The Warrior's Captive Bride
His wife for two moons…?Plagued by a mysterious sickness, Crow warrior Night Storm captures the witch he believes cursed him. But his anticipated revenge dissolves when he realises that beautiful Skylark might be the only one who can provide a cure…Skylark agrees to pose as Night Storm’s wife so she can find a way to heal him. But when unexpected desire flares Sky’s mission changes, and she’ll do everything in her power to find a way to make their arrangement last a lifetime!
Читать The Warrior's Captive Bride онлайн беплатно
His wife for two moons...?
Plagued by a mysterious sickness, Crow warrior Night Storm captures the witch he believes cursed him. But his anticipated revenge dissolves when he realizes that beautiful Skylark might be the only one who can provide a cure...
Skylark agrees to pose as Night Storm’s wife so she can find a way to heal him. But when an unexpected desire flares, Sky’s mission changes and she’ll do everything in her power to find a way to make their arrangement last a lifetime!
“I need a healer. One who can help me and who will keep my secret.”
Her eyes fixed on the warrior.
Storm swallowed and looked at his face. Handsome, hopeful. There was a crease between his dark brows and his full mouth pursed as he stood for her scrutiny.
He looked like many warriors, but somehow he was different because of the way she felt when she looked at him. And there was something else—an important difference between this man and all other men. He knew she was the daughter of Heyokha and a medicine woman and still he wanted her. Not for herself but for what she might do.
Night Storm did not see her as dangerous. Or if he did he was willing to take the risk.
What a joy it has been to create two sequential historical romances that include Native American heroes and heroines from the Sioux and Crow people. Thank you to all who reviewed my last story, Running Wolf, and who wrote to tell me how much you enjoyed hearing the story of my warrior woman.
This tale is of a woman who wants to be a great healer, like her grandmother, and a man who wants only to regain what he has lost: his ability to fight for his people. For, as anyone who has ever suffered a life-altering injury or accident knows, it is sometimes impossible to return to the life one led before. This is the story of a warrior’s struggle to become what he once was and the healer who believes he can be so much more. As you’ve already suspected, the ride will be rough, the stakes high and the outcome uncertain.
In this story I have blended real medical conditions with the mysticism of the Plains Indian tribes in the 1800s. I hope readers will indulge my blending of science and spirituality and enjoy the adventure of Night Storm and Skylark.
To help you keep time with the Crow people I have added a moon calendar at the back of the story. Each tribe called the moons by different names. This is my interpretation of the appropriate names for the moons in each season.
Happy reading and, as always, enjoy the adventure!
Award-winning author JENNA KERNAN writes fast-paced Western and paranormal romantic adventures. She has penned over two dozen novels, has received two RITA® nominations, and in 2010 won the Book Buyers’ Best Award for her debut paranormal romance. Jenna loves an adventure. Her hobbies include recreational gold-prospecting, scuba diving and gem-hunting. Follow Jenna on Twitter @jennakernan, on Facebook or at jennakernan.com.
For Jim, always.
Contents
Many Flowers Moon
Northern Yellowstone River Valley, Crow Territory 1859
Night Storm stared down at the young woman standing before his horse and felt his throat go dry.
It was her.
His heart beat as fast as running feet and accelerated again when her eyes met his and she realized she’d been discovered. A glance would tell her that he was not enemy Sioux but one of the Crow people.
She grasped her collecting bag and straightened, her hand going to her skinning knife. What a picture she made, outwardly plain, her clothing drab as the feathers of a female pheasant. But it was not her clothing that appealed. Not even her elaborate moccasins and the ornately quilled sheath for her knife that fell between her full breasts. His little quail’s beauty was more subtle. She did not need feathers and beads. Her dress was not dyed a bright yellow or green or red like so many women he could name. Neither did she sew coins or elks’ teeth to the yoke of her dress. Her hair was long and braided, but she did not dress the braids with fur or trade cloth. In fact she seemed to have secured the ends with green grass. He chuckled at her complete lack of guile.
This one needed none of those adornments to shine. Her beauty came from her face and figure, her grace and poise, and also from her skills.
He knew of no other woman who would ever consider straying on her own so far from her tribe. But when she stood to face him, he did not see fear, just a kind of watchfulness.
“Why are you out here all alone?” he asked.
