His Dakota Bride #5
TRAIL BLAZERS series
Former Sioux captive’s love for a wild horse trader jeopardizes her bid to rejoin white society
Captured and marked … she struggles to find her place.
Once a Sioux captive, Lucie West has returned to her people but her facial tattoos make it impossible to leave her past behind. Now a horse trader, raised by the Sioux, is seeking Lucie’s help to rescue her abductor from the hangman’s noose.
On their journey, Lucie fights her growing attraction for a man who will only make her more of an outcast in society while Sky battles his desires for the woman still beloved by his friend and mentor.
Will Lucie find a way to rescue the man who once wronged her and win her place with the man she has come to love?
Excerpt - His Dakota Bride #5
Trailblazers series
Chapter One
Dakota Territory, September 1884
Sky Fox neared the spring when the first shout brought him up short. An instant later a high-pitched voice spewed a string of first-rate insults in Lakota. Next, he heard a deeper voice speaking English.
“Ow! You little bastard! I’ll teach you to bite me.”
The crack of an open palm striking flesh made Sky Fox wince. He eased off his horse and slid the rifle from the beaded leather sheath. He wore the clothing of the whites, except for the broad hat that he never did get used to. His blue eyes and pale skin marked him as white, which he was, except on the inside.
He crept silently forward and came upon the white man, struggling with a young Indian boy and the buttons on his pants simultaneously. The boy’s bloody calico shirt was torn and the gaping hole showed russet skin and the parallel gouges that could only be from the man’s fingernails. His attacker held him by the throat and was doing his best to throttle him with one hand.
Sky aimed his rifle at the white man.
“Let him up.”
The man startled and then turned but kept his hand about the child’s neck. His captive glared at Sky with hatred showing in his split lip and black eye. Despite the abuse, the young man was silent. His captor gave an oily smile.
“Oh, hey, there, brother. You gave me a start. I didn’t hear you come up. I’m a truant officer—”
“Let him go.” Sky placed his thumb on the trigger.
The man lifted one hand in surrender but kept hold of the struggling lad with the other. The result was that his pants gaped but somehow managed to stay up.
“I’m working for the school, catching runaways, understand?”
Sky snorted. “You planning on catching him in your trousers?”
The man flushed scarlet at the reminder that he’d been caught with his pants round his hips. What was left of his intentions shriveled under Sky’s cold stare. He hoisted his pants to cover himself. “Now you listen here—”
The click of the hammer on Sky’s gun seemed especially loud. The man fell silent and Sky spoke to the boy in Lakota. “Do not fight, little brother. He will not touch you again.”
The youngster stilled and wiped the blood from his chin. The officer let him go. The child moved several paces away and then stopped. Sky released the trigger and lowered his rifle.
“Ah, you speak their lingo. Nice trick. How’d you learn that?”
“From my father.”
The man wrinkled his brow in confusion.
“He a trader?”
Sky Fox’s mouth twitched. “He was called Ten Horses, a warrior from the Bitterroot tribe.”
The man’s eyes bugged. A moment later he reached for his pistol. Sky Fox raised his rifle and the officer hesitated, extending his arm away from his weapon.
The two faced off.
“He’s gotta come with me,” said the man.
“No. He doesn’t.”
“But he’s a runaway.”
“Here’s what will happen. You’ll turn around and ride off alone, or you’ll try to take the boy and I’ll kill you.”
Beads of sweat covered the man’s forehead and streamed down his cheeks.
“Can I fasten my trousers?” he asked.
Sky nodded.
The truant officer grappled, fastening the closure and buckling his belt with sweat-slick hands. Then he looked back toward Sky.
“I’m going.”
Sky said nothing. The man walked stiffly toward his horse but when he lifted his foot to mount, he went for his pistol.
Sky fired high so as not to hit the horse. Wasn’t the horse’s fault that he carried such a man. The bullet pierced his shoulder, sending him backward, where he writhed on the ground as blood leaked from the bullet hole. Sky lifted his rifle for the kill shot, aiming between the man’s eyes. His prey stilled, staring down the blue-gray barrel at death. Sky’s mind flashed back to the arrow notched and drawn, the smooth release and the sound of the tip striking flesh. Sweat blossomed on his forehead and he lowered his gun. Damn it!
Seeing Sky would not shoot, the boy grabbed his captor’s pistol and aimed the barrel at the man’s head, but Sky knocked it from his hand.
The boy glowered at Sky.
Sky placed a foot on the gun. “Killing him won’t return what he has taken.”
“It is my right.”
“Count coup and have done.”
The boy hesitated a moment longer, staring at the pistol now securely under Sky’s moccasin. Finally, he lifted a sturdy stick, but instead of touching the enemy with it, to prove his bravery, he swung it with all his might. The officer had enough sense to dodge and the branch grazed his temple. He went limp, his head lolling to the side. The boy raised the branch again, but Sky plucked it from his hands.
“Enough.”
Sky squatted and checked to see the man was still breathing. Then he looked at the wound. It was ugly, but he wouldn’t bleed out. The infection might still kill him but he left that to the Great Spirit. Sky considered tying him to his horse and taking him back to the school. Then he glanced at the lad, seeing disappointment glimmering in his filling eyes. His reaction only confirmed Sky Fox’s original guess. This man had abused the boy. The only question was how badly?
Sky stood, determining to leave the man where he lay.
“Come away, brother. It is finished.”
The child’s shoulders sagged as he stared silently at his tormentor. Sky kicked the pistol several feet away.
“How are you called, little brother?”
“No Moccasins,” he answered.
“I am Sky Fox, once of the Bitterroot people.”
“I am Sweetwater.”
“Did he hurt you?”
He gave one angry shake of denial. Sky Fox wondered about the wounds he could not see because those cut the deepest. He waited for No Moccasins to lift his head.
“He tried, but then you came.”
Sky glanced at the truant officer, thinking perhaps he should kill him. He ground his teeth, as he thought of the white man who had taken him from the Black Hills. Like the boy, Sky had stayed only until he was old enough to run. He reached for his pistol and then stopped.
No. As a tribute to the friend he had lost, Sky had vowed long ago never again to take a human life and that included this worm of a man.
It was never more difficult to keep his promise than now. He resisted the urge to kill and mutilate the body. It was what his people would do to such a man as this. But the great Lakota had fallen to their knees.
Sky turned toward the boy.
“Where is your family?” he asked.
“They walk before me, except my sister and our uncle. He sent me to the white man’s school to learn the stick words, but I ran. My younger sister is still there, I could not bring her.”
“Where is your uncle?”
“On the reservation. He’s head man.”
“His name?”
“He is called Eagle Dancer.”
Sky Fox stilled at the name he had not heard in many years. Joy filled him to know his friend and mentor had survived the wars. And sorrow filled him that a great warrior had lived to see his people conquered and penned like sheep. Sky always knew he would return to the people. He was tired of running and tired of the guilt. The time had come to face his past.
“I know your uncle. I would like to see him again.”
He waited. The boy had been taught manners, of course, and hesitated only a moment before extending his hospitality.
He nodded. “We would be honored.”
Sky smiled. “We can ride double.”
The boy pointed at the unconscious truant officer. “He has a horse.”
Their eyes met. Sky knew it was too dangerous. The horse would raise questions. He shook his head. “We take nothing from this man.”
No Moccasins gazed longingly at the pistol lying several lengths from his tormentor. Sky placed a hand on No Moccasins’s shoulder. The boy flinched and pulled away from the gentle restraint but nodded.
“I have a fine horse,” said Sky. “He is just through there. He is strong and fast.”
No Moccasins glanced in the direction of the thicket.
Sky knew it was a shame for a brave to walk and even a boy this age had pride. Women walked, dragging the young ones behind them on travois. Or they did—once.
“You can take the reins. I’ll ride behind you.”
The boy did not smile but nodded his acceptance of the offer. Sky acknowledged that it might be some time before this child lost his vacant expression, but at least he could ride like a warrior until they reached the Great Sioux Reservation.
Sky considered leaving the man his horse and rejected the idea. He should suffer the walk after what he had done. The officer had his gun, and the horse’s returned to the barn would trigger a search. Perhaps they would be in time to save this worthless one. Of course, there was a chance the mare would join a wild herd. Sky left that in the hands of the Great Spirit. He removed the saddle and unfastened the bridle. The horse tossed her head and trotted away. He turned to find No Moccasins staring at him.
“How did you come to the people?”
Sky answered honestly. “My parents were travelers on the wagon road. They sickened and Ten Horses found them in their wagon. My father still lived and offered his horses to take me to the fort, but Ten Horses took all he wanted and he kept me, as well. He called me Sky for the color of my eyes.”
No Moccasins nodded at this. “Do you remember them?”
“No. Ten Horses is my father and I am Lakota. That is all.” They mounted and before the evening wind died, they were heading north, to the place the whites could never drive from his heart, back to the people he loved.
***
Five days passed before they reached the reservation. As they neared Indian lands, Sky avoided the main road. Only full-blood Indians were permitted here. But that was not the only reason Sky skirted the house belonging to the agent from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He didn’t want to answer questions about his business or how he found his traveling companion. The boy had washed away the blood and now wore a clean shirt that was miles too big for him.
At moonrise they found their way to the small square box that was now the home of Eagle Dancer. His people once blew over the plains with the wind. Now they were scattered about in shabby houses, waiting for government distributions. Such a life was sure to kill a man’s soul.
He sent No Moccasins to the door, uncertain of his welcome. It had been years since their parting and there were many reasons for his old mentor to hate him now.
When the door opened again, a man stepped out holding an oil lamp before him. Did the orange flame cast strange shadows or had his face changed so greatly?
Here stood the man who was once the best rider and best shot of the Sweetwater braves. Now he shuffled forward like an old man. Sky recalled watching this warrior ride behind the fleeing bands of women and children, bravely engaging the enemy to give the others time to escape. Sky had worshiped the young man and emulated everything he did. Now Eagle Dancer moved as if each step pained him.
No Moccasins stood at his side, pointing. His friend handed the boy the lamp and spoke in the direction his nephew indicated.
“Come, brother. You are welcome here,” said Eagle Dancer. His voice, at least, had not changed.
Sky Fox stepped into the light and Eagle Dancer smiled. Now he recognized his friend once again. He had maintained the handsome features and his body was still lean and straight. His eyes twinkled as he opened his arms. The two embraced and then drew back.
“Look at you, tall as a buffalo’s hump,” said Eagle Dancer.
It was true, in his twenty-nine winters, Sky had grown to six feet three inches by the white man’s measure, but he liked the Indian reckoning much better. For a moment he felt as if he were coming home.
His friend ushered him in. The interior was a strange combination of white and Indian. The head man had not adopted chairs, keeping to the traditional wooden backrests which sat upon the ground, draped with furs. He had placed four of them in a half circle on the dirt floor before a fireplace made of brick. It reminded Sky of the sacred circle, now cut in half by the white’s square dwelling.
Eagle Dancer draped an arm around his nephew. “Thank you for returning this one safely.”
They took a seat. Eagle Dancer was a good host. Unlike the whites, he asked no questions, but fed them first.
They dined on pinto beans and bacon with black coffee and a coarse corn bread that crumbled when touched. It was the diet of cowhands, not warriors. No Moccasins could barely stay awake to finish his meal. His uncle bundled him in blankets and he stretched out near the fire on a buffalo skin.
Sky drank his coffee. When he’d had his fill, Eagle Dancer began to talk of the old days and then of their new life here. After a time, he checked the boy and found him sound asleep.
He rejoined Sky beside the fire.
“His face is bruised,” said Eagle Dancer.
Only then did Sky report the circumstances of his recovery and his suspicions over his treatment.
When Eagle Dancer spoke, his dark eyes grew vacant.
“They send no food for the children unless they attend the white man’s school. What are we to do?”
“I am afraid my shooting this man will not help our people.”
Eagle Dancer nodded grimly. “Is he dead?”
“No, though he may die from the wound.”
Eagle Dancer’s brows descended low over his dark eyes. Did he disapprove of him for not taking the life of a man who deserved death or for bringing such trouble to his doorstep?
“This man is white and so the whites will come.”
“We left him alive and took no trophies.”
“That was wise.”
His friend lifted his tobacco pouch. Sky frowned as he saw the poorly embroidered deerskin sheath. Some of the trade beads had fallen off or sagged on loose threads. It seemed odd that a head man, who should have items of the highest quality, would keep something so awkwardly fashioned.
Eagle Dancer noted Sky staring and handed over the pouch.
“A gift from my wife, the first piece she ever made for me.”
Sky Fox held it like the precious object it appeared to be. “She showed great promise.”
“I built this house for her, a white man’s house, so when she comes back, she will feel at home.”
Sky frowned, not knowing what to say to this, but Eagle Dancer was no longer looking at him. Instead, he stared toward the ceiling. His face had a faraway expression that faded as he reclaimed the plump little bag. Then he sighed and quickly filled his pipe, lighting it with a splinter of firewood. He inhaled deeply as the scent of sweet tobacco rose about them. Instead of savoring the smoke, Eagle Dancer began a deep wet cough. Sky got him some water and that seemed to help. The head man offered his pipe to Sky and they smoked a while.
After a comfortable silence, Eagle Dancer glanced at Sky. “Do you still walk the Red Road, then?”
“My heart is always Lakota.”
“I am happy and sad that we are still your people. I had hoped you would find your place with them.” He motioned toward the door, indicating the world beyond.
They were silent, Sky Fox thinking back to the last time he saw Eagle Dancer. “I carry that day like a stone in my heart.”
His friend studied him for a time. Sky waited for him to cast judgment.
“It is good you do not forget. Perhaps saving this boy will help you walk in balance.” Eagle Dancer motioned to his nephew.
“I can never repay this debt.”
Eagle Dancer did not try to dismiss his opinion, but merely accepted it with a nod. “You feel you must do more and you must do what you must do. So I will tell you that Joy Cat still lives but his eyes are full of clouds now. And your friend’s sisters, Forever Flower and Pretty Wren, both lost their husbands in a battle before the Greasy Grass Fight. Maybe you could marry them.”
Sky Fox was so stunned, he let the tip of the pipe sag and only just kept it from touching the earth. Certainly he was wealthy enough to keep two wives. Some Sioux warriors had as many as four, but he knew Joy Cat hated him and so he doubted the man would agree. “Would they accept me?”
“I don’t know. Many things have changed since those days. The sisters fight a lot now. If they were gone, Joy Cat might marry again. He is a respected head man and we have many widows. Perhaps you can capture a piece of this life with them. But you cannot stay here with them. I am sorry, my brother, but the white men will not see you as one of us.”
Sky knew that the treaty allowed only full-blooded Lakota to live on the reservation and Sky Fox did not have even a drop of Indian blood. It was a failing that had always pushed him to be better, faster and braver than his comrades. He had wanted to prove worthy. His eagerness caused him to take the shot that day, to be first to place his arrow in the deer that was not a deer. His head sank as he thought of his friend bleeding in the cottonwood thicket.
“They are good women, strong and pretty.”
“Then why have you not taken one?” asked Sky.
They were from the Bitterroot tribe and so Eagle Dancer could marry either or both.
“My heart is not free.”
Sky Fox felt a stab of guilt at that. He hesitated.
“Is yours, brother?” asked Eagle Dancer.
“My heart is only broken. I fear it would be a lonely life for a woman.”
“You have lost your place in this world. Perhaps you should take them both and begin a new life from the old.”
Sky swallowed hard as he thought of accepting such a responsibility. Would Sacred Cloud want him to marry his widowed sisters? Had his friend lived, he would provide for them. Sky felt the mantle of duty fall heavy on his shoulders.
“Ask her father. If this is his wish, I will marry either or both.”
Eagle Dancer smiled and Sky Fox realized he had spoken in haste. He had lived too long with whites and forgotten to consider his words before uttering them. Eagle Dancer still did not know the rest of the burden he carried.
Sky Fox cleared his throat. “There is something more I must say, brother. Then if you still think I should wed the sisters, I will do so. But before you put this question to Joy Cat, I would tell you of my return to the whites.”
Eagle Dancer nodded and sat back to listen, putting the pipe carefully aside on the forked wooden holder.
“After you set my feet on the road to the fort, they brought me to their head man and he asked me about other white captives. It was the first thing my new people wanted.” He lowered his head in shame.
Eagle Dancer did not ask, but waited, silently.
“I betrayed you, my brother.”
Eagle Dancer lifted a brow. It was so different than the way of whites, quick to question, quick to blame, quick to fight. His people were slow to anger, slow to fight. They knew the power of words and so they treated them with great care.
“They showed me a photograph of Sunshine.”
The muscles in Eagle Dancer’s jaw ticked. Sky hoped he would fly at him, strike him, kill him for what he had done. But Eagle Dancer showed the control of the seasoned leader he had become.
“Why did you do this thing?” he asked in a level voice. Only his eyes showed the agony this news brought him.
Why indeed? Stupidity, arrogance. “We were strong then. I knew the army would not venture off the narrow wagon roads to follow us so far north. They always turned back and even if they did not, I knew our braves would defeat them, for we were many. I never considered…” His words fell off. How could he finish?
Eagle Dancer completed his thought. “That her father and mother would come along and steal her?” His friend gazed off to someplace far away and spoke as if to himself.
“Yes.”
“That my own mother would betray her only son?”
Sky’s eyes widened. This he did not know and had no response to such a confession. He lowered his head.
“You carry heavy burdens,” said Eagle Dancer.
“As do you.”
His friend nodded at this.
Sky Fox stood. “I will leave now.”
Eagle Dancer extended an open hand. “You will spend the night.”
It was a courtesy he did not deserve. It shamed him. He sank back in his seat.
“I have tried many times to die with honor. I do not know why I still live.”
Eagle Dancer waited until Sky met his steady gaze. “I think it is because you walk for two now. If that is so, then you must honor him and lead a worthy life.”
The men stared at the dying fire.
“I was with your father when he fell at the Greasy Grass Fight.”
Sky’s eyes pinned Eagle Dancer. He had heard that his father had fallen at the battle of Little Big Horn, but that was all.
“He fought well and died well.”
Sky longed to ask the details but then hesitated. Perhaps it was best to remember him as he had been. “Thank you for telling me this.”
“He spoke of you often, worried about you in the world of the Wasicu, just as I have worried over Sunshine. I wonder if she is happy back in that world where she was born.” When his friend spoke again, his voice had the faraway quality of wistfulness. “The markings my mother gave her always made my wife sad. But I thought they were beautiful. For a long time after she left, I hoped those marks would bring her back to me. Each morning, when I pray at dawn, I watch the sky turn red and remember the color of her hair. I would give what is left of this useless life just to see her once more.”
From behind him, his nephew stirred, crawling out of his bedding and joining them at the fire.
No Moccasins’s eyes were wide as if he had been startled awake.
Eagle Dancer quirked a brow. “You have heard all?”
No Moccasins stared. “What color was her hair?”
Eagle Dancer lowered his head and sat in silence, so Sky Fox answered.
“It was red-gold, long and wavy.”
No Moccasins ran his hand over his chin. “She bears the mark of the Sweetwater?”
Eagle Dancer now pinned his nephew with a look of intent interest.
“I have seen her. She’s at the school.”
Eagle Dancer grabbed his nephew’s shoulders and stared in astonishment. Then he released No Moccasins and held three fingers beneath his lip and dragged them down his chin. “Like this?”
“Yes.”
Eagle Dancer’s face lit with joy as he turned to Sky Fox. “My wife has come back to me.”
Sky sank to the backrest as if someone had struck him in the stomach. Why would Lucie West return to the Sacred Black Hills?
Eagle Dancer clasped Sky’s shoulder. “She is here!” He stood now as if ready to run all the way to the school. Then he looked back at Sky. “I am forbidden to leave the reservation. You must go after her.”
Sky gaped, but no words came from his mouth as he rose to face his mentor.
“Please, brother, you must tell her that I still wait, that I have kept my heart only for her.”
Sky Fox hated to point out the obvious. “But, my friend, she ran. Why would you want a woman who does not want you?”
“She did not run. She was captured, taken where I could not find her. She is searching, too. Don’t you see?”
“Perhaps it is not even Sunshine.”
“She is the only white woman who bears the mark of Sweetwater. She is here and you are here, just like the time when she was stolen. The hoop has come full circle.”
Sky pointed out the other possibilities. “She may be married again or be a mother.”
Eagle Dancer shook his head in denial. “No.”
“What if she will not come willingly?” asked Sky, dreading the answer
Eagle Dancer’s face grew solemn, but he would not hear the possibility of doubt. “She will come.”
“You cannot force her to stay.”
Eagle Dancer shook his head. “I will keep her only with the power of my love. It is all the tethers I will need. Go, brother, and bring her back to me.”
Excerpt His Dakota Bride ©2020 – Jenna Kernan