* * *
Gabriel stopped abruptly.
Her naked bottom was even more distracting now, framed as it was by the calico gown at her waist and the white drawers gathered just below the curve of her buttocks. He swallowed, forgetting for the moment about the hairbrush he held. The swell of her rear cheeks stood out, flushed red from his vigorous spanking. His eye was drawn to the wisp of dark curls peeking out from between her legs.
Gabriel sighed heavily. He had struck her harder than he intended. The fear of seeing her and the baby dragged away by soldiers, followed by the shock and anger when he discovered she’d been able to communicate with him all along – but had chosen not to – sparked a white-hot rage he had never felt before.
He’d always prided himself on staying in control. This defiant female was making him act in ways he never dreamed he was capable of. First he’d given in to the temptation of sinful desires. Then he lied to the authorities. And now he’d lost his temper and struck her out of anger rather than calmly delivering the necessary chastisement.
At least I had the sense to make her bend over the hay bale instead of putting her over my lap again.He’d been spared the embarrassment of having her feel the erection that even now strained his pants. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t erase the vision of Asila stripping naked in front of him then lying across his lap, grinding her mound against his aching manhood.
Gabriel took no satisfaction in what he’d done. He could feel her humiliation. But he had been raised to believe his actions were necessary. He’d learned from his father that it was his duty to demand respect from those around him. Bending Asila’s will to his was part of his role as head of the household. Compliance with his rules was essential to survival in the wilderness. The safety and well-being of those under his roof depended on their unquestioning obedience. And they would not obey him if they did not respect him. Although he wanted to stop, Gabriel knew he had to continue the spanking until he crushed her defiant attitude.
But what bothered him most was that, deep in his heart, Gabriel knew Asila was right. He, too, deserved to be punished. Every time the hairbrush descended, he wanted only to soothe the burn he was causing with a soft caress to her quivering bottom. She would sink to her knees in front of him again, but this time he’d take her in his arms and draw her down to lie in the hay beside him, making her moan with pleasure instead of stifling groans of pain.
Finally, he could bear it no longer. He threw down the hairbrush and drew in a long breath. Asila’s eyes were clamped shut and her fists clenched around the edge of the hay bale, but she had not moved a muscle.
“I hope you have learned your lesson,” he said, praying his voice did not betray the emotions threatening to overpower him. “Please take a moment to compose yourself, then follow me back to the cabin. I have a great many questions for you…and I trust you will not force me to repeat this session by answering them with anything but the truth.”
He headed for the cabin without looking back. He dared not allow himself another minute so close to her half-naked body.
Chapter Seven
Asila lay across the hay bale, her chest heaving. It had taken every ounce of willpower she had to endure the paddling without offering a shred of resistance. Only her fear of what might happen to the helpless child in the cabin had kept her in place.
Finally she rose, pulling the drawers up to her waist and tying the drawstring before smoothing the calico gown over her body. If there were tears in her eyes, they were tears of anger and shame at the humiliation she’d suffered. She vowed Gabriel would never see them shed.
By the time she walked into the cabin, Asila was outwardly calm and composed. She found Salai toddling around the room, wide awake and ready for something to eat. Handing the child a corn cake from the stack she’d prepared for their journey, Asila stepped back outside. Gabriel waited on the porch, his back to her, his gaze trained on the path the soldiers followed when they left.
Asila was surprised to see the sun still high in the sky. She’d have sworn hours had gone by since then.
“Let us begin,” he said, still not looking at her. “My name is Gabriel. Gabriel Benson. But you already knew my last name. I would like to know how, since I never told you.”
“I heard you introduce yourself to Captain Stiles when he rode up to the cabin. But had I not done so, I would still have known, since I saw it inscribed inside the cover of your Bible.”
He turned to her, a look of surprise on his face. “You know how to read, too?”
“I can read English as well as Cherokee.” Her answer was short to the point of rudeness, but he didn’t take the opportunity to chastise her.
“Indians have a written language?”
“The Great Chief Sequoyah created symbols for the sounds of our language and wrote them down in 1821. Over the next few years, most of the Cherokee Nation learned to read and write our language,” she replied. “We have a newspaper. We have a written constitution, just as your people do. Our children attend school to receive an education, the same as white children. I myself was sent away for five years after tribal school for further studies at a Christian boarding school in Tennessee, along with two young boys from my village.”
Gabriel was stunned. He had no idea the savages he’d been warned about were capable of carrying on a conversation every bit as civilized as any he’d had with the handful of bankers and lawyers he’d met in his life. He knew plenty of settlers who could barely write their own names, let alone read a newspaper. And this Indian standing before him was fluent in two languages.
“Why are your people hiding in the woods and fighting the soldiers? They are only trying to help you, take you to a new home where you will be cared for by our government.”
Asila gave a harsh laugh. “Help us? Care for us? You mean invade our sacred lands, take by force the land we’ve farmed for centuries, dam up the rivers we’ve depended on for life-giving water.” She began pacing back and forth as she spoke, waving her arms as she made her argument, like a politician he’d seen who came to Raleigh from Washington City.
“Your government has made treaty after treaty with my people, only to break them. First they wanted our fertile fields and river valleys to feed the endless stream of settlers heading ever farther west. So they took our land, squeezing my people into smaller and smaller territories, each time promising to pay us in the future or give us good land elsewhere in return. But the money is never paid, and the new land they offer us is barren and infertile, far away from these lush mountains given to our ancestors by the Great Mother.”
She went on, her anger growing with each word.
“In the last treaty, your government agreed to let my people live in peace here in this small corner of the mountains. That treaty was signed by President Jackson. When white men discovered our rivers are rich with gold, they tried to break that treaty, too. Your Supreme Court upheld our rights to these mountains and valleys. But your leader did not keep his word. Instead, he sent soldiers to drive the Cherokee from our homes.
“My people were herded together, imprisoned at Fort Butler. The young braves who resisted were killed. The rest are even now marching at the point of bayonets to the barren lands of Oklahoma. Tribes from all the Cherokee Nation have been rounded up and forced to travel over a thousand miles on foot. The old, the weak, the children are dying of hunger and exhaustion. My people call it the Trail of Tears.”
She faced Gabriel, her own tears welling. “I alone escaped. I was in the forest on a Vision Quest, fasting and praying. When I returned to my village, I found only ruins.”