ot?

  Could her true fat­her be so­mew­he­re ne­ar for her to go to, to con­fess to him that she was his long-lost da­ug­h­ter?

  Would she lo­ve him in­s­tantly as da­ug­h­ters sho­uld lo­ve fat­hers? Or wo­uld she fe­el too aw­k­ward for such a lo­ve bet­we­en her­self and a fat­her she had ne­ver known?

  The only fat­her she had ever lo­ved and em­b­ra­ced awa­ited her re­turn in Sa­int Lo­u­is.

  Oh, Lord, she co­uld not let him down by lo­ving anot­her fat­her per­haps even mo­re than he!

  "Sis?"

  Kirk's vo­ice drew Jole­na from her tho­ughts. She swung aro­und, smi­ling al­most gu­il­tily at Kirk, for if he had be­en ab­le to re­ad her tho­ughts, he wo­uld ha­ve be­en stun­ned. He wo­uld put her qu­ickly in her pla­ce for thin­king abo­ut anot­her fat­her, when in truth the­re was only one man whom she sho­uld ever call by such a na­me.

  "Sis, I've co­me to ha­ve a talk with you," Kirk sa­id, mo­ving in­to the ro­om.

  He clo­sed the do­or be­hind him and wal­ked ac­ross the ro­om and to­ok Jole­na's hand. He led her down on­to a so­fa be­fo­re a bla­zing fi­re in the fi­rep­la­ce.

  Lamplight from a lo­ne ke­ro­se­ne lamp flic­ke­red soft light aro­und the ro­om and on­to Jole­na's fa­ce, ma­king it ta­ke on an even mo­re lo­vely, cop­per she­en. Kirk ga­zed at her and tho­ught how be­a­uti­ful she was in her ful­ly-gat­he­red cot­ton dress; then he frow­ned when his eyes shif­ted to the low-swept bo­di­ce of her dress, thin­king that it re­ve­aled too much of the de­ep cle­ava­ge bet­we­en her well-ro­un­ded bre­asts.

  She al­re­ady had eno­ugh men le­ering at her.

  Yet he did not con­demn her for her cho­ice of dres­ses. No one el­se wo­uld see her to­night but him­self, and to­mor­row she wo­uld be we­aring a pla­in tra­vel skirt and blo­use, hi­ding the in­vi­ting tra­its of her fi­gu­re from the bo­is­te­ro­us wa­go­ners and… and the Blac­k­fo­ot gu­ide.

  ''You ca­me to ha­ve a talk," Jole­na sa­id stiffly. "What abo­ut?" She fe­ared that she al­re­ady knew the an­s­wer to her qu­es­ti­on and even felt fo­olish as­king it. He was go­ing to talk abo­ut Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in. He was go­ing to warn her on­ce aga­in abo­ut be­ing too fri­endly to In­di­ans. She co­uld al­most spe­ak his exact words as they bre­at­hed ac­ross his nar­row lips.

  "Jolena," Kirk sa­id, tur­ning to­ward her, now hol­ding both of her hands. "We ne­ed to set things stra­ight abo­ut a few thin­g­sa­bo­ut how you are to be­ha­ve in the pre­sen­ce of the In­di­an that has shown an at­trac­ti­on to you. Jole­na, you are In­di­an. Not only are you In­di­an, you are be­a­uti­ful. That is a let­hal com­bi­na­ti­on when it co­mes to be­ing aro­und an In­di­an war­ri­or who may not yet ha­ve cho­sen a wo­man as his li­fe­ti­me com­pa­ni­on. Jole­na, al­ways ke­ep fat­her cle­ar in yo­ur mind. He co­uld not be­ar to lo­se yo­u­es­pe­ci­al­ly to In­di­ans. He has fe­ared this all of his li­fe. You can't ma­ke his fe­ars re­al!"

  Her tho­ughts scram­b­led, her lo­yal­ti­es to­ward her whi­te fat­her al­re­ady thre­ate­ned wit­hin her he­art, Jole­na tur­ned her eyes away from Kirk.

  She swal­lo­wed hard, fe­eling gu­ilty for not be­ing ab­le to ke­ep her tho­ughts from stra­ying to the Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or.

  She clo­sed her eyes and set her jaw tightly, kno­wing that the bat­tle wit­hin her was just be­gin­ning. She was won­de­ring now if she co­uld sur­vi­ve it.

  How co­uld she li­ve bet­we­en two worlds?

  Until now, the­re had only be­en one, the ot­her ha­ving be­en loc­ked wit­hin the de­epest re­ces­ses of her he­art and so­ul. Co­ming to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory and se­e­ing the man of her mid­night dre­ams had chan­ged things the in­s­tant she had step­ped on the so­il of her an­ces­tors… and she co­uld not help but let things un­furl as they wo­uld and li­ve with the de­ci­si­ons that she wo­uld fi­nal­ly ma­ke.

  She was still yo­ung, with so much of her li­fe still stret­c­hed out be­fo­re her. She wo­uld cho­ose the path that wo­uld ma­ke her the hap­pi­est and ho­pe that she did not ca­use too much hurt to tho­se she so­rely lo­ved in the pro­cess. "Jole­na, for God's sa­ke, say so­met­hing," Kirk sa­id, pla­cing a firm hand to her sho­ul­der, ca­using her to turn her eyes qu­ickly back to him. "Yo­ur si­len­ce is frig­h­te­ning me."

  He se­ar­c­hed her dark eyes for an­s­wers that she was not sa­ying alo­ud to him, fe­ar stab­bing him when he saw so­met­hing the­re that he had ne­ver se­en be­fo­re. At this mo­ment, his sis­ter se­emed a stran­ger to him. It was as tho­ugh he was lo­oking in­to the eyes of an In­di­an in­s­te­ad of his pre­ci­o­us sis­ter's.

  For too long, it se­emed, he had pla­yed a ga­me wit­hin his he­art that ma­de him for­get that she was In­di­an in­s­te­ad of whi­te. Now the re­ality was co­ming to him in le­aps and bo­unds, and it hurt.

  It hurt to think that she might be chan­ging right be­fo­re his eyes in­to the exact thing that he had al­ways dre­aded.

  He had pla­ced his own fu­tu­re asi­de tem­po­ra­rily just to pre­vent this from hap­pe­ning. But he now re­ali­zed that not­hing or no one co­uld chan­ge what was tru­et­hat she was In­di­an and she wo­uld be fe­eling it, de­eply wit­hin her so­ul, now that she was in the land of her an­ces­tors.

  He cur­sed him­self for ever al­lo­wing her to co­me to the pla­ce.

  But he knew de­ep down in­si­de him­self that she wo­uld ha­ve co­me alo­ne, had he not co­me as her es­cort. She was too wil­lful and de­ter­mi­ned on­ce her mind was ma­de up abo­ut so­met­hing. He al­so knew for cer­ta­in now that fin­ding the ra­re but­terfly ca­me se­cond to her true re­asons for ha­ving co­me to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory.

  "Kirkdear, swe­et Kirk," Jole­na fi­nal­ly sa­id, pla­cing a hand to his che­ek as he drop­ped his hand from her sho­ul­der. "Ple­ase don't worry abo­ut me, and ple­ase don't pre­ach to me. Al­t­ho­ugh you are my ol­der brot­her, ple­ase re­mem­ber it is only by a few we­eks. I am old eno­ugh to ta­ke ca­re of myself, and most cer­ta­inly to ma­ke my own cho­ices in li­fe. The In­di­an? Yes, I must ad­mit I no­ti­ced his at­trac­ti­on to me. Ple­ase don't be thre­ate­ned by that. I am su­re he was in­t­ri­gu­ed to see an In­di­an wo­man who we­ars whi­te wo­man's clot­hes. It's not sur­p­ri­sing that he sho­uld won­der abo­ut an In­di­an wo­man who li­ves among the whi­te pe­op­le as tho­ugh one of them."

  "But don't you see, Jole­na, you are one of us," Kirk ple­aded. "Altho­ugh you ha­ve the skin co­lo­ring of an In­di­an, you are in all ot­her ways whi­te. Ple­ase don't for­get that and don't al­low yo­ur­self to fan­ta­si­ze over fin­ding yo­ur true pe­op­le. It co­uld in­f­lict many hurts."

  "Kirk, if yo­ur skin was cop­per and you had only In­di­an blo­od flo­wing thro­ugh yo­ur ve­ins, wo­uldn't you al­so want to know the truth of yo­ur he­ri­ta­ge?" Jole­na sa­id, trying to re­ason with Kirk, yet thin­king that she was truly was­ting her ti­me.

  He had his mind se­tas did she!

  She wo­uld se­arch for her true he­ri­ta­ge, no mat­ter what Kirk sa­id. She was dri­ven to find the an­s­wers now that she had the op­por­tu­nity!

  "I wo­uld ho­pe that I wo­uld be gra­te­ful for the li­fe that had be­en han­ded me," Kirk sa­id bit­terly. He ro­se from the so­fa and be­gan pa­cing back and forth in front of the fi­rep­la­ce, his hands clas­ped tightly be­hind him.

  Jolena mo­ved slowly to her fe­et. She pla­ced a hand to Kirk's arm and stop­ped him. She ga­zed in­to his eyes with a ple­ading in hers. "Kirk, no one co­uld ever be as gra­te­ful as I am for what my whi­te fat­her and mot­her
did for me," she sa­id so­lemnly, but was in­ter­rup­ted be­fo­re she co­uld fi­nish.

  Kirk yan­ked him­self away from her, flin­ging a hand wildly in the air. "Did you just he­ar yo­ur­self?" he sho­uted. "Did you he­ar how you cal­led fat­her yo­ur 'whi­te' fat­her? Lord, Jole­na, you've ne­ver sa­id that be­fo­re. He is yo­ur fat­her in every way. How can you for­get that?"

  Tired of this ar­gu­ing and be­ing ma­de to fe­el as­ha­med for her na­tu­ral fe­elings, Jole­na's eyes sud­denly glit­te­red mu­ti­no­usly. "Kirk, ple­ase le­ave," she sa­id, her vo­ice and jaw tight. "I wo­uld li­ke to stop dis­cus­sing the­se things be­fo­re we say so­met­hing we might reg­ret. Just le­ave it be, Kirk. Do you he­ar? Le­ave it be."

  "Jolena, I will say this one mo­re ti­me," Kirk sa­id stub­bornly. "Don't be fri­ends with In­di­ans. They can't be trus­ted."

  The ve­nom in her brot­her's vo­ice ma­de Jole­na le­ap to the de­fen­se of In­di­ans. She le­aned in­to his fa­ce. " I am In­di­an, aren't I?" she sa­id, her eyes fla­ring an­g­rily. "Can't I be trus­ted?" When Kirk did not res­pond and still sto­od his gro­und, re­fu­sing to bud­ge, Jole­na sig­hed he­avily and wal­ked in a huff past him.

  Her fin­gers we­re trem­b­ling as she yan­ked the do­or open and be­gan run­ning down the nar­row cor­ri­dor lig­h­ted by can­d­les flic­ke­ring in wall scon­ces. With Kirk clo­se on her he­els, she ran on out­si­de and ac­ross the co­ur­t­yard, angry, frus­t­ra­ted te­ars blin­ding her from whe­re she was ac­tu­al­ly go­ing as Kirk be­gan sho­uting at her to stop.

  "Jolena!" Kirk sho­uted. "Yes, you are In­di­an, but it's not the sa­me for you. You we­re ra­ised in a ci­vi­li­zed man­ner. In­di­ans are ra­ised as he­at­hens!"

  His words to­re at Jole­na's he­art. Al­most blin­ded with ra­ge, she sob­bed fu­ri­o­usly and kept on run­ning, then stop­ped sud­denly when she col­li­ded with so­me­one.

  Raising her eyes, she swal­lo­wed hard and her he­art ra­ced when she fo­und her­self lo­oking squ­arely up at the han­d­so­me Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or.

  And when his hands went to her sho­ul­der to ste­ady her from fal­ling from the jolt of the col­li­si­on, the mel­ting she ex­pe­ri­en­ced de­eply wit­hin her was so swe­et that she fe­ared it.

  Kirk's war­nings kept flas­hing on and off wit­hin her mind, yet they se­emed to be gro­wing dim­mer the lon­ger she sto­od in awes­t­ruck si­len­ce fa­cing Spot­ted Eag­le.

  Spotted Eag­le ga­zed down at her when he saw her eyes all swol­len and red from crying; he wan­ted to draw her in­to his tight em­b­ra­ce to pro­tect her from her brot­her's scal­ding words, which Spot­ted Eag­le had over­he­ard.

  But he did not da­re ca­use any mo­re tur­mo­il bet­we­en a brot­her and sis­ter and qu­ickly re­le­ased her as Kirk ca­me in a bre­at­h­less rush to her si­de.

  Staring at the In­di­an, Kirk re­ac­hed out for Jole­na and pla­ced an arm pos­ses­si­vely aro­und her wa­ist. He fo­ught to ke­ep his vo­ice ste­ady as he be­gan us­he­ring her back to­ward the fort. "Co­me now, sis," he sa­id softly. "We must get you back to yo­ur ro­om. It is best that you get to bed so­on, for we will be le­aving be­fo­re sun­ri­se on the mor­row."

  Jolena mo­ved in a half-stum­b­le alon­g­si­de Kirk, stun­ned by her true fe­elings for Spot­ted Eag­le. It wo­uld be hard to hi­de them, es­pe­ci­al­ly from Kirk. "Yes, I ima­gi­ne you are right," she mur­mu­red. "Sud­denly I am so ti­red."

  "And must I re­mind you aga­in of the true re­ason we are in the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory?" Kirk per­sis­ted, thin­king that per­haps if he ham­me­red it in­to her bra­in, she might fi­nal­ly be­li­eve it to be so. "The but­terfly, Jole­na. The ra­re but­terfly. Only the ra­re but­terfly."

  Jolena tur­ned soft, dark eyes to her brot­her. "Kirk, you can say that all you want," she mur­mu­red. "But I fe­el that I am he­re for a bet­ter pur­po­se. I even fe­el as tho­ugh I be­long he­re. My dre­ams ha­ve drawn me he­re, Kirk."

  "Hogwash," Kirk ex­c­la­imed lo­udly.

  He stop­ped and drew her in­to his gen­t­le em­b­ra­ce. "I'm so sorry for bat­tling with you abo­ut so many things," he sa­id softly. "And I ad­mit that I was a bit rash in my re­marks abo­ut the In­di­ans. I apo­lo­gi­ze." "I un­der­s­tand why you did it, and I ac­cept yo­ur apo­logy," Jole­na sa­id.

  Over Kirk's sho­ul­der she was wat­c­hing Spot­ted Eag­le as he mo­ved to his ha­un­c­hes be­si­de his cam­p­fi­re. Just the sight of him ca­used her he­art to ra­ce. She was fil­led with an­ti­ci­pa­ti­on for the co­ming days, when she wo­uld co­me to know Spot­ted Eag­le bet­ter.

  She clo­sed her eyes, en­vi­si­oning him hol­ding and kis­sing her, wis­hing it to be true, so­on…

  Spotted Eag­le sta­red in­to the fla­mes of the fi­re, yet did not see it. He was still too ca­ught up in fe­elings for this wo­man who had sud­denly en­te­red his li­fe li­ke wil­d­fi­re rus­hing thro­ugh his blo­od to see an­y­t­hing but her ima­ge ever­y­w­he­re he lo­oked!

  It was not li­ke him to al­low a wo­man to ru­le his every tho­ught.

  Until to­day he had al­lo­wed but one wo­man to en­ter his he­art, and she was long go­ne from him.

  He had put the im­por­tan­ce of le­ar­ning ever­y­t­hing that he wo­uld ne­ed when he was cal­led to ru­le his pe­op­le, as the­ir po­wer­ful chi­ef, abo­ve all el­se. He had lis­te­ned well to his fat­her's in­s­t­ruc­ti­ons abo­ut the re­qu­ire­ments of be­ing chi­ef.

  His fat­her was not a well man, ha­ving mo­ur­ned the de­ath of Spot­ted Eag­le's mot­her for too long now, so that he had be­gun ailing him­self, and Spot­ted Eag­le fe­ared that it was mo­re from a bro­ken he­art than an­y­t­hing el­se physi­cal. This al­so had ma­de Spot­ted Eag­le shy away from al­lo­wing anot­her wo­man in­si­de his he­art. He did not want to ever fe­el the sa­me pa­in aga­in that he and his fat­her had felt over the loss of a wo­man.

  There we­re many things in li­fe to enj­oy be­si­des wo­men!

  Yet Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld not grasp exactly what, now that he had met the wo­man cal­led Jole­na.

  "She has drawn you in­si­de yo­ur­self, has she not?" Two Rid­ges sa­id, sud­denly bre­aking Spot­ted Eag­le's tra­in of tho­ught. "She is this spe­ci­al to you?"

  "The wo­man who has ar­ri­ved with the whi­te pe­op­le on the lar­ge ri­ver ca­noe?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, lo­oking gu­ar­dedly back at Two Rid­ges. "She is not­hing to me. Not­hing."

  "Then yo­ur tho­ughts are on the tra­vel ahe­ad?" Two Rid­ges sa­id, grin­ning smugly, kno­wing that his fri­end was not spe­aking the full truth to him. Yet he did not want to pur­sue fur­t­her con­ver­sa­ti­on abo­ut it when he had his own hid­den tho­ughts and de­si­res re­gar­ding the cop­per prin­cess. "You think per­haps of ha­ving to fight off Cree re­ne­ga­des, es­pe­ci­al­ly the one cal­led Long No­se, whi­le pro­tec­ting the­se pe­op­le who know lit­tle of the dan­gers the Cree im­po­se upon them?"

  "Long No­se will da­re not pur­sue a con­f­ron­ta­ti­on with the whi­te pe­op­le when he se­es who gu­ides them thro­ugh the wil­der­ness," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "He un­der­s­tands that he will in­cur the wrath of this Blac­k­fo­ot, who­se war­ri­ors num­ber three ti­mes tho­se of the Cree. He le­ar­ned long ago not to in­ter­fe­re in Spot­ted Eag­le's li­fe. My fat­her ta­ught me well the art of war­ring when it is re­qu­ired aga­inst tho­se who­se he­art is dark."

  "That is so," Two Rid­ges sa­id, nod­ding. "You are res­pec­ted far and wi­de. It is with the sa­me ad­mi­ra­ti­on that this fri­end res­pects you and will humbly ri­de with you whi­le gu­iding the whi­te pe­op­le on the­ir se­arch for the ra­re but­terfly.

  "The whi­te wo­man," Two Rid­ges da­red to say, ha­ving re­ali­z
ed that his fri­end did not want to spe­ak abo­ut her to him. "She is most be­a­uti­ful, is she not? And it was stran­ge how you ac­ted as tho­ugh you had se­en her be­fo­re."

  Spotted Eag­le's sho­ul­ders ten­sed as he lo­oked away from Two Rid­ges, ga­zing to­ward the lar­ge ca­bin whe­re he knew that Jole­na was per­haps even now un­d­res­sing for bed. Ah, but if he we­re only the­re, to to­uch her, to kiss her, to tell her that she had al­ways be­en his.

  Two Rid­ges sta­red at Spot­ted Eag­le, hurt that he was ig­no­ring him aga­in. He set his lips tightly to­get­her and nar­ro­wed his eyes, fe­eling that this fri­end wo­uld one day show his an­no­yan­ce one ti­me too of­ten.