by Karen Kay
The bear roared.
“There is nothing to forgive. It merely took you longer to know who I am. But then, perhaps you had more cause.”
The bear growled again.
“I think we should keep singing,” he said. “The animal hears our song; Sun and Night Light, our mother, the moon, hear our song. These are good things…very good things.”
And they sang.
The bear was no longer a threat. Perhaps it never had been.
Forgetting it for the moment, Kali and Soaring Eagle turned, wrapped in one another’s arms, and faced out toward the sun and the moon. They sang over and over, one song after another. And occasionally, if one listened closely, one could hear their voices being joined by a bear’s fierce roar.
“Oooooooooooooooooooooo.
A love that’s true will never die.
Years may come, years may go,
But the heart remembers.
The heart remembers, it is always so.”
Soaring Eagle made up the lyrics, while Kali followed his lead. She watched as slowly the moon enclosed the sun in her darkened embrace, and the sky became shadowy, yet sweetly so.
They were together. At last they were all together. Sun, the moon, she and Soaring Eagle.
As a feeling of utter joy filled Kali, it happened. Ah yes, she had been here before. She knew it with quiet certainty, knew exactly who she was. Not only that, she realized who he was, too.
Make no mistake, this was indeed her home. This land, this mountain, these people. And Soaring Eagle was her love, a love so true that neither time nor space could kill it. And so it would be, she thought, now and forever.
A tear spilled over her cheek, but it was not from grief. No, not sorrow. All her life she had been searching for this, searching for Soaring Eagle, searching for home, little knowing it.
It had merely taken a miracle to make her realize it.
Soaring Eagle, however, never stopped singing, and she joined him again, humming when she didn’t know the words.
And as they sang, the rays of the sun shone out in all directions, bathing them, the land and all else in its shadowed, tender, golden glow. Behind them came a growl as the bear stood up, pawing the air as though it, too, would chant its praise.
Soaring Eagle kissed her, lengthily, lovingly. He said, “Welcome home, my wife.”
Kali smiled. “My husband. My wonderful, handsome husband. At last we are together.”
“Aa, aa,” he said. “Aa, aa.”
As they kissed, for a moment the world stood still.
Epilogue
There is no place to be saved except in the sky.
A song sung by Okinai in the legend “The Seven Brothers (Great Bear)” or the Big Dipper
—The Old North Trail, Walter McClintock
The two lovers slowly made their way back down the mountain, having circled around the bear without fear, as though the creature were now a long-lost friend.
They had gone back to their home, back to their reservation, back to start their lives together. But another one still remained. And gradually, as slowly as the world spins on its axis, the bear was changing its form too, becoming Gilda.
Tears streamed down her face as she gazed up into the sky. “Hear me, my mother, my father. I have accomplished it at last.” She spoke in Blackfeet, and watched as the two heavenly bodies began to separate. “That which I began in adversity, I have finished in love. My work here is done. Please, Mother, Father, may I come home?”
For answer, the sun bathed her in golden, ethereal beams. And as a large eagle drifted slowly to the earth, coming to land beside her, Gilda laughed, climbing slowly onto its back. Powerfully, with a vigorous kickoff, it lifted up, soaring into the air, carrying Gilda up high, high, higher, until finally it reached the home of Sun.
It is said that it was on this day that a new star was born. And as the legend goes, if you look very closely at night, you can see Gilda there in the sky, looking down upon the earth, shining brightly and lighting the way for her sister, the Star Bride, and her sister’s dearest, truest love…
Ah, at last. They had all come home…
Glossary
There are some words and concepts in this book that may need further explanation. Hopefully this glossary will help in this regard.
Aa—Blackfeet word for “yes.”
Dreams/visions—this is the way in which one communicated with Sun or other spirits. It was also used by some to try to foresee the future.
Medicine bundle—a bundle of things (usually having to do with one’s vision) kept near or on the person. This bundle has powers to protect, and often to heal, the person who owns it.
Night Light/Old Woman—both terms refer to the moon. She is also sometimes called “Mother” by the Blackfeet. She is the wife of Sun.
Saa—Blackfeet word for “no.”
Smudge—to use the smoke from herbs which have been set on fire (usually lit in a large shell) to purify or cleanse oneself; to pray. The person doing this usually bathes his face and body with the smoke.
Soka’pii (pronounced sa-kaa-pe)—Blackfeet word for “good.”
About the Author
Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.
Karen Kay, whose great-great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.
“With the power of romance, I hope to bring about an awareness of the American Indian’s concept of honor, and what it meant to live as free men and free women. There are some things that should never be forgotten.”
Find Karen Kay online at www.novels-by-karenkay.com.
Look for these titles by Karen Kay
Now Available:
Lakota
Lakota Surrender
Lakota Princess
Proud Wolf’s Woman
Blackfoot Warriors
Gray Hawk’s Lady
White Eagle’s Touch
Night Thunder’s Pride
Legendary Warriors
War Cloud’s Passion
Lone Arrow’s Pride
He rescued her from slavery…now he is captive to desire.
Proud Wolf’s Woman
© 2012 Karen Kay
Lakota, Book 3
Stolen from a cruel husband by the savage Kiowa, Julia Wilson’s life has gone from bad to worse. Just when she has reached the end of her endurance, salvation rides into camp. Neeheeowee, a proud Cheyenne brave who once filled her young heart with romantic dreams, has come to save her from everything—except the flames of desire that still burn.
Bitter and intent on vengeance against the man who killed his wife and unborn child, Neeheeowee has no room in his heart for love. His captured ponies and treasured robes were supposed to be traded for Kiowa weapons. Instead, to his annoyance, he must trade everything for his old friend’s life.
Hard as he tries to hang on to his anger at being set off his mission, he cannot deny he yearns for the woman whose gentle, healing presence reminds him that happiness might exist beyond revenge. Her lips tease him with passion he dare not risk, for those who are long dead still haunt him. To take the love she offers risks his honor—perhaps his very life.
This book has been previously published.
Warning: Sensuous lovemaking might bring cause to head West to find your own romance out on the Great Plains.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Proud Wolf’s Woman:
Neeheeowee had heard her soft words, had glanced up, only to catch that smile.
His heart did a flip-flop, then burst on with a rate of speed equal in intensity to that of a long-distance run. He stared away. What was that he had seen there, heard in her voice?
Admiration? Perhaps love? No, it could not be. He did not want it to be; he could not handle such things from her.
He was supposed to
keep his distance from her, he was supposed to protect her, cherish her; yet that smile of hers did things to him, made him think thoughts he shouldn’t, made him wish for things he could not have. It gave him ideas, it set his blood to racing, it made it hard for him to breathe.
What was he to do? The worst of his ministrations was yet to come, and, with calm resolve, Neeheeowee cautioned himself to move slowly, to think first and to think clearly.
He pulled out another sticker from her finger, then another and another, washing her hands after each one. But soon there remained no more stickers left in her hands, and Neeheeowee, sending a shy gaze up at her, motioned her to stay here while he got to his feet.
The medicines he needed to spread over her fingers remained in his parfleche, and he was glad for the opportunity to leave her, if only for a moment. He had to collect himself before he continued to attend to her. If he did not, well…
He took several deep breaths, his body already responding to the mere idea of what he had to do. He dallied, he paused, fussing over his bags and then, looking over to her, realizing the delay did not lessen his agony, he threw back his shoulders and, thrusting out his chin, set about to do the deed.
Julia stirred under his touch, his fingers gentle as he turned her onto her stomach.
Her buckskin dress remained slit where she had fallen, exposing a portion of her anatomy she would rather he not see, and she hoped the slit there would be enough for him to help her without the necessity of pulling the dress entirely up and over her hips.
She felt his fingers there now, felt his exploring touch, winced as he ran his fingers over something sharp.
“Julia?”
She heard his deep baritone voice. It was the first time he had called her by name, the first time he’d voiced anything she could understand. She marveled at the warmth of it, the way her name sounded on his lips.
“Julia, Na-heese-tsehestoestotse.”
Julia shrugged, moving her head from side to side.
He sighed and pulled on her dress, repeating, “Na-heese-tsehestoestotse.”
Julia, at last, understood. He needed to pull up her dress.
“No, I don’t think that I want you to—”
“Na-heese-tsehestoestotse.”
He’d said the words softly and Julia, knowing what he had to do, nodded her assent.
He inched her dress up gradually, gently, as though he, too, were afraid of the result of such an action, though perhaps he just took care not to hurt her.
Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed the dress upward until at last, he grabbed her hips, holding her slightly up and easing the dress over her hips, up to her waist. Cool night air immediately assaulted her buttocks and Julia shivered as his hands touched her, easing her back into place while his fingers explored her wound.
And then he bent forward, hovering over her. She could feel it, she could sense it, and though she held her legs firmly together, she felt a response toward him building there where his touch came so close, yet hovered so distant.
She wanted him to touch her there. She wanted it. She…shame burst through her. How could she think these thoughts? How could she…squirmed, just a little. And though she was sure color diffused through her face, she couldn’t help herself. At least he couldn’t see it. At least he couldn’t know that she wanted…so much more.
He touched her other buttock cheek, the one uninjured; his touch fleeting, still…she moved in response to him…just a bit…she…
He removed his touch, making her feel immediately bereft.
“No,” she murmured before she knew what she did. But he didn’t hear her, or at least he didn’t appear to.
No, it seemed he set about his task of cleansing her wound as one who had no interest in a woman’s bare bottom, as one who had seen such things so many times, it had lost its effect on him long ago. Gently, using the tweezers he’d produced, he did nothing more than pull each sticker from her behind, carefully avoiding further contact with her.
One after the other, he worked at his task, washing her after he removed each sticker, carefully spreading ointment over each place. It took too long, yet not long enough.
At last he had finished, and still he hadn’t felt her where she longed for the contact. She lay still, wishing, hoping, aching. And though she little knew it, a moan escaped her throat and, involuntarily, she moved her hips, not much, only a little.
But it was enough.
“Ne-ve’-neheseve,” he groaned just before he caressed her, his stroke fleeting.
But it came back again, his fingers, his hands brushing her up and over her buttocks, one hand finally centering over one soft mound of flesh, then squeezing.
Julia sighed, the sound more a high-pitched moan.
“Eaaa,” she heard his soft exclamation, sounding as though he were in pain, and she felt the touch of his fingers on her; then his lips were there, too, kissing the wound better, his lips, his touch roaming farther afield while his fingers dipped ever closer and closer to that spot that…
He touched her there, and Julia murmured a soft reply.
She shouldn’t do it. She knew it. She had just decided she wouldn’t do it, and yet… His touch felt like warm velvet against her, his fingers searching, and Julia could no longer hold back.
She fretted. She sighed, but with a slight wail of relief, she did it. She opened her legs…just a little, allowing him the access she had earlier denied him.
And when she groaned aloud, she no longer heard herself.
Neeheeowee, however, registered every soft whimper, its effect devastating to his tight control, and, with his own groan of frustration, he prepared to give to her all she could need.
In this battle of the sexes, the ultimate prize is love.
Donovan’s Bed
© 2012 Debra Mullins
Calhoun Sisters, Book 1
Sarah Calhoun is bound and determined to restore honor to the family name the only way she knows how—make her late father’s newspaper, the Burr Chronicle, the most successful in the Wyoming Territory.
Haunted by past scandal, she knows one misstep, one misunderstanding, could bring disgrace back down on her head. Yet that doesn’t stop her from running an article about the insulting Jack Donovan. The blasted man is shopping for a wife as he would a horse!
Jack finally has the house in the kind of town he’s always dreamed about. Now all that’s missing is a wife. At first, he thinks Sarah’s scathing article about his quest is a good thing—until he finds himself hounded by hordes of young girls, spinsters and widows. Still, he can’t stop thinking about the sassy newspaper editor who started it all.
Sarah is as determined to ignore her impossible attraction to Donovan as she is to uncover his mysterious past. But the harder she digs for his secrets, the deeper he hides them. Until there’s only one rock left unturned. His heart.
Warning: Contains sensual love scenes and enough barn-burning passion to heat the coldest winter night.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Donovan’s Bed:
“You want a piece of me? We’ll take it someplace private.”
She stared at him, battling the urge to stomp off, consequences be damned. “What do you mean, private?”
He pulled her back into his arms and began dancing her toward the edge of the crowd. “Don’t you worry about your virtue, Miss Calhoun. We’ll stay within screaming distance.” He grinned, and she wanted to smack that dimple right off his cheek.
He swept her to the edge of the platform and then gallantly took her hand to help her down the steps. Given his strong grip on her fingers, Sarah wondered if he was holding her prisoner.
Only a few heads turned their way as he escorted her with a firm hand on her elbow toward the church a few yards back. She knew she would have attracted much more attention had she given in to impulse and stormed off the dance floor, and was grudgingly grateful that he’d just rescued her from her own impetuous nature.
Donovan led her around the side
of the building, away from prying eyes but close enough to be heard should she call for help. Then he released his grip on her elbow, crossed his arms and looked down at her.
They were alone. Above them stars glittered like diamonds against a sky of dark blue velvet, and insects chirped mating songs far prettier than the music they had left behind. Donovan stood with his back to the moon, his face cast in shadow, his masculine stance making Sarah restlessly aware of her own smaller feminine stature.
“Now what was that you were saying, about me not knowing a woman from a horse?”
His voice rippled over her, soft, dangerous. For a moment she couldn’t think for the fluttering in her belly. “That’s not what I meant,” she whispered, finally.
“I know what you meant.” He reached for her. She tensed, but all he did was slide his hands down her bare arms. His callused thumbs rasped over the vulnerable flesh of her inner elbows, the sensitive palms of her hands. The pure sensuality of the gesture sent heat spiraling through her system, making her tremble in a response that she couldn’t deny.
His fingers tightened over hers as he sensed her reaction. He took a step closer, slowly raising his hand to her chin. Her breath caught. She thought he would kiss her—finally, after all these months—but he only stroked the backs of his fingers over her throat.
“A woman,” he said with slow deliberation, “has soft skin. Silky hair.” He tugged gently at a wispy curl, his knuckles brushing her ear. “And a sweet mouth, meant for kissing. I don’t ever recall wanting to kiss my horse.”
“I should hope not.” Her words were barely audible. Where had her anger gone? He touched her with the skill of a man who knew women well, yet the knowledge excited instead of repulsed her.
