White Vengeance: Book Eleven of Susan Edwards’ White Series
By Susan Edwards
Dakota Territory, 1867
The day Ranait O’Brien buried her parents, she vowed to do anything to keep her family together. When Sheriff Tyler tried to place her young siblings in foster homes, Renny swore never to trust him again. No matter how he tries to make it up to her, or how tempting it is to fall into his arms and return his passionate kisses…
Tyler only wanted to help the beautiful and spirited Renny, but his actions turned her against him. Eager for her forgiveness, he offers to accompany her on a quest to find her Sioux brother—and he won’t take no for an answer.
Infuriated at Tyler’s interference, Renny is more determined than ever to prove she doesn’t need anyone’s help. But as the journey across the plains draws her closer to her mother’s people, and to the one man who accepts her as she is, Renny learns she must be at peace with the past before she can embrace the future.
Book 11 of 12.
Previously published.
70,000 words
Dear Readers,
I am so excited to see my White Series available in digital format and once again available to you, my readers. This series is so close to my heart—each character became my brother, sister, best friend, etc., and to see them republished makes it seem like a long-awaited family reunion. I can’t wait to become reacquainted with each character! Even the villains, for there is nothing like seeing justice served.
I started the first book, White Wind, way back in the ’80s. These two characters just popped into my head one day. I met them at a stream in the wilderness where my honorable (and very virile) hero, Golden Eagle, was determined to rescue a very stubborn heroine named Sarah. It just seemed as though the action stopped as they turned to me and said, “Well? What now?”
Huh? Did they think I was a writer? Not me. Never did any writing at all and had never had any desire to do so. Well, Sarah and Golden Eagle just shook their heads and let me know that despite never having written before, it didn’t matter because I was a storyteller! A vivid imagination, a love of romance and the Native American historical genre were all that were required. Okay, not quite but I got the message.
So I thought, why not? I could write a nice scene or two. Or three. Hey, how about even just a love scene in this wonderful setting that I could see so clearly in my mind? But then I ran into the first problem. What had brought my two willful characters to this stream at the same time? What connected them? Why would this mighty warrior want to claim this white girl? What made him fall in love with her and risk everything for her?
I found that I couldn’t go on until I had answers and that meant, yep, I had to start at the beginning. I learned who they were, what their problems were, and when we once again met at that stream in the wilderness, I just sat back and gave directions, and this time, my characters knew their lines and away we went!
And that, dear readers, was how my writing career began. Once I started, I could not stop. I loved writing about this family. Sarah and Golden Eagle had four children and it just seemed natural to continue the series. I had so many letters begging and, yes, even demanding Jeremy and White Dove’s story in White Dove. And honestly, I was right there with each and every reader, for that was one story that just called to me. So from two people, who met by chance, eleven books were born.
Over the years, I valued each and every reader comment: from the mother who read the books to her dying daughter, to the lonely women who found companionship, and to women who appreciated the bravery and willingness of the heroines and heroes to do whatever it took to overcome adversity.
Each of the White books has a story that means something to me. Jessie in White Wolf is a lot like I was in my youth. I couldn’t accept “no” back then without a good reason, always looking for a chance to rebel. I could go on and on but then I’d be writing a book instead of a letter!
Just writing this letter makes me all teary and homesick, but just as these books will be available once more to my readers, I will become reacquainted with each book and each character. Thinking of reunions, I might just have to plan a White reunion! But for now, I am just so grateful to Carina Press and my editor, Angela James, for once again making this series available.
Sincerely yours
Susan Edwards
Contents
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 Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Mazaska Wicahpi raced across waving spears of crystal-green grass. Named for the silvery stars that graced the night sky, the horse spirit rode as one with Tate, Spirit of the Wind.
They kissed the ground, one with hooves light as air, the other with breath warm and soothing. Beneath them, blooms of purple, yellow, orange and blue harmonized with carpets of green.
Silver Star shifted and dipped her hooves into the stream as she gave herself over to the simple joy of being. Her long, moondust mane and tail floated behind her and around her and her eyes matched the blue of the heavens. She was fluid; molten silver streaking above the fast-moving river. Water sprayed into the air, glittering like diamonds in her wake.
Tipping her head up, eyes fixed on the far horizon, Silver stretched out fully, her hooves gracefully leaving the confines of Maka, the earth.
She soared high into the sky toward the setting sun, which flowed across the heavens like a spill of red wine and liquid gold.
Higher she flew, blending with cool, pure air, a crystalline shimmer among the wisps of clouds. Descending from a cloud above her, the spirit Wambli joined her in soaring across the sky as they honored the end of day, the beginning of night.
She opened her mouth and sang, her clear, pure voice spreading joy across the earth on the wings of dusk. Mahpiya, Spirit of the Heavens, Clouds and Sky, had gifted the world with a sunset of bold, harsh color. No soft, pretty pastels to lead the land gently into night. Tonight, dusk struck as a raging fire across the sky, lining the edges of the puffy white clouds with gold and red.
In silence, the two spirits, one dark as the forthcoming night, the other nearly translucent, floated on the unseen breath of Tate.
Far below them, the prairie rolled, rising, then dipping into shallow valleys where streams of blue water sparkled in the waning light. Movement below caught her eye. Silver swung around and watched as a young woman passed beneath her.
The woman’s feet dragged over the grass. She walked with shoulders hunched and head bent as though a great ball of weight made moving difficult. Silver Star sighed sadly, her joy fading into worry as she dropped gracefully from the sky.
Humans had spirit helpmates to guide them in their lives’ paths. Many years ago, Silver had walked beside the child this woman had once been, had watched out for her, talked to her, taught her.
But no more. Renny’s eyes were now blind to the spirit helpers who walked beside her, her ears unhearing of whispered words of comfort, her soul cut off from beliefs that had once given her great joy.
Renny no longer believed in what she could not see or touch. Her faith lay in shattered ruins.
Tate’s touch curled around Silver. “She walks her path unaware, my friend. The human does not see.”
“Or remember,” sighed Silver Star as she studied the red-haired woman standing at the foot of two graves. Her attention was so fixed on the tall, wooden cross that she didn’t see a tiny bird hovering to her left, its tiny wings beating so fast they blurred.
The hummingbird rose a bit higher, staring intently at the human, willing the human to turn and see. But the troubled woman turned her back on the ruby-throated bird.
Silver watched Renny O’Brien shove her hands deep into her worn denim pants and back away. The tiny bird hovered for a few more minutes before giving up.
Silver shook her mane sadly as she watched the bird fade from sight. To have a hummingbird fly close enough to see into its eyes was an honor.
The tiny bird represented tireless joy and the nectar of life. Those who saw it were reminded to find joy in all they did and sing it out.
Silver Star drew in a deep breath as she focused again on the young woman. Renny’s aura was a dull, sad gray. Much of Silver’s joy in the evening vanished as she too became sad.
Renny had lost the joy in her life; she no longer celebrated the miracle of life as she once had done. Silver snorted out a breath of distress. She clearly remembered Renny as a child. She’d been drawn to the small human girl and her zest for living.
Even as a captive of the Ikce Wicasa, the Natural Humans—the free, wild people—Renny O’Brien had found joy in living and learning about a life so different from her own.
“Weshawee no longer sees as she once saw. Or believes,” Silver commented, her voice filled with sadness and regret.
Tate’s gentle breath of air ruffled Silver’s mane. “Then it is time for her to return to the world she once loved. Only there will she find the child within.”
“Without the child within, she will never find true joy.” Silver pawed at the air. “Many times I have tried to talk to her but she no longer sees me or hears my voice.”
“Then you must make her see and hear you,” Tate said. The words vibrated, a low rumble of sound. A burst of wind swept over the grass, bending the tall blades.
Silver felt her fellow spirit’s frustration. She knew it would be up to her to bring this woman back to a world of light and knowing, of happiness and much-needed inner peace. It was a task that would not be easy. Healing wounds of the heart and soul was never simple.
As a girl, Weshawee had once been full of life and energy with a child’s simple acceptance and innocence. But that child was long gone. Weshawee was no more. The girl-child had become a woman who’d forsaken the child within.
Sighing, Silver dropped back to earth gracefully and fell in step with her human charge. She called out in a compelling voice that was light as air and rich as cream. Each evening she tried unsuccessfully to reach Renny.
Tonight was no different. Weshawee still did not hear, did not see her spirit helper walking beside her, eager to help guide her steps on the path of life.
Silver rose up onto her hind legs and tossed her mane as she came back down onto all fours. Silver’s heavenly blue gaze turned thoughtful as she studied her charge. After a moment she smiled.
“I am life. Life flows within me,” she murmured, determined to use all she had, all that she was. She’d vowed to help this human find the spirit of the lost child and carve herself a niche in the world.
Only then would she know the peace and happiness she’d once known as Weshawee, adopted into the Sioux family.
* * *
The beauty of day cocooning into night went unnoticed by Renny O’Brien. The colors in the carpet of grass softened, trees and brush faded into one another and the bold sunset faded slowly from the sky.
Night held its own beauty: shadows, shapes and sounds, and hidden treasures. Standing completely still, as frozen in place as a majestic hundred-year-old oak, Renny became part of the night.
With her sight and thoughts turned inward, she was oblivious to the changing of the guard. She didn’t hear the soft rustle of a mouse peeking at her from beneath the tall grass, didn’t see the unblinking stare of the owl above her head.
She only saw the cross bearing the names of her parents. Dropping to her knees, she brushed her hand over the blanket of grass and wildflowers that she and her siblings had planted. In the shade of the lone oak, the bodies of her parents rested.
Around her, nature began tuning up her orchestra, the soft whirs, buzzes and chirps sounding off as if answering to roll call.
Renny no longer had use for the magic of night or the beauty and power surging around her. Feeling a slight tickle on her cheek, she reached up to brush away the irritant. It came again, something skimming against her cheek, like an invisible hand caressing her face.
Scowling, Renny ran her palms over her hair to smooth back any strands that might have come loose from the single thick braid hanging down her back. The faintly irritating and annoying sensation persisted.
Jerking around, she waved her hands. It stopped, replaced by a feeling that she was not alone. She narrowed her eyes, repressing the urge to move deeper into the shadows.
“Stupid,” she muttered as she scanned the gentle rolling prairie surrounding the O’Brien homestead. All seemed normal, quiet. Even peaceful. There was nothing to fear out here.
Renny absently rubbed at a small lump on one side of her head. The healing scab and the dull, throbbing pain were reminders of the injury she’d received several weeks ago.
Taking a deep breath, Renny inhaled and exhaled several times. Her close call with death was making her edgy.
“They are safe. We are all safe,” she murmured, hoping that by hearing the words spoken aloud she might believe them.
In her mind, she knew that the danger to her and her family was gone. There was no reason to be afraid. But she was.
Clenching her jaw tight, she fought the anxious fluttering of her heart and the nervous waves roiling in her stomach as she turned away from the wooden cross and walked backward for a few steps. Her gaze scanned the shadows creeping across the land.
Once, a short time ago, she’d loved the night, enjoyed the quiet and calm, and found its secrets intriguing. Nowadays, she was afraid of what she could not see or control.
No matter how many times she told herself that the trouble of the last year was gone, she was afraid not to be afraid. She remained watchful, and fearful.
Fear kept one’s instincts sharp and honed. The day she’d buried her parents, she’d vowed to be vigilant, to protect her siblings from harm. But she’d failed. And they’d all suffered.
Renny rubbed her eyes, then dropped her arms down. She was so tired; weary of heart and mind and soul. Reaching the river, she kicked angrily at a large stone. It hit the stream with a splash.
“There is nothing more to fear,” she whispered. The lure of the gently moving water tempted her for just a moment into sitting on her favorite rock.
She used to come here, to sit and daydream the evening away. It had been her father’s favorite spot and many an evening, the two of them would sneak out of the house to come sit in the quiet solitude.
Her father was gone now, murdered with her mother a year ago, yet Renny still came out here trying to find peace and solitude, seeking comfort in her cherished memories. She had
always loved the outdoors, especially the peace and quiet of nighttime.
She rubbed her arms vigorously as images of being ambushed along the river a few short weeks ago intruded, keeping her from relaxing and enjoying what she’d once treasured. She closed her eyes, her hands forming tight fists. While traveling along the river, she and her family had been attacked. She’d taken a blow to the head, her brother Matthew had been shot, and both of them were left for dead while two of their younger siblings were kidnapped.
Her breathing growing harsh, Renny quickened her pace along a path that led not back toward home, but away. She couldn’t face her brothers and sisters with mounting fear and anxiety. Her siblings knew her well and would sense it. And worry over her.
She was the strong one, the one they all looked to for advice and help. She could not allow them to see her fear. Over and over she’d reassured them all that they were now safe.
If only she could believe her own words, but fear for the safety and happiness of her siblings remained stronger than the voice of reason.
Renny followed the gushing river. Framed by shades of green, scattered bushes and tall cottonwoods still drooping with their cattail-like blooms of pink, this spot had always been one of her favorite places to come and think.
The beauty and quiet had always provided peace and contentment. But not today.
Climbing up a small rise in the land, she caught sight of home. Seeing the tendrils of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, the antics of the horses in the corrals, should have brought a happy glow to her heart. But not today. Nothing seemed to ease the ache that had settled deep within her. It was a wound that refused to heal.
Wearily, she trudged across the damp earth, making her way toward home. Toward what had been her home, until she’d decided to move out. As she drew nearer, her gaze fastened on the closed door of the cabin.
“Open,” she breathed. She needed for her young siblings to spot her from the windows and come running out to greet her.
But as it had been for the last week, there was no movement from the house. Reaching the bottom step leading up to a wide porch, she heard laughter. She paused to listen to the giggles and high-pitched shouts of glee.
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