Montana

She Captures My Heart is on Sale!

by

Howy!

It’s snowing!  Well, it’s really raining, but on Tuesday it’s supposed to snow here most of the day.  Don’t know what the weather is where you are, but whatever it is, I hope you are enjoying it.  So, without further ado, let me give y’all a warm welcome!  Welcome to a terrific Tuesday!

My latest effort, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART, is going to be on sale this week, but the sale goes away on Sunday (or maybe Monday).  Normally priced at $4.99, it is on sale now for $2.99.

This story is about two people who met under unusual circumstances when teenagers (Amelia, the heroine of the story, was fourteen or fifteen — I forget which and he, GRAY FALCON, was nineteen, I believe).  They meet in book #1, SHE STEALS MY BREATH.  And so today, instead of giving you an excerpt of a scene from the current book, I thought I’d share the two scenes Amelia and Gray Falcon share in book #1, when these two meet and became friends.

I’ll start the excerpt out with a short blurb of the current story, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART.

Hope you’ll enjoy the excerpt (First Comes the Blurb from She Captures My Heart).

 

Two Worlds. Two Hearts. A Forbidden Passion.

Amelia McIntosh was only fourteen when she fell in love with the young and handsome Gray Falcon of the Blackfoot Tribe. He’d helped her through a difficult time, and, for him in turn, she’d opened up a vital part of the medicine man’s world. Five years later, Amelia is still in love with the mesmerizing Gray Falcon, but her refusal to marry anyone but him has created a dangerous problem for her and her family.

When Amelia—the pesky little girl from Gray Falcon’s past—returns to the Northwest, he can’t help but notice she has blossomed into a beautiful, desirable woman — one who sets his heart aflame. Yet, he must resist her feminine charms because, though she is a friend, what she asks of him is against all Gray Falcon stands for as a medicine man.

United only in love, will love, alone, be enough to stand strong against a world threatening to pull them apart?

And now, the two excerpts from the book SHE STEAL MY BREATH.

Excerpt #1 from Chapter Eight of the book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH

“Ipii vai, enter,” called Gray Falcon to the scratch a visitor was making upon his lodge.  He was surprised when his friend, Comes Running, was followed into the tepee by a young, pretty white girl.  He recognized this girl, for he had seen her often within the fort; he knew she was the younger sister of Laylah, the beautiful white woman who so fascinated his friend, Eagle Heart.

Gray Falcon had not, however, expected a girl to come visiting—especially a white girl—and he didn’t know what to do.  How did one act toward such a one, especially since he had never entertained a girl within his lodge, let alone a white girl.

What was she doing here?

But, Comes Running was preparing to leave, and Gray Falcon called out to him, “Are you not staying?”

“I cannot,” said Comes Running.  “The girl found me and asked me to bring her to you.  I have done this.  Now, I must go and fortify my own lodge against the storm.”  And, this said, he left.

Not knowing what to do or how to respond to the girl, Gray Falcon came up onto his knees and gestured toward the opposite side of the lodge, inviting the girl to sit.  She sat.

She was a pretty girl, with long, brown hair and eyes that seemed to change color with the clothing she wore.  Several days ago, he had seen her wearing blue, and her eyes had appeared to be blue.  Now, however, their color was not blue; instead, her eyes were a deep green, like those of a mountain lion’s in the dark depths of the night.  But, unlike a mountain lion’s stare, her look was not that of a predator.  Rather, it was fearful.  Was she afraid of him?

It seemed unlikely, since it was she who had sought him out, not the opposite.  He continued his study of her, though his gaze at her was fast and sharp, pretending he had no interest in why she was here before him—and in the middle of a blizzard.

Her face was shaped like a heart, as though it might mirror the emotions of compassion and love.  But, lovely and pretty though she might be, she was much too young for a man’s admiration.  And, she was white.

At present, she was gazing around the inside of the lodge, and Gray Falcon was well aware when she eventually came to include him in her perusal, but she looked quickly away.  At last, however, she said to him using sign language, “I have been asking about you.”

He nodded, then gazed at her quickly.  He signed, “Me?  You have been asking about me?  Why?”

“You are the friend of a man called Eagle Heart, are you not?”  She had pronounced the name “Eagle Heart” aloud.

“I am,” he signed.

“My…my sister is missing.  And, according to my sister’s fiancé, it is possible Mr. Eagle Heart left the fort to go out into the storm to find her and keep her safe.”

He nodded.

“My father can’t find her.  Her fiancé can’t find her.  Her fiancé tells the story that she was thrown from her horse and was hurt bad and was in so much pain, Mr. Thomas, who is her fiancé, could not move her.  He returned to the fort then and tried to secure a party of men to go back to her, but he could not raise one because the blizzard came upon us so suddenly.  It is true he has looked for her since then.  But, because of this frightful storm, no one can leave the fort for longer than several minutes at a time, for, as you know, there is danger of a man getting lost in the storm’s wrath.  Still, my father found he could not sit at home and do nothing.  So, he and Thomas left the fort in the middle of this blizzard to try to find her, but they could not do so, and they barely managed to make their way back to the fort again.

“Please, I am here because you are Mr. Eagle Heart’s friend, and I was wondering if you might know if he went to rescue my sister.  Mr. Thomas has said he believes this is so.  Please, do you know if this be true?  Did your friend go to her?  Is he with her?”

Gray Falcon didn’t answer at once.  After all, didn’t the elders teach the boys that a real man must first think through his thoughts before speaking?  Yet, he was impressed with the girl.  Young though she might be, she had yet mastered the language of sign well enough to make herself understood by him.  Still, what could his reply be to her?

No man was under any obligation to tell others what he planned or what he might do, and this included his friend, Eagle Heart.  A man made his way in life without needing the assurance of another.  It was what made a boy into a man.  Still, it seemed only logical that if Eagle Heart had known the woman, Laylah, was in trouble, he would have gone to her.

But, how was he to tell this girl these truths in a way that might set her mind at ease, and without further questioning?  At length, and after more thought on the matter, he signed, “I do not know this with certainty, but I suspect my friend might be with her.  If he knew she were in trouble, it is to be assumed he went to find her and keep her safe.”  He didn’t add that he believed this because his friend was captivated with the beautiful woman, Laylah; it wasn’t necessary to make this known to the girl.  One had only to observe the manner in which Eagle Heart glanced at the woman, Laylah, to know he was besotted with her.

“Mr. Falcon, do you really think he might have gone to her?”

“I do.  He is not here with me, though this is his lodge.  Have no fear.  He would not become lost if he went to find her.  And, finding her, he would take care of her.”

“But, what if he found her too late?  What if…what if…  What if she needs a doctor to attend to her?”

“What is a ‘doctor’?”

“You call them ‘medicine men,'” she signed.

“My friend is such a man.  If anyone can save her and keep her warm through the storm, it will be my friend.  Do not worry.”

Gray Falcon meant what he said.  He doubted Eagle Heart would have found the woman too late.  If his friend intended to find her and save her, so it would be.  Further, he knew Eagle Heart would do everything within his power to keep her alive.  And, his friend did have this kind of  power.

“Please, sir, I thank you for what you have said, but I am very worried about my sister, and I have come here to ask if you might please take me out of here and into the blizzard to look for my sister in case he didn’t find her….”  She sighed.  “I am sorry to bother you, but I must do something.  I cannot sleep for worry over her.  I cannot eat.  I would leave on my own to find her, but I cannot go into the blizzard alone.  I know this.  I would become lost and most likely would die.  But, sir, I have not known what to do to help my sister or who to turn to.  Neither my father nor my mother understands how devastated I am at my sister’s disappearance.

“And, then I remembered you and Mr. Eagle Heart are friends.”  She paused and looked once more around the lodge.  “Will you help me to find her?”

Gray Falcon was impressed with the girl’s compassion for her sister, as well as her courage in seeking him out to gain his assistance.  However, he could not give her what she wanted, and so he signed, “I…I have no way of finding him.  There will be no tracks for me to follow, and, without tracks that show me where he has gone, I can be of no help to you.”

When the young girl began to weep, Gray Falcon despaired.  He had no knowledge of what to do for a girl like this.  And, not knowing, he remained silent.

“Sir, please.  I must try to find her.  I know where she last was, for Mr. Thomas could tell us that much.  Perhaps you could take me there?”

He didn’t answer at once.  How did a man speak to a girl like this and bring her to understand the dangers of this kind of storm?  How did he tell her they might likely die if they were to leave here and traipse through the storm, not knowing where they were going?  How did he answer her pleas without causing her more grief?

He couldn’t.  And, even though his heart was touched by the girl’s love for her sister, he knew he would not be able to help her.  At length, he signed, “I dare not take you away from here.  Storms like this are best used to settle down in one’s lodge and endure through them.  If I were to go with you into the blizzard, we might get lost.  Death could be the result.”

She glanced away from him and asked, “May I stay here, then?  I can’t go home.”

“You are too young to be alone with me.  Do your parents know you are here?”

She didn’t answer.

“I am sorry, but you cannot stay here,” he signed.  “Come, I will walk you to the gate of the fort.”

“Sir, please don’t send me away.”  She glanced down.  But, soon, lifting her glance to his, she signed, “It took me most of the day to summons my courage to come here to speak to you.  Please do not make me leave.”

He frowned at her.  “I cannot keep you here.  We are alone, and you are too young to be here with me while no one else is in the lodge with us.  Also, you will be missed, and when they look for you and find you here with me, there will be trouble for me, for my people and for you, too, I think.  But, I will tell you what I will do.  There is perhaps a way I might be able to reach my friend.  But, I must be alone to accomplish this, and I must do this in the ancient and proper way.  You cannot be here while I reach out to him, for you would distract me.  I will take you back to the fort, and you may come here tomorrow to see what I have discovered.  Come, I will walk you to the fort’s gate so you do not lose your way in the storm.”

“No, please don’t send me away.  Please.”

He didn’t speak.  In truth, he didn’t know what to say to this girl or what to do with her, and he had been honest: he was afraid there would be trouble because she was here with him…and alone with him.

“Couldn’t I sit in the back of your lodge?  I would turn my back on you.”

“No,” he signed.  “It is not right that you should be here with me when no one else is present.  I cannot state this too greatly.  And, if you wish me to try to contact my friend, I must be alone.”

She didn’t answer.  She simply sat before him and stared down at the buffalo robe she sat upon.  At last, she signed, “I am afraid I won’t be able to return here tomorrow because I am gone now, and they will be strict with me tomorrow.  Please, I won’t be any trouble to you.”

Gray Falcon sighed.  “What you do not understand is that you are already in trouble,” he signed.  “After a certain age, no young girl may be alone with a boy of my age.  What is your age?”

“I am fourteen.”

“No, you cannot stay here.  You are old enough that you could be thought of in an ill manner if you stay here with me.  I do not wish this for you.  I do not wish this for me.”

She sat still for a moment, then began to cry.

He sighed.  What was he to do?  Eventually, he gained her attention and signed, “Stay here.  I will see if one of the women in our band will allow you to stay with her in her lodge.”

“You would do this for me?”

“I will try.  I may not be successful.”  He didn’t look at her to see what her response might be.  Instead, he rose and trod toward the entryway; leaning over, he prepared to crawl out of his lodge.  But, he didn’t.

Looking back at the girl, he signed, “Did you bring any of your things with you?  Extra clothing?  Food?”

She shook her head.  “I had to run away quickly.”

He didn’t answer.  Instead, he pulled back the flap to his tepee and stepped out into the snowy blizzard.

This is the first time these two meet.  And now for the second excerpt in the book, which occurs later on, but again, Amelia is asking Gray Falcon to let her go with him to rescue her sister.

Excerpt #2:

Gray Falcon heard the scratch on the buckskin covering of his lodge’s entrance.  At once, he knew the identity of the caller without even looking.

He said, “Ipii, enter.”

When Amelia McIntosh stepped into his lodge, he greeted her with a quick nod and a smile.  Indeed, in these last few weeks, he had become used to her many visits; he even looked forward to them.  At first, he had considered her a nuisance, but with her continued determination to speak with him, he had become used to her—and considered her to be a friend.

She was a pretty girl in her youthful demeanor.  Her brown hair often shone with health, and her facial shape looked more heart-like than round or straight.  Her cheeks most often were rosy, and her eyes were gray—the color of his namesake, the gray falcon.  But, the color of her eyes was unusual, for it often changed depending on the shade of her clothing.

She was not flirtatious with him when she came to visit, nor was he with her.  This made it easy to be friends.  Usually, their conversations concerned his friend and her sister, and it was through Amelia that he had learned of Eagle Heart’s marriage to the woman his friend called Ikamo’si-niistówa-iitámssin, Steals-my-breath.

“I’ve come to inform you of what my father is doing,” Amelia told him using sign language, for they had neither one learned the other’s language.

He nodded and gestured toward the place across the fire opposite to him.  It was his way of asking her to be seated.

As she sat down upon the buffalo robe which he had long ago placed there especially for her, she continued, “My father has hired a Crow scout who brags he can track anyone or anything, and he and my father have left the fort to go in search of my sister and your friend.  My father has told my mother he intends to catch your friend and my sister together, and he means to kill Eagle Heart and bring Laylah back home.”  She glanced away from him, and he saw so much sadness within her look he felt compelled to rush to her side and give her comfort.  But, she was not his to touch nor to hug, not even as one friend might give aid to another.

“My mother begged him not to do this,” continued Amelia, “but, my father is determined.  ‘No daughter of mine,’ he’d said, ‘is going to leave a perfectly good man at the altar to run off with a savage.’  Even now, my mother is in her room, crying.  I have come to you to ask if your business at the fort is done and, if it is, if you might be able to track behind my father and the Crow scout.  It is in my mind to ask you to prevent my father from killing your friend.  If my father really does find them and he murders Eagle Heart, I know my sister will never forgive him.  And I would not ever see her again.”

He nodded and, by way of gestures, said, “I will do as you ask.  The trade I came here to do is finished, and I have been preparing to go on the trail of my friend and join him in his search of his brother.  I have only delayed leaving because he is newly married and would not appreciate me interrupting his first days together with his bride.  But, now is the right time to go, though only a few weeks have passed.”

“You will do this for me, for my sister, too?”

“Áa,” he said, then continued in sign, “If your father and a Crow scout are on his trail, I must leave at once.  It is good that all my trading is now concluded.”

“I want to come with you.”

Gray Falcon was taken aback and signed, “You cannot.  It is not safe for you to come with me.”

“I would, too, be safe.  My father would never hurt me.”

“It matters not.  Bullets can go astray as can arrows.  And, there is another reason you cannot go: you must not be alone with me on the trail.  You are too young and others will think that we…  No, if your father means to kill my friend, where I am going could be very dangerous.”

“I know,” she signed.  “I still want to go with you.  And, I disagree with you about being alone together.  After all, I’m here with you now, and nothing has happened.”

“Saa,” he said.  He then signed, “There are many others in this camp who can see our shadows on the tepee, and I have always ensured our silhouettes are never close together.  You also come here frequently, and so many of my people are accustomed to seeing you with me.  But, being on the trail with me is different.  We would be entirely alone.”

“I know.”

“Instead,” he continued, “please stay here and keep my friend’s lodge with you until either he or I can return and claim it from you.”

“My mother could do this, and I could then go with you.”

“Saa.”  The word was more emphatic said the second time.  “It is too dangerous.  You are too young.  People will think bad things about you if I allow you to travel with me and if I don’t also marry you.  And, you are too young for me to marry.”

“I am not.  My grandmother on my father’s side married my grandfather when she was fourteen.  I am fourteen, soon to be fifteen.”

“You forget.  I have not asked you to marry me.”

She glanced up at him with a look of reserve in her eyes.  It was an emotion he had not witnessed in her demeanor before now.

She asked, “Are you married to someone else?”

He sighed deeply, then signed, “I am not.  But, you must not do this.  It is the man’s place to ask the woman.”

“I am waiting….”

He laughed.  He had often found her to be an amusing girl, but this…  He was Indian, she was white and her father was tracking his friend, Eagle Heart because he had dared to marry his other daughter.  This was trouble.  She was trouble.  And, it was drama he did not wish to court.

After a moment, she breathed in deeply and signed, “If you will not let me go with you, will you at least kiss me goodbye?”

“Saa,” he said.  He followed the word with sign and said, “We are not a married couple that we might kiss, and I say this again: you are too young for me to marry.  You must be content to grow up and wait.”

“And, then you’ll ask me?”

He chuckled again.  “If I were to marry you,” he signed, “I would be as bad off as the hawk who must do the bidding of his mate.  Always, you would be squawking at me like the female sparrow to do this or that.  A man likes to have peace in his home.”

“Well, I can see I will have to do it, then.”

“Do what?”

She came up to her feet, paced toward him and, bending, kissed him on the lips.  He was startled—not by her behavior, because he had come to expect these kinds of occurrences from her.  No, he was shocked because it felt good.  Too good.

He looked up at her with new eyes, but he did not kiss her back.  Instead, he scooted as far away from her as his lodge would allow.

Nevertheless, she followed him, knelt in front of him and signed, “I will never forget your friendship with me at a time when I desperately needed a friend.  And, I hope you will never forget me.”

He nodded.  He would not forget her, nor would he be able to put her kiss very far out of his mind.  But, all he signed in response was, “Do not fear.  I will always remember you.  Will you come here tomorrow to see me off on my journey and take the tepee and other possessions from me?”

“I will.”

“I will be leaving early in the morning, before the sun is up in the eastern sky.”

“I know,” she signed.  Then she smiled at him as she came up to her feet and, turning away from him, strode toward the tepee’s entrance flap.  Before she stepped over the bottom fold, however, she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him again.  She whispered, “Wait for me,” in English, and then she was gone.

He didn’t know what she’d said, yet he nodded all the same.  And, as he watched her go, he prayed the time when she would grow into adulthood might pass quickly, for he did wish to see her again and  experience her kiss once more.  But, perhaps when they were both a little older.

 

Well, that’s all for today!  Hope you enjoyed reading the excerpt.  Again, the book is on sale at Amazon for $2.99 and is is also on KU so you might be able to read it for free.

 

 

tinyurl.com/SHE-CAPTURES-MY-HEART

 

 

Welcome to 2023! Interview & Give-Away

by

Welcome to my first Tuesday blog in 2023!

Hope y’all had a great and warm Holiday season.  Must admit mine was very busy, made busier because I had a new release out in December, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART.  A little bit of trivia:  forgive me if I blow my own horn here, okay?  This new book, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART, hit #1 spot for new releases on Amazon in the American Historical Romance category.

It’s a first for me and it was an unexpected excitement, I must admit.  I’ll be giving away an e-book of this new release to one of you bloggers today, so please don’t hesitate to come on in and leave a message.  I don’t know how to do screen shots yet and so I made a pdf of the page.  I tried to copy it here, but all that came out is here:

New Releases in American Historical Romance
#1
She Captures My Heart (The Medicine Man)
17
Kindle Edition
18 pts
Karen Kay
$3.49

Also, during December, I was interviewed by Written Word Media and I thought I’d post it here.  And, if you would be so kind, I’d like to leave a short excerpt of the book, also.  So here we go!

Book Title:

SHE CAPTURES MY HEART

 

What’s the story behind the story? What inspired you to write this book?

The Native American Medicine Man has always intrigued me because he was known to be able to heal people with natural remedies, as well as to help them become well by means of rhythm and song.  Sometimes the medicine man was known to be able to see into the future and often he was aware of what was in the environment for many miles around him.  The old Native American Scout also had this ability to see for miles around him.  There is a lot we don’t today know about these gallant men and it intrigued me to be able to research into this and to write about it. 

 

If you had to pick theme songs for the main characters of your book, what would they be? (Meant to be fun. Skip if you need to!)

For the heroine, Amelia McIntosh, I would pick the song, “A LOVE SO BEAUTIFUL,” by Roy Obison.  I would pick this song because she brings beauty and love into the hero’s life.

For the hero, Gray Falcon, it would be “HEART TAKER,” by John Trudell.  This is a beautiful and romantic poem/song by John Trudell.

 

What’s your favorite genre to read? Is it the same as your favorite genre to write?

Romance, of course.  But I also enjoy Fantasy, Paranormal and Adventure.  But with other genres, for me, it must have a romantic element.  Also, I love reading Native American history for my stories.  This research, as we call it, is truly the icing on the cake.

 

What books are on your TBR pile right now?

Mostly I have research books on my TBR list:  AN INDIAN WINTER by James Willard Schultz; THE SUN GOD’S CHILDREN, by James Willard Schultz; IN THE GREAT APACHE FOREST, by James Willard Schultz; FOOLS CROW by Thomas E. Mails; BLACKFEET AND BUFFALO, by James Willard Schultz.  There are others but, at present, these are what I have waiting for me.

 

What scene in your book was your favorite to write?

There’s a scene in the book near the middle of it where the heroine “comes clean” with the hero and confesses not only what’s in her heart, but the terrible problem she is facing and how she hopes it might affect him and her.  I didn’t really know what his reaction was going to be to this.  At first he was a little angry with her, but then, when he began to tease her and to court her for real, his antics made me giggle a little.

 

Do you have any quirky writing habits? (lucky mugs, cats on laps, etc.)

Hmmm.  I like to be warm when I write, especially I like warmth on my feet.  Must have my coffee handy, also.  And, when I am creatively writing (not editing), I love to have music playing in the background.

 

Do you have a motto, quote or philosophy you live by?

Another hmmm moment…  I guess when it comes to writing, it might be “finish what I start.”  Also, it applies to other things, like housework…finish what I start.  Sometimes not easy to do, but if I don’t do it, my mind seems to get cluttered.  So the motto, “Finish what I start,” would work well, I think.

 

If you could choose one thing for readers to remember after reading your book, what would it be?

I think I might like for people to think about this: that people are people regardless of color.  An Apache Medicine Man once said that we are all one race, the human race, and it comes in different colors.  I think he was very wise.

 

What is your Author Website? (If you have one, great! If not, no worries! 

https://novels-by-KarenKay.com

Well, that’s all of the interview.  And now for a short excerpt:  Please enjoy!

SHE CAPTURES MY HEART

by

Karen Kay

CHAPTER ONE

The Season When the Grass Becomes Green

St. Louis, Missouri

March 1840

As nineteen-year-old Amelia McIntosh scanned the contents of her trunk, she rejoiced.  After an entire year of planning this trip, the day had finally arrived: she was returning to the Northwest Indian Country.  Only her sister and her mother knew of her intentions, and they had sworn their allegiance to her, promising to not tell her father about what she had arranged until it was too late.

She smiled as she reached out a hand to trail her fingers over her several pairs of slippers and silk stockings; so pretty, so delicate.  These lay at the bottom of her trunk.  Picking up two muslin chemises, she placed these on top of the slippers and stockings.  Then, reaching out to gather together an assortment of corsets and stays, as well as petticoats and garter belts, she gently folded these on top of the rest.  Even a few pairs of trousers followed; these would be useful for wearing under her skirts whenever she felt inclined to take a stroll over the prairie.

On top of these, she laid out her many beautiful dresses, neatly folded.  There was one in green velvet, another in blue silk as well as a pink dress made of satinet.  But, her favorite was the dress of yellow silk.  It was beautifully low-cut, emphasizing a tiny “V”-shaped waistline.  And, it showed off her figure to perfection.  This was the dress she would wear to see him again.

Looking up, she glanced out her bedroom window, beholding the neighbors’ several cows grazing in the field that adjoined her parents’ property.  In the distance, she could clearly see corn and wheat fields stretching on and on into the distance, seemingly without end.

She sighed.  Nothing ever happened here.  At least nothing that helped to cure her of the longing to be out West, where every sunset was a work of God’s beauty and where the weather could change in a second.  Indian Country…  Gray Falcon was there.  She wanted to be there with him.

Silently she said, “I am coming back to the Northwest to see you—as well as my sister and her husband, of course.”  She didn’t say the words aloud.  Indeed, she spoke to Gray Falcon with her mind alone, not expecting him to answer, since he only sometimes “spoke” back to her.

“I know,” answered Gray Falcon.

His response surprised her, given that she had not anticipated a reply.  For five years they had communicated with one another in this way—mind to mind.  And, the distance between them hadn’t mattered.  The only drawback was that he rarely originated their little talks.  And, not always did he even answer her, although whenever he didn’t, he assured her afterward he had “heard” her well enough.

She sighed and said in the mind talk, “I am now grown up and ready to meet you again.”

“I know.  I am glad you reached out to me, for I have been wishing to speak to you.”

“You could always begin the conversation yourself, instead of waiting for me to contact you.”

She almost heard him grin.  “I should not encourage you.  You are already too forward for a girl.  My message to you is this: you must not travel alone.”

“I am not.  My best friend and her fiancé are accompanying me.”

“Does your father know you are traveling into my country?”

“No.”

“And your mother?”

“She is not here.  But, if she were, she would not try to stop me.  Indeed, it is she who suggested I travel to see you…and to visit with my sister, also.”

“Why would she recommend this to you?”

“Because I have had several proposals of marriage, but have turned them all away.  My mother is a little upset with me.”  Deliberately, she refused to think of the real reason her mother and father were “a little” upset with her.  It would serve no purpose to tell him, and it might even hinder her if Gray Falcon knew the rest of the truth behind this trip.

“Several proposals?  Of marriage?”

“As I mentioned, I am now grown up.”

“Why have you turned them down?”

“Because I do not love those men.  Don’t play innocent with me, Gray Falcon.  You know I love only you.  I have done so since the first time I ever saw you, and you know it.  I have not changed.  But, my mother thinks I should renew our friendship, for she believes only in this way might I change my mind about your culture and about you.”  There, that was all she would communicate on the matter.  Again, she kept the other motive for returning to Northwest carefully hidden within her thoughts.  Besides, she had always known she would return there to see him.  She was not lying to him about this, nor that she loved him and would always love him.

“Renew our friendship?  Surely she is not seeking for us to come to know each other in a physical way, is she?”

“Don’t be silly.  Of course she is not.  She hopes that I will come to see your world as primitive, and, realizing it is so, will give up my wish to marry you.  The truth is, she seeks to bring peace between me and my father, which will happen only if I give up my dreams of spending the rest of my life with you.  She tells me she doubts her plans for me will fail, for she believes either I shall soon tire of you, or you of me.”

He didn’t answer.  At last, however, he said in the thought speech, “Why do you tell me this?”

“To be fair and so you will know there is another reason besides simply seeing you and my sister to account for my coming to where you are.  I have not swayed away from being true to our friendship or from loving you—not even a little—but my mother wants me to put my feelings for you behind me, and she believes I will only be able to do this if I come to know a little more about the Blackfoot people, and you in particular.”  Again, Amelia kept her own reason for returning carefully buried in her thoughts.  Now was not the time to speak of it, if there ever would be a time.

“I have never sought to marry you.”

“I know.”

“But, your mother is wise, since she is aware of the friendship we formed between us.  It is this, I think, that causes her to be alarmed, for we became closer than perhaps she would have liked.  She, like your father, is afraid of a marriage between us.  But, what she doesn’t know is this: we can never marry.  Indeed, to marry one another could cause us both unhappiness.”

“I don’t agree.”

“I am not asking you to.  But, as you have been forthright with me, I will be so with you, if you do not fear me to speak of concerns that may not be easy for you to know.”

“Yes.  Please.  I am not afraid of what you have to tell me.  I probably know anyway.”

“Yes.  Although we became allied long ago, I have not wished to make you my woman.  It is not because there is anything wrong with you or because I do not like you.  I do like you.  I have always liked you, as you know.  But, I fear that were I to seek making our friendship into a romance, my life would be full of conflict and strife.  Always, there would be a plan or a scheme you would be urging me to fix for you.”

“You would never be bored if we married.”

“This is true.  However, I would also never have peace in my life.  But, we leave a detail behind us which concerns me.  Are you aware that if you continue to reject these men who seek your hand, your father might likely force you to marry a man of his choosing, not yours?”

Quickly, she froze her thoughts.

After a moment, he asked in the mind speak, “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I did, and I suppose he could try,” she replied.  “But, I am, after all, the one who is required to say ‘I do.’  And, I will tell you again, I love only you and wish to be with you.  Still, I have given my word to my mother to renew our acquaintance and to try to give you up.”  This was all she would say on the matter; she would not lie.  She was simply keeping a rather large part of the truth from him.

He was silent for a long while.  At length, he said in mind speak, “You have pledged your word to her about this?”

“I have.”

Again there was a long pause before he continued, “I say this to you: your mother is wise.  You are white; you have no knowledge of my people and what would be required of you as a Pikuni man’s woman.  And, your experience with me is limited to one snow season, now five winters ago.  I think it is mere infatuation you feel for me, not love.”

“And, so you know my heart better than I do?”

He paused for a long moment, and she wondered if he had turned his attention to something else.  At length, however, he continued, “Again, I will say it: we are like the fox and the wolf.  We are natural enemies, but, under the same cause, we became aligned in an effort to help my friend and your sister.  Perhaps we should have never allowed ourselves to become friends.  But, we did.  Remember, we have never been more than allies in a cause, made to be that way because of a great threat to those people who were very beloved to us both.  I will tell this to you once more: I wish to be only a good friend to you.  Nothing more.”

“Why?  When I—”

“Because you are not like any girl I have ever known, and, while there is nothing wrong with you, if I were to bring you in close to me, I fear I would never know again what it means to have a sense of harmony and calm in my life.  And, I would like to have peace in my lodge.  I tell you this again: your mother is right.  Becoming my woman can never be in your future, and perhaps your coming here will help you to give up this idea.  Indeed, I am thinking I might align myself with your mother and invent ways for you to dislike me.”

“Oh, stop it.  And, I don’t like this concept of ‘never’ becoming your woman.”

“It will not be, simply because I say it will not be.”

“But, you are willing for me to become more familiar with you so I might give you up?”

He paused.  “Perhaps.  That is, if ‘becoming more familiar’ with each other is about helping you to give up this idea of becoming my woman.  Again, I must say this to you: I am not inclined toward marriage with you.  Nor should you be trying to be this with me.”

“But,” she said in the mind speak, “if this be so, and our bond with each other is not based on love, but rather, as you say, a need to help my sister and your friend, why have you not married yet?  You are not too young to have taken a wife by now.”

“I am the way I am because a man must have his feet firmly planted upon the ground before he marries.  Do not think it is because I wait for you.”

And yet, she knew this was not the complete truth.  She knew it because his thoughts and hers were momentarily joined.  There could be no lies between them, unless—like she was doing—those ideas were well hidden within his mind.

She glanced at her pocket watch.  “Oh dear.  I am late.  I must go,” she said, jumping to her feet.  “Our boat is set to sail shortly, and I must be aboard.  Wait for me.”

“This is my home.  I will be here.”

The communication ended.

 

Well, that’s all for now.  I would love to hear from you!

 

tinyurl.com/SHE-CAPTURES-MY-HEART

A Very Merry Christmas Blog! And, a New Release!

by

Howdy!

Welcome to a Terrific Tuesday on this December day with only 12 more days until Christmas!

Are you ready?  All your shopping done?  I know I’m not ready…not yet.

Before I begin with the blog, let me be sure to say that I’ll be giving away a free e-book of my new release, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART today.

Although the American Indians in the early 1800’s did not celebrate Christmas — they didn’t really know about Christianity until later in the century — they often celebrated the winter season by telling stories around the campfire.  And so, today I’d like to tell you an American Indian story, as well as post an excerpt from my new release, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART.

This is a true story about a young Blackfoot woman who found romance when she least expected it.  Just so you know, I am changing the names of these people.

Comes Running Woman lost her parents during an Assiniboine raid.  She was a beautiful woman, and, although her relatives asked her to live with them, she refused, preferring to live alone.  Time went on and after her grieving period was over, several young men asked for her hand.  But she refused them all.

Although she might have hated the Assiniboine warriors who had raided the Blackfeet and killed her parents, she tried to encourage the chiefs of her own tribe to make peace with the Assiniboine.  She was not successful, but she kept trying.

Red Coyote was the son of a chief and he loved Comes Running Woman, but he never approached her because she had refused to marry any of the young men who had sought her hand.  Instead, he watched her from afar and he tried to help her with whatever she was attempting to do, even watering her garden at night for her.

Many months went by as he watched Comes Running Woman, but always did he keep his distance from her.

Then, one day the Crow tribe raided the Blackfeet and the Blackfeet repelled the Crow.  However, several Crow were killed in the raid.  Comes Running Woman, however, found one Crow warrior who was badly injured, but still alive.  Because she wanted peace with the other tribes on the Plains, she tried to help this man.  She tried to lift him up to bring him to her lodge where she hoped to save his life.  But she couldn’t move the man.

Red Coyote came her rescue and lifted the man up and took him to her lodge, whereupon he laid the man down on one of her many couches.  Red Coyote didn’t ask for anything.  Instead, he simply looked at this woman whom he admired so much.

When she needed herbs or water, he always brought her the things she requested.  He even helped her to administer them to the Crow warrior.

But, he never asked her for anything.  He simply helped her.

The Crow warrior soon healed and was ready to leave and go back to his own home.  Comes Running Woman asked the warrior to please talk to his people and tell them about how the Blackfeet had helped him and ask them to please come and make peace.  The Crow warrior agreed to do this.

But, how to get him out of the Blackfeet encampment without being seen or causing a fight?

It was Red Coyote who came to the rescue of Comes Running Woman; he dressed the Crow warrior in Blackfeet clothing.  Before they left, Red Coyote asked Comes Running Woman if she was ready to go with the Crow warrior.  But she didn’t answer.

Instead, the Crow warrior said, “I go alone.”

Red Coyote then walked the man out of the tribal camp and answered the questions from the scouts who were on lookout.

Once he had taken the Crow Warrior far away from the encampment, he turned to the man to let him go, but the Crow Warrior, using sign language, asked, “Why don’t you ask Comes Running Woman to marry you?”

Red Coyote answered that he could not, because she was in love with him, the Crow Warrior.

The Crow warrior responded to this and said to Red Coyote that she didn’t love him.  Hadn’t he ever noticed the loving looks she always gave to him, Red Coyote?  No, the Crow warrior said to Red Coyote, she is not in love with me; she is in love with you.

The Crow warrior left to go back to his people and Red Coyote returned to the tepee of Comes Running Woman.  Upon entering the lodge, he simply sat before her, not looking at her, but simply sat with her.

She asked him if the Crow warrior had left with no trouble.

Red Coyote said he had, but then, he asked, “Do you want me to take you to him?  If you love him, I will escort you to him.”

She shook her head and said, “I do not love him.  So I do not wish to go with him.  I love only one man.  Do you know who that man is?”

Red Coyote said, “No.”

“It is you,” said Comes Running Woman.  “It has always been you; you, with your kind heart and helpful ways.  I have loved no one else.”

Red Coyote was joyous to learn this was, indeed, true.  Soon they were married.

A few months passed and one day a Crow chief and several men and women approached the Blackfeet encampment.  With them was the Crow Warrior who had been so well taken care of and nurtured back to health.

Soon, all that had taken place and the good deeds bestowed upon him by Comes Running Woman and Red Coyote were told to one and all, and the Blackfeet rejoiced to learn that these two people had helped this man without letting anyone else know.  Peace was made by the Crow and by this band of the Blackfoot tribe, which was never broken.  And it was all done because of the love of a woman for her people and for all the Indian people.

It is said they lived long and happy lives together and had many children.  And, always, did the people talk about the girl and the chief’s son who brought peace between the Crow and the Blackfeet people.

I hope you have enjoyed this story, which is based on a true story from the long ago.

Now, I also have a new release, SHE CAPTURES MY HEART, book #2 in the the new Medicine Man series.  And, I thought I’d leave you with an excerpt of the book:

SHE CAPTURES MY HEART, Short Synopsis

A Forbidden Passion.

When Amelia was only fourteen, she met Gray Falcon who helped her through a difficult time. Gray Falcon always thought she was a pest, yet she opened up a vital part of the medicine man’s world to him.

As adults they meet again and fall in love, but is it enough to stand strong against a world trying to pull them apart?

Please enjoy this short excerpt:

He looked on as A’sitápi stepped across the distance between them.  Oddly, a sentiment he didn’t recognize caught hold of him, making him swallow hard.  Suddenly his eyes teared a little, and he shook his head against the feeling of the utter joy sweeping through him.

The feeling startled him out of his usual stoic demeanor.  Indeed, he was more than aware that he—who was inclined to show little emotion even under great stress—was happy to see her.  Even considering all the reasons he knew as to why he should keep her at a distance, he wondered how he could not have recognized how much he had missed her friendship.

Pest, she might be.  Forthright and bold, she was.  But, she was also his friend.

She stopped her pacing about two feet away from him, and, instead of throwing herself at him as he had feared she might, she stood before him.  She looked down at the ground.  And, then she said the words he only now realized he had been waiting to hear.  She murmured, “I have missed you so much.”

“I, too,” he replied in English.

“Do you mean it?  You missed me, too?  Wait!  You speak English now?”  Her eyes were wide as she gazed up at him, and she said, “I thought you would not understand me.”

“Áa to your questions.  And, I did understand you.”

“But—”

“Your sister taught me English.  She taught me, along with her husband.  But, he was a much faster learner than I was, and he, even now, can read the words of the Americanas, whereas I cannot.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

“I thought my heart would break,” she uttered, “when we had to part.  I have grown up as quickly as I could, but it was not fast enough for me.  As soon as I came of age, I did everything I could to return here to see you again.  I have thought of you so very much, as you know, and it has been hard for me to be without you in my life.”

He smiled down at her, and, without thinking through what he was about to say, said, “Perhaps you should not tell a fully grown man about this, in case he thinks you invite him to share your blanket with him tonight.”

“Share my blanket?  I don’t understand.  What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer.  He merely smiled at her, but at the same time he wondered at himself.  Never had he ever mouthed words so suggestive to a woman—and he had said them to this girl-turned-woman whom he had always considered to be little more than a troublesome ally.

“Oh, I think I understand,” she said at last.  “Oh, Gray Falcon, I am so happy to see you!”  And, then she acted as he had feared she might.  She threw herself against him, placing her arms around his neck and hugged him closely to her.  Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched up and placed a kiss on his cheek.  At once, he was reminded of another time when she had stolen a kiss from him.

Involuntarily, he found himself attracted to her, the pest, and he honestly didn’t know what to do about it.  Unsure of her and of himself in reaction to her, he backed away from her slightly.  She didn’t, however, allow him to leave her arms completely, and at last he took the only action appropriate at this moment, and, putting his arms around her, he drew her to him.

He wasn’t prepared for the feeling of utter pleasure their embrace brought him, and the idea that he should be experiencing so much delight sent shock waves through him.  Indeed, he was struck by the fact that holding her was much more pleasant than it should have been for being mere friends.

He placed her gently away from him so she wouldn’t become aware of how happy he was to see her.  Also, he required a moment to gather his wits about him so as to provide himself a defense against the impact of her womanly charms.

Hánnia, she had grown up.

 

Well, that’s all for now.  I hope you enjoyed the American Indian story, as well as this short excerpt.

The book, by the way, is priced right now at 30% off its regular price.  Here’s a link to the book:  tinyurl.com/SHE-CAPTURES-MY-HEART

Also, please let me wish you a very Merry Christmas, as well as some very Happy Holidays to come!

NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE, a new 25th Year Anniversary Book — Plus e-book give-away

by

Howdy!

Welcome to a marvelous Monday!  Yes, that’s right, Winnie is usually here on this day, but she has some deadlines coming up and so … here I am!

Okay, NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE.  This is the third book in the Blackfoot Warrior series and it was wonderful to revisit the story.  It reacquainted me with many Blackfoot traditions I’d forgotten — including a bird’s eye look at an old time Sun Dance.

Oh, and before I go any farther, let me tell you I’ll be giving away a free e-book of NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE.  A person enters into the drawing simply by responding to the blog with a comment.  We do have a few rules you can read over to the right here, so it might be a good idea to read over them — they aren’t too terribly long-winded.

Okay, so I will leave you here with a short blurb for the book and then an excerpt.  I’ll also try to include all three covers of the book.  The newest cover, the cover done by Samhain Publishing and the original cover done by AVON/HarperCollins Books.

This is the most recent cover for the book.  And, I do love this cover.

NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE

Short blurb:

Night Thunder has vowed to protect Rebecca. When she is stolen by an enemy, he goes after her. But he can’t simply ride into the enemy camp and kill the guilty. The thieves are malcontents from his own tribe. There is only one way to save her.

He must claim her as his bride.

Hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt!

Night Thunder’s Bride by Karen Kay

 

Montana Territory

July 1834

During the moon when the flowers blossom, Strikes The Bear’s wife had been raped, abused and killed by the white men. Soon after, his sister had been taken to a white man’s sleeping robes, supposedly in marriage, only to be discarded shortly thereafter.

It had to be these events, and these events alone, which accounted for Strikes The Bear’s present behavior. No true warrior would treat a woman so badly. Not without direct provocation.

Night Thunder, hidden by many trees and bushes, sat considering, with the age-old logic which had been passed down to him since “time before mind,” that Strikes The Bear had some cause for his anger. Still, this particular white woman had not caused the tragedy to Strikes The Bear’s family. And Night Thunder had pledged to protect her; she was his responsibility. His to defend.

Night Thunder inspected the warriors’ temporary camp, knowing with a sickening sensation what was to come.

The men stood in a circle around the fire, which burned ominously, its crackle and smoky, pine-scented odor offensive rather than pleasant. A drum beat steadily, slowly—a throbbing portent of what was to come. The woman had been placed in the center of the circle—fire to her back, Strikes The Bear in front. And in his hand, Strikes The Bear wielded a knife.

Voices were raised in song and in quiet murmurings, occasionally interrupted with a bellow from Strikes The Bear and a whimper from the woman.

Night Thunder observed an oddity: there were no guards posted to watch over the encampment. Either Strikes The Bear was overly certain of his safety, or the warriors, too aroused over the spectacle taking place before them, no longer cared.

Night Thunder suspected the latter and despaired.

How could he save her?

If these men had been of an enemy tribe, Night Thunder wouldn’t have hesitated to act, despite the fact that they were fifteen and he was one. He would have already seized the opportunity for glory, rushing into the enemy camp and killing or being killed.

But such was not to be. These warriors were his own people, many of them his friends. True, they were Kainah, of the Blood tribe, while he was Pikuni—or as the white man called his people, the Piegan. Still, this made no difference. These warriors were Blackfeet, his relatives, his brothers. He could not fight them. Not and remain honorable to himself.

Yet he must save the woman.

How?

As custom dictated, the man who had stolen a woman held all rights to her.  At present this particular man was Strikes The Bear. It was not a law Night Thunder was willing or prepared to break.

Still, he had to do something.

He glanced at the woman now, noting in a single look that her golden-brown hair, usually as bright and shiny as a full autumn moon, lay lackluster and disheveled around her face. Her eyes, which he knew to be as amber as those of a panther, mirrored her fear, though pride and perhaps resignation kept her silent. Her hands shook where they were tied together in front of her; her knees trembled, making her flimsy dress flutter as though it waved in a breeze.

Yet she had jutted her chin forward, had thrown back her head and had a look upon her face which could only be called defiant. And if those were tears which fell over her cheeks, she at least pretended to have no knowledge of them.

She had courage, this one. She might be young, perhaps no more than twenty winters, but Night Thunder knew very few women who would remain so stouthearted in similar circumstances. He added one more quality to his long, growing list of her attributes: her courageous spirit. Someday, he thought, she would make a man a fine wife.

Night Thunder drew his brows together in silent realization.

Wife? Was this a possible solution? If Night Thunder claimed her as his bride…?

No, he couldn’t.

But if he could make the others believe he had married this woman, it would give him first rights to her. He could then save her without raising his hand against his brothers.

Could he do it? To do so would be the height of dishonesty. Surely Sun and the Winds would carry the tale of his treachery into the Sand Hills, reaching the ears of his ancestors, bringing those who had gone before him great shame.

Yet the consequences if he did not act…

Strikes The Bear suddenly let out a growl and, gripping his knife as though prepared to use it, approached the woman.

Her scream split the air with a terrifying intensity as the knife tore through her dress, and in that instant Night Thunder ceased to wonder if and when he should act.

He would rescue her.

Now.

****

The Indian growled at her, striking out at her with his knife, the action plummeting Rebecca instantly and horribly into the present. As though in a dream, she’d been lost in the past. She wished she could have remained there; the present held too much pain, too much fear.

She wasn’t certain how she had lived through the first few hours after her capture by these Indians, so strong had been her fear. Still, live she had.

She stared into her enemy’s black-painted face, trying to remember if she had ever seen a human being look more frightening. Nothing came to her. Nor did she register much else about the man, not even his nearly nude body. All she could focus on was his face and the knife he waved in front of her. Her stomach dropped and the scent of her own fear engulfed her. She needed no wise man to tell her what her future held.

Was this all she had left, then? Was she to join, at last, her dearly departed fiancé? Would she never see the shores of her parents’ beloved homeland, Ireland? Would she die here never to have realized her dream? Would she never dance? This last thought, strangely enough, was more depressing than all the rest, even the idea of dying.

Odd, she considered, that here, before her imminent demise, she found herself bemoaning a ball she would never have, a party she would never attend. How her parents would have moaned her loss, had they been living—that their American-born daughter would not come to know her Irish heritage.

Her heart sank.

Perhaps in the hereafter, please God.

Well, if this were all she had of her life, then let the Indian get on with it. Taking what she speculated might be her last breath, she threw back her head, raised her chin, and voiced, “Is that the best you can do to frighten me, now?”

She knew her words were hollow, however, her bravery for naught. She would break down soon enough, more’s the pity. But perhaps the Lord would let her keep her dignity, at least for a little while longer.

Propelling himself forward out of the shadows, Night Thunder leapt into the Kainah encampment, making as much noise as he could, in order to draw attention to himself.

“Night Thunder!”

He heard the woman scream out his name in the white man’s tongue. Odd, he thought fleetingly, that her voice would sound so pleasant, even under such duress.

“Go back,” she shouted at him. “There’s naught you can do for me here. There are too many of them.”

Night Thunder paid her little attention. He took note of Strikes The Bear, saw the man turn his head slightly. Night Thunder drew his arms together over his chest, preparing to meet the other Indian in silent battle. But all the other Indian did by way of greeting was grunt before he turned back toward the woman. He shouted, “Omaopii! Be quiet!” and at the same time, reached out toward her as though he might strike her.

“The devil bless you,” she spat out, defiance coloring her voice, her composure, her bearing. And Night Thunder realized that though the white woman might not have understood Strikes The Bear’s words, she had clearly grasped his actions.

Strikes The Bear shrieked all at once and sprang forward, slashing out at her again with his knife. Another piece of her dress fell to the ground. But the white woman held onto her pride, this time not uttering even a sound.

Night Thunder congratulated her silently for her fortitude. He cautioned himself, however, to show nothing: not admiration, not pride, not even his anger. “Oki, nitakkaawa, hello, my friends,” he said at last to the warriors at large. Then, with what he hoped was a tinge of humor, he added, “Do we intend to start treating the white women as these new Americans do to ours?”

“Miistapoot, go away, my cousin.” It was Strikes The Bear who spoke. “We do not wish to hear your talk if it is to say bad words about what we do.”

“You think that I would say bad words about this?”

Strikes The Bear groaned slightly before he continued, “We all know how you cater to the white man, spending so much time in his forts and lodges. Many are the times when we have likened you to a dog seeking the white man’s scraps. But you are alone in your regard for this woman. Most of us hate the white man for what he has done to us, to those dear to us. Look around you. Do you not see this for yourself?  Has not each warrior here suffered from the white man’s crimes? We do not wish to hear your honeyed words about him.”

Night Thunder listened patiently, as was the way of his people, and he paused only slightly before responding, “I come here before you with no pleasant talk for the white man on my tongue. But this woman, she is different.”

“Go away. I will do as duty requires me. Can you deny that I have the right and the obligation to do to this white woman those acts of violence which were done to my wife? Is it not true that only in this way can my spirit, and my woman’s, at last find peace?”

Night Thunder again paused, long enough to show respect for what Strikes The Bear had said. But after a few moments, Night Thunder began, “Aa, yes, my cousin has cause to speak and to do as he does, I think, and all our people weep with him in his grief.” Night Thunder shifted his weight, the action giving emphasis to his next words. “But even as he scolds the white man for his ways and scorns his path, I see my cousin also adopting his customs. For, is it not the sweet scent of the trader’s nectar that I smell here in your camp? Is it not the stench of whisky on your breath that I inhale as you speak to me? I cannot help but wonder how a man can curse one part of a society while holding another dear.”

Strikes The Bear howled and turned away from the woman. He took a few menacing steps toward Night Thunder before, motioning with his arms, he snarled, “Miistapoot! Go away!”

Night Thunder didn’t flinch, nor did he raise an arm against his cousin. “I think you have had too much of the whisky, my cousin,” he said. “It would be best if you slept through the night before you decided what to do with this woman.”

“Miistapoot! I will hear none of what you say. No man can tell another man what to do.”

Night Thunder nodded. “So the old men of our tribe tell us. But if you value your life and your few possessions, you will take great heed of my words.”

Strikes The Bear hesitated. “You speak in riddles. Say what you mean.”

“I mean this: you must leave this woman alone.”

These words seemed to cause Strikes The Bear great humor, for he began to laugh, though there was little amusement in the sound of it. At last, though, Strikes The Bear said, “My cousin has taken leave of his senses, I think.”

Night Thunder grinned. “Perhaps I have,” he said, “or perhaps you should ensure you learn all you can about a woman before you decide to use her for your own purposes.”

“A white woman? What value is a white woman to me? There seem to be so few of them that maybe if we kill them all, the white man will go away, since he will have no one in which to plant his seed.”

This statement appeared to amuse the crowd, and Night Thunder smiled along with them. Shortly, however, he held up a hand, silencing all present as he said, “You speak with the foresight of a child, my cousin. Must I remind you of the teachings of the elders in the value of life?”

“Not a white man’s life.”

“Who said I speak of a white man’s life?”

Strikes The Bear smirked. “Are your eyes so weak, my cousin, that you cannot see the color of this captive’s skin?”

“Is your mind so cluttered,” Night Thunder countered, “that you have failed to discover who she really belongs to.  I say this to you: she is not only white, she is Siksika. She is Blackfeet.”

 

Well that’s all for today.  Here’s hoping you enjoyed the excerpt.  Be sure to leave a message — oh, also, let me know what you think of the three different covers for this book

Here’s a link to the book and the book is also on KU.

tinyurl.com/y634cs87

 

New Anniversary Book and e-book giveaway of WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH

by

Howdy!

Welcome, Welcome to another terrific Tuesday.  Please excuse this late post.  I’m very sorry.

Truth is, I just finished editing an anniversary book, NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE, and the edits were a little hard and so once finished, I went into veg mode.  Oh, also, about 1 1/2 weeks ago, I put the finishing touches on a new book soon (in a couple of months or less) to be released.  It’s the 2nd book in the new Medicine Man Series, and the title is SHE CAPTURES MY HEART.  It’s in editing right now.

But, before that book is released, I’ll be re-releasing an Anniversary book of NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE, the 3rd and final book in THE BLACKFOOT WARRIOR series.  And so, I thought I’d leave you with an excerpt from book #2 in the series and tell you a little back story of the book, WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH, book #2 in the series.  And, I’ll be giving away an e-book of WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH, also.  But before I talk about the 2nd book, WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH, let me give you a sneak peek at NIGHT THUNDER’S BRIDE’s new cover.  Again, this is the 3rd and final book in The Blackfoot Warrior series and we’ll be releasing the 25th year anniversary edition of the book in about a week.

So, onto Book #2, WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH.  It was originally written for AVON books in 1996-97 and published in 1998 (I think that’s right.)  My husband and I were married in 1996 and so in the end of 1996 and the beginning of 1997, I was falling deeper and deeper in love with my husband.  We had married in a whirlwind and so it was after we were married that we really started to get to know each other.

Below and left is the new Anniversary cover for the book.  The male model, by the way, is  Lakota Indian.  And, he models under the name of “Lakota.”

In these anniversary books, we are correcting errors made when the book was converted to e-book from the original mass market.  There is no plot change or anything like that.  It’s just correcting computer errors made in the conversion.  Also, I might give the book a few better word choices here and there.

But, it was in the editing of this book that I began to see how much I was (at that time) falling deeper and deeper in love with this man I had married.  It’s there in the conversations between White Eagle and the heroine, Katrina.  Both of them are changing in regards to each other.  More love.  More understanding.  And, at that time, I guess I couldn’t help but write about how deeply I was in love with this man.

Our courtship (my husband and me) is pretty well illustrated in the first book in this series, GRAY HAWK’S LADY.  But this book goes one step further.

So, in ending, I’ll leave the blurb for the book and an excerpt.  Hope you’ll enjoy!

WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH

by

Karen Kay

Two worlds. Forbidden love.

Blackfoot Warrior, Book 2

Katrina Wellington is vexed. She must marry to obtain the rest of her inheritance. But her uncle, who left her in New York with a governess to make his fortune out West, has suddenly decided he must approve of her fiancé before he will loosen the purse strings to her dowry.

Swallowing her outrage, the socialite treks to the same wilderness that claimed her parents’ lives years ago. Some small part of her is crestfallen that her uncle is not waiting with open arms. Only three guides, Indian guides, await her, and one of them is far too handsome for his own good.

At first, White Eagle does not like the spoiled, willful niece of the white trader. When he catches a glimpse of the vulnerability behind her prickly exterior, he can’t resist challenging the dazzling beauty to rediscover her true inheritance—the inner strength bequeathed to her by her parents.

Close contact on the trail soon arouses a soul-stirring passion and in its turn, love. But love may not be enough to sustain a relationship that is forbidden in both their worlds.

This book has been previously published.

Warning: Sensuous Romance that contains a captivating passion that could lead to a romantic evening spent in the company of one’s own love.

This is the original cover done for AVON Books.  The excerpt is the first meeting between White Eagle and Katrina in the book (and after many years of being apart).

Chapter Four

June 25, 1833

Midmorning 

 

“I say, what vision of loveliness descends upon us now? Is she a princess, a queen? Do you think I should bow? Or is she a mere fleeting whiff of my fancy? Oh, dear, I don’t think I can rhyme fancy…can you see?” The Marquess of Leicester chuckled before he put a finger over one nostril, taking a sniff of the powder which he held in a box in his hand. “What do you say, my friends? Am I poetic?”

The marquess’s two friends murmured polite words of agreement at all the appropriate places, while the marquess, pocketing his snuffbox, paced forward to take hold of Katrina’s hand. “Ah, my dear, you look stunning, simply ravishing, rather.”

“Thank you, Lord Leicester.” Katrina suffered her hand to be kissed by lips which looked as though they bore more rouge than her own. She pulled her hand back as quickly as possible, but failed to loosen his grip. “Are we prepared to meet the new guides?”

“Yes, I say,” the marquess replied, setting her hand onto one of his lacy cuffs.

Katrina smiled at him.

“Am I to understand, my dear, that the guides of which you speak are to escort me to yet another fort?”

“Yes, that is correct. My uncle has been delayed, and he asks that you join him at a place called Fort McKenzie. The scouts are to take you safely to him.”

“Quite unusual, wouldn’t you say? But I must ask you: The hunting, is there good hunting at this fort? After all, mustn’t disappoint the dogs, don’t you know? Brought the hounds all this way to hunt, and hunt we shall. Why, do you know that I have met the most interesting fellow, a Mr. Hamilton, although I don’t believe that Hamilton is his real name. A right good sort of chap. English, I say. Says he has been here at this fort for several years. Seems to like it here, though he does appear to hate Indians.”

“Does he?”

“Yes, rather. Well, now, come along, my dear. Mr. McKenzie informs me that his clerk is awaiting us outside the house here to escort us to the guides on the other side of the gate. A monstrous proposal, I must say. That is why I have asked Mr. Hamilton to make the introductions. I can’t say that I am overwhelmed by Mr. McKenzie’s manners. A clerk to see to us, indeed. Ah, here is Mr. Hamilton now. Come along, my dear. Let us get these introductions over with.”

“Yes,” said Katrina, “let us.”

And with little more said, she allowed Mr. Hamilton and the marquess to lead her out into the sunshine of a new day. That the marquess’s friends followed the three of them wherever they went, that the marquess’s men kept murmuring always agreeable tidbits concerning Lord Leicester’s undoubtedly brilliant humor, did little more than annoy her.

At least for now.

 

 

McKenzie’s clerk, Thomas, was waiting for their entire party just outside the gate. And what a party they made. Not only were the marquess, his two friends and Hamilton in their group, somehow the marquess’s dogs, barking loudly, had joined them.

“Come this way, Gov’nor, the men ’ee seek are by the wall over thyar,” Thomas said.

“Where?”

“Over thyar, do ’ee not see?”

“They’re…”

Conversation ceased, replaced with silence. Dead silence.

Their entire entourage, even the dogs, stopped completely still. No one said a word; no one moved. Then the dogs started to whine, and the shuffle of feet could be heard—moving away.

It was he, the Indian she had glimpsed from the boat, along with a few companions.

“Why, Thomas,” said one of the men, “they are—”

“Yep, Injuns.”

Now, it wasn’t as though their party had never seen an Indian until this moment, nor was it possible that anyone in this party had thought never to encounter an Indian in this country. After all, they had glimpsed enough of the native population from the steamboat as it had made its way up the Missouri.

But never had the people in this group seen primitives such as these—at least not so close to their own person. Warriors, all, were these savages and, by the looks of the heathens, dangerous.

But Katrina stared at none other than him.

She opened her mouth as though to utter something…some scathing comment, perhaps. But when no words issued forth, she closed her lips.

“This one hyar’s name’s White Eagle.” Only Thomas seemed able to speak. “Them three behind him are Night Thunder and Good Dancer. The woman is married to Good Dancer, near as this ole coot can tell. Blackfeet, they are. Gov’nor?”

“Indians?” This from Katrina, at last, her glance never wavering from him.

“Yes, ma’am. But they’ll get ’ee through Blackfoot country all safe. They knows the way.”

“He goes too far!” She glanced toward the clerk.

“Ma’am?”

“My uncle goes too far this time.”

“You tell the man,” the marquess spoke up from behind her. “Yes, my dear, tell the man.”

Katrina gazed over her shoulder. The marquess had positioned himself to her rear, his own men standing, as though in a line, behind him.

“Does your uncle not think favorably of you, Miss Wellington?” This from Hamilton, who seemed as dumbfounded as the rest.

She ignored the Englishman, glancing instead at him, the Indian, the same one who had so disturbed her thoughts, the one called… “What is this man’s name again, Thomas?”

“This one hyar, ma’am? He’s White Eagle. He’s their leader, near as I can tell, a chief maybe.”

White Eagle. So, that was his name. Katrina stared at the Indian. He, back at her. The man looked dangerous—foreign, frightening…handsome. Handsome?

He still wore no shirt, exposing to her view that muscular chest she had glimpsed the previous day. And she would have looked at it, at him, had she been of the mind. But she wasn’t.

She swallowed with difficulty and, allowing her gaze to drop no farther than the bridge of the Indian’s nose, asked of him, “Does my uncle bring word to me?”

The Indian just stared at her. No grin, no recognition of her, no intimation that he had seen her, too, the previous day—nothing, not even an acknowledgment that she had spoken.

She raised her chin. “Do these Indians not speak English, Thomas?”

“Guess they do well enough, ma’am. They been tradin’ with us long enough now to have learnt it. But ’ee is a woman. No Blackfeet is goin’ to speak to ’ee b’cause of that, beg pardon.”

Katrina looked at the Indian from down the end of her nose. She said, “Then ask him for me if he brings me word of my uncle.”

Thomas stepped up to her side. “Very well, ma’am. ’Ee heard her, Injun. Does the lady’s uncle send word?”

The Indian didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even shift his weight. He just stared, his glance never wavering from her.

“Speak up there, you primitive animal,” Hamilton demanded.

None of the three Indians, and especially not White Eagle, paid the Englishman the least attention.

“Are ’ee sent here from the woman’s uncle?”

Nothing. No response at all, until, at last, piercing Katrina with his glance, the Indian said, “I have news for the woman alone.” Oddly enough, the man spoke in unbroken English and, Katrina noted, his voice, low and baritone, was peculiarly pleasant, almost melodic.

“Alone?” Hamilton again spoke up from a safe distance away. “Is the Indian mad? Does he presume to think we would leave the lady unaccompanied with him, so filthy a creature as he is?”

The Indian didn’t move a muscle, nor did he indicate in any way that he’d even heard Hamilton’s comments.

Katrina stepped forward, away from the crowd. Glancing around behind her, she ordered, “Leave us.”

“What?” This from all five men.

“Leave us, but take this man’s Indian friends with you. I will do as he asks and speak with him, but only with him. Here, Mr. Hamilton, give me your pistol that I may defend myself, if I must.”

“But milady,” Hamilton protested, “surely you can’t mean to—”

“Mr. Hamilton, your pistol, please.”

The Englishman looked as though he might protest further, though he nevertheless pulled the weapon from his coat and handed it to Katrina.

“Leave us.” Again she addressed the men who remained behind her without turning toward them. “I warn you, Indian,” she said confidently, “I can use this firearm Mr. Hamilton has given me as skillfully as any man. So do not think me defenseless that you might take advantage of me.”

The Indian said nothing, nor did he give her any sort of acknowledgment, not even by the bend of his head or a flicker of emotion across his features.

Katrina listened to the fading footsteps of the men behind her. After a nod from White Eagle, the Indian’s two companions followed.

The deference shown to this man did not escape her notice, but when she spoke, she made no mention of it, saying only, “What you ask is highly irregular and impolite. Hear me now, Indian, I am humoring you only because I wish to know what my uncle has to say. That is all.”

Glancing directly at her, he replied, “I will speak to the white woman only within the walls of the fort.”

“You will not,” Katrina countered. “You asked for an audience with me alone. You have it now.”

The Indian didn’t utter another word, just gave her a peculiar look and made to move away from her.

She reached out, grabbing at his arm, effectively staying him. He glanced down at her hand as it lay upon his arm, then back up at her. Something…some little excitement passed between them as they stared at one another, the intensity causing Katrina’s knees to buckle. Several moments passed as they stood there, sizing one another up.

At last, Katrina stuck out her chin and asked, “Who do you think you are, Indian, that you gape at me? Do you not know it is impolite to do so? Now, you will tell me what it is you have to say to me, right here and now…or not at all. Do I make myself clear to you?”

The Indian had become perfectly still as she spoke; his gaze roamed from the top of her bonnet to the very bottom of her skirts. Katrina watched him, ignoring the tingling sensation which spread throughout her nervous system. Fear, she supposed.

Odd, too, but she noticed he smelled good: of wood and smoke, of grass and mint—she had heard that the Indians chewed the leaves of the mint plant to stave off hunger, as well as to scent their breath.

His skin felt warm, too, moist and…strange, there was no hair upon the flesh of his arm where she touched him.

He was close to her, too close. The wind suddenly blew a lock of his long raven hair over her hand where she still touched him. The feel of those strands against her skin was fleeting, sensual, its effect sending shivers through her body.

She glanced up, startled, and wondered if the Indian had felt it, too, this strange sensation, but his expression revealed nothing.

She didn’t know how it was possible, yet she considered this man, this Indian, handsome almost beyond belief, in a primitive sort of way, of course. Not a man she would ever admit to being attracted to, particularly since he was nothing more than one of the savages that this country produced. And yet, she couldn’t help but admire the straight, imposing figure he cut as she looked up to where he stood over her. With his shoulders back, displaying his sculptured form, he looked as though he were a work of art, not a person of substance.

Something within her reached out to him, and she felt as though she knew him, his thoughts, his passions. It was as though there were a part of him that matched her perfectly…

She gave herself a shake. What was wrong with her? This was not the first time she’d felt as if there were something between them. It had happened the first time she’d glimpsed him, there from the boat…

She stared up at him then, in silent challenge, if only to purge this sensation from her consciousness. Yet, all the while, her touch upon his arm never relinquished its hold. His eyes were black, she noted, the darkest eyes she had ever seen, and they revealed nothing.

Suddenly, his look turned sardonic, and he broke eye contact with her, pulling his arm back, out and away from her grasp.

He turned from her then, suddenly and without warning. He began walking away from her at a steady gait, following on the footfalls of the other men. The Indian was treading, it would appear, toward the main entrance of the fort.

Katrina stood still for several moments, watching him, until she suddenly realized what he was doing. This man—this mere Indian—was defying her. She had made demands of him; he had told her nothing. Nothing!

Somehow this fact disturbed her more than any other detail she had observed about him. Blast!

She had to try to detain him. She took one step forward, and called out, “It was you who demanded to speak to me alone, Indian.”

No response, not even a catch in his stride.

“If you wish to talk to me, do it now, for I will not see you once we are in the fort.”

The man didn’t turn around, nor did he say or do anything further, except to present her with the view of his backside as he continued to walk away. She should have been appalled by the man’s bad manners and by his dress, or rather, its lack thereof. In truth, she was…almost.

She watched him, his lean, sculpted figure an unusually strange and exciting sight. And then she saw it, the man’s breechcloth fell apart from the outline of his leggings now and again, presenting her with an occasional view of a portion of hard, muscular buttocks.

Katrina was almost struck dumb with the observation. Never, not once in her life, had she ever witnessed so much of a man’s anatomy.

How utterly heathen. How primitive.

She didn’t, however, glance away. “I won’t meet with you,” she announced again. “And that’s my final word on the subject.”

Her challenge had no effect on the Indian’s actions.

Katrina was fuming. She felt like shouting at the man; she felt like pummeling him, but she refused to reduce herself to a show of temper.

She did, however, stamp her foot. The insolent barbarian. And to think she had been admiring his looks.

Humph!

She picked up the front of her skirt, her white petticoats contrasting oddly with the brown of the earth beneath her feet. She would follow that Indian back into the fort. Not because she had to, she reminded herself. After all, she was residing within the walls of the fort. She had a right to be there. This Indian did not.

Oh, but she didn’t like this. It was she who should be the person putting forth demands. It was she, not this man, White Eagle, who was the civilized one here, the more intelligent one.

So why was she the one left staring after him?

Well, it made no difference. There was at least one action she would take as soon as she met with this man: She would ensure he would hear her opinions of him and his insolence—that is, if she met with him.

She wasn’t certain at this moment that she would even permit the man an interview. There must be some other way of soliciting news of her uncle.

The Indian turned around at that exact moment, catching her staring at him, and goodness, but it looked as though he smiled at her. Did he know her thoughts? Could he see her frustration? Worse yet, had he felt her gaze upon that more intimate portion of his anatomy?

How dare he! Oh, what a wicked, wicked man!

She threw back her head and thrust out her chin. Ah, but it would please her to tell this Indian what she thought of him…and soon!

Make no mistake.

White Eagle turned his back on the woman and walked away from her, a grin tugging up the corners of his mouth.

In truth, he had enjoyed the confrontation with Shines Like Moonlight…but he would never let her know it. Not when she had dared to try to command him, a Blackfoot warrior. Such was the height of bad manners.

Yet, he could appreciate her spirit, her courage in confronting him when even the men who had surrounded her had shied away from him. Too, he acknowledged her unusual beauty; in truth, she had overwhelmed him with the allure of her feminine charm, more pleasing in close proximity than from a distance. He could still smell the sweet fragrance of her, hear the silvery timbre of her voice, and if it hadn’t been for her lack of manners…

Certainly, she was fairer than he’d anticipated she would be, but this wasn’t what bothered him about her. No, it was her touch, the simple graze of her hand upon his arm. With that touch…

He grimaced. And he wondered if she knew she had stirred something to life within him, something sweet, something carnal, something completely sexual. It was one of the reasons he had turned his back on her—that, and her insolence.

Hánnia! He should have more control. He was not some young boy, unable to control the physical urges of his body; and yet, even now he could feel the result of her effect on him down there in the junction between his legs. It was good that he had left her before his physical reaction to her became more pronounced.

Did she remember him?

A picture flashed in his mind, an image of a child, frightened and crying, clinging to him as he had hung onto the crest of a hill, both he and the child watching the gushing floodwaters rush past them, its danger only a short distance away. He had almost lost her in those waters.

He remembered again that he had clasped her to him then, whispering to her, giving her as much comfort as he was able, until long after the danger had passed. But that had been much too long ago. They had both been different people then, children.

That the child in her had grown up was evident. That she had reached adulthood without the guidance of a mother or a father to point out the necessity of courtesy and good manners was even more conspicuous.

Would she remember him given more time?

White Eagle thought back to the world he had known so long ago, to the people he had befriended, to a little white girl he had admired—a girl with yellowish-gold hair—to the child’s father and her mother.

They had perished, her parents. The girl had barely survived, and her father’s brother had sent her away long ago.

So, her uncle had been right about her. The woman he had met today was spoiled, a person completely devoid of maidenly gentleness. She spoke when not asked, demanded when a man’s mind was already settled; in truth, her spirit towered over the white men who had accompanied her.

Did she rise above these men because she had bullied them into submission with the same womanly harping and angry tongue she had shown to him? Or was she merely stronger-willed than they?

Whatever the reason, White Eagle despaired of the intervening years since he had last seen her.

If he reminded her of it, would she remember?

It was doubtful. She had been before the age when a child comes into its senses, and he had been no more than a young boy. He’d kept a lonely girl company during those times when her father and uncle had journeyed to his tribe on trading excursions. If he told her what he knew of her, of her family, would any good come from it?

He did not think so. This person he had observed today had been as someone alien to him—certainly not the girl he had remembered…had once known.

In truth, he had caught her looking upon him with not only a womanly sort of attention, but with contempt, the same sort of foreign attitude that White Eagle had witnessed upon the countenance of the white man.

He didn’t like it.

No, it was better that he keep what he knew of her to himself. It was apparent she did not recall her life before the white man’s world, and he was certain she would not care to hear what he had to say to her.

So be it.

He entered the fort, taking his place amongst his friends. Good Dancer’s wife had already started setting up their camping lodges in the area surrounding the fort’s flagpole. One for himself and Night Thunder, the other for herself and her husband, Good Dancer. That Good Dancer’s new wife had demanded to accompany them on their journey did not bother White Eagle, nor did it seem strange to him.

The young couple had just been married, after an unusually long courtship. Of course they would want to be together now. Such was to be understood. Such were the ways of married people.

Besides, he’d wanted a woman along to keep Shines Like Moonlight company and to provide her with a chaperone. White Eagle grimaced as he adjusted his breechcloth, certain Shines Like Moonlight would need that chaperone.

He glanced around him, at his place within the fort. He had noticed, when he had first come here, that several half-breed hunters resided within the tepees around the flagpole. This seemed only right to White Eagle; that these half-white, half-Indian men chose to live not in the square, wooden houses of the white man, but rather in the more comfortable lodges of his own people.

At least this is how it appeared to White Eagle.

He could not know, nor would he understand that to some within the fort, the mixed-bloods were not on an equal footing with the more European breed of men, that such would not be allowed the right to live in the square, wooden houses.

And so, not knowing, White Eagle settled down, content for the moment, to initiate the necessary chores needed for the return journey to Fort McKenzie.  Indeed, the time consumed in fashioning arrowheads, making a new shield and manufacturing a new spear was time well spent.

He was certain that Shines Like Moonlight would delay a meeting with him for as long as she was able. This didn’t bother him. Why should it? Time was not an enemy to him, and White Eagle was full-blooded Indian; he was a patient man.

He smiled. Perhaps here was something else he could admire about this woman: She had a stubborn strength of character. And this was good.

She would not be one to come a cropper in an emergency. Such people were few. Such people were valuable.

He shrugged. Whatever the case, his next few days within this fort promised to be far from dull.

Well, that’s all for now.  Look for the book in a few days.  At present, it’s undergoing the final proof reading.  I’d love to hear your thoughts.  Oh, and this is the cover to the left is the cover of the book currently up at Amazon.  This cover was done when I was writing for Samhain Publishing.

Indeed, all of these covers have a special place in my heart.  I am, however, extremely drawn to the new cover.  Hope you’ll like it, too.

SHE STEALS MY BREATH — Why Montana? And Why a Snow Storm?

by

Howdy!

Welcome!  Welcome!

This is one of our fun days here at the P & P Blog, where we get to talk about things we don’t usually blog about.  Now, interestingly,, Linda Broday asked me recently (when we were talking about the blog) how I decide on the places I write about — the locations.

It was a question I’d never given much thought to until she suggested it and then decided it would be great to talk about it.  Particularly this most recent story.

Usually, the story itself sets the location, as well as the tribe I’m writing about.  The Wild West Series was a fun series to write because it was a Western set in both England and New York, which I found to be exciting.

This new story, She Steals My Breath, was inspired by the passing of a good friend of mine and my husband’s — Native American Actor, Steve Reevis.  Because he is Blackfeet, this took my story line to Montana, of course.  But, a couple of years ago, I had visited my Blackfeet sister on the reservation and she mentioned they’d had eight feet of snow that winter.

Eight feet!  Wow!

And then I realized that, although I’ve written books about the Blackfeet before, they were always set in the summer, and yet where the Blackfeet are in Montana, they have long winters and often there are blizzards and squalls, much snow and below zero temperatures.  There is a book I was reading recently entitled, “Yellow Wolf, His Own Story,” by L. V. McWhorter and in that story Yellow Wolf makes the point that even hardy men, used to the weather changes in the northern regions could freeze in a matter of minutes if they weren’t prepared for it.

And so, I decided to set a Blackfeet tale in the winter months in Montana.  By the way, the picture here to the left is Steve Reevis in the Movie, The Last of the Dogmen.

This recent book, She Steals my Breath, is book #1 in the Medicine Man series.  This is a bit of a different kind of story for me since this series lends itself into going a little deeper into the customs and mores of the Blackfeet and in particular the medicine men.  I have to admit that I have a lot to learn about these men, who were trusted by their people to help them through hard times.  And, one of the things I found that has fascinated me is that they realized their ethics had to be without fault, because if they were to go down the path of darkness even a little or black magic (so to speak), they would lose their ability to help and perhaps to heal the people who came to them for help.  Their code of ethics was strict.  It had to be and they felt such an obligation to their people, few ever stepped off this moral and ethical high ground.

Here is a fact I had little knowledge of prior to my study:  The Medicine Men had many rituals that weren’t really about magic, but were rituals to enable them to become like a “hollow bone,” so the Creator (God) could work through them.  This comes to me from the book, Fools Crow by Thomas E. Mails.  In writing about the medicine men, I am realizing more and more that I’ve had a rather false idea of them due to Hollywood movies.  I have always realized Hollywood’s depiction of the Indian warrior was not a true image, but I hadn’t taken into account that their depiction of the medicine man might also be one which is very far from the truth.  I am still learning.

I’m going to leave you with an interview recently done with me about this book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH, and then I thought I’d share an excerpt of the book with you.  Would love to hear your thoughts and ideas about this, about the interview, the medicine men or the excerpt or anything else you’d like to say or ask.  So, without further ado, here at the start is this short interview:

What’s the story behind the story? What inspired you to write She Steals My Breath?

Lately, I’ve been at a point in my life where I really wanted a story where the hero was, indeed, a very muscular and handsome hero, but also a very kind hero. The Native American Medicine Man could be such a person. If the man were to be a true medicine man, he understood his power came from God, or whatever it was in his own language that he called God. Because of this, they had to adhere to a very strict code of ethics, and part of that code was kindness.

If you had to pick theme songs for the main characters of She Steals My Breath, what would they be?

“You Raise Me Up.”

What’s your favorite genre to read? Is it the same as your favorite genre to write?

Romance to both questions. I enjoy all sub-genres of Romance. But, my heart is particularly drawn to Historical, Native American, Romance.

What books are on your TBR pile right now?

Adolf Hungry Wolf; and “Blackfeet Tales of Glacier National Park,” by James Willard Schultz

What scene in your book was your favorite to write?

I think the very beginning scene in chapter one, where the hero and heroine first meet each other and speak to each other in sign language.

Do you have any quirky writing habits? (lucky mugs, cats on laps, etc.)

Not really, although I might take this as a suggestion and try to adopt some training pattern of one kind or another.

Do you have a motto, quote, or philosophy you live by?

Upon thinking about this, perhaps it might be that the real path to spiritual enlightenment is a very narrow path. One would do well to read about the philosophy of the Lakota Medicine Man, Fools Crow, and that one has to be strong to resist the temptation to commit an evil act.

If you could choose one thing for readers to remember after reading your book, what would it be?

Again, I had to ponder this for a bit. And I think it might be this: that there was, and still is, a lot to be learned about these ways of life that might be passing away under the thrust of “civilization.”

 

 

Karen Kay is the author of the new book She Steals My Breath

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B09TNDS67H cover image

And now, I’d like to leave this post with an excerpt from the book:

SHE STEALS MY BREATH, by Karen Kay

Eagle Heart was honestly worried, and, to counter this, he reached out into the environment, looking for She-steals-my-breath in the age-old manner of communication known and practiced by and between medicine men, as well as the Indian scout.  Was she still alive?

He could no longer check his path for accuracy.  The snow was too thick and spinning about the ground, and he could not see even a few hand lengths in front of him.  There was now danger of losing his direction, as well.  But, he wouldn’t be turned away.  No woman as beautiful as she should be made to die because her man did not understand the dangers of this land.

He reached out to her with his mind until he thought he’d found her, then said to her in the ancient way of medicine men, “I am coming for you.  You must talk back to me with your mind so I can locate where you are.  The snow is too dense, and I could lose my way.  Can you speak to me with your mind so I can find you?”

“Yes,” came her response.

With relief, he let out a deep breath.  She had heard him and had even spoken back.  He reached out again with his mind and said, “It is I, Eagle Heart, from the Pikuni tribe.  Are you cold?”

“Yes.  My fingers are frozen, I fear.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” she answered with her mind.  “I can’t move my right leg and my right arm.  I fell upon them.  My spine is hurt, too, I think.  Maybe it’s broken, for the agony in my spine when I try to move is very painful.”

“I understand.  You must remain warm, for the blizzard is coming upon us fast.  I am going to see if there are wolves close to you who might come and surround you to keep you warm until I can get to you.”

“Wolves?  I’m afraid of wolves.”

“You will not be afraid of these.  I will try to find them and speak to them so they can come to you.  If I locate them, they will help you and keep you from freezing.  Do not be afraid of them.”

“But, how can you do this?” she asked.  “Talk to wolves?”

“I am speaking to you this way.  I can also speak thusly to the wolves.  I will send them to you.  Do not be afraid of them.”

The communication between them stopped, and, quickly, he reached out to her again and said, using the same ancient manner of communication, “You must keep talking to me with your mind even if I do not answer, for I am also seeking to find the wolves.  Wait!  I have found them.  They are close and will come to help you.  Let them keep you warm.”

“I will try,” she silently spoke back to him.  “If I am to continue talking to you, as you say, what shall I tell you?  I know not how to help you find me, and I am afraid for my life because I am so cold.  Is there something else I could talk to you about to keep my mind off my fear?”

“Tell me about yourself.  Why are you here?  Are you in love with the man you are to marry?”

He sensed she might have found a little humor in his question.  This was good.  If she could laugh—even a little—perhaps she wouldn’t center all her attention on her fear.

She silently spoke again in the mind-to-mind speak and said, “My name is Laylah McIntosh, and I have come here to help my father and also to marry the man I am engaged to.”

“Do you love him?”

“Why do you ask?”

“It matters.”

“Then I will tell you honestly,” she told him, “that I don’t know if I love him or not.  I have believed I am in love with him, but recently I am beginning to experience doubts.”

“How old are you?”

“I am eighteen years old.  How old are you?”

“I am twenty and four snows.”

“Snows?  Do you mean years?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Eagle Heart, the wolves are here.  I am afraid of them.”

“Do not be.  Let them lie next to you.  They have answered my plea and are there to help you.  You are close to me now.  I have found the coulee, for I almost fell into it when I dismounted from my horse.”

“Are you certain it is the coulee I am in?”

“Yes.  The snow here is already deep.  I do not wish my horses to lose their footing, so they and I must climb down to you slowly, one step after another.”

“I understand.  Should I keep talking to you with my mind?”

“Yes.”

It was a slow, tortuous climb down the incline.  But, at last, he and his ponies managed to step onto a more level ground and he found her lying there before him.  Indeed, he almost stepped on one of the wolves who had come to surround her.  He then said to her with his mind only, “I am here, but you must continue to speak to me silently and with your mind, for I must construct a shelter for us.  Do not let yourself sleep.  Stay awake.”

“Very well.  Should I continue to talk, then?”

“Yes.  Can you see me?”

“No.  The swirling of the snow is too thick.”

“I am going to bend down toward you.  Do not fear me.  I am going to feel your body for injury.  I shall try to touch your arm, your leg and your spine.”

So saying, he bent toward her while the wind blew the snow around them.  Reaching out to her, he felt underneath the blankets placed over her and ran his hands along her right arm and right leg.  He said in Blackfeet, “I believe both your arm and your leg might be broken.  I cannot feel your spine at this moment.  I will need to move you carefully into a shelter, where I can determine if you have broken bones or if your muscles are merely strained.”

“I don’t understand you,” she said in English, but he was aware of the concept of what she said anyway.

He nodded, then realized the snow was so thick, she couldn’t see the movement.  He repeated his words, but with the mind-to-mind talk only.  Then he told her, “I must make us a shelter and a travois so I can move you without further injury.  Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“I have a warm buffalo robe to place over you to keep you as warm as possible.  Stay close to the wolves and allow them to share the robe while I make a shelter and a travois to carry you. You have only to reach out to me with your mind if you need me.  Thank you, my friends.  My family.  Please stay with her a little while longer.  And, even when the storm passes, please stay close to me if you can.  I might need your help again.”

Only then did he rise to his feet, and he soon left to build a shelter that might keep them warm against the storm.  And, it had to be quickly done.

CHAPTER THREE

Laylah felt a little warmer, but she was still very cold.  It seemed as if the temperature had dipped even further, causing her to wonder if the air in the canyon was well below freezing.  She couldn’t feel her fingers anymore and her toes were now following the same pattern as her fingers.

With her mind, she reached out to Eagle Heart and said, “I believe I am freezing to death.”

He didn’t answer.  Was he still there?  She panicked.  “Eagle Heart, are you still here?” she yelled out in English.

“I have not left you,” he answered without words.  “I must secure a shelter.  Keep awake.  Do not freeze.  It will be ready soon.  Instead of the cold and snow, think of a fire and how warm you are as you sit beside it.”

“I will try.”

The communication dropped then between them, and she felt so sleepy of a sudden, she could barely keep her eyes open.  But, she tried to envision a fire and its warmth.

She wasn’t aware how long it was before she felt him beside her again.  Carefully, and yet with manly strength, she could feel him lifting her onto some contraption that she thought must be made out of wood, for she could feel some of its branches beneath her.  Then, she was aware they were moving through the spinning, heavily-falling snow.

But soon, a particular kind of tiredness closed in upon her.

“Do not sleep,” he said, using his mind only.

“I must.”

“No, do not do it.  We are almost at the shelter.  Keep awake.  Speak to me, either with your mind or words.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I tried thinking of the fire.  But, I was so cold, I couldn’t do it any longer.”

“Then, tell me of things you find joy in.”

“Christmas, new clothes.  Fashion.  Strips of cloth I use to curl my hair.  And you.  I am suddenly thinking you bring me joy.”

“You flatter me.  We are here at the shelter at last.  Do not leave me.”

“It’s so hard to keep from sleeping.”

Suddenly, his arms were around her, and she was so cold she didn’t feel the pain when he picked her up.  Soon, he was carrying her into a place of warmth.

He deposited her onto something soft, and, without pausing a moment, he began to rub her hands and then her feet.  It went on and on.  She felt his hands all over her.

Suddenly he was speaking to her in concepts only again.  “Do not be alarmed.  I must remove your clothing, for it is wet and frozen.  I have a warm robe that is not wet, and I will wrap you in it.  I will have to move you a little to remove the clothing from you.  I might have to cut some of your clothing from you.”

She didn’t answer.  It was beyond her.

Again, with his mind alone, he said, “Talk to me.”  When she didn’t answer, she heard him speak to her in his own language.  She tried to communicate back to him, but found she couldn’t and so remained silent.

However, she held on to the sound of his voice, afraid to sleep for fear she might not wake up.  There was a quality about his words she found beautiful, and she responded to his voice and to him, refusing to give in to the darkness.  Indeed, it was as though with his touch and his voice alone, he was keeping her alive and conscious.

She felt him pick her up and wrap her in something very warm, and, as she settled back into its heat and against her bed, sleep claimed her at last.

************************************************************************
Well, that’s all for today.  Don’t forget to come on in and leave a comment.

 

SHE STEALS MY BREATH, Pre-Sale and Excerpt

by

Howdy!

Welcome, welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Do you know what I saw last week?  Robins.  That’s right.  Robins.  Unless they are very confused, that usually means spring is right around the corner.

And what better time of year than to have a new release.  This is Book One in the new Medicine Man series, and the title is SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

This title, by the way, was inspired by a poem by John Trudell, Dakota tribe.  So, without further ado, let me leave you the details on the pre-sale — 20% off what will be the regular price, the back blurb of the book and an excerpt.

 

Karen Kay

 

New Release!

Pre-Sale!  Save 20% 

Price after March 27, 2022 $4.99

Price now  $3.99

https://tinyurl.com/5658jeuv

 

SHE STEALS MY BREATH

The Medicine Man Series, Book One

Back Cover Blurb

Her Beauty Takes His Breath Away… Only She Can Restore It

Eagle Heart of the Blackfoot Nation has not come to the trading post, Fort Union, to trade, but to find his missing brother. The medicine man has never seen a white woman, but, when she walks into the room, her beauty literally steals his breath.  

Laylah McIntosh has assets besides beauty that make her valuable to her father, the fort’s trader: her skill with numbers, her photographic memory and her knowledge of the sign language used by all the tribes. But, when she’s injured and caught in a fierce blizzard, it is Eagle Heart, alone, who rescues her.

Forced into each other’s company, their attraction deepens. But a union between them is forbidden in both their worlds.

Can their love find a way to survive the wrath?  Or will their differences separate them forever?

Warning:  Sensuous romance and a love written in the stars could cause a gal to go West in search of love and adventure.

Please enjoy this excerpt from the book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH:

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Fort Union Trading Post

The Eastern Montana Territory

October 1834

 

 

“I tell you true, there is such a creature as a white woman.  I have seen her here this very day.”

Eagle Heart cast a doubtful glance at Gray Falcon, his napí, friend.  “A white woman here?” he asked.  “What you say cannot be so.  All the tribes are speaking the same words about the white man: he has no women.  In all these years we have known this man, we have never seen his women.”

“Ha’!  I do not lie, my friend.  I saw her here.  Today.  Come with me to the trading room.  You will see her, too.”

“I am not interested,” replied Eagle Heart.  “But, tell me, does she have long hair on her upper lip and chin, as well as all over her body, like the white man?  Does she smell as bad as all white men do?  And, is her hair dirty and greasy from failing to bathe?  Saa, I do not wish to see this creature.  I might lose the contents of my stomach.”

“I will not tell you any detail about her, my friend.  Come and look at her and decide for yourself if she has all these features you speak of.”

Eagle Heart shook his head.  “I do not wish to witness the ugliness of this white woman.  It might spoil the image of a woman’s beauty for me.  Besides, I must make inquiries about my brother since, as you know, this is the only reason I have made the long journey to the white man’s fort.”

“Napi, my friend, it will take but a moment to come and look at the woman.  Then go your own way.”

Eagle Heart sighed.  Truly, he was not interested.  However, if taking a glimpse at this being would appease his young friend, he would do it.  And so, he found himself saying, “Okí, let us go so I might look at this ugly and smelly creature.”

“Áa, yes…this is a good plan.”  Gray Falcon smiled.

“Okí.  Shall I hold my breath so I do not have to smell her stench?”

“Perhaps, my friend.  Perhaps.”

The trading room was busy this day in early October, the season when the leaves turn yellow.  With a quick glance around the room, Eagle Heart memorized the details of this place.  These included a long counter for trading where a large buffalo hide had been spread upon it; there were several beaver belts, mink and even raccoon furs which had been shoved to the side.  A large book, with many of the white man’s papers, lay open on the counter.

On wooden shelves behind the trader were stacks of many more furs and neatly folded woolen blankets.  Off to the side of the counter were mounted moose horns, and these were holding up pots, pans and various items of clothing: belts and hats, moccasins and a few fur-lined jackets.  Kegs of liquor stood upright on the highest shelves in the room, out of easy reach.

Robes and furs could be traded here for guns, but no guns of any description were on display.  Perhaps they had been put out of sight purposely.

At present, there were three Blackfoot men standing at the counter, quietly bargaining with the trader, Larpenteur, over the price of their furs, while seven Indians from an enemy tribe, the Crows, and ten Indian men from another foe, the Assiniboines, lounged against the cottonwood logs that were used for the walls of the room.

Because all the Indians, himself included, had been divested of their weapons upon entering the fort, not a man in this room could be seen who carried his quiver strapped to his back; there were no bows, no lances, not even the usual gun on display, that usually being carried in a man’s arms.  It was an odd sight for Eagle Heart to behold his enemies without their customary means of defense.

The owner of this place, McKenzie, insisted upon stripping a man’s weapons from him before entering the fort.  The white traders stated this was a common practice within these trading centers and was done for the Indians’ and the company’s safety.  And yet, the white men and trappers who frequented this place were always armed.  So deaths occurred here anyway.

It was why Blackfoot men did not allow their women to accompany them inside the white man’s gates.  Simply put, it was too dangerous.

Eagle Heart took a deep breath at the same moment he realized the room did not stink.  Instead, it was scented with the aroma of trees, logs and the distinctive fragrances of autumn leaves.  Certainly, he didn’t notice there was much unusual this day, and there was no white woman he could bear witness to.  But, giving his friend his due, he decided to wait.

Looking around the room, he noticed Gray Falcon had positioned himself so he was leaning against a far wall, directly across from the table used for trading.  Eagle Heart joined him there, and, leaning back, crossed his arms in front of his chest, prepared to wait.

Unexpectedly, the delightful sound of a feminine laugh filled the air.  He frowned, surprised, for the voice was pretty.

And, then he saw her: she had slipped into the trading center from a room in back and was standing behind the trader, Larpenteur.  When she moved slightly, Eagle Heart caught a glance of bouncing brown curls with a hint of gold within them.  And, those locks were shimmering against a very pretty face.  She laughed again and took a few steps around the clerk, a smile still affixed to her lovely countenance.  She was glancing up at Larpenteur, and Eagle Heart experienced a startling reaction: he forgot to breathe.  She was that beautiful.

Her figure was slim and small, her profile showing off a perfect nose that turned up slightly at the end.  Her eyelashes were long and brown, and her eyes were a brilliant color of green.  Her cheeks were rosy, and her full lips were still smiling.  The brown color of her hair, with gold intertwined, was of a shade he had never before seen on a woman until this moment, and the length of it fell down her back in luscious curls.  And, he saw not a single hair on her face.

Eagle Heart tried to breathe in.  He couldn’t.  She had literally stolen his breath away.

At this moment, he couldn’t force himself to look elsewhere, and he felt as awkward as a young boy who was besotted by a girl.  It was, however, impolite to stare, so Eagle Heart at last glanced away from her, only to return his gaze upon her when he heard her say, “Mr. Larpenteur, how good of you to write down all of your transactions.  It is to be regretted, however, that I cannot read your handwriting.”  She grinned up at the man.

And, Eagle Heart experienced the sensation of his stomach dropping, as though there lived both moths and small butterflies within it.  Of course, he had no idea what she’d said, for she didn’t speak the same language as he.  All he knew was her voice sounded as engaging as the song of the meadow lark.

“Ohpo’kiiyoo!  Follow!”  Gray Falcon nudged him in the ribs.  “I am leaving here.  Okí!  Come on, let us go.”

“Saa, I do not wish to leave from here yet.”  From his peripheral vision, he saw Gray Falcon frown at him.

“I admit she is pretty,” said Gray Falcon.  “Still, I do not understand how a white man’s seed can make a woman to be so comely.  But, it is so, is it not?”

“Áa, it is so.”

Within a moment, another man, a tall, dark-haired fellow with a mustache that curled at its ends, stepped out from the adjacent room behind the counter.  He put his arms around the woman’s waist, and she didn’t admonish him, as Eagle Heart thought she should since this was a public place.  Instead, she laughed softly and turned into the man’s embrace.

She must be married to the man.

Eagle Heart couldn’t fully understand the feeling that swept over him, for his spirits plummeted.  It was odd, because whether she was married to the curly-mustached man or not, it was nothing to him.  She was beautiful, yes, but she was also married, as any fine-looking woman should be.

“It is told to me that she is not yet married to this man who holds her,” said Gray Falcon as though reading his friend’s thoughts.  “Although it is also said they are soon to be married.  I think the man uses her, for he should not be keeping her so closely to him if they are not married…and before all eyes to see.”

“It is so, my friend,” Eagle Heart responded.  “Yet, the whites are a strange people, and we do not yet know their ways.  Perhaps a white man is permitted to hold her, even if they be not married.  But still, he should not do this in front of others in case her reputation will be soiled.  Okí, come, let us leave.  I must ask the white men in this fort if they have any knowledge about where my brother might have gone, for I would be on my way.”

Gray Falcon simply nodded, and the two friends quietly left the trading room.

Laylah McIntosh watched as two young Indian gentleman stood away from the wall in front of her and, turning, left the room.  She wasn’t certain what it was about them that caught her eye, for there were many Indian men here.  Perhaps it was the elegant manner in which the two of them were attired, for their buckskin clothing was bleached a startling white, and, set off as it was with the contrast of their black hair, their dress alone looked as elegant as any man’s might, white or Indian.

Or perhaps it was the muffled sound of their footfalls that brought her attention to them, for they made little sound as they crossed the room.  With no boots to announce their departure, their footfalls were almost silent.  They were both tall, also; their shoulders were squared back and their steps seemed oddly graceful.

“Mr. Larpenteur,” asked Laylah softly.  “What tribe of Indians are those two men?  The ones wearing white?”  She nodded toward them.

“Dey be Pieds Noirs, Mademoiselle.”

“Pieds Noirs?  Do you know the English name for the tribe?”

“De Blackfeet, Mademoiselle.”

“The Blackfeet?  The Tigers of the Plains?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

“How strange they should be so well dressed,” she said.  “I have heard the Blackfeet guard their land well and will kill any white man they find in their territory.  It seems rather savage, and yet, to look at them…they seem almost stately.”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.  De Blackfeet look so, but rob…I am rob by the Pieds Noirs too much!  De Pieds Noirs wild.  Eet has been so since Monsieur Lewis and Monsieur Clark kilt a man of de Pieds Noirs, de Blackfoot Injin.”

“It is good you have told me about them.  I shall do all I can to keep them distant from me, and shall make a mental note to never go into their country.”

“Indeed, you shall not,” agreed Thomas Sutter, who was Laylah’s fiancé.  He placed his arm around her waist and drew her in close to his chest.  “Instead,” he continued, “we shall return to St. Louis as soon as your visit to this land is finished.  And, once there, we shall marry.  Where would you like to live, m’dear.  Here?  Or in St. Louie?”

“I am uncertain, yet, as you know.  I love my home in St. Louis, but there is some undefined aspect about this land that causes me to feel peaceful, as though this is my home.”  She sighed.  “But, we don’t have to decide now, do we?  After all, we have yet to explore the woods and plains in the country.  Indeed, if the intriguing scent of the autumn leaves and the atmosphere in this country is a sample of the beauty to be found here, I admit to being captivated by it.”  Stepping out of his embrace, she chanced to give Thomas a flirty smile from over her shoulder as she laughed up at him.  “Excuse me, Thomas, for I must put my attention on business.  My father has asked me to look over the business transactions we’ve had today.  As you know, I have an affinity for numbers and often help him with his accounting.”

“Shall I assist you with it?”

“Only if you please.  This will take me but a moment.”  She scanned down the transactions that had occurred so far for the day, committing each sale to memory so she might recount them later to her father.

As the daughter of Robert McIntosh—one of Fort Union’s partners—she had unconsciously made herself into a business asset when her father had discovered she could memorize a page of numbers quickly and remember them again at will.  And so, according to her father, her talents were to be kept within the family of traders, thus her upcoming marriage to Thomas, who, though a young man, was already a junior partner in this business.  Of course his family had helped obtain his status, for they had financed this fort in part, as well as the trading post, Fort William.

Although one could argue her upcoming marriage was one of convenience, she believed this was not entirely true.  She had fallen under Thomas’ spell almost from the first moment she’d met him.  His fine manners and his tall, good looks had combined to urge her to say “yes” to his proposal of marriage.  That her father had encouraged her to wed Thomas had also swayed her decision, for the marriage would tie their families financially.

Her mother had been silent concerning her daughter’s upcoming marriage.  True, she had shown no negative emotions, though there had been no positive encouragement, either.

Her younger sister, Amelia, was, of course, excited about the upcoming marriage.  But, Amelia was young and her nature tended to be naïve at best, and, in truth, she was prone to question very little in life.

Laylah sighed, thinking back to the two young Blackfoot men.  Untamed they might be, but it had been a crowning feather in her father’s cap that he had convinced the Blackfeet to come to Fort Union to trade; especially since the Blackfeet held the reputation for being the most feared tribe of Indians on the plains.  Of course, the Blackfoot men had objected at first, for they hadn’t wished to make the long journey to Fort Union.  Yet, here they were.

She frowned.  It was hard not to notice the two Blackfoot men, since both were young and handsome in an exotic and uncultivated way.  But, she put thoughts about them from her mind.  Good-looking though they might be, they were still Indian, and, therefore, dangerous.

Besides, she would never see them again.  On this thought, she put her speculations to rest and, having committed the page of numbers to memory, turned around to hug her fiancé.

Eagle Heart despaired of ever coming to know what had happened to his brother.  No one at the fort seemed to remember seeing a man who looked much like Eagle Heart, himself.  Yet, he couldn’t be certain what these people said, since it was almost impossible to communicate to the whites.  Why no one at this fort had learned the language used everywhere on the plains—the language of gestures—was a mystery.

He wished he could make inquiries of the other Indians at the fort, for they were familiar with the gesture language.  But, he couldn’t.  These other Indians—the Crows and Assiniboines—were his traditional enemies.  Not that he was afraid of them.  It was simply that, being enemies, they were honor-bound to lie to him.

Somehow he would have to make himself understood by these white men.  There was no other way.

So, it was to this end, he stepped into the room used for trade.  It was a sunshiny day on this month of “the leaves falling,” and, while a part of him hoped She-steals-my-breath, the beautiful white woman, might be present, another part of him dismissed her from his thoughts.  She could mean nothing to him.  With a force of will, he put her out of his mind.

Yet, as he stepped up to the trading counter, he saw that she stood on the white man’s side of the table.  Looking up, she stared straight at him, and, though it was forbidden for a Blackfoot woman to face him so boldly, he was yet reminded how beautiful a pair of green eyes could be….

“Mr. Larpenteur, I believe he is asking you for information about either his friend or his brother.  I’m not certain which it is.”

The trader frowned down at her.  However, she didn’t flinch.  “How do you know dees, Mademoiselle?”

“My father,” she said, glancing downward, “hired an older Indian gentleman from one of the Eastern tribes to instruct both me and my younger sister on this language of gestures.  He insisted on our learning it before we were allowed to make this trip into the North Country.  He said if anything bad ever happened to us, we would at least be able to make ourselves understood.  Shall I ask this man what it is he is seeking?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

She nodded and, inhaling deeply, brought her right hand up to ask the Indian, “Question, who is it you are seeking?”

“Halt!” he said in gestures, bringing his right hand up, instead of down, for emphasis.  “I do not speak to women.”  He added a frown and looked so sternly at her, she felt faint in reaction.

But, she didn’t faint.  Instead, she gulped and, looking down and away from him, signed, “No one here speaks the language of gestures.  If you wish to be understood you will have to communicate to either me or my younger sister.  If you prefer to talk to my sister, I will fetch her.”

She chanced a quick glance up at this man who towered over her.  Why, he must be over six feet tall.  He was also outrageously handsome in a wild sort of way: black, straight hair, which was decorated with a single feather hung from a braid on the right side of his face; it was his only hair ornament.  He had pulled a portion of his bangs forward and had cut them so a part of them fell down over the center of his forehead, as seemed to be the custom in this untamed land.

He still wore the handsome, white clothing she had seen him wear a few days previously, and up close she could see and admire the blue, white and yellow circle sewn onto his shirt.  It was placed in the middle of the buckskin clothing, was level with his chest and looked to be made of porcupine quills, as well as beads.  Rows of colorfully sewn porcupine quills of the same colors decorated the outer portion of his sleeves, while white fringe, situated next to the porcupine quills, draped from those same sleeves.  She noted that some of the fringe was also composed of black hair.  She shivered to think of the reason why this kind of hair ornamented his shirt.

Fierce though he might be, there was an unknown quality about him that drew her to him.  His eyes were black, his nose straight and slightly aquiline, but not overly so.  His lips were full, and the color of his skin was tan, not red, though there might have been a slight tint of red running beneath the outer layer of his skin.  He wore no paint as did most of the Indians here at the post.  This observation eased her nerves a little, for she had heard it said that the Indians painted themselves only when going to war.

Still, she shivered at the thought of any man having to go to war with an Indian like this.

But, he was answering her question, and she gave his hand gestures her full attention.  He said, “I see I have startled you.  There is no threat or insult meant to you; rather, a man should not speak to a woman who is not his wife.  To do so abuses her standing with her people and can cause a man’s woman to be jealous, also.”

“You are married, then?” Laylah signed, then gulped and looked away from him.  Why had she asked him this?

But, he seemed unoffended and was responding to the question.  “I am not,” he stated by means of the gestures.  “But, I believe you are.”

She shook her head and signed, “I am not yet married but am soon to be.”

He nodded, then signed, “If you do not object to the possible harm speaking to me might bring to your reputation, I do have questions no one has been able to answer.  Do you object?”

She shook her head, “No.”

“This is good.  I am seeking my brother,” he signed.  “He looks much as I do, but is older than I.  He came here a few months ago with a party seeking trade.  The others returned home, but my brother was not with them, and none of them knew what had happened to him.  My family worries about him.  Besides trade, it is why I am here.  He was last seen at this post.”

“What is his name?” she signed.

“Chases-the-enemy.”

She nodded, then asked Larpenteur, “Sir, do you know a Blackfoot man called Chases-the-enemy?”

“ Oui, Mademoiselle.  He ees Blackfoot chief.”

“Chases-the-enemy is this gentleman’s brother, and he is trying to discover what has happened to his kin.  People from his tribe say he was last seen here.  Do you know any stories concerning him that might indicate where he could have gone or why he didn’t return home with the rest of his party?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.  Der be here a Crow girl from de West called Little Dove.  He stole her.  He is to be gone…with Crow girl.  Her family very much…angry.  Go after.”

“You’re certain of this?”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

Laylah nodded.  Then, turning toward the Blackfoot gentleman, said aloud, “Mr. Larpenteur”—she pointed to the clerk then continued in sign—”says your brother stole Little Dove, a Crow girl, and left.  Her family went after him.”

He nodded.  “When?” he signed.

Laylah turned to Larpenteur.  “When did this take place?”

“I am to tell you, Mademoiselle, eet be five month.  Maybe he captured.”

“This happened about five months ago,” she signed.  “Mr. Larpenteur”—she pointed again to the clerk—”says your brother and the girl might have been captured.”

With his hands flat and extended outward, he sent them forward and toward her in a sweeping motion, effectively saying, “Thank you.”

She nodded, then signed, “What are you called?  My name is Laylah.”  She spoke her name aloud.

But, he didn’t answer.  Instead, he reached upward to the feather in his hair, loosened it, put it in his palm and extended it toward her.  When she reached out to take it from him, he closed his other hand over hers, and, when she gazed up at him, he nodded and gave her the understanding the feather was now hers.

Then he smiled at her and said, “Nitsíniiyi’taki, Aakíí-ikamo’si-niistówa-siitámssin,” and Laylah thought the earth might have moved beneath her feet.  She didn’t know what to do.

The timbre of his voice was low, baritone, pleasant, and it, added to his touch, affected her oddly.  Her entire body was shivering, but whether from fear or a reaction to his words, his touch or his voice, she didn’t know.

She did, however, accept the feather.  Moreover, she thought she might come to treasure it.  Always, it might remind her of a handsome Blackfoot warrior who had once shown her kindness.

She is beautiful in both body and spirit.

She hadn’t wanted to speak to him.  Everything about her had told him she was afraid of him.  And yet, despite her reluctance, she had spoken to him in the language of gestures.

He had been impressed with her beauty from the first, and now he was captivated by her courage as well as her knowledge of the gesture language.  It was to be regretted that soon she was to be married.  But, at least he had been able to give her a part of him by extending the feather to her.  And, she had taken it from him.  He could hope that maybe she would not forget him.

He thought back to what he now knew: his brother had found himself a Crow woman and had stolen her.  Had his enemies found him?  Not likely, since his brother was a scout, as well as a chief, and could hide in a way that would not allow another to discover him…unless he wished it to be.

But, if his brother were well, the silent and distant communication between them would not be so irregular.  Because of this, he knew something was wrong.  But, what?

He was going to have to talk to She-steals-my-breath once again and ask if she might inquire about who the Crow girl was.  He did not wish the white woman to speak to the Crow people about this, however—there could be danger for her in doing so.  But, there would be no harm in asking her to make inquiries of other white people.  Someone might know who the girl was and might even have more information.

Perhaps tomorrow, he would seek her out again.  He was surprised by the instant pleasure that washed over him at the thought.  And, even reminding himself that she was soon to be married didn’t cause the pleasure to dim.

She was surprisingly taken by the manners of the Indian gentleman.  He had been firm in his questions to her, yet had also been kind, being considerate about her reluctance to speak with him.  He had shown her respect, as well as sensitivity to her situation by giving her the option to withdraw from speaking to him.  Further, once he had obtained the information he had sought, he’d given her an eagle’s feather.  She knew enough about the tribes to realize the gift was bestowed in appreciation.  But, there was more: it had come from his heart.  His hand over hers had symbolized this.  And, the gift had, indeed, touched her.

Oddly, her hand still remembered the feel of his touch.  She placed her fingers to her face, imagining her fingers were his and were smoothing over her skin.

No!  She dropped both of her hands.

What was wrong with her?  Perhaps he was simply too handsome and too…charismatic.  Never had she ever imagined she would react to an Indian man in such a way.

Instead, she had expected the natives to be dressed in cavemen-like fashion: in repulsive skins and furs, with gaudy feathers, tattoos and ornaments covering every inch of their bodies.  Never had she thought to admire an American Indian’s dress nor his manners.  Moreover, besides the obvious beauty of his people’s clothing, she had never expected to see a gleam of intelligence behind the Indian man’s dark eyes.

She sighed, realizing she was thinking about this Blackfoot Indian much too greatly.  It was a useless mental exercise, for it was unlikely she would ever see him again, which was as it should be.  She reminded herself she was soon to be married.

But, her encounter with the Blackfoot man did cause her to ask questions of herself: was it wise to marry Thomas when his touch did not affect her in an emotional, passionate way? A man who did not make her tremble in anticipation?

The thought was troubling because she had felt a spark between herself and this Blackfoot man.  But, surely her reaction was not a flicker of pleasure; probably, it was fear.

He will be gone tomorrow, and I will never see him again.  And, this is very good!

 

 

The photo to your left is a photo taken toward the end of the 19th century (sometime in the 1890’s, I believe).  It is a photo of Black Bull on the left and Chief Stabs-by-Mistake on the right, overlooking what is now known as a section of Glacier National Park.

I love this photograph.  I believe it was taken by author and Blackfeet by marriage, James Willard Schultz.

I’d love to hear from you.  Please do come on in and leave me your thoughts on this photo, on the cover and also the excerpt or anything else you’d like to say or add.

What Makes a Cowboy and a Giveaway!

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We’re so happy to have USA Today Bestselling author Paula Altenburg with us. She has a giveaway so scroll down. 

Thank you to Petticoats & Pistols for having me here!

Cowboys are made, not born.

But being a cowboy takes a certain type of personality, and those are the heroes I love to write.
Even though I write contemporary western romance, I do a significant amount of historical research, because real people are a product of their histories and their cultures. That’s one reason why you see so many successful marriages among childhood sweethearts. It’s also why no one will ever know you as well as your siblings do—they shared the same upbringing and understand where you come from. I say this from experience. (Not the childhood sweetheart part, though. My husband is Dutch. I will say that the majority of our disagreements over the years can be directly attributed to language nuances and having been raised in very different cultures.) This is a segue into European colonization, by the way.



The Irish in particular formed a strong presence in the American Old West. You can read a fascinating article on them here. Irish surnames show up all over the present-day west. In fact, two authors I use as writing resources have Irish names—Larry McMurtry (Lonesome Dove) and David McCumber (The Cowboy Way). McMurtry is Texan and McCumber is from Montana.

Grand, Montana was set up in my first series, The McGregor Brothers of Montana, as an Irish community. Grand’s fictional founders were two enterprising young Irish brothers (and ancestors of the contemporary McGregors) who made their money off selling liquor to soldiers. I’ve loosely based my Grand on real-life Miles City, Montana, which sits where the Tongue River flows into the Yellowstone River. I love the opportunities doing this offers me as a writer. If I need a setting detail, I can dip into the Miles City website and let my imagination run wild. The Miles City Chamber of Commerce is another great resource.


But setting Grand up as a fictional town means I get to make it my own. I read Lonesome Dove to get a feel for the landscape and what cowboys were like in the latter part of the 19th century. I read The Cowboy Way because I wanted to see how ranching has evolved. While ranch practices have changed with the times, cowboys, as it turns out, have not evolved in the least.
                                            

Sheriff Dan McKillop is definitely a product of his history and his environment. He’s
hardworking, he loves women (maybe a little too much) and he’s uncomfortable with money. When he and two friends inherit the Endeavour Ranch and billions of dollars, the only positive he sees is the opportunity to give back to his community. It takes a lot to knock him off his stride, but firefighter Jazz O’Reilly manages to do exactly that.
The Montana Sheriff is the first book in the Grand, Montana series.

Buy now

Four books will release this year with two more arriving in 2023.



Also in 2023, USA Today bestselling author Roxanne Snopek will be joining me with a series of her own. It’s tentatively titled The Lost Malones and familiar faces will appear.

And now, as a thank you to Petticoats & Pistols for having me here, I’m going to give away three electronic copies of another Grand, Montana book (and my USA Today bestseller!), The Rancher Takes a Family. You can check it out on my website.

All you have to do to qualify to win a copy is answer the following question and drop it in the comments below. “If you could live in any story world, what world would it be, and why?”
I’ll be stopping by throughout the day to chat and answer any questions.

Follow Paula at:

White Eagle’s Touch — Behind the Book

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Howdy!

Welcome, Welcome to another terrific Tuesday.

Well, today I’m going to do something that is considered a no-no in the promotional world of books.  I’m going to tell you a bit about an older title of mine, WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH, which will be coming out in the next few days as a 25th Anniversary book.

Let me explain:  This book was originally written for AVON books in 1996-97 and published in 1998 (I think that’s right.)  My husband and I were married in 1996 and so in the end of 1996 and the beginning of 1997, I was falling deeper and deeper in love with my husband.  We had married in a whirlwind and so it was after we were married that we really started to get to know each other.

This is the new cover for the book.  The male model, by the way, is  Lakota Indian.  And, he models under the name of “Lakota.”

In these anniversary books, we are correcting errors made when the book was converted to e-book from the original mass market.  There is no plot change or anything like that.  It’s just correcting computer errors made in the conversion.  Also, I might give the book a few better word choices here and there.

But, it was in the editing of this book that I began to see how much I was (at that time) falling deeper and deeper in love with this man I had married.  It’s there in the conversations between White Eagle and the heroine, Katrina.  Both of them are changing in regards to each other.  More love.  More understanding.  And, at that time, I guess I couldn’t help but write about how deeply I was in love with this man.

Our courtship (my husband and me) is pretty well illustrated in the first book in this series, GRAY HAWK’S LADY.  But this book goes one step further.

So, in ending, I’ll leave the blurb for the book and an excerpt.  Hope you’ll enjoy!

WHITE EAGLE’S TOUCH

by

Karen Kay

Two worlds. Forbidden love.

Blackfoot Warrior, Book 2

Katrina Wellington is vexed. She must marry to obtain the rest of her inheritance. But her uncle, who left her in New York with a governess to make his fortune out West, has suddenly decided he must approve of her fiancé before he will loosen the purse strings to her dowry.

Swallowing her outrage, the socialite treks to the same wilderness that claimed her parents’ lives years ago. Some small part of her is crestfallen that her uncle is not waiting with open arms. Only three guides, Indian guides, await her, and one of them is far too handsome for his own good.

At first, White Eagle does not like the spoiled, willful niece of the white trader. When he catches a glimpse of the vulnerability behind her prickly exterior, he can’t resist challenging the dazzling beauty to rediscover her true inheritance—the inner strength bequeathed to her by her parents.

Close contact on the trail soon arouses a soul-stirring passion and in its turn, love. But love may not be enough to sustain a relationship that is forbidden in both their worlds.

This book has been previously published.

Warning: Sensuous Romance that contains a captivating passion that could lead to a romantic evening spent in the company of one’s own love.

This is the original cover done for AVON Books.  The excerpt is the first meeting between White Eagle and Katrina in the book (and after many years of being apart).

Chapter Four

June 25, 1833

Midmorning 

 

“I say, what vision of loveliness descends upon us now? Is she a princess, a queen? Do you think I should bow? Or is she a mere fleeting whiff of my fancy? Oh, dear, I don’t think I can rhyme fancy…can you see?” The Marquess of Leicester chuckled before he put a finger over one nostril, taking a sniff of the powder which he held in a box in his hand. “What do you say, my friends? Am I poetic?”

The marquess’s two friends murmured polite words of agreement at all the appropriate places, while the marquess, pocketing his snuffbox, paced forward to take hold of Katrina’s hand. “Ah, my dear, you look stunning, simply ravishing, rather.”

“Thank you, Lord Leicester.” Katrina suffered her hand to be kissed by lips which looked as though they bore more rouge than her own. She pulled her hand back as quickly as possible, but failed to loosen his grip. “Are we prepared to meet the new guides?”

“Yes, I say,” the marquess replied, setting her hand onto one of his lacy cuffs.

Katrina smiled at him.

“Am I to understand, my dear, that the guides of which you speak are to escort me to yet another fort?”

“Yes, that is correct. My uncle has been delayed, and he asks that you join him at a place called Fort McKenzie. The scouts are to take you safely to him.”

“Quite unusual, wouldn’t you say? But I must ask you: The hunting, is there good hunting at this fort? After all, mustn’t disappoint the dogs, don’t you know? Brought the hounds all this way to hunt, and hunt we shall. Why, do you know that I have met the most interesting fellow, a Mr. Hamilton, although I don’t believe that Hamilton is his real name. A right good sort of chap. English, I say. Says he has been here at this fort for several years. Seems to like it here, though he does appear to hate Indians.”

“Does he?”

“Yes, rather. Well, now, come along, my dear. Mr. McKenzie informs me that his clerk is awaiting us outside the house here to escort us to the guides on the other side of the gate. A monstrous proposal, I must say. That is why I have asked Mr. Hamilton to make the introductions. I can’t say that I am overwhelmed by Mr. McKenzie’s manners. A clerk to see to us, indeed. Ah, here is Mr. Hamilton now. Come along, my dear. Let us get these introductions over with.”

“Yes,” said Katrina, “let us.”

And with little more said, she allowed Mr. Hamilton and the marquess to lead her out into the sunshine of a new day. That the marquess’s friends followed the three of them wherever they went, that the marquess’s men kept murmuring always agreeable tidbits concerning Lord Leicester’s undoubtedly brilliant humor, did little more than annoy her.

At least for now.

 

 

McKenzie’s clerk, Thomas, was waiting for their entire party just outside the gate. And what a party they made. Not only were the marquess, his two friends and Hamilton in their group, somehow the marquess’s dogs, barking loudly, had joined them.

“Come this way, Gov’nor, the men ’ee seek are by the wall over thyar,” Thomas said.

“Where?”

“Over thyar, do ’ee not see?”

“They’re…”

Conversation ceased, replaced with silence. Dead silence.

Their entire entourage, even the dogs, stopped completely still. No one said a word; no one moved. Then the dogs started to whine, and the shuffle of feet could be heard—moving away.

It was he, the Indian she had glimpsed from the boat, along with a few companions.

“Why, Thomas,” said one of the men, “they are—”

“Yep, Injuns.”

Now, it wasn’t as though their party had never seen an Indian until this moment, nor was it possible that anyone in this party had thought never to encounter an Indian in this country. After all, they had glimpsed enough of the native population from the steamboat as it had made its way up the Missouri.

But never had the people in this group seen primitives such as these—at least not so close to their own person. Warriors, all, were these savages and, by the looks of the heathens, dangerous.

But Katrina stared at none other than him.

She opened her mouth as though to utter something…some scathing comment, perhaps. But when no words issued forth, she closed her lips.

“This one hyar’s name’s White Eagle.” Only Thomas seemed able to speak. “Them three behind him are Night Thunder and Good Dancer. The woman is married to Good Dancer, near as this ole coot can tell. Blackfeet, they are. Gov’nor?”

“Indians?” This from Katrina, at last, her glance never wavering from him.

“Yes, ma’am. But they’ll get ’ee through Blackfoot country all safe. They knows the way.”

“He goes too far!” She glanced toward the clerk.

“Ma’am?”

“My uncle goes too far this time.”

“You tell the man,” the marquess spoke up from behind her. “Yes, my dear, tell the man.”

Katrina gazed over her shoulder. The marquess had positioned himself to her rear, his own men standing, as though in a line, behind him.

“Does your uncle not think favorably of you, Miss Wellington?” This from Hamilton, who seemed as dumbfounded as the rest.

She ignored the Englishman, glancing instead at him, the Indian, the same one who had so disturbed her thoughts, the one called… “What is this man’s name again, Thomas?”

“This one hyar, ma’am? He’s White Eagle. He’s their leader, near as I can tell, a chief maybe.”

White Eagle. So, that was his name. Katrina stared at the Indian. He, back at her. The man looked dangerous—foreign, frightening…handsome. Handsome?

He still wore no shirt, exposing to her view that muscular chest she had glimpsed the previous day. And she would have looked at it, at him, had she been of the mind. But she wasn’t.

She swallowed with difficulty and, allowing her gaze to drop no farther than the bridge of the Indian’s nose, asked of him, “Does my uncle bring word to me?”

The Indian just stared at her. No grin, no recognition of her, no intimation that he had seen her, too, the previous day—nothing, not even an acknowledgment that she had spoken.

She raised her chin. “Do these Indians not speak English, Thomas?”

“Guess they do well enough, ma’am. They been tradin’ with us long enough now to have learnt it. But ’ee is a woman. No Blackfeet is goin’ to speak to ’ee b’cause of that, beg pardon.”

Katrina looked at the Indian from down the end of her nose. She said, “Then ask him for me if he brings me word of my uncle.”

Thomas stepped up to her side. “Very well, ma’am. ’Ee heard her, Injun. Does the lady’s uncle send word?”

The Indian didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even shift his weight. He just stared, his glance never wavering from her.

“Speak up there, you primitive animal,” Hamilton demanded.

None of the three Indians, and especially not White Eagle, paid the Englishman the least attention.

“Are ’ee sent here from the woman’s uncle?”

Nothing. No response at all, until, at last, piercing Katrina with his glance, the Indian said, “I have news for the woman alone.” Oddly enough, the man spoke in unbroken English and, Katrina noted, his voice, low and baritone, was peculiarly pleasant, almost melodic.

“Alone?” Hamilton again spoke up from a safe distance away. “Is the Indian mad? Does he presume to think we would leave the lady unaccompanied with him, so filthy a creature as he is?”

The Indian didn’t move a muscle, nor did he indicate in any way that he’d even heard Hamilton’s comments.

Katrina stepped forward, away from the crowd. Glancing around behind her, she ordered, “Leave us.”

“What?” This from all five men.

“Leave us, but take this man’s Indian friends with you. I will do as he asks and speak with him, but only with him. Here, Mr. Hamilton, give me your pistol that I may defend myself, if I must.”

“But milady,” Hamilton protested, “surely you can’t mean to—”

“Mr. Hamilton, your pistol, please.”

The Englishman looked as though he might protest further, though he nevertheless pulled the weapon from his coat and handed it to Katrina.

“Leave us.” Again she addressed the men who remained behind her without turning toward them. “I warn you, Indian,” she said confidently, “I can use this firearm Mr. Hamilton has given me as skillfully as any man. So do not think me defenseless that you might take advantage of me.”

The Indian said nothing, nor did he give her any sort of acknowledgment, not even by the bend of his head or a flicker of emotion across his features.

Katrina listened to the fading footsteps of the men behind her. After a nod from White Eagle, the Indian’s two companions followed.

The deference shown to this man did not escape her notice, but when she spoke, she made no mention of it, saying only, “What you ask is highly irregular and impolite. Hear me now, Indian, I am humoring you only because I wish to know what my uncle has to say. That is all.”

Glancing directly at her, he replied, “I will speak to the white woman only within the walls of the fort.”

“You will not,” Katrina countered. “You asked for an audience with me alone. You have it now.”

The Indian didn’t utter another word, just gave her a peculiar look and made to move away from her.

She reached out, grabbing at his arm, effectively staying him. He glanced down at her hand as it lay upon his arm, then back up at her. Something…some little excitement passed between them as they stared at one another, the intensity causing Katrina’s knees to buckle. Several moments passed as they stood there, sizing one another up.

At last, Katrina stuck out her chin and asked, “Who do you think you are, Indian, that you gape at me? Do you not know it is impolite to do so? Now, you will tell me what it is you have to say to me, right here and now…or not at all. Do I make myself clear to you?”

The Indian had become perfectly still as she spoke; his gaze roamed from the top of her bonnet to the very bottom of her skirts. Katrina watched him, ignoring the tingling sensation which spread throughout her nervous system. Fear, she supposed.

Odd, too, but she noticed he smelled good: of wood and smoke, of grass and mint—she had heard that the Indians chewed the leaves of the mint plant to stave off hunger, as well as to scent their breath.

His skin felt warm, too, moist and…strange, there was no hair upon the flesh of his arm where she touched him.

He was close to her, too close. The wind suddenly blew a lock of his long raven hair over her hand where she still touched him. The feel of those strands against her skin was fleeting, sensual, its effect sending shivers through her body.

She glanced up, startled, and wondered if the Indian had felt it, too, this strange sensation, but his expression revealed nothing.

She didn’t know how it was possible, yet she considered this man, this Indian, handsome almost beyond belief, in a primitive sort of way, of course. Not a man she would ever admit to being attracted to, particularly since he was nothing more than one of the savages that this country produced. And yet, she couldn’t help but admire the straight, imposing figure he cut as she looked up to where he stood over her. With his shoulders back, displaying his sculptured form, he looked as though he were a work of art, not a person of substance.

Something within her reached out to him, and she felt as though she knew him, his thoughts, his passions. It was as though there were a part of him that matched her perfectly…

She gave herself a shake. What was wrong with her? This was not the first time she’d felt as if there were something between them. It had happened the first time she’d glimpsed him, there from the boat…

She stared up at him then, in silent challenge, if only to purge this sensation from her consciousness. Yet, all the while, her touch upon his arm never relinquished its hold. His eyes were black, she noted, the darkest eyes she had ever seen, and they revealed nothing.

Suddenly, his look turned sardonic, and he broke eye contact with her, pulling his arm back, out and away from her grasp.

He turned from her then, suddenly and without warning. He began walking away from her at a steady gait, following on the footfalls of the other men. The Indian was treading, it would appear, toward the main entrance of the fort.

Katrina stood still for several moments, watching him, until she suddenly realized what he was doing. This man—this mere Indian—was defying her. She had made demands of him; he had told her nothing. Nothing!

Somehow this fact disturbed her more than any other detail she had observed about him. Blast!

She had to try to detain him. She took one step forward, and called out, “It was you who demanded to speak to me alone, Indian.”

No response, not even a catch in his stride.

“If you wish to talk to me, do it now, for I will not see you once we are in the fort.”

The man didn’t turn around, nor did he say or do anything further, except to present her with the view of his backside as he continued to walk away. She should have been appalled by the man’s bad manners and by his dress, or rather, its lack thereof. In truth, she was…almost.

She watched him, his lean, sculpted figure an unusually strange and exciting sight. And then she saw it, the man’s breechcloth fell apart from the outline of his leggings now and again, presenting her with an occasional view of a portion of hard, muscular buttocks.

Katrina was almost struck dumb with the observation. Never, not once in her life, had she ever witnessed so much of a man’s anatomy.

How utterly heathen. How primitive.

She didn’t, however, glance away. “I won’t meet with you,” she announced again. “And that’s my final word on the subject.”

Her challenge had no effect on the Indian’s actions.

Katrina was fuming. She felt like shouting at the man; she felt like pummeling him, but she refused to reduce herself to a show of temper.

She did, however, stamp her foot. The insolent barbarian. And to think she had been admiring his looks.

Humph!

She picked up the front of her skirt, her white petticoats contrasting oddly with the brown of the earth beneath her feet. She would follow that Indian back into the fort. Not because she had to, she reminded herself. After all, she was residing within the walls of the fort. She had a right to be there. This Indian did not.

Oh, but she didn’t like this. It was she who should be the person putting forth demands. It was she, not this man, White Eagle, who was the civilized one here, the more intelligent one.

So why was she the one left staring after him?

Well, it made no difference. There was at least one action she would take as soon as she met with this man: She would ensure he would hear her opinions of him and his insolence—that is, if she met with him.

She wasn’t certain at this moment that she would even permit the man an interview. There must be some other way of soliciting news of her uncle.

The Indian turned around at that exact moment, catching her staring at him, and goodness, but it looked as though he smiled at her. Did he know her thoughts? Could he see her frustration? Worse yet, had he felt her gaze upon that more intimate portion of his anatomy?

How dare he! Oh, what a wicked, wicked man!

She threw back her head and thrust out her chin. Ah, but it would please her to tell this Indian what she thought of him…and soon!

Make no mistake.

White Eagle turned his back on the woman and walked away from her, a grin tugging up the corners of his mouth.

In truth, he had enjoyed the confrontation with Shines Like Moonlight…but he would never let her know it. Not when she had dared to try to command him, a Blackfoot warrior. Such was the height of bad manners.

Yet, he could appreciate her spirit, her courage in confronting him when even the men who had surrounded her had shied away from him. Too, he acknowledged her unusual beauty; in truth, she had overwhelmed him with the allure of her feminine charm, more pleasing in close proximity than from a distance. He could still smell the sweet fragrance of her, hear the silvery timbre of her voice, and if it hadn’t been for her lack of manners…

Certainly, she was fairer than he’d anticipated she would be, but this wasn’t what bothered him about her. No, it was her touch, the simple graze of her hand upon his arm. With that touch…

He grimaced. And he wondered if she knew she had stirred something to life within him, something sweet, something carnal, something completely sexual. It was one of the reasons he had turned his back on her—that, and her insolence.

Hánnia! He should have more control. He was not some young boy, unable to control the physical urges of his body; and yet, even now he could feel the result of her effect on him down there in the junction between his legs. It was good that he had left her before his physical reaction to her became more pronounced.

Did she remember him?

A picture flashed in his mind, an image of a child, frightened and crying, clinging to him as he had hung onto the crest of a hill, both he and the child watching the gushing floodwaters rush past them, its danger only a short distance away. He had almost lost her in those waters.

He remembered again that he had clasped her to him then, whispering to her, giving her as much comfort as he was able, until long after the danger had passed. But that had been much too long ago. They had both been different people then, children.

That the child in her had grown up was evident. That she had reached adulthood without the guidance of a mother or a father to point out the necessity of courtesy and good manners was even more conspicuous.

Would she remember him given more time?

White Eagle thought back to the world he had known so long ago, to the people he had befriended, to a little white girl he had admired—a girl with yellowish-gold hair—to the child’s father and her mother.

They had perished, her parents. The girl had barely survived, and her father’s brother had sent her away long ago.

So, her uncle had been right about her. The woman he had met today was spoiled, a person completely devoid of maidenly gentleness. She spoke when not asked, demanded when a man’s mind was already settled; in truth, her spirit towered over the white men who had accompanied her.

Did she rise above these men because she had bullied them into submission with the same womanly harping and angry tongue she had shown to him? Or was she merely stronger-willed than they?

Whatever the reason, White Eagle despaired of the intervening years since he had last seen her.

If he reminded her of it, would she remember?

It was doubtful. She had been before the age when a child comes into its senses, and he had been no more than a young boy. He’d kept a lonely girl company during those times when her father and uncle had journeyed to his tribe on trading excursions. If he told her what he knew of her, of her family, would any good come from it?

He did not think so. This person he had observed today had been as someone alien to him—certainly not the girl he had remembered…had once known.

In truth, he had caught her looking upon him with not only a womanly sort of attention, but with contempt, the same sort of foreign attitude that White Eagle had witnessed upon the countenance of the white man.

He didn’t like it.

No, it was better that he keep what he knew of her to himself. It was apparent she did not recall her life before the white man’s world, and he was certain she would not care to hear what he had to say to her.

So be it.

He entered the fort, taking his place amongst his friends. Good Dancer’s wife had already started setting up their camping lodges in the area surrounding the fort’s flagpole. One for himself and Night Thunder, the other for herself and her husband, Good Dancer. That Good Dancer’s new wife had demanded to accompany them on their journey did not bother White Eagle, nor did it seem strange to him.

The young couple had just been married, after an unusually long courtship. Of course they would want to be together now. Such was to be understood. Such were the ways of married people.

Besides, he’d wanted a woman along to keep Shines Like Moonlight company and to provide her with a chaperone. White Eagle grimaced as he adjusted his breechcloth, certain Shines Like Moonlight would need that chaperone.

He glanced around him, at his place within the fort. He had noticed, when he had first come here, that several half-breed hunters resided within the tepees around the flagpole. This seemed only right to White Eagle; that these half-white, half-Indian men chose to live not in the square, wooden houses of the white man, but rather in the more comfortable lodges of his own people.

At least this is how it appeared to White Eagle.

He could not know, nor would he understand that to some within the fort, the mixed-bloods were not on an equal footing with the more European breed of men, that such would not be allowed the right to live in the square, wooden houses.

And so, not knowing, White Eagle settled down, content for the moment, to initiate the necessary chores needed for the return journey to Fort McKenzie.  Indeed, the time consumed in fashioning arrowheads, making a new shield and manufacturing a new spear was time well spent.

He was certain that Shines Like Moonlight would delay a meeting with him for as long as she was able. This didn’t bother him. Why should it? Time was not an enemy to him, and White Eagle was full-blooded Indian; he was a patient man.

He smiled. Perhaps here was something else he could admire about this woman: She had a stubborn strength of character. And this was good.

She would not be one to come a cropper in an emergency. Such people were few. Such people were valuable.

He shrugged. Whatever the case, his next few days within this fort promised to be far from dull.

Well, that’s all for now.  Look for the book in a few days.  At present, it’s undergoing the final proof reading.  I’d love to hear your thoughts.  Oh, and this is the cover to the left is the cover of the book currently up at Amazon.  This cover was done when I was writing for Samhain Publishing.

Indeed, all of these covers have a special place in my heart.  I am, however, extremely drawn to the new cover.  Hope you’ll like it, too.

Susannah of the Mounties — Shirley Temple and Martin Good Rider

by

Howdy!

Welcome to a terrific Tuesday!

I grew up watching old movies (and I mean old 1930’s movies).  And one of my favorite stars from that time period was Shirley Temple.

In researching the Blackfeet Indians for the story I’m currently writing, I came across this movie, “Susannah of the Mounties,” because, outside of the two “Indian chiefs,” all the rest of the Indians cast for the movie were Blackfeet from the Blackfeet reservation in Browning.  Now, the writer of the script was not Blackfeet and so there are some things in the Indian part of the movie that just weren’t so historically. But, I love that they used Blackfeet Indians for the most part to play Blackfeet Indians.  Martin Good Rider was Shirley’s child co-star in this movie and I gotta admit both Shirley and Martin steal the show.  He, with his stoic remarks, and Shirley getting her feathers ruffled.  Below is a publicity pict. they did for the picture.

SUSANNAH OF THE MOUNTIES, from left, Shirley Temple, Martin Good Rider, 1939, TM and copyright 20th Century Fox Film Corp.

 

It was said at the time that Shirley made it a rule to not make friends with her child co-stars, but she did make friends with Martin.  And she became  friendly with other members of the Blackfeet cast, also, and earned their respect. Indeed, she was adopted into the Blackfeet tribe.

Because I write Indian romance, I rarely get to see pictures (movies) where the two characters (male and female) are actually teasing and having fun with one another.  This movie was like a breath of fresh air in that regard.  Martin’s character is almost constantly teasing Shirley and the result is cute and sometimes very funny.

Like the time she tries to walk out in front of him and he won’t go with her because (and this is true at this time period in history) Indian men DID NOT walk behind women.  They always went first and considered it their duty to do so.  They would always be the first to confront danger by doing this.

In the movie, Shirley of course doesn’t understand this and he doesn’t inform her of the custom.  But, as she is walking behind him and complaining rather louldy about it, he says, “Squaw keep quiet when walk behind Brave.”

 

Now, there were some things Martin Good Rider did really right, and I’m sure his elders were helping him with these things:

1)  The Blackfeet men wore three, not two braids.  Two in front and one in back.  They got this right in the movie.

2)  Martin does a bit of trick riding in the movie.  This was correct, also, because Blackfeet boys practically learned how to ride as soon as they could walk.

3)  There is an Indian dance scene where he is very correctly dancing in the Blackfeet traditional fashion, at least as far as I can tell.

4)  Even his clothing is correct because the traders during this time period often commented on the Blackfeet style of dress and how beautiful it was because their clothing was practically bleached white.

5)  His talk is very Blackfeet.  His grunts and groans, etc.  He would have never called her a “squaw,” however.  But, still he presented a good representation of his culture.

It really is a delightful movie and you can watch it for free on YouTube.  However, if I can find it somewhere, I will probably buy it.  I look for the old (silent) movies.  I look at the new ones, and if I do find a “romance” one, it almost always ends in a bad way.  This movie doesn’t end in a bad way and both of these characters steal the show.  Here’s a link if you’d like to watch it.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAacHqrDZHg&t=4717s

There is almost no information about Martin Good Rider as he grew up.  He remained true to his Blackfeet heritage and made this movie his only step into the Hollywood scene as far as I can discover.

But, I was fascinated at the friendship between these two children because it practically jumps off the screen.

And, historical American Indian movies that include the American Indian male and the white female — and that actually end well — are rare, in my opinion.  I can probably count them at present on one hand, which includes a silent movie I saw recently.

And so I thought I’d tell you a little about this movie so that if you get the chance, you might sit down some evening and have a look at it.

On the screen you will see them saying lines to one another, but their friendship is obviously real and one can feel the humor between the two of them.

Well, that’s all for today.  Sure hope you enjoyed my rambling about American Indian movies.  Again, here’s a link to watch it on YouTube if you are so inclined:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAacHqrDZHg&t=4717s

Be sure to look for my latest effort.

BLUE THUNDER AND THE FLOWER:  Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/4k6ahyfr

KOBO: https://tinyurl.com/3abxfuh

B & N: https://tinyurl.com/exadvx7n

Google:  https://tinyurl.com/uavkxz4

ITUNES: https://tinyurl.com/w2z7adxk