Destiny Mine

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Other Books by

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Epigraph

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  Copyright

  DESTINY OURS

  Kionee looked up to find Stalking Wolf watching her with a strange gleam in his eyes. “You are beautiful, Kionee,” he murmured.

  She trembled. “Your words confuse me.”

  Stalking Wolf drew a deep breath. “I hope you are a woman, Kionee,” he said. “I hunger to taste your lips, to hold you, to make you mine.” He heard her grasp in surprise.

  “You must not speak such words!” she said. “It is forbidden. You must forget I am a woman beneath this mask and these male garments. You must forget your desire for me.”

  “How can I do so, Konee? You are part of my destiny, as I am of yours. Will you touch lips with me?”

  Kionee warmed from head to feet. “That is perilous.”

  “All we do in life is filled with dangers and challenges.”

  Kionee allowed him to pull her into his arms. She quivered in the flames that surrounded her as their mouths meshed and their bodies made contact. The kiss was long and deep and filled with powerful emotion.

  He ended the kiss with reluctance and stared into her gaze of wonder and passion. “I love you, Kionee,” he said.

  With daring boldiness, she smiled and answered him. “I love you, Stalking Wolf of the Cheyenne.”

  Also by Janelle Taylor:

  CHASE THE WIND

  DESTINY’S TEMPTRESS

  FIRST LOVE, WILD LOVE

  FOLLOW THE WIND

  FORTUNE’S FLAMES

  GOLDEN TORMENT

  KISS OF THE NIGHT WIND

  THE LAST VIKING QUEEN

  LOVE ME WITH FURY

  MIDNIGHT SECRETS

  PASSIONS WILD AND FREE

  PROMISE ME FOREVER

  SWEET, SAVAGE HEART

  TAKING CHANCES

  WHISPERED KISSES

  WILD IS MY LOVE

  The Moondust and Madness Series:

  MOONDUST AND MADNESS

  STARDUST AND SHADOWS

  STARLIGHT AND SPLENDOR

  The Savage Ecstasy Series:

  SAVAGE ECSTASY

  DEFIANT ECSTASY

  FORBIDDEN ECSTASY

  BRAZEN ECSTASY

  TENDER ECSTASY

  STOLEN ECSTASY

  BITTERSWEET ECSTASY

  FOREVER ECSTASY

  SAVAGE CONQUEST

  Destiny Mine

  Janelle

  Taylor

  To my daughters,

  Angela Redmon and Melanie Taylor

  And my grandson,

  Alex Reffett

  To my Cheyenne friend,

  Christy Johnson,

  And,

  The Cheyenne People

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My husband, my hero, and research assistant,

  Michael Taylor

  My friend,

  Joe Marshall,

  who provided facts on weapons and

  customs of the Plains

  Indians and who is a talented writer, teacher,

  craftsman, and special person.

  R. W. Adamson,

  who wrote “Kionee’s Destiny” poem and

  made the “Kionee,

  The Huntress” ceremonial mask from my novel.

  Thanks for your talent and for your generosity.

  KIONEE’S DESTINY

  Touch me where the golden dawn,

  Meets the morning dew,

  And I will give my life, My Love,

  To view our dreams come true.

  Join me as the moonless night,

  Conceives a bright new sun;

  Then unity, birth’s destiny,

  To merge us ever one.

  —R. W. Adamson ©

  PROLOGUE

  September 1797

  Big Horn Mountains

  “IT MUST BE DONE on the next moon, my love.” Strong Rock told his grieving wife. “Kionee has seen the passings of five hot seasons, and Atah has given us no son. She is the oldest of our daughters; it is her duty, her sacred honor as a chosen one. It is the law of the Hanueva for her to take my place after my seasons are too many to provide for my family and to defend them and our people. If I lay ill or injured on my mat or if Atah calls me to Him while my hair is still dark as the night, she must step from behind Strong Rock and become as he was. We must do the marking ceremony for her to begin a walk on the tiva path as our Hunter-Guardian.”

  Martay’s heart thudded in dread, though she had expected the bad news. “Forgive me, Strong Rock, for pushing no son from my body since our joining day. Four times I prayed to Atah for a boy to—” Her remaining words were choked off by sorrow and tears.

  “Do not weep, Martay. If it is not the will of our Creator and Protector, He will give us a son before Kionee is sixteen summers and speaks her vows. The law of our people must be obeyed, and we cannot survive without a son to bring us food and guard us from harm when our seasons are many on Mother Earth. I will tell the shaman to prepare for the ritual here at our sacred mountain before we travel to our camp for the cold season. After the changing ceremony, Kionee will wear the marks of a tiva on her hand and face and will no longer live as a female. She must learn to think, speak, and be as a man in all ways but mating. On her sixteenth summer, Kionee will make a shield from hides of buffalo I slay and a bow from wood gathered in the sacred medicine forest. When her weapons are ready, she will place a tipi-of-power next to mine. She will receive a ceremonial mask and sing the tiva prayer. After that moon passes she will ride, hunt, and meet in council with the men until we live only in her memory.”

  “Unless she is taken from Mother Earth,” Martay added. “If we are attacked by enemies, she must ride and fight as a warrior and defender. I fear for her safety and survival if that dark sun rises.”

  Strong Rock caressed his love’s damp cheek. “She will be trained well by Regim and the other tivas to face and win any challenge. They will teach Kionee all she must know to accept her rank and to become one of them. Do not forget the Crow shaman believes Atah’s eyes shined on Hanueva by placing the holy Medicine Wheel and Great Arrow in our land. He told his tribe to leave us in peace or they would anger the Creator and His spirit helpers who guard us. He fears our tivas have great power and magic and it is bad medicine to slay one. Kionee will be protected by that fear. No tiva has been captured or slain and unmasked by a Bird warrior or their allies, so the truth remains hidden from them. It is a good trick and must continue for our safety. Crow chiefs believe the shaman’s vision; they warn their bands to fight only Blackfoot, Lakotas, and Cheyenne, which are many and strong—fierce and skilled enemies. To keep their pride uninjured, Bird warriors say to others they do not attack us because we are too weak and worthless for earning coups; they say it would be as if riding against women, children, and old ones. We cannot allow such insults to provoke us to prove they lie, for they are many and are experienced in countless battles.”

  “What will happen when the shaman thes and his vision words are forgotten? What will happen if Crow cease to believe and fear them? Do you forget a few Bird warriors
sneak raids on us in the hot season when we hunt buffalo on the grasslands in the great Basin of Thunder?”

  “The foolish number small, Martay, and our protectors defeat them without provoking war or revenge. So it will be when Kionee is a tiva.”

  “We have traded many times with those called Cheyenne; to this season, they are no threat to us. But what of other Crow enemies or their friends who are not bound by the Bird shaman’s words?”

  “They treat Hanueva as wind, as if they cannot see us. All know we do not ride against other tribes for coups or seek to steal their hunting grounds and possessions. All know we are too few and peaceful to be of help as an ally to any large band. Yet, all know we will defend our camp and families if attacked. Those who would be enemies do not want to lose warriors’ lives and weapons fighting those they see as weaklings. As with the Crow, others believe Atah gave us the sacred Medicine Wheel and Great Arrow and He dwells near them. Kionee will be safe in my shadow and at my side.”

  “Will peace always blanket us, my cherished mate?”

  “Only Atah sees into new suns. Do not blame yourself for bearing no son; that is for Atah to choose. You are a good wife, Martay. Your face is easy to look upon and you give me great pleasure on our sleeping mat. You are skilled in all woman’s work. Our tipi is strong and warm. You have borne me four children and you teach them the best path to follow. It is a good deed for Kionee to become a tiva, so we must not fear or resist it. This has been our way since before we can remember, passed from father to son to son since Creator gave us life. He holds Kionee’s destiny in His hands. Until He calls her to Him, she will be our Hunter-Guardian. If it is to change, only Atah, the High Guardian, can do so.”

  Martay grieved over the mother-daughter bond to be severed; it would be as if her little girl died. Kionee was her secret favorite—the child had been her shadow for five circles of the seasons. Her eldest child learned fast and helped with most chores, always willing and eager to do her best at any task. Kionee warmed her heart and made her smile or laugh many times each sun. When Martay tanned hides, cooked, or gathered food, water, and wood, Kionee handed her needed tools, fetched things to save her time, tended the three younger girls, and did other tasks. Kionee was learning to cook, learning which plants and berries to gather, and practicing with beadwork and sewing on small hides Strong Rock and Regim brought to her for that purpose.

  Martay knew they would no longer share such times and joys after the marking ceremony. Kionee would be compelled to play boys’ games, learn boys’ tasks, do no girls’ work, and spend her suns and moons until sixteen with tivas in training for her new role in life. Instead of awls, fleshers, beads, and babies, Kionee’s hands would hold a bow, arrows, knife, lance, shield, and game. Instead of showing her beauty and gentleness, Kionee would conceal them and behave with the dignity and reserve of a man.

  Martay wondered if her own mother had felt these same conflicting emotions when Regim became a tiva for their family. It was odd, Martay admitted, but she thought of her older sister as a man, as she could not recall Regim’s feminine side. Would it come to be the same with Kionee? At that agonizing moment, she did not believe it would. Yet, on the next moon, the little girl sleeping nearby would be lost to her; and unbidden resentment nibbled at the distressed mother’s heart and mind.

  Martay scolded herself for wishing it was one of her other three girls who would travel the tiva path. Perhaps, she fretted, she was being punished for feeling more love and pride for one child than the others. It tormented her to think of perils Kionee would face on the hunt and in possible battles, as a female’s strength and stamina—no matter how well honed—were never equal to a man’s. Yet, no female had refused to accept her tiva role. She could not think of a single one who did not seem proud of and happy in that new destiny. All she could do was hope and pray it would be the same for Kionee, as she could not bear to see her beloved child unhappy.

  As if his thoughts journeyed in a similar direction, Strong Rock said, “Soon Kionee must move her sleeping mat to the tiva tipi. She has many things and ways to toss aside, and many to gather and learn. The daughter of Strong Rock will become a great hunter, and a great warrior if that dark season comes. Strong Rock’s seed must never dishonor our family or defy our customs. It will be done as Atah and our law command.”

  Martay sighed deeply, then gave her husband a sad smile. “Yes, Strong Rock; it will be done as Atah and our law command. I will do my best to make the change easy and fast for her.” And for me.

  * * *

  A quarter moon rode the eastern sky like a silent spirit who was coming to observe this awesome occasion. An autumn wind cooled the evening air and whispered winter was trailing close behind it. Scents of pine, spruce, and lingering wildflowers mingled with the strong breezes that often blew over Medicine Mountain. A temporary camp was situated within riding distance, where mothers nursing babies and older children tending siblings awaited the tribes’ return. Only Hanuevas of a certain age gathered at the holy site where numerous stones formed the sacred Wheel which was over seventy feet in diameter. Twenty-eight spokes radiated from the altar hub to its enormous rim. Seven stone cairns were spaced around the circle, all facing the direction of the rising sun. Weather-bleached buffalo skulls stuffed with and resting upon beds of sweet sage and herbs were positioned atop the hub, cairns, and where the spokes met the rim. Torches of pine stood in the ground at those same spots; their dancing flames brightened the setting and sent pungent smoke drifting upward in lazy patterns until breezes captured them and swirled them away. Tivas in ceremonial masks and their finest garments sat on rush mats inside the stone ring, while the tribe did the same beyond it. The shaman in full regalia waited near the altar with those requesting this rite—fathers and mothers and the two participants—ready for it to begin.

  Drumbeats summoned the tribe and then prepared them to witness a sacred ritual, said to be handed down from ancient ones called the Nahane. Their tribe had lived in this territory longer than any could remember, and had watched other bands enter it and call it theirs. All knew of the Great Arrow of stones which Atah had placed on a mountain westward to point the way for His spirit helpers to this holy place where they gathered after the buffalo hunt to give thanks to the Creator and to evoke His future guidance. Time was short, for they must be gone before others arrived to do the same, especially the fierce Bird People.

  After everyone was in place, the drumming halted and Spotted Owl shook his rattle to take charge of the event. The shaman’s action evoked a venerable hush; even birds, animals, and insects appeared to obey his unspoken command for silence, reverence, and attention.

  Spotted Owl lifted the buffalo skull from the altar and held it toward the darkening heaven while he entreated in a melodic tone, “Atah, Creator and High Guardian, see and hear your children this moon. Hanueva come to ask You to make tivas of these girls. We ask You to guide and protect them as they train to fulfill new destinies, those chosen by You. Atah, Creator and High Guardian, we ask You to give them long life to serve their families and people, strong bodies to do their tasks and fearless spirits to challenge all perils. We ask You to give them joy and pride in their new ranks, success on their hunts, and skills to defeat enemies if they come. We ask You to keep them true to their callings by You and our law. We ask You to remove their past lives as daughters and to give them new ones as sons. We ask You to give them strength, courage, and many good deeds. We ask You to let no man or thing blind them to their duty or pull them from their new path. Atah, Creator and High Guardian, we ask You to hear our pleas and to answer our prayers.”

  Spotted Owl replaced the skull on its bed of sweet sage and herbs. “Mothers, come forward and change their garments and hair,” he said. As the shaman sent forth prayers of dedication, the women obeyed.

  Martay wove two braids from Kionee’s long black hair, for never again would she be permitted to wear only one or to let her shiny mane flow free. She removed Kionee’s dress and put
on the boy’s garments she had made for this occasion: breechclout, leggings, beaded belt, and vest. After she finished her part, she returned to her assigned position with a heavy heart.

  The shaman instructed in a resonant voice, “Fathers, hold up their kims so Atah can capture their female spirits; He will place them inside and guard them in these sacred vessels in the tiva meeting lodge.”

  Two clay pots which were much smaller than the girls’ heads were held aloft by their fathers. Spotted Owl lit his sacred pipe and wafted its smoke over the children, then motioned for the vessels to be lowered. He blew smoke into the containers, from which dangled downy feathers and were adorned with the colors of nature. Inside were miniature toys and dresses to represent the putting away of feminine things, along with their female essences. Following more instructions, beaded pouches holding the dried ovaries of she-bears were attached to the girls’ belts. The bags would be worn in that fashion until the girls reached sixteen. At their final ritual, the ovaries would be placed in a beaded medicine pouch with other chosen objects and worn around their necks even beyond death.

  “Fathers, paint on the mask you have chosen,” Spotted Owl said.

  Kionee sat still, quiet, and respectful as Strong Rock applied the black covering from ear-to-ear and hairline-to-jawline. Her large brown eyes gazed at his serene face as he added blue, green, yellow, and red markings which he had selected as her pattern. The five-year-old did not understand the awesome and life-altering meaning of the ritual, but she knew this moment was special and that she was an important part of it. Pride and joy filled her because only she and her best friend Sumba had been chosen for this great honor. She watched her father smear liquid from the coneflower root on the back of her right hand, and felt it go numb with speed. She observed as he tattooed a beautiful mask into her flesh. She was surprised she did not feel pain as the porcupine quill pierced her skin countless times. She liked the colorful design he created for her to wear. She was eager to show it to the other girls tomorrow when they played with their small tipis and dolls, as no other children were allowed to attend the ceremony, and she did not know why. Kionee was sure they would beg to have their fathers give them one like hers and Sumba’s.