Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance) Read online

  Also by Janelle Taylor:

  ANYTHING FOR LOVE

  BY CANDLELIGHT

  CHASE THE WIND

  DESTINY MINE

  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

  WILD WINDS

  The Moondust and Madness Series:

  MOONDUST AND MADNESS

  STARDUST AND SHADOWS

  STARLIGHT AND SPLENDOR

  MOONBEAMS AND MAGIC

  The Savage Ecstasy Series:

  SAVAGE ECSTASY

  DEFIANT ECSTASY

  FORBIDDEN ECSTASY

  BRAZEN ECSTASY

  TENDER ECSTASY

  STOLEN ECSTASY

  BITTERSWEET ECSTASY

  FOREVER ECSTASY

  SAVAGE CONQUEST

  JANELLE TAYLOR

  Dedicated to:

  My husband, Michael, and mother-in-law, Betty Taylor, my fantastic research assistants on this novel.

  My daughter, Melanie Taylor, for her research assistance.

  And, Dick Griebe Pony Soldier RV Park a generyts and kind man who opened his campground in the wintery of season to allow Michael and Betty to camp there to do additional research at Fort Laramie and in the surrounding area, and who gifted them with a bottle of wine to warm their chilly bones. A big thanks from me!

  April 1851

  Paha Sapa (The Black Hills

  As the brave knelt by the fallen doe, a blade in his hand ready to skin and butcher the animal, Wind Dancer crept forward until he was close enough to prevent the stranger from having time to retrieve a bow and quiver of arrows from near a tree, and he cautioned. "It is not safe or wise to steal the hunt of another. Put away your knife and go in peace while I claim what is mine."

  The brave leapt to his feet and whirled to face Wind Dancer, whose eyes widened in surprise, for it was a woman-not a man-who stood before him. Long black braids hung over her shoulders. She was clad in a buckskin shirt, fringed leggings, and a breechclout-a man's garments. But she was the most beautiful female he had seen, and for a short time, he simply stared at her in amazement. Her dark brown eyes studied him from head to foot, then she raised one brow slightly and looked directly into his gaze as she pointed her knife toward him. He wondered if she recognized him. He also wondered to which band she belonged, as nothing upon her unbeaded and unpainted garments and weapons gave him a clue to her tribal identity. She narrowed her gaze and glared at him as if its flames of anger could sear away his life force. Then she spoke, her voice, the sound of soft and slow moving water, her words as hard and stinging as a thrown stone.

  "It is not safe or wise to prey on another band's hunting grounds. Why do you risk trouble by stealing an ally's game? There is no coup to be earned by such reckless theft. Have your people slain or driven all creatures from your grounds? Is that why you encroach upon another's?"

  Wind Dancer did not know if her behavior resulted from shame, courage, arrogance, or ignorance but he was disappointed and vexed by her rudeness and apparent lack of training. He was a famed warrior, a man, son of a chief, a future chief himself. She should not speak such words to him. "The deer was not slain on your people's grounds," he explained. "A wounded animal roams where it wills; a hunter must track it and find it to end its suffering. She is mine, for my arrow lodges in her body. Look, it bears my markings." He watched her eye the feathered shaft which he withdrew from his quiver and held before him, then half-turn to compare its painted symbols to the arrow's which was embedded in the doe's chest. Despite viewing that proof, she shrugged, frowned, and insulted him again.

  "It is a long way to another's hunting grounds. If your arrow had flown true, she could not have run so far before she halted to die. It is wrong to make the Great Spirit's creatures suffer so much and for so long."

  Wind Dancer was astonished by her rebuke. He concluded that her parents and people had failed to teach her respect. He did not even want to imagine how his family and people would react to his sister if she dared to speak to a man in this offensive manner. His wife had never belittled, shamed, or scolded him. "My arrow missed its true mark when I was attacked by an enemy," he said in his defense. "I could not track the Great Spirit's creature into your people's forest until that danger was past."

  Chumani noticed that he had received no injuries from that fight, and the fact he stood before her proclaimed him as its victor. Yet, he did not boast of his triumph. And he mistakenly assumed she was of the Brave Heart band since this was their wintering section of the Paha Sapa, an area upon which she also was trespassing.

  "I am Waci Tate of the Red Shield band of the Oglalas," he identified himself. "My people's winter camp is almost one sun's ride from this place, but our hunting grounds travel closer." If she recognized his face or name, it did not show in her now stoic expression, but he had seen her gaze roam his face and body for bloody signs of his recent struggle and markings of his tribal identity. He wondered if she was impressed by the fact there were none, or if she believed he was speaking falsely to her.

  Chumani knew who the tall and muscular warrior was, but she was the daughter of a chief and a skilled hunter and fighter in her own right, and she did not fear him. Following a deadly attack on her people by the Crow two seasons past, she had trained every sun to master warrior skills and increase her stamina, strength, and wits until she could defend herself and help protect her people. She had seen this warrior of awesome prowess at a distance on the grasslands on several occasions when the many bands gathered for seasonal trading. As a woman, she had been compelled to remain at her people's chosen camp site; it was the White Shields' way of keeping their females away from the temptation of being drawn to and mating with outsiders, Indian and White. But she and her best friend had sneaked near the men's location one night and spied upon them. After Waci Tate arrived, she had been unable to look away from him and thoughts of him had tormented her for many moons. Now, here he stood before her, overfilled with pride and scolding her as if she were a bad child!

  As one who tried his best to practice the Four Virtues-Bravery, Generosity, Fortitude, and Wisdom-Wind Dancer doused his hot irritation. "If your family is hungry and you search for food, the deer is yours," he offered.

  "There are three skilled hunters in my family," Chumani responded. "The deer is yours to take, but do not roam these hunting grounds again. If I had known you pursued her, I would not have tried to take her."

  As she sheathed her knife and collected her bow and quiver, showing she either trusted or had no fear of him, he nodded. "That is wise. Now, tell me, who are you and where do your people camp?" Before allowing her time to respond, he added, "Rest while I prepare the deer and I will carry you to your camp on my horse. It is not safe for a woman to walk the forest alone when enemies are restless."

  Chumani's wits cleared and she realized she was behaving badly, especially since he had offered her the doe and an escort home. Yet, she felt compelled by shame and another unknown feeling to deceive him. "I am called the morning mist. I know this forest and will be safe. Grandfather's creature awaits your prayers and preparation." She wanted to leave fast, as she, too, had unwittingly encroached upon the Brave Hearts' territory so deep were her thoughts as she enjoyed the forest during the rebirth of the la
nd after a long and bitter winter.

  Wind Dancer watched the stubborn female vanish into the dense woods. She was beautiful and shapely, he admitted, but her ways were unappealing. Yet, he experienced a strange attraction to her, more than a physical one, and that baffled and piqued him. He walked to his kill and knelt to thank it for its sacrifice and to praise its prowess. This was one of the few times he had ridden alone to either hunt or battle enemies. Usually his best friend, Red Feather, was at his side; and often, so was his younger brother, War Eagle. He did not know why he had wanted to travel alone on this sun, but the feeling within him had been too great to ignore. He was glad no one else had witnessed the woman's bad behavior, as reporting it could have caused trouble with her band if she were mated to a great warrior, trouble he wanted to avoid at this busy time when Mother Nature changed her face and while a large group of men from their band was at Fort Pierre for trading. He had not gone with them to the enclosed village which was called a fort but was only a trading post, as he did not like or trust those with hairy white faces, the wasicun.

  As he loaded the game on his horse, his body stiffened and his mind came to intense alert as if something warned him of imminent danger. Perhaps, he reasoned, the enemy who had attacked him had not been traveling alone. His gaze was drawn-as if by a mystical force-toward the direction in which the woman had disappeared, and a voice within his head ordered him to ride quickly that way.

  It did not take long for Wind Dancer to hear ominous sounds coming from a clearing beyond him. He dismounted and told his horse, a smart and loyal animal, to remain there. He sneaked to a location where the woman was encircled by three Crow warriors, their identities unmistakable from their garments and markings. Anger filled him at the sight of his enemies encroaching on Lakota hunting grounds and taunting the beautiful creature. No doubt the daring warriors intended to take her captive and steal her innocence. His fury increased as he saw them darting in and out as they played a cruel game with her. There was no way she could escape their human enclosure, though she held a knife at the ready in her right hand and appeared agile and alert. She moved quickly as she whirled about and slashed out with her blade to keep the three foes at a safe distance, threatening and insulting them with her shouts. He noticed there was no fear in her brown gaze, only sheer hatred and coldness. She looked as though she wanted to slay them barehanded.

  The men began taking turns with their sport, one resting and laughing while the other two continued dancing around her and thwarting her strikes with their lance points, their clinking contacts sounding loud in the forest's quietness. He assumed she would soon exhaust herself, making her vulnerable to seizure and worse. With all of the stealth and skills he could summon, Wind Dancer approached the resting man.

  With a loud yell and knife brandished, the oldest son of Chief Rising Bear leapt into the clearing and challenged his enemies, determined to rescue the woman even at the risk of his safety and survival. He had confidence in his prowess, for he had battled more than three foes at a time in the past, and he still walked unharmed and alive to chant those coups.

  Wind Dancer sent his blade into the heart of the startled Crow. Without delay, he set upon the second enemy, who charged at him like a raging buffalo during mating season, as the woman was fighting the third with skills which both impressed and astonished him. Though he was concerned about her safety, Wind Dancer was forced to focus his attention on his own battle, as his larger responsibility and duty were to his family and people as their future leader. He needed to use his strength, and skills to best his foe, which he could not do if his thoughts were on her.

  The Oglala and Crow warriors exchanged taunting grins, both assessing his opponent's weaknesses and strengths. They stepped sideways in a circular pattern, each seeming to await an unspoken signal from the other to begin their struggle for victory. In the flicker of an eye, Wind Dancer fell backward to the ground and delivered a stunning kick into his competitor's groin, causing the man to shriek in pain, double over for a moment, and then retreat with haste for recovery as he himself laughed at his successful maneuver and sprang to his feet with ease.

  With lightning speed and hopes of benefiting from the man's brief vulnerability, Wind Dancer raced forward and hurled his lowered shoulder into the man's abdomen, bringing forth a rush of air from his lungs. As the Crow stumbled backward and gasped for air, Wind Dancer used his knife to slice across the man's right side. His gaze flickered to the gaping wound and he thrilled at the knowledge he had brought forth the first-blood in what had to be a life-or-death encounter. He saw the Crow's gaze darken and glitter with outrage and pain, then narrow in determination that this would be his first and last injury.

  Both warriors shoved with powerful bodies, kicked with nimble feet and legs, and struck with hard fists as their battle continued at a fast pace. They grunted and taunted and sucked in air to aid their labored breathing as their physical conflict stirred up moist dirt, dead leaves, and small stones. The Crow slashed out in an attempt to carve a path across the Oglala's stomach and chest, but Wind Dancer darted to his right and opened up another gushing red wound on the man's arm which wielded an equally sharp weapon. Wind Dancer read fury in the man's gaze and tried to keep his own impassive to prevent exposing his strategy.

  A few feet away, Chumani knew her edge was in a mixture of her opponent's annoyance at being the one to battle a female while his friend challenged an elite warrior, of his arrogance in underestimating her skills, and of his belief he could defeat her quickly and easily. That he could not win quickly and was receiving cuts from her blade and blows from her left fist and feet visibly increased his vexation and made him careless during his ensuing attacks. Her gaze never left his, as she knew his next move and the timing of it would be revealed there first, a lesson Fire Walker had taught her well. She also had learned that even a brief delay in reaction could cost her her life. She kept her feet apart, her arms and hands controlled, and her knees bent.

  As the enemy lunged at her, she dodged his approach and whirled to send her blade into his heart from behind. The Crow arched his back, grunted, and fell to the ground, soon dead from the lethal blow. She withdrew her knife and gazed at his body, her generous heart unable to pray for his departing spirit after what his people had done to hers two seasons' past. Unlike the Crow war party who had attacked her people, she and her band did not slay women and children, even for revenge. For every Crow warrior slain by her or another, she wondered if he was the one who had taken the lives of her loved ones.

  Chumani forced her anguish aside, retrieved her other weapons, and hurried into the forest. She dared not take victory prizes with her or reveal this glorious incident upon returning home or the men in her family would refuse to allow her to leave camp alone again. To do so was a rare action for her, but her best friend had been busy with other chores when the urge to roam the forest had overwhelmed her.

  Now she recalled how the Crow's knife had almost nicked her arm when she was startled by Wind Dancer's sudden arrival and her brief distraction by him. It was unlike her to lose her wits over a man and to allow her attention to stray at a perilous moment, but, indeed the Oglala warrior had stolen her thoughts for a time. She could not stay to thank him, even if she should; to do so would compel him to escort her home, and that would expose the peril she had encountered. Shielded by trees, she paused to take one final look at him. Though annoyed with him and his unwanted assistance she could not help but admire his looks and respect his great prowess. She frowned and scolded herself for allowing herself to linger, then left to find her beloved Cetan and return with him to camp before darkness blanketed the land.

  Wind Dancer cautioned himself to be patient and vigilant, as a lack of those qualities often meant defeat. Sweat glistened on his face and dampened his garments, as the air was unusually mild for this time of year. His breathing was ragged, but his energy was heightened by the excitement of the battle and the coup awaiting him. He realized the Crow's stamina was
lagging. He ducked as the Crow tried to ram him in the chest to knock him off balance. He licked his lips in anticipation of impending triumph and with a few more clever strikes and evasions, the man lay lifeless on the ground.

  He turned to look at the woman, knowing her battle was over from a brief glance toward her earlier, but she was gone. His keen senses scanned the surrounding area, but he neither sighted nor heard anything to indicate her location or direction of retreat.

  Wind Dancer walked to the third slain enemy and let his ebony gaze examine the man's injuries. The woman had fought with amazing skill, strength, and cunning-and had won. He could not imagine why she had sneaked away or why she had not thanked him. And she had taken no prize of her glorious victory, which astonished him. He selected those possessions of the slain warriors he wanted, summoned his horse, and loaded them. He concealed the bodies of the Crow with rocks and thick brush, a few branches in the shade still dusted with the last of the rapidly melting snow. He did not want them found before Mother Nature could dispose of them.

  After everything was prepared for his departure, Wind Dancer left his horse there and followed the woman's trail until it, too, vanished as she had. Her tracks on the soft earth simply halted and no hint remained of where she had gone-no leaves, rocks, or limbs were overturned or moved or broken. He knelt and studied the damp surface with confusion. His troubled mind filled with questions. Who was she? Why had their paths crossed two times in one sun? Where had she gone? How had she vanished without leaving a trail? Was she the "morning mist" as she had told him?

  Chumani observed Wind Dancer from high above him in the tree. She made certain to remain silent and still. She did not even flinch when a bug crawled over her hand and bit it. She prayed Cetan would not return from his hunt and give away her position or attack Wind Dancer. She remained there until the bewildered man shrugged, took a deep breath, and returned to the clearing, where he mounted, took the tethers of the Crow horses, and rode away, out of her life forever.