The Warrior's Captive Bride. Jenna Kernan

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СКАЧАТЬ She told of how she had once been so preoccupied finding a curative for burns that she had been caught in the forest at night and slept in the crotch of a tree because she was certain she heard wolves nearby.

      “How did you keep from falling?” he asked.

      “I used my belt to tie myself to the tree trunk. And do you know, there were wolf tracks all around the tree in the morning.”

      “You came down in the morning?”

      “No. I didn’t. I waited until I heard my uncle calling.”

      “That was wise. Wolves can run very fast.”

      “It was the first night I slept out in the forest, but not the last. My aunt and uncle are used to my wanderings.”

      “Most women stay together and keep close to the village.”

      “Most men hunt in groups, raid in groups, war in groups.”

      He smiled at her answer. Somehow the meal had changed them, made their conversation relaxed and more personal. She’d glimpsed a part of him that was comfortable. She felt content and even happy. It was wonderful to be away from the responsibility of shepherding after her father and helping her aunt tend their home. She did not want to think she was like her mother. But perhaps she was more like her than she cared to admit.

      No, she was not like that. She wanted a man, a home and children. But she would heed her mother’s words and choose a man who wanted only her.

      She gazed skyward, seeing the pink bands of clouds beyond the aspen and pine. Still, she knew a part of her enjoyed her work and her time alone. Sometimes it was a struggle to be like other women. But it was important, too.

      When she returned her gaze to the fire it was to note that their conversation had ceased and he was staring at her with a strange, speculative expression.

      “What?”

      “You look happy.”

      She smiled and nodded. “There is nothing like a fire against the growing darkness. A full belly and a full bag of roots and plants.” She patted the bag at her side. “What about you? What makes you happy?”

      His smile faded. “Riding. Riding, fast.”

      And now he walked.

      The conversation that had flowed as naturally as a river came to a sudden stop. She glanced at him, his face glowing with the warm colors of the fire.

      “You have more questions?” he asked.

      “Many.”

      He drew up his knees and wrapped his strong arms about them. “All right then. Ask your questions.”

      “When you smell the searing flesh or your vision shakes or your hand trembles, do you always fall down?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you hear anything?”

      “When the falling begins, I hear a hum.”

      “Like bees?”

      “No, more like the ring, when you strike metal to metal. But it does not fade. It grows louder and louder, until I cannot hear anything else, and then I fall.”

      She thought on all he had said, trying to make some meaning out of it.

      “You said that you never had unclean relations with a family member. Is that right?”

      He sighed glumly. “Never.”

      “That eliminates illness brought by breaking a taboo. But we need to eliminate spirits and ghosts. If we can do so, that will leave only curses and illness. I can help only if you are ill. You understand?”

      “Yes. How do we eliminate spirits and ghosts?”

      “Spirits act out of offense. Have you failed to offer prayers of thanks or ignored any other required prayers and offerings?”

      “I have not.”

      “Do you belong to a medicine society?”

      “Black War Bonnet.”

      She paused at this. The men of that society were the bravest of warriors because they put the mark of death upon their shields. She was familiar with the unique design of this medicine society. A circle of black symbols on robe or shield meant this man held back death.

      She lifted her brows and he endured her scrutiny. The owls. The Black War Bonnet society. Who was this man?

      “And you perform all rites?” she asked.

      “I do.”

      “That eliminates spirits. They do not attack the living without cause.”

      “Ghosts?” he asked.

      “Ghosts are either enemies you have killed or those you know who are not at peace. Sometimes if a life’s circle is not complete, a soul can feel cheated and try to finish their journey with the body of the living. Have all those of your family been properly set to rest in either the ground or the sky?”

      “Always.”

      “Possession of your body can cause ghost sickness. You would feel fevered, nauseous and sometimes have the sensation of suffocating. Usually those with ghost sickness see visions that are not there.”

      “I have seen things that are not there. But not the fever or suffocating sensation.”

      She nodded. They could not rule out ghosts then.

      “Any recent deaths of someone near to you?”

      “I lost a friend in the same battle when I was injured.”

      She straightened at this revelation as possibilities danced in her mind. “Injured. When?”

      Night Storm hesitated, rubbing the back of his head as he stared at the ground.

      From the lake, bullfrogs began their deep belching call. The burning wood popped and crackled as the fire consumed it, but Night Storm seemed to notice none of it.

      Skylark was just about to remind him that she could do little without knowing what troubles he had and everything she could learn about his injury. Her grandmother was very insistent that she discover all she could about a person seeking care. That included minute details regarding his habits and all his past wounds.

      At last he met her gaze and she again felt the punch of physical attraction hit her low in the belly. He held her attention and the pull to move near to him became more insistent. She set aside the remains of her meal, knowing that she had no further appetite for food. A different hunger gnawed.

      His shoulders lifted and then settled as he blew out a long breath. Then he gave a little nod, as if he had decided something.

      “We battled against the Lakota who were pursuing the white men who СКАЧАТЬ