Indian Captive Trilogy – Episode 2: “Ready”

Rated: NC-17

By: Tessa

Disclaimer: Paramount owns ‘em.

Summary: Kathryn gets the flu and is out of commission. Having nothing better to do with her time, she starts creating some hot daydreams starring herself and you-know-who.

This is episode 2 of what is intended to be a trilogy; hopefully episode 3 won’t be too far behind. This story can stand alone, but you might enjoy the first one: Indian Captive Trilogy -- Episode 1: "Shoshala".

Comments: Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. (Translation: I’m guilty as hell.) I have great respect for Native American cultures, but in this story I succumb to the stereotyped, romanticized view that is the province of romance writers and Hollywood. My in-depth knowledge of the Lakhota Sioux would fill, oh, a 3 x 5 index card (maybe). There are details here and there that are accurate, but mostly I made it up. I apologize…but alas, I don’t repent.

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The chronometer seemed to have stopped moving completely. A temporal anomaly, or just the inevitable results of Captain Kathryn Janeway being subjected to an unproductive quarantine? The Kradin flu had laid her low. Without pain medication, she hurt too much to think, and with it, she was much too loopy to think, so working was impossible. She couldn’t even read.

The most pleasant way she had hit on to pass the time was constructing elaborate erotic daydreams starring her sexy first officer. The medicine facilitated her creativity – besides making her mind a little foggy, it made her body a little…“hungry”. So her imagination created a virtual feast.

The first story she had woven seemed to be tapped out, so she set to concocting another. She did enjoy envisioning Chakotay as a 19^th century Plains Indian (never mind that his ancestors had actually come from Central America), but he had been too tame, too nice, in her first effort. She needed him to have a little more edge this time…

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The eerie sound of the wind whipping across the plains, whistling and moaning as it sought entrance to the small farmhouse, was a sound that Kathryn had never quite gotten used to. Even after six years, she hated to be at home alone when the wind took up its plaintive cry. It underscored the loneliness of her existence. There were very few white settlers in the environs of Fort Randall, which had been completed in 1856 shortly before she and Creed McIntire arrived, and scarcely a handful of them were women. She was used to being self-reliant and independent, but the isolation was sometimes hard to take.

Today the wind’s song struck her as particularly poignant. Creed had been acting very strangely the last few weeks, ever since the day he had brought home a new horse. It was a beautiful animal, an Indian paint, not commonly owned by whites. Creed had been reticent about its provenance, saying only that he’d bought it off a trapper. Her attempts to probe further – such as to ask why they needed another horse to feed when they were already barely keeping up – were rebuffed.

Then, the day before yesterday, things had gotten worse. Much worse. One of the trappers they occasionally traded with had stopped by. He and Creed had sat down at the small table in the kitchen to drink and swap stories, as was their habit, while Kathryn went about her business in the front room. Their first topic of conversation chilled her to the bone. “Reckon the Sioux’ll try and come take revenge fer that dead Injun?” the old trapper had exclaimed. Creed had shushed him immediately, and she heard nothing more from them on the subject.

And so, after the trapper had left, she had asked Creed what the old man meant. “A Sioux got killed not too far from here,” he had answered vaguely. But when she pressed him for more information, he had exploded. She knew he could be a mean drunk if he was in a bad mood, but in their six years of marriage she had never seen such a reaction from him. He’d flown into a rage, yelling at her to stop hounding him. He had grabbed her and shaken her violently. Then – she shuddered at the memory – he had snatched a good-sized piece of kindling from aside the hearth and started beating her with it mercilessly.

He’d then stormed out the door and apparently slept in the barn that night. The next morning he left before she arose, and he hadn’t been back since.

Kathryn could not fathom why he had reacted as he had. Though he had hit her once in a while when his temper got the best of him, never before had he lit into her as he did that night. Was it fear? They were both well aware that the peace with the Sioux was quite tenuous, and they were known to demand an eye for an eye. If one of their own had been killed, they might well take retribution by coming after the killer, if he were known, or by killing a white at random. The small garrison at Fort Randall was insufficient to assure the safety of the whites in the area.

It scared Kathryn to be alone at the farm, but she felt she had little choice. She would be safer at the fort, but then who would care for their livestock? Damn Creed McIntire for running out when she needed him. It reassured her a bit to remind herself that most of the settlers’ farms were closer to Sioux territory than theirs was, thus perhaps likelier targets for a raid. Just the same, she took down the rifle and checked it over to be sure it was ready for use. She wouldn’t hesitate to defend herself if it came to that.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The day dragged on, the wind continuing its mournful howl, and then Kathryn stretched to hear another sound. She thought she could hear the horses out in the corral whinnying, as they did when disturbed by a predator or strange horses. Darn, they’d lost a goat to a wolf just a few weeks ago. Maybe he was back for another meal. As she stepped into the front room to retrieve the rifle from the rack on the wall, she heard another ominous sound – the creaking of the floor boards on the front porch. Her heart jumped. Was Creed back? Or…she hastened to snatch the rifle just as the front door flew open and a war-painted Indian burst in. Before she could even lower the rifle to aim, he seized the barrel and wrenched the weapon from her hands. She turned to flee out the kitchen door, but was barely in the kitchen before she smacked into a wall of a man. She stepped back from him and looked around in desperation.

Resistance was futile. There were at least three of them, perhaps more outside, and she was defenseless. Her heart pounded from fear and exertion. The Indian who had taken her rifle handed it to another and walked up to her. He was tall and stood ramrod straight. He crossed his arms over his chest. Kathryn sensed a strong undercurrent of anger in him, although his stern face gave little of his emotion away.

“What is your name?” he demanded.

Kathryn stared at him in disbelief, wondering if she had really heard the question she thought she’d heard. Why would these savages give a damn about her name?

“What is your name?” he barked again, his voice rising. He stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm, and Kathryn grimaced from the pain. Although he wasn’t holding her that hard, his fingers were gripping the bruises Creed had given her. A note of puzzlement crossed his face as he noticed her overreaction.

“K…Kathryn McIntire,” she replied, trying to twist away from him.

“You are the woman of Creed McIntire?” he asked harshly, letting go of her arm.

“Yes. I am his wife,” she answered, very confused at this exchange.

“Where is your husband?”

She hesitated. “Fort Randall.” She didn’t know where he was, but if they wanted him, they wouldn’t dare go after him at the fort.

“Good,” he nodded. “You will come with us.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why? What do you want with me?” Panic gripped her.

“You will learn when I decide to tell you,” he said curtly.

The man behind her pushed her forward, and they led her outside. There, another Indian stood holding the reins of the Indians’ horses. Kathryn realized that one of the horses was Creed’s new Indian paint. The tall Indian pushed her toward it.

“Can you ride bareback?” he asked.

What if she said no, she wondered. Would they take a saddle or…would they make her ride with one of the Indians?

“Yes.”

He boosted her up onto the horse, and she took the reins. Then she noticed that the horse had a long lead attached – they weren’t taking chances that she would try to escape. Maybe she should try to escape. Would it be better to be killed outright than to suffer the fate they had in store for her? She shuddered, but then she watched as the tall Indian mounted his horse. He had a very regal bearing, and an aura about him that commanded respect. It was strange, but she had this instinctive feeling that he would treat her fairly.

Fairly? That couldn’t be. What was fair about being abducted, for no reason? Or was there a reason? As the party took off at a gallop, Kathryn tried to think things through. It wasn’t easy, it took a lot of concentration to ride a galloping horse bareback. She had loved to do it when she was younger, but nowadays she rarely rode at all. But once she got into the rhythm, she could turn some of her attention to try to make sense of this situation.

Pieces of the puzzle sifted through her mind. They had known Creed’s name, and they had specifically come after her – or perhaps him, but settled for her since he was not there. They had not killed her. Yet. Besides her, the only thing they had taken was the Indian paint – the horse Creed had been so evasive about. An Indian had recently been killed. Creed had been acting strangely.

Suddenly some of the pieces began to fit together. A horrible theory began to take shape in Kathryn’s mind. Creed hadn’t bought that horse. He had stolen it, and killed its Indian owner. Somehow the Sioux knew he had done it, and taking her was their retribution for the crime. But what did they have planned for her? And what were the chances that she would be rescued? White captive or not, the small contingent at Fort Randall would be loathe to interfere with a case of tribal justice such as this. They simply didn’t have the manpower to back up a demand that she be returned. And Creed? He would never have the guts to try to rescue her, even if he had the inclination. She was undoubtedly on her own.

She studied the tall Indian as best she could from atop a galloping horse. He held the paint’s lead; he was the one who seemed to be in charge. His war paint wasn’t exactly flattering, but he had a very interesting facial structure with a fascinating profile. Something about him was very compelling. She sensed not only anger, but sadness about him.

And his body…well, watching his powerful muscles rippling under the bronzed skin of his barely clad body gave Kathryn some very impure thoughts. He moved as if he were one with his horse, and it conjured up that feral part of Kathryn that she kept carefully caged. She moved as one with her horse, too, and the effect the rocking motion and pressure had on her lower region reminded her of why she used to love to ride.

She mentally shook herself. This made no sense. She was riding off to an unknown fate, possibly one worse than death, and instead of fearing for her life, all her pent-up desires were bubbling to the surface.

Her desires were definitely pent-up, and had been for years. There wasn’t much room for desire in her loveless marriage to Creed McIntire. They had married for convenience. She needed a husband, because an unmarried woman without the protection of a father, brother, or other male was in a very bad position. Creed needed a wife before he left St. Louis to go West to help settle the frontier. He was a decent enough man, most of the time, but the love she hoped would develop never had.

And between the sheets…Creed had unfortunately turned out to be one of those men who had no clue that women had physical needs, too. He was very religious, but hypocritically so, and her attempts to encourage him to please her were met with barely disguised horror. Nope, it was slam, bam, thank you ma’am, strictly the missionary position, and lights off by the way.

Now this nearly naked Indian was bringing back fond memories of rolling in the hay with Jared, where she had learned about love and what could – and should – go on between a man and a woman. She shook her head. What a long time ago that had been, when she wasn’t yet 20. Too bad Jared had to go and get himself killed in a bar fight. Her parents were right anyway, he wasn’t good husband material. But those nights in the barn!

/\/\/\/\/\

After riding all that day and part of the next, a very weary Kathryn and her Indian escorts rode into a Sioux encampment. Lakhota Sioux, she thought. After six years out here, encountering Indians periodically at the trading post and listening to the trappers’ stories, she was starting to learn something about the Indians’ cultures and what distinguished one tribe from another. “Guess I’ll learn a lot more now,” she thought to herself sardonically. She steeled herself for what would follow.

The tall Indian, expressionless as always, helped her down from her horse. “Follow me,” he stated simply, and led her to a large, impressively painted tipi, the biggest and fanciest of the ones she could see. It must belong to the chief, she reasoned. He said something loudly in his own language, and after a moment, someone emerged from the interior and motioned them inside. “Stand here,” said the tall one, and he sat in front of her, facing an older man she assumed was the chief.

A brief discussion followed, of which she could not understand a single word except for Creed’s name, but obviously it concerned her. Finally, the tall man stood and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her dourly, and the chief addressed her in English.

“You are the woman of the white man called Creed McIntire?” he asked.

No point in lying. “Yes,” she answered tersely.

“No more. You now belong to Chakotay,” he said, pointing to the tall Indian.

What the hell did that mean? “Why?” she rasped, as a blush came over her.

“Repayment. Creed McIntire killed this man’s wife and stole her horse. Chakotay could have demanded your husband’s death, or yours, but he is a man who prefers not to spill blood if there is another choice. He has chosen to keep you as his captive and he may do with you as he wishes,” the older man said somberly.

Kathryn was reeling. She looked from one Indian to the other. “What?” she exclaimed. “Creed killed a woman? I can’t believe it!”

“It is true,” Chakotay stated flatly. “My young niece was hiding and saw it all. She described your husband and his horse – and the proof was on your farm for all to see. The Indian paint he stole was in your corral.”

Her head swam trying to make sense of it all. And now it did make sense – Creed’s guilt must have been consuming him, and trying to suppress it made him go out of control. She couldn’t imagine what had caused him to kill the Indian woman, but she knew he would not have done it in cold blood.

It didn’t matter. It had happened, apparently, and now she would pay the price. She looked into the dispassionate face of her captor. As before, anger and sorrow were all she could read in his deep brown eyes. At least now she could understand why.

“Come,” he said sharply. She followed him out of the tipi and through the encampment. Whispers from all sides accompanied them; she was definitely the news of the day. There were a few angry scowls and harsh shouts as well. They must have a pretty good idea who she was. Did they blame her for the crime of her husband? Would they take it out on her? She began to be afraid.

Chakotay ignored everything and strode on ahead of her. Finally they arrived at a tipi, smaller than the chief’s but still sizeable. He said a few words to a young woman sitting near it, and she ran off. Chakotay and Kathryn stepped inside. All the accoutrements of the Sioux life were arrayed around the living space, and in the middle was a fire ring.

He turned and addressed her. “My wife is gone. You will take over all of her duties. You will be taught everything you need to know to run a Lakhota home. You will cook, process animals I have hunted, make the things necessary for our survival, work with others in our band.” He paused for a moment.

Kathryn stared at him, absorbing the implications of what he had said. She hesitated before speaking, afraid to know the answer to her question, but needing to. “All…of her duties?” she asked, trying to keep the waver out of her voice.

His humorless expression did not change, and he locked eyes with her. He knew what she was asking. “All of them,” he responded firmly.

Kathryn swallowed hard and closed her eyes. This could not be happening. She tried to rein in her panic. It could be worse, she told herself, much worse. She could be tortured. She could be passed around… She shuddered and broke off the awful line of thought.

“If you work hard and do not try to escape, you will not be mistreated. If you are respectful of others, you will come to be accepted. But do not try to leave. I will find you, perhaps before this harsh country kills you, perhaps not. If I do find you alive, I will not be so kind as I am now.”

Suddenly his expression softened, the first time she had seen it done so. She turned to the door flap to see the young woman he had spoken to earlier. She stepped inside. In her arms she held an adorable baby girl, about 16 months of age, with straight black hair and dark brown eyes, without a stitch of clothing on. The baby reached for Chakotay, and he walked over and took her in his arms.

He spoke with a gentleness that matched his more relaxed expression. “This is your most important duty. You will care for my daughter. This is Little Flower.”

Kathryn’s heart was stolen immediately, and she smiled broadly at the little girl despite the predicament she found herself in. A baby! She had desperately wanted children, and prayed nightly for God to send her a baby, to no avail. Until now. “Be careful what you pray for,” she thought ironically, “you might get it.” This was certainly not the way in which she expected her prayers to be answered, nevertheless, playing mother to this beautiful little princess would be a bright spot in her life as a captive.

“What a precious child! She’s beautiful,” Kathryn gushed. “May I?” she asked, holding her hands up. Chakotay gave the child over to her, carefully watching the reactions of both woman and child. The baby was wary, pulling back from this stranger holding her, but she became fascinated with Kathryn’s auburn hair and began playing with a big fistful of it.

As Kathryn jostled the baby on her hip and babbled baby talk to her, suddenly the loss this family had sustained came into sharp focus and her eyes became wet. She too had lost her mother in childhood, though not so young. “I’m so sorry you lost your mama, little one. So sorry,” she whispered into the baby’s ear. She blinked her tears back and looked up at Chakotay. “I am very sorry about the loss of your wife. I will try to take very good care of your little girl.”

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Then he gestured toward the young woman. “This is my sister, Singing Bird. She will be your main teacher. Do as she says. If you do not, you will have to answer to me.” He turned to his sister and said something in Lakhota, then left the tipi.

“Do you speak English too?” Kathryn inquired.

“Not good like my brother. But good enough,” she answered, and set about orienting Kathryn to the tipi and its contents. Then she led her down to the river and introduced her to the Lakhota way to bathe. It felt good to finally get the dust of the long ride off of her, and the cool water revived the exhausted Kathryn.

They returned to the tipi, and Singing Bird showed Kathryn how to prepare the evening meal. As their work neared completion, Chakotay returned. He too had bathed, his face now freed of all the war paint. Kathryn’s breath caught as she realized how extraordinarily handsome he was.

Singing Bird left, and they ate dinner in near silence, broken only by Little Flower’s innocent babbling. As night approached, Kathryn’s apprehension grew. She could see that there were only two sleeping palettes, a very small one for the baby, and a much larger one for Chakotay – and his wife, before she died. Where would she sleep? Would he force her to lay with him tonight? How would she get through it? Yes, he was attractive, and his body on constant display did engender some erotic feelings within her…but she simply could not submit to this complete stranger, this uncivilized savage. If he took her, it would be against her will.

Chakotay showed her how to clean up after dinner, and then helped her to get Little Flower off to sleep. He then gestured toward the bed. “You are tired from our journey. You need to sleep now. Tomorrow will be another hard day.”

Kathryn nodded, her face impassive though inwardly she gave a huge sigh of relief. Sleep, he said. Thank God. She slipped off her shoes. What she wouldn’t give to be able to sleep in just her chemise tonight! She had been in this damned corset for two days now, except for her bath, and she wanted it off. But she didn’t dare take off her dress and incite the Indian’s lust. She would just have to learn to live in her corset full time.

He eyed her quizzically as she lay down fully dressed. She watched him push the wood in the fire apart and shovel ashes on so that the fire would go out. Then in the semi-darkness he untied the thong holding his breech clout, and in an instant he was naked. Oh good lord! When they had slept on the prairie the previous night, he’d remained clothed – well, such as it was. Did he normally sleep nude? Or was he planning something besides sleep? Kathryn rolled over, facing away from him, and stiffened. He laid down behind her. Barely breathing, she waited to feel his hands on her, but his touch never came. Finally she heard his deep, even breathing. He was asleep.

Sleep did not come so easily to her; she lay awake half the night considering her situation and trying to come to terms with it. She would just have to make the best of it until somehow, sometime, she was rescued or got a chance to escape.

/\/\/\/\/\

The next morning she awoke just before dawn. She was now facing Chakotay, and he lay sprawled on his back beside her. Just enough of the morning light was coming into the tipi to give her a clear view of him – and what a view it was. She had never had such a close view of a man. Creed always turned the lights off and hid under the sheets, and insisted on bathing in private. Her liaisons with Jared had always been at night, in the darkest part of the barn.

Her eyes roamed all over the tall Indian. His body was magnificent. His penis was half hard from a morning erection – Creed was always so embarrassed about those and tried to hide them – and she could well imagine how impressive he was when fully erect. She had a crazy urge to reach out and run her hand all over his golden body. What an insane thought!

He began to stir, and she quickly lay back down and closed her eyes. God forbid he should catch her looking!

/\/\/\/\/\

Her first full day with the Lakhota was a hard one, as Chakotay had promised. Along with everything else, they were teaching her their language and culture. The language seemed unbelievably complex. Not only did words change depending on to whom you were speaking – a concept she was accustomed to from her study of French years before – but they changed depending on the speaker! Men and women used different words to say the very same thing. It was maddening.

A few of the Indians treated her harshly, and she learned to avoid them. Most were indifferent, and some were actually friendly toward her. She tried not to give anyone reason to dislike her. In her predicament she needed all the friends she could find.

Chakotay’s demeanor toward her did not improve. She still felt his bottled-up anger and sorrow, and it seemed to be increasing. Perhaps having her there in place of his wife was more difficult for him to adjust to than he had anticipated. Although he did not exactly take it out on her, it kept the tension between them high. It was not a comfortable way to live.

That evening, after Little Flower was fast asleep, the moment that Kathryn had been fearing arrived.

“Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed,” he ordered brusquely.

Kathryn gasped and stared at him, searching his face. What she saw there frightened her. She certainly didn’t expect to see love there, but she did not even see lust. Only anger. He meant to vent that anger on her, on her body, and it scared her.

“Please,” she said softly, trembling. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t punish me for my husband’s actions.”

“I will never lay with my wife again. Your husband took this from me. Now I have taken it from him,” he said heatedly.

“But you want to take from me, too! You want to take that which should only be given freely!” she cried.

“It is my right,” he said harshly, emphasizing each word. “Now take off your clothes or I will rip them to pieces.”

Kathryn swallowed hard, and with unsteady fingers she began to unbutton her dress. As she slipped the material from her arms, Chakotay’s eyes widened and he looked perplexed. He was staring at the angry bruises Creed had left on her upper arms, some still in vivid purples and blues, others starting to fade to green and yellow.

“I did not…” he started to say, baffled.

“No,” said Kathryn abruptly. “You did not do this.”

He walked over to her and lifted her arm, examining it. “Are there others? Take off the rest.”

She nodded hesitantly. She loosened the ties of her corset and pushed it off, then blushing furiously, she pulled off her chemise and removed her mid-calf-length drawers. As she stood naked before him, he could plainly see the hideous results of Creed’s beating, on her back, hips, and legs. His face was filled with incredulity and bewilderment. He gently ran a finger over a particularly large bruise on her hip.

“Who has done this to you?” he demanded.

She was doubly mortified. Not only was she standing stark naked in front of a man she barely knew, who meant to lay with her against her wishes, but this Indian was seeing further evidence that it was her husband who was the savage. She was deeply ashamed. “My husband,” she croaked out, eyes on the ground.

“Your husband?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “But why?”

Why indeed. Kathryn wished she really knew. “He was drunk…I had heard that…that an Indian had been killed and tried to ask him about it, and he flew into a rage. I didn’t know he did it. I think the guilt was making him crazy.”

Chakotay stared at her in disbelief, shaking his head. “What kind of man does this to his own woman?”

She was silent for a moment, then she lifted her head and looked him right in the eye. “I don’t know. What kind of man forces a woman to lay with him before she is ready?”

A series of emotions crossed Chakotay’s face – surprise, realization, shame. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead he turned abruptly and left the tipi.

Kathryn sank to her feet. She was relieved to have avoided being taken against her will – at least for now – embarrassed at having him discover her husband’s barbarity, and shocked as she realized exactly what she had said to him. “Before she is ready…” What made her say it that way? Did she mean to imply that someday she would be ready? Had he caught that?

/\/\/\/\/\

Chakotay did not return until the following morning. He did not say anything about the events of the night before. Kathryn felt a subtle change in his attitude toward her, as if the edge was off his anger. Perhaps he felt he had something in common with her since they had both suffered at the hands of the same man. How did that old proverb go? “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

She was still tense when they were alone together, especially at night. She did not really expect her words to have a lasting effect. But weeks passed and he did not touch her, even though she had finally given into comfort and slept only in her chemise.

In fact, as time went on, she had more and more thoughts about wanting him to touch her. She would often wake before him in the morning, and drink in his beautiful body. She would imagine him over her, his long, thick, black hair dangling over her face, tickling her naked breasts; his full lips nuzzling her sensitive neck…damn, she couldn’t have these thoughts. After six loveless years with Creed, she never again wanted to lay with a man unless it was for love.

Love…could she ever fall in love with Chakotay? Surely not. Or could she… She admired his quiet strength, his patience, his gentleness, not so much toward her, but with Little Flower. He was a wonderful father. It was with Little Flower that Kathryn saw the best of Chakotay. One day when he did not realize Kathryn was around, she saw him give Little Flower the most dazzling smile she had ever seen – deep, endearing dimples in his cheeks, and brilliant white teeth. He had looked like a different man. A man she could fall in love with.

Could he ever fall in love with her? Chakotay no longer seethed with barely disguised anger, and had not for a long time. Even his mournful sorrow seemed to have abated recently, though she knew he still missed his wife. Beyond that, she found it very difficult to guess what he was thinking. Occasionally he would cast a heated glance her way that would start a flame burning in her loins, but he never acted on it. Certainly she saw no indication that he felt anything like love for her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Kathryn settled into a routine, became more proficient at the tasks she was assigned, and slowly began to gain some respect from the Indians. Even Chakotay would occasionally pay her a compliment, though sparingly. While she had occasionally entertained thoughts of escaping, realistically she knew it would be folly. She found that the idea of remaining here as Chakotay’s captive bothered her less and less. She did not miss Creed one whit. The life here was hard, but it was also exhilarating to be so much more a part of the natural order of things than she had been as a farmer.

She delighted in mothering Little Flower, and knew that it was because of the child that many of the other women in the tribe warmed up to her. She would let them correct her parenting skills, showing her the Lakhota way to raise a child, and in this way she connected with them. Instead of the isolation of her former life, she felt that she was part of a very large family.

The cursed corset had finally been tossed aside, but she stubbornly held on to her other clothing. It wasn’t very well suited to her new life, and it was rapidly becoming tattered. The final straw was when she got caught in a briar bush and put several long rips in the skirt of her dress. She stormed into the tipi, nearly in tears. Chakotay was there, truing some arrow shafts. He took one look at her, then wordlessly pulled a buckskin dress out of a bag and held it out to her. She had refused it before, but he didn’t say “I told you so.”

“Thank you,” she said as she took it from him. She looked at him expectantly. Even after three months, she never changed when he was in the tipi. He looked perturbed at her, but stepped out through the door flap. She held the dress up to herself. It was just below knee-length – her chemise and drawers would look ridiculous hanging out the bottom of it. She pursed her lips and sighed. The Lakhota women wore no underclothing. When in Rome… She pulled off her tattered dress. And her chemise. And her drawers.

Then she pulled the soft dress on. It really felt very nice, but the sensation of feeling only half dressed was very disconcerting. And…provocative. As she moved around the tipi, putting away her other clothing, the feel of the supple buckskin against her bare breasts and derriere was utterly arousing. Well, the last thing she needed right now was for that half-naked Indian… Damn. There he was, coming back through the door flap. A blush of embarrassment and arousal moved up her chest and across her normally pale face.

Chakotay looked at her, and gave her a barely perceptible nod of approval. The slightest of smiles appeared on his lips and in his eyes. It was the most positive reaction she had ever gotten from him, and she blushed anew. He considered her for another few moments, then he walked up to her, looking intently at her hair, fixed as usual into a tight bun on top of her head.

“It is a good start,” he said softly. He reached up and pulled the pins out, and her hair cascaded down around her shoulders. After fingering it for a moment, he picked up the tortoise-shell comb he had given her, and combed through the red locks. He parted it in the middle, and then began braiding it. He worked with a quiet reverence, as if he were performing a sacred ritual. His fingers deftly traveled through the strands, separating them into three locks and then weaving them with a practiced hand. He fastened each one with a leather tie.

As he worked, Kathryn could scarcely breath. She couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything as erotic as this man’s hands moving through her hair. Her heart was pounding.

As he finished, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him as he looked her over. “Better,” he said simply. Then she lifted her blue eyes to meet his brown ones, and time stood still for a moment as he read the lustful expression on her face, then mirrored it in his own. He bent his face close to hers. “Are you ready now?” he asked in a husky whisper, echoing her words from her second night in his tipi. So he had caught her words – and he had remembered. She gave a barely discernible nod, trembling with nerves and desire. He pulled her tightly against him and crushed her lips with his.

“Where is Little Flower?” he murmured when he broke the kiss.

“Berry picking with Singing Bird and Tall Woman. They should be gone a few hours,” she said in a breathy voice.

“Good. This could take a while.” One of Chakotay’s strong hands kneaded her buttocks, while another moved to tease the point of her breast pushing out the buckskin. He covered her lips again, and she sighed into his mouth as the delicious tingles of pleasure he was creating moved around her sensitive body.

Love or lust, Kathryn didn’t care anymore. She could no longer resist the call of his beautifully sculpted body. She ran her warm palms all over his smooth heated skin, exploring by touch all that territory that she had scouted so many times with her eyes. It felt even more luscious than she had expected. She broke their kiss and leaned into his chest, licking and nipping his flat nipples. He groaned, and without prelude he reached down and pulled the newly donned dress off over her head in one quick motion.

Again she was naked before him, this time with no ugly bruises to mar her creamy skin. The flush of arousal colored her yet again.

Chakotay surveyed her, and slowly trailed a finger down her pink cheek, along her neck, down her chest to just above her breast. “Your skin glows red as if you were on fire,” he said with some amusement.

“I am,” she whispered seductively. “And you?”

“My fire burns here,” he answered with a sly smile, and he took her hand and placed it over the growing bulge hidden by his breech clout.

She sucked in a breath of air. “A bonfire,” she said, smiling wantonly. Her lust emboldened her as never before. Her hand slid to where the thong was tied and shortly the thong and breech clout dropped to the floor. Her fingertips barely brushed along the length of him as Chakotay released a moan. “Beautiful,” she said.

“As are you,” he replied, pulling her hand away gently. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed her again, deeply and urgently. Then he began trailing kisses down her body – her neck, shoulders, chest, breasts, belly. He went down on his knees before her and licked her belly as his hands kneaded her rear. He pulled her down to sit on him, straddling him, their intimate parts crushed together. Supporting her back with his powerful arms, he leaned her back and sought out her full breasts with his sensuous mouth. She threw her head back, and panted with abandon as his lips and tongue worked over one breast, then the other, lightly biting the erect nipples, licking, sucking fervently. Kathryn’s hands went to his long dark mane and tangled in it, urging him on. She was undulating against him; she needed him inside her!

As if sensing her wishes, Chakotay pulled his head back, then lifted her off of him. He scooted to lay on his back on their bed, and tugged her down to straddle him. With half-lidded bedroom eyes and a beguiling smile, he whispered, “I am your stallion. Ride me. Ride me hard.”

Kathryn swallowed. This was a new one for her. Even with Jared, he had always been on top, and of course Creed…oh hell, she didn’t want to think about Creed now! “This is…different…for me,” she said hesitantly.

Chakotay cocked his eyebrow. “You have never been on top?” She shook her head. “Husband always on top? That is boring.”

“My husband is a very boring man,” she acknowledged.

“This is a good way for the first time, until we learn each other. You know when it hurts; you can slow down.” He was running his hands all along her thighs and buttocks.

“I don’t think it will hurt. I’ve never been more ready in my life,” she murmured. And she was. She could feel the wetness flowing around her entrance. She reached to steady his silken shaft, lifted herself above it, and lowered herself onto him. He slid in easily, and they both groaned with pleasure. She began to ride him, her stallion. As she developed a rhythm, his thrusts meeting hers, he slipped a knuckle in to caress her sensitive bundle of nerves, as his other hand slid up her torso to fondle a breast. Oh! With his skill, and all her pent-up needs, this would go very fast.

She panted, and moaned, the erotic tension building. She leaned back, quickly realizing that that increased his penetration, and writhed seductively above him. Harder and harder he pushed up into her, and with a desperate gasp her body dissolved into a quivering mass. His release followed a few moments later, and she collapsed onto his chest, his arms enfolding her.

They laid together quietly for a while, neither speaking, basking in the afterglow. Then Kathryn could feel Chakotay’s cock growing hard again beneath her. He fixed her with a heated gaze. “Are you ready…again?” he asked provocatively. She nodded.

He eased her off of him. “Lie on your stomach,” he commanded. He covered her with his body and nibbled the back of her neck, eliciting an appreciative moan. He kissed and licked a path along her shoulders, down her back, and finally began nipping her sensitive derriere. She wriggled from the stimulation. “Get on your elbows and knees,” he whispered huskily, pulling at her hips as he said it. She looked back over her shoulder and eyed him quizzically. “I am your stallion. Before, you were the rider. Now you are the mare,” he smiled lasciviously.

Kathryn’s mouth dropped open as the picture formed in her mind. He meant to mount her as a stallion would a mare, from behind! How was that even possible, she wondered as she moved into the requested position. Wouldn’t the angle be all wrong?

Chakotay kneeled behind her, urging her knees far apart. He reached between her legs and stroked her, then moved his engorged manhood to her hot, wet opening. Guiding himself carefully with one hand while the other rested on her rear, he pushed into her, sinking himself to the hilt.

“Ooohhhh,” she groaned involuntarily. She had never been penetrated so deeply, never filled so completely. Then he started thrusting into her, in and out, over and over. She braced herself with her forearms and tried to meet his strokes. A delicious tension was building. He reached around with one hand and stimulated her sensitive pearl, and she began to gyrate wildly. Crouched as she was, with Chakotay slamming into her from behind, brought out her most primal passions. She fought the urge to howl like an animal. The sensation was exquisite; she thought she would faint from the intensity of it. And then she exploded again, feeling waves of pleasure course through her body.

Both sated, they lay together for a while wordlessly. Kathryn had never known such physical fulfillment, even with Jared, but she was somewhat troubled by her wanton behavior. She had succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh with a man who undoubtedly did not love her, and whom she did not love…or maybe she did. Or could. She was so confused! Sex without marriage, she could condone. But sex with benefit of neither love nor marriage – she was no better than a harlot.

But laying here naked, snuggled tightly against Chakotay, it was easy to imagine that she could be in love with him. If only he could return those feelings. She looked into his eyes. How did he feel about her? Was she still just a slave to him, someone to care for his home and child, and now to give him physical release?

“What are you thinking of so hard, my red-haired one?” Chakotay asked quietly.

Kathryn looked away from him for a moment. She certainly wasn’t going to ask him how he felt about her.

“Just wondering if you were glad I was ‘ready,’” she replied.

He was silent for a minute, and he turned serious. “I think it is I who was finally ready. The first time I wanted to take you, it was in anger. That would have been wrong. Then, I mourned for my wife. I wanted the comfort of your body, but that would have dishonored my wife – and you, and myself. But today…I wanted you for you.”

Kathryn sighed with contentment. His words were not exactly a proclamation of love, but at least he had acknowledged that he wanted her, not just a warm body. It was a start.

/\/\/\/\/\

From that day, Chakotay seemed less distant to her, less austere. Although he was still very reserved when they were in public, when they were alone in their tipi, with Little Flower asleep or in someone else’s care, their physical relationship was positively incendiary. He took her nearly every night. They would lower the privacy curtain that separated them from the baby, and then explore every inch of one another’s bodies. He was the kind of lover she had never even imagined – tender and giving, and very, very skilled. He knew exactly where and how to touch her to bring her again and again to an explosion of ecstasy. He would plunge into her over and over, harder and harder, and she would writhe chaotically beneath him, seeking that exquisite release that left her feeling like she was floating in the sky.

Weeks passed, and Kathryn felt more and more at home with the Lakhota, more and more attached to Little Flower, and more and more in love with Chakotay. Still, her status with him seemed ambiguous. He had given her an Indian name – Flaming Hair – which seemed like a sign of affection, but he had made no move toward making her his wife, nor spoken to her of love. Sometimes Kathryn despaired that he would ever regard her as more than a concubine.

/\/\/\/\/\

Singing Bird’s footfalls could be heard from a long way off – not a typical approach for Indians, who prided themselves on moving silently. Kathryn looked up from where she was washing clothes beside the river to see the young woman flying toward them, her expression giving cause for alarm. Kathryn’s heart seized for a moment, afraid that Singing Bird was going to tell them the band was under attack, but the girl ignored the other women at work by the river and came straight to Kathryn, out of breath.

“Many Bluecoats have come, Flaming Hair. They are talking to our chief. Standing Bear says they have come to bargain for you, to take you back to the white man,” she related, panting. “The chief sent for my brother.”

“What?” Kathryn exclaimed. She began to think frantically. Freedom? Return to her old life, with the whites? With…Creed? No! She could not leave Chakotay! Especially not now… She didn’t care whether he regarded her as a slave or a wife, she needed to stay by his side.

She stood up. “They cannot have me! I will not go.” She turned Little Flower over to Singing Bird’s care and hastened back to the encampment. When she arrived at the chief’s tent, she could hear Chakotay’s loud angry voice from inside: “You cannot take her! You have already taken from me one wife. You cannot have another!”

Kathryn’s heart surged to hear Chakotay call her his wife. Standing Bear and a white soldier were standing outside the tent, regarding each other skeptically. Kathryn moved toward the door.

“You cannot go in there,” Standing Bear insisted.

Kathryn gave him a death glare. “The hell I can’t. They are deciding my future.” She stalked past him and pushed through the door flap. All eyes turned to her, but in her Indian apparel and with the subdued light, it was not readily apparent to the whites that the object of their search had just entered.

She bowed her head and apologized to the chief in Lakhota for intruding without being invited. Chakotay, who was standing, moved to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him. He looked stricken, and searched her face as if he was terrified that she would willingly go with the Bluecoats.

“Kathryn! Thank God you’re alright!” shouted a white man who was not in uniform, and he rose and started toward her.

“Creed!” Kathryn exclaimed. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face here!” Chakotay stepped protectively in front of her, his eyes burning with fury.

Creed faltered, confused at Kathryn’s reaction. “I…have the protection of the soldiers. They increased the size of the garrison at Fort Randall, Kathryn. The Sioux don’t want to start a war. The chief is agreeing to negotiate; we brought horses and trade goods to exchange for you.” He stared at her, taking in her changed appearance. “My god, Kathryn, I’ve missed you.”

She turned to the chief. “Is this true?” she asked in Lakhota.

He nodded. “It is true. We have negotiated a fair price. But it is hard to convince Chakotay that it is unwise to start a war over one white captive.”

Kathryn frowned in distaste. “And what is a ‘fair price’ for a white woman, I wonder?”

“Six horses, sweetheart, and some cloth, beads, a lot of things. It took me a while to get together enough to offer, after the new captain here agreed to help me.” Creed answered.

Kathryn rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust. She addressed the man Creed had indicated. “Captain…?”

“Captain John Dunlap, Mrs. McIntire. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He stood and bowed his head slightly in her direction.

“Captain Dunlap, I am very sorry that you have gone to all this trouble for me, but I will not be returning with you,” Kathryn stated calmly.

“Kathryn! How can you say that? Surely you can’t want to stay with these savages…” Creed’s words were cut off by Capt. Dunlap.

“Now, Mr. McIntire, I did warn you about this possibility. Sometimes captives become so brainwashed that they think they want to stay, although it usually doesn’t happen this fast.” He turned to Kathryn. “Mrs. McIntire, I know you have been through a difficult five months, and because of what they have put you through, you may have started to confuse your captors as your protectors. You know you don’t belong here. We must take you back.”

A chill ran down Kathryn’s back. The way he had said it made her think they might force her to leave – she knew that white captives were sometimes repatriated against their will. She drew herself up indignantly, looking angrily at Creed as she spoke. “Brainwashed? Because I would rather stay with a man who treats me kindly than one who beat me viciously with a stick the last time I saw him?” Creed lowered his head with appropriate shame, as the soldiers looked at him questioningly. “Or because I would rather stay with a man who protects me and watches out for me, than one who deserted me in our hour of greatest danger?” Creed looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Or because I would rather stay with a man I love, instead of remaining in a loveless marriage of convenience?”

At that Creed’s head jerked back up. “Honey, you can’t mean that! You’re talking crazy! These people are heathens!”

“You’re the one who killed an unarmed woman, Creed. Who’s really the savage here?” she snapped.

“That was an accident!” he shouted. “I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Kathryn knew he spoke the truth; Chakotay’s niece had told her how her aunt’s horse had wandered off and been found by Creed, who refused to acknowledge the Indian’s claim to it. The woman had struggled with him, and fatally hit her head on a rock when Creed shoved her to the ground.

“But it never would have happened if you hadn’t stubbornly insisted on keeping something that didn’t belong to you – even after you killed her!” Her blue eyes blazed at him. Then she calmed a bit and an insolent expression appeared on her face. “Besides, you haven’t offered enough.”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You have negotiated based on trading for one life. But there are two involved,” she retorted.

“What do you mean?” Captain Dunlap inquired. All eyes were riveted on Kathryn, including Chakotay’s. He stared at her with concern and bewilderment.

“I am with child,” she stated simply, looking at Creed, then turning her gaze to Chakotay, her eyes filled with love. “This man’s child.” She smiled up at Chakotay and wrapped both of her hands around his arm. She could tell he was suppressing a smile.

Creed’s jaw dropped. “But…how can that be…you’re barren!”

Kathryn smirked at him. “No, Creed, not barren. I was just with the wrong man.” Creed looked stricken, as if he couldn’t comprehend that she had actually lay with an Indian. “And before you start spouting how evil he was to have done this to me, I will tell you that Chakotay never laid a hand on me until I agreed to it. I wanted him. I still want him. I love him. It’s over, Creed. I will never come back with you. And if you try to force me…” – she quickly pulled Chakotay’s knife from the sheath fastened to his leg, and held it as if to plunge it into her heart – “you might as well kill me now, because I will come right back to Chakotay or die trying.”

Chakotay gave her an intense look of love, and gently removed the knife from her hand, replacing it in its sheath.

“Well, gentlemen,” intoned Capt. Dunlap, “I believe that concludes our negotiations.” He turned to the chief. “Thank you for your time, chief.”

“Wha…what?” blubbered Creed. “You can’t mean we’re leaving without her?”

“Weren’t you listening? I think the lady made a very good case, and she sounds much too clear-headed to be brainwashed. And I sure don’t want her blood on my hands if she carries out her threat to try to come back. Come on and let’s get out of here,” the captain said, exiting the tipi with his men following.

Creed gave Kathryn one last desperate look. She shook her head slowly. “Get out of here, Creed, before Chakotay decides he didn’t get enough retribution from you.” Creed cast a frightened glance at Chakotay’s seething countenance, and quickly left the tipi.

Chakotay locked eyes with Kathryn, and in those deep brown orbs she could read all the love she had been looking for. He reached out and fleetingly caressed her face, mindful that they were not alone. She could not remember ever seeing more emotion on his normally stoic face.

The chief rose. “Flaming Hair, I am pleased you have chosen to stay with us. And pleased that the spirits are sending us another life. Perhaps a great warrior like his father,” he smiled at them both.

“Or a beautiful woman like her mother,” Chakotay added, his eyes still riveted to hers. “Come, my woman, we have things to discuss.” He led her from the tipi.

Singing Bird was nervously waiting outside, holding Little Flower in her arms. Kathryn was momentarily overcome with emotion, thinking of all that she might have lost. She took Little Flower and hugged her tightly. “I could never leave you, my precious baby.”

“My sister,” Chakotay spoke to Singing Bird, “please watch your niece for a while. Flaming Hair and I have many things to talk about.” Kathryn returned the child to her, and she and Chakotay went back to their tipi.

No sooner had they entered than Chakotay wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with more passion than she thought possible. “I did not know you felt that way about me,” he said with great feeling.

“How could you not know,” she said, mirroring his intensity, “the way I gave myself to you so completely?”

He cast his gaze downward. “I was…not sure. You never told me how you felt. Sometimes captives try to win their captors’ trust to use it against them, to try to escape, or just to make their lives easier. And I knew the white men might try to redeem you or rescue you. I could not risk giving you my heart, because I thought you would leave me as soon as you got the chance. A white woman does not stay with a Lakhota man by choice.”

“Chakotay, I will never leave you.” She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “You captured not only my body, you captured my heart. I did not tell you how I felt because I was afraid that to you, I was still only a slave. But I decided that to be your slave was enough, if it meant I could be with you.”

“You are much more than a slave to me, Flaming Hair. You are my wife.” He started to chuckle, from joy, as he went down on his knees and began to kiss her belly. “And the mother of my child!” He looked up at her, a fiery glint in his eye. “I love you. Come and make love to me!”

He pulled her down and quickly undressed her, lavishing kiss after kiss on her belly. Then he moved up to her breasts, which were becoming larger and more sensitive with the pregnancy. “My wife,” he murmured as he tongued her nipples into hard peaks. “My wife.” His breech clout fell away, and Kathryn wrapped her legs around his waist and took his swollen shaft inside of her without delay. She had been wet almost instantly. Now their lovemaking would truly unite them, completely.

“I am ready, my love. I will always be ready for you,” she whispered. Ready to be his lover. Ready to be his wife. Ready.

////////////////////////////////////////////////

Janeway’s hand finally stilled as her body shook from her self-induced release. Between the provocation of her daydreams and the aphrodisiac effect of the pain medicine, she was seeing a lot more auto-erotic action than usual. Enjoyable as it was, it made her ever hungrier for the genuine article. She would have to be sure not to take any of the medication once her quarantine ended; Chakotay was certain to be her first visitor, and if she were feeling like this she would have him stripped and on top of her before he knew what hit him!

One more day to go. How many more trashy holo-novels could she write in her mind? And how depraved did she dare to get? She had given Chakotay more of an edge in her second tale, but darn, he’d still turned out too nice. She needed him to take control…like she wished the real one would sometimes. She was tired of being the captain. Why couldn’t the commander command her for a change…

The End

On to Episode 3