There he stood. Her worst nightmare. Her spontaneity had saved her life before, but leaving the camp, running carelessly through unknown woods, and especially bathing in the stream had been the worst decisions of her life. And at this rate may never have a chance to be surpassed. The look of shock upon his face was even more pronounced than the horror expressed by hers. And why shouldn't it be? She was quite a surprise.
The bright white skin of her full feminine curves reflected the light of the rising sun. It was breathtaking. Her long dark hair fell to her waist, the tips dipping into the water. Her face was frozen in shock and horror. A million fleeting ideas and emotions passed across it constantly. But those rosy red lips, parted in surprise, stood motionless, appetizing. Their deep red hue stood out so brilliantly against her pale slowly blushing skin and complimented the deep blue tones in her eyes. There was no doubt in his mind. She was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. But before he could say anything to calm her fears, she launched out of the water and was gone. Desperately, frantically, he chased her through the underbrush.
Her breath had been lost with the shock and she needed it now. She did not feel the thorns and rocks beneath her feet. She did not notice when deep cuts formed on her arms, the fingerprints of the branches which tried to grab her as she ran. She could only focus on that basic instinct to survive. This instinct was very familiar to her. It told her to run. Many times she had had the need to run in order to escape, to survive. He would not catch her. Somehow she would be ok. But how? Where could she run? There was nowhere for her now. Tears began to fall, clouding her vision. She might run into a tree. But there was a clearing. She leapt through the trees into the clearing, wiping tears from her eyes. She leapt right into something very solid; solid, but not rooted like a tree. Over they fell. One deep grunt and one sharp gasp before she saw him. Then a scream.
Her naked breasts were pressed against his deep brown chest and she jerked away from him. Panic overtook her and she stared down from above him, her hands on either side of his waist. His bare, muscular, copper-colored waist. Everything about this strange man was dark. Next to her soft white hands, his skin seemed unnatural, awe-inspiring. She had never seen anyone so dark, so fierce. His hair was darker than the night. Where the light shone it was almost blue. No hint of brown. And his eyes: his eyes were like shining pebbles of obsidian but full of life and surprise. She shook her head, remembering her situation and tried to pull away but he was too fast. She found herself lying on the ground staring up into those deep, questioning eyes. His hands held her elbows to the ground and his knees pinned her thighs. Would she die here? No. He wouldn't kill her.
He didn't know why she was there. He hadn't even known the new men had brought women. And he didn't know why she was naked and wet. But he knew he couldn't let her go. Something inside him told him not to release his tight grip on her arms. She didn't speak his language, but he had no questions. No verbal questions.
Her eyes were blue, like the sky. Blue eyes? But they were darker than the sky. They were like the sea. He wondered for a moment if the Great Spirit had taken a piece of the sea to put in her eyes. And her lips were redder than any lips he'd ever seen. At first glance he thought she might have been bleeding. Still, this woman was his enemy. Beautiful as she was, good as it felt to hold her beneath him, much as he wanted to press himself against her breasts once more; she was his enemy. And she must die.
Thomas dove into the clearing. There, to his horror, the angel was pinned down by a fearsome redskinned devil. But that was his angel. And he would save her. He, Thomas, the weak one, the pathetic one, would be the hero. His gun swung around and he began to load it with efficiency he'd never known, but when he glanced up, the devil was gone. And his angel lay there in the dirt; panting; naked; beautiful. He dropped the gun and ran to her. "Are you alright?" he blurted. But she didn't see him. Her mind was fast at work, thinking of something. Perhaps she was reliving the gruesome attack.
Thomas imagined what must have happened. The poor girl had been running through the woods and clearly the savage had pounced upon her. Her breath must have been knocked from her pale, weak, sumptuous body. Who knows what would have happened had he, Thomas, not arrived to save the day. The poor girl would have been subjected to the desire of that devilish animal. If he had not rescued her, she could have been killed. His only lament was that he hadn't had the opportunity to shoot the devil. But he would. Next time. There was no doubt in his mind.
Her breath and focus slowly returned and she found herself, still naked, gazing into the soft brown eyes of the man named Thomas. They were soft and boyish in comparison to the fierce, passionate, profound, black eyes of the savage Indian man. She welcomed them, not sure if she was relieved to stare into something so gentle or disappointed that they were not nearly as captivating. Awareness dawned that she was still naked and she hurried to cover herself.
"Are you alright?" he said again. It sounded like an echo though she couldn't remember him saying it before. She blinked.
"Fine." Then remembering her circumstances "Please don't tell." Thomas's brow wrinkled, confused; then smoothed.
"Oh. I won't. Did he hurt you?"
"What? Oh… No." Her eyes became hazy again. Where had he gone? What would he have done had Thomas not come into the clearing?
"Come. We should be getting back. The men will be wondering where we are." Again she returned to reality.
"Please don't tell them." She saw his eyes lighten and he smiled a little. This made her wary at first, but it seemed kind, so she relaxed some. It was refreshing to find someone so easy to trust; almost as refreshing as lying under the Indian man had been electrifying. As they walked back to her clothes, and then on to camp, she could still feel his electric touch.
He was running. Without thought. His feet took him back to his village and straight to his wigwam. Something was stirring inside him. It was strange, unsettling. An uneasiness took hold of him and he found himself anxious and unable to sit still. His heart still pounded loudly in his ears and thoughts rushed through his mind so quickly he could scarcely hold onto them before they were swept away by the next. It was foolish to think of the girl at all. It made no sense. He was making himself uneasy about her. But he couldn't hold back the image of her deep blue eyes. Something about them spoke to him and he was uncertain how to interpret it. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, but when the idea came to him to kill her, he realized instantly that it was not in his power to do so. He could no more kill that innocent, intriguing beauty than he could marry her.
Marriage. Pocahontas. Suddenly marriage seemed distant, unreal. It struck him that that was no longer the path he was on, but he quickly brushed the thought from his mind. And still, how could life ever be as it was? But that was silly. Why wouldn't it be as it was? Nothing was different. Nothing had changed. But those eyes. They held something akin to fear, but not fear. It couldn't have been fear because there had been something else, something like… trust. That must have been his imagination. And yet she hadn't squirmed. She had easily allowed him to press her into the dirt. The thought stimulated his imagination and he cut off his thoughts. Shock. She didn't move because she was consumed by shock. He tried to believe it. But couldn't.
Thomas sighed heavily. He had finally become a hero. So why did he feel so incomplete? He had saved her. So he was a hero. No doubt about it. So why didn't he feel any better? All he could think about all day was that savage, still out there, alive. He had failed. But the point had been to save the girl, his angel. And he had. But she wasn't his angel. She hadn't talked to him all day. She hadn't talked to anyone all day.
Thomas looked over at her. Rebecca. That was her real name. Everyone believed it to be Benjamin but he knew better. He knew her secret. And there was only one other person in the world who knew she was a woman. Other than her. But that Indian couldn't have known it was a secret. Couldn't have possibly guessed that she dressed as a man. And who would think that could possibly work with her face and figure? Now that he knew, he wondered how he had never guessed before. She was far too pretty to be a man. And her breasts. How did she hide them so well? They were so… well… it was miraculous that she was able to hide them at all. He leaned on his shovel and stared into the dirt. But he didn't see dirt. He saw a beautiful woman standing in a stream, completely naked.
He saw her dark red lips, open in surprise, turn up at the corners to a seductive smile. He saw her beckon to him and he came. His clothes were gone and he was in the water. With her. She stood just shorter than him and he pulled her tightly against him. Her large breasts were crushed against him as he held her close. And his mouth came down hard on hers. She whimpered as his tongue entered her mouth. As he roughly squeezed her against him. As he slipped inside her. She moaned as they moved together in the stream. As he, unable to get enough of her, pressed her roughly against the rocks and pressed deep inside her.
It was a good thing he'd been digging a while and was deep in his hole. The men never would have let him live it down. If only he had some cold water. But this time cold water had been the cause of his stiff arousal. Instead he began shoveling again and prayed it would go away, desperate to find other things with which to occupy his mind.
She wiped the sweat from her brow. Funny how fast one gets sweaty when wearing a thick jacket and working hard. It didn't feel like she'd had a bath just this morning. She looked around at the others. The men. Most wore nothing above the waist. Deep in the holes they dug, she imagined they were all naked. She laughed. It was a comical sight. Most of the men were old and fat. Some were a good eyeful, but couldn't affect her. Perhaps she'd just been around them too long. She was used to the way they looked and it no longer made her heart beat quicken. Or perhaps they just couldn't compete with a dark brown body and two black obsidian eyes.
Suddenly the heat was absolutely unbearable. She longed for the stream again. She needed the cool, refreshing water. Perhaps she could get away and go to the stream. Closing her eyes, she could feel the cool water against her naked body. She floated there in peace, undisturbed by Thomas. She flushed. Embarrassed that he had seen her. That he knew what she looked like. That he could picture her naked. Did he? Did he think about her like that? Like the men talking around the campfire last night? Did the Indian man?
She had been under him; pressed down by his weight. His bare knees against her bare thighs. His hands on her arms. His eyes captivating her as his body held her captive. What if? What if she hadn't screamed? And Thomas had never come? She should have felt fear, thinking that she could have been raped. Gratitude that Thomas had saved her. But she felt frustration. But that must have just been because she was a virgin and she felt like the only one who wasn't in on some secret. What these men wanted more than anything, she couldn't even imagine. But she had had a taste of it today. A taste of the fire set burning by a pair of obsidian eyes. By a pair of copper hands. A pair of naked knees against her thighs. Suddenly the burning in her skin was no longer uncomfortable. She beckoned it. Beckoned back those obsidian eyes.