Proud Wolf's Woman (40 page)

He sat within his lodge now, awaiting his bride. And though he knew the Lakota were not familiar with the Cheyenne wedding custom, it was the one ceremony he insisted upon despite anyone else’s rituals. Besides, his own relatives, Mahoohe and Aamehee, Voesee and her son, had recently arrived in the camp to witness it. They received word of his formal marriage and his invitation to them to join him from, of all people, his new Pawnee kin.

Neeheeowee shook his head at the thought. The Pawnee man, who only a few weeks ago had been his worst enemy, was fast becoming the best kin Neeheeowee had ever known. The man remained aware of all the kinship taboos and acted accordingly. The Pawnee had even brought his own family here, to raise his own children in this Lakota camp.

Neeheeowee heard noise outside and knew that out there, Kristina led Julia toward his lodge on one of the best horses which she and Tahiska possessed.

He could even hear his own male relatives beside his lodge, Mahoohe and Tahiska, Wahtapah and others, all waiting anxiously outside, a fine blanket spread out upon the ground.

Neeheeowee could barely stand the anticipation, and he rushed to the tepee entrance to peep outside.

He caught sight of her and for a moment all conscious thought fled. Never had he seen anyone more beautiful than she. Never had he witnessed anyone so fair.

She dressed in white elk skin, her costume beaded across the top in shades of blue with an occasional yellow or red bead giving the creation designs. Long fringe fell from the arms of the gown and also from the bottom, hanging straight to the ground. Her hair had been braided with ribbons and ornaments, her face painted in the fashion of the plains Indian, with vermillion slashed down the part in her hair. His stomach fell at the grand sight of her, his loins jerked in pure reaction, and, at last, Neeheeoee smiled. It was good, their love, their marriage.

Kristina led the pony Julia rode right up to his door, where some other women lifted Julia off her mount and set her upon the blanket which had been lying there on the ground all this time. As soon as she was settled, Neeheeoee’s male relatives picked the blanket up by the corners and, lifting it entirely, prepared to carry Julia into Neeheeowee’s lodge.

Neeheeowee let the tepee flap fall as though he hadn’t watched the whole thing and when his male relatives opened the entranceway, to bring Julia in, Neeheeowee felt himself trembling as though he were a young boy again.

Several jokes were exchanged between the men before they left, but at last they were gone, and Neeheeowee stood within his own lodge, looking down upon his wife. At last, with these ceremonial rites, Julia became his wife, in fact, in deed, and no one could dispute it.

Julia suddenly smiled at him, Neeheeowee returning the gesture, and, as she fell into his arms, they laughed, the sound of their happiness seeming to re bound throughout the entire village.

All the people heard it. All the people smiled, shaking their heads and walking away from the newlyweds’ lodge as quietly as they could.

Soon the feasting would begin, the partying most likely to go on well into the night. And although no one really expected the young couple to join in the festivities that night, it wouldn’t keep the others from enjoying the feast given in the young married couple’s name.

Truly, this night, all had cause for great happiness; the love between these two people, a part of their life and blood now, would serve as an example of strength in years to come.

The drumbeat sounded louder that night than ever before, the beat, which symbolized the heartbeat of the people, drowning out the vows exchanged between the two people who stood alone in the tepee on the edge of the camp circle. And there, had anyone looked, he would have seen two silhouettes illuminated on the tepee’s lining, Neeheeoee’s hand over her heart, Julia’s over his, vowing their love to one another forever.

But at that moment in time, no one gazed back toward the tepee. Perhaps it was for the best, for, as it is said by the wisest of men, love, forged and once pledged, needs no warranty from another to last forever.

Afterword

The wagon master to Colonel Sumner, Percival Lowe, delivered this address to the Kansas Historical Society on January 14, 1890:

The Cheyenne and Arapaho were the habitual occupants of these plains from the Platte to the Arkansas, and from the forks of the Solomon to the mountains. I then thought, and still believe, that the Cheyenne were the handsomest, noblest and bravest Indians I ever saw in a wild state. I met them often, knew them well and their way of living. They fought their enemies with an unrelenting vigor—that was their religious duty from their standpoint. They were as virtuous as any people on earth; whatever civilized man may say of their table manners, their family government was perfect—perfect obedience to parents, and child whipping unknown; veneration and respect for old age was universal. In their relations to each other crime was practically unknown. They worshipped God, in whom they had implicit confidence. They hated a liar as the devil hates holy water, and that is why, when they came to know him, they hated the white man so intensely. For fortitude, patience and endurance, the sun never shown on better examples.

Percival C. Lowe

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

Coming Soon:

Blackfoot Warriors

Gray Hawk’s Lady

White Eagle’s Touch

Night Thunder’s Pride

Legendary Warriors

War Cloud’s Passion

Lone Arrow’s Pride

Soaring Eagle’s Embrace

A love that defies the ocean. A secret deeper than blood.

Lakota Princess

© 2012 Karen Kay

Lakota, Book 2

Driven from her home in England by hostile political forces, Estrela was little more than a girl when she came to be raised by a far western Lakota tribe. On the wide, sweeping plains she grew tall and strong, and won the love of a handsome warrior.

But on the eve of their marriage, she is torn away from her native family, torn from the man she loves, and forced to return to a place that feels more like a foreign country than her home. There she merely exists, haunted by her love’s sweet kisses and heated embrace, yearning for his unforgettable touch.

Black Bear has braved the ocean to find the woman whose beauty has captured his soul. But no sooner has he arrived in England than he is called upon to save her life. Who in their right mind would want to murder such a gentle spirit?

As Black Bear comes between her and death time after time, Estrela wishes they could both just disappear back to the plains, and bury the secret she has long hidden—even from him. A secret from which only their love, truer than blood, can save them.

Warning: Contains separated lovers who will let nothing come between them...not oceans, her mysterious past or a murderer bent on destroying their future. Sensuous love scenes could make you want to cool off with some skinny dipping, hopefully with a gorgeous lover of your own.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Lakota Princess:

“Waste Ho Win.”

Estrela sat up straight and glanced into the crowd.

What was that? The wind blew by her and seemed to whisper. What? No. It could not be. It couldn’t be her name—her Indian name.

She listened; nothing more. She gazed back around and stared at members of the Royal Guard as they lined the streets of Pall Mall. Dressed in red jackets and tall, black hats, the Guard reminded her that she was, indeed, in England. Crowds of the English populous had lined up behind the military for a view of their royalty, the parade being in honor of the adjournment of Parliament. There was nothing here to make her think of the American West. Nothing Indian. Nothing at all.

“Waste Ho Win, where are you?”

Estrela caught her breath. She’d heard Lakota words. There in the wind. It wasn’t possible and yet…

She stared around her. She sat alone, perched up high in the back of a grand, mahogany coach. The Duke and Duchess of Colchester, along with their two daughters, reclined in the main coach, their seats facing one another. Two drivers, dressed in red jackets and black hats, sat in front, controlling a team of four horses.

A faint breeze of humid air rushed past her and Estrela strained to hear more words the wind might carry to her, for any sort of explanation.

Yet there was nothing more. No scent. No memories.

She brushed a hand over her forehead.

Did the breeze know something?

She thought she’d heard
him.
His whispered words, carried on the wind. She shook her head as though to clear it.

At that same moment the drums began to beat, fifes to play, the Guard, straight ahead of her, began to march. And as her own coach pulled out into the street, behind the Guard, the noise of the horses, the crowd, the military should have blocked out any further sound.

“I look for you.”

Estrela gasped. It was
him.
She would recognize his deep, baritone voice even a thousand years into the future; she would recognize him. How was this possible?

Could it be that the wind carried his voice all the way from the Americas?

It is said in Indian culture that wind goes everywhere, sees everything. And spirit wind, she remembered, will speak to you.

“Mato Sapa?”
she thought to herself.

“It is I,”
the voice returned.

“Are you comfortable, Lady Estrela?”

Estrela’s eyelids flew open and she gaped at the Duke, who had just spoken to her. She smiled, though surprise kept her silent, until at last she managed to say, “I am fine.”

The Duke smiled back at her and she sighed.

The Duke of Colchester had been kind to her, going so far as to present her to King William even though the King, being ill, had barely noticed her, leaving it to Queen Adelaide to smile a welcome to her.

There was something odd there, Estrela thought as she remembered it now. The Queen had stood surrounded by her court, and Estrela remembered feeling as though eyes watched her, followed her, too closely…

“Waste Ho.”

Why wouldn’t the wind leave her alone? Not only did she hear his voice, now an image caught at the corner of her vision—there in the crowd.

It couldn’t be.

It was impossible…and yet…

She shouldn’t have thought of him today. She should have left his memory in the past. Wasn’t that where it belonged? This was no good. She seemed to hear him, see him everywhere. She must not think of him, she…

She strained forward in her seat despite her thoughts, and peered into the crowd, around the people, to the right, to the left. She saw nothing more.

What was that? She shifted in her seat, but whatever had caught her eye was gone as surely as if it had been a phantom.

Was she losing her mind? Or had she really seen a buckskin jacket? A jacket with beaded designs and porcupine quills? A jacket that only an Indian would wear?

She muttered a curse, deciding the winds, the very spirits themselves were conspiring against her.

What good was this doing her?

She brought her head up, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead, unaware that a man dressed in colorfully designed buckskin shirt and leggings with a buffalo robe thrown over his shoulder followed her, followed her carriage.

A cool, humid breeze brushed at her hair, releasing blond tendrils from her coiffure.

“Look at me.”

Estrela bit her lip. Don’t listen to it, she told herself. Don’t look. Don’t… She moaned, glancing into the crowd despite herself, catching a glimpse of long, black hair flowing back against the wind.

No! It couldn’t be. And yet… She saw him there in the crowd.

She gasped.

A shot split the air.

Estrela screamed, instinctively ducking down, realizing with horror that blood streamed down her own arm.

Was someone shooting at her or…?

Another shot exploded, barely missing her. Another.

She fell to her knees then, her head down, her hands sheltering her face. Bells rang outside, women on the street screamed and men yelled. The Duchess of Colchester cried, the Duke shouted orders to the driver, the horses reared. So much noise was there, that she didn’t hear the high-pitched whooping of a warrior’s voice; she didn’t see the flash of bronzed skin as a man ran toward her, didn’t even feel the carriage tip as it gave under the weight of a lone, single man who had leaped from the streets, to her side.

She sobbed, she cried, making so much noise herself, that she didn’t hear anything, didn’t sense anything until strong arms encircled her, lifting her out of the carriage. Only then did she catch a faint scent of familiar masculinity, but with so much motion bursting around her, she only registered confusion.

Another shot fired.

Horses reared, more people screamed and scattered. Soldiers fell out of order and were suddenly everywhere. Another shot exploded and Estrela felt her rescuer dodge the deadly bullet. Estrela opened her eyes and looking up, saw for the first time the man who held her. And had she been at all fainthearted, she would have swooned.