The Warrior's Captive Bride. Jenna Kernan

than riding into battle against his enemies or placing his lance in the hump of a charging buffalo. He asked for her help.

      * * *

      Skylark’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Her warrior had asked for her help. Hers.

      She took a step closer and then paused, glancing in the direction she had come. Would her father be all right without her?

      He had his sister. Her auntie fed him and clothed him and let him sleep by her fire during the cold moons. She just did not have the time to follow him about, talking him down from trees and coaxing him to eat.

      Night Storm took her hand and she looked into his dark eyes. A yearning pulsed within her and she did not resist as he drew her closer. He was a full head taller than her and his shoulders were broad.

      “I need a healer. One who can help me and one who will keep my secret.”

      Her eyes fixed on her warrior.

      He swallowed and she looked at his face. Handsome, hopeful. There was a crease between his dark brows and his full mouth pursed as he stood for her scrutiny.

      He looked like many warriors, but somehow he was different because of how she felt when she looked at him. And there was something else, an important difference between this man and all other men. He knew she was the daughter of heyoka and a medicine woman and still he wanted her, not for herself but for what she might do.

      Night Storm did not see her as dangerous. Or if he did, he was willing to take the risk.

      He looked at her with hope. She did not need any man. Her healing talents could more than provide for her. She did not need this man. But somehow she did.

      He wanted her because she knew his secret and would not tell.

      He thought she could help him.

      But what if she could not? After all, she had failed to save her mother.

      “I have responsibilities in my tribe,” she said.

      His mouth went grim and his grip on her hand tightened. “Have you taken a husband?”

      She blinked in surprise. To have him think she was married, that she would be desired by a man enough for him to overlook her flaws, made her throat close and ache. She shook her head.

      “I still live with my aunt and uncle.”

      “They can do without you.”

      It was true and that hurt her. The only one who needed her was Falling Otter. “We are moving.”

      “I can return you to them, wherever they go.”

      The look he gave her was full of hope and longing. She tingled with awareness at the way he stared at her. Was that the need of a man for a woman or of a desperate man for a cure? She didn’t know, but, oh, how she wanted to be the object of that desire again. Everything about him called to her except that he had a falling sickness. She hedged.

      He laid aside his bow and then removed the beautiful strand of white beads from about his neck. He held them before her in both hands, presenting them for her inspection and then draping them over her head. They settled warm upon her skin. Gently he pulled her braids from beneath the necklace. The way he slipped his hand down her braided hair made her stomach quiver and her skin tingle.

      “One so beautiful needs no such adornments, but I would give you this. It has value.”

      She pressed a hand over the beads and felt her heart pounding in her chest. “I know of roots and plants that are known to stop hand trembling, shaking and some that quiet the mind. I know several that ease dizziness,” Skylark said. “But I will not promise I can stop this falling sickness.”

      “But you will try?”

      “I cannot change those who are possessed. I cannot lift a curse or chase away evil ghosts.”

      “Am I cursed?” he asked, and rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand.

      The motion was just the simple brush of skin on skin, but the sensation that rippled through her made her gasp.

      “I do not know. But this thing that has happened to you, it is sudden. So perhaps it is an ailment of the body.”

      He took her other hand, forming a sacred circle between them, and somehow this felt holy.

      She stood before him, thinking she was not up to the task. She had confidence in her plants, roots, barks and minerals. But she had never tried to cure a man who fell. She had seen his sort of sickness. It was a fearsome thing.

      He waited, his eyes glittering with hope as he set his mouth tight to receive bad news.

      “I will try.”

      * * *

      Winter Moon heard her brother’s arrival before she saw him because he was clapping his hands to the beat of an imaginary horse. His arrival was well-timed, as many of the people had already begun their journey. She had tied the household belongings on one travois and two packhorses. She smiled her welcome.

      In search of Skylark, Winter Moon glanced the way her brother had come but did not find her. Her smile faded.

      “I must see to my horse,” said Falling Otter.

      “Where is Skylark?”

      “She is coming right along.”

      Winter Moon frowned. Her brother’s words meant Skylark was not coming.

      “Is she hurt?”

      “Yes. Very badly.” He held both hands over his heart.

      She breathed a sigh of relief.

      “Can she come?”

      “She cannot.”

      Winter Moon flapped her arms. “Can you not just tell me?”

      “Yes.”

      She sighed and began again. “Is she alone?”

      “Yes.”

      “Is she with someone from this tribe?”

      “Yes.”

      A flash of fear danced through her. “Oh, Great Spirit. She’s been taken by the Sioux.” She called to Wood Duck. “Husband, come quick. I think something has happened to Skylark.”

      Her husband was much more patient with the questions than she ever was. She relayed what she knew.

      Wood Duck took over and interrogated Falling Otter and then turned to his wife. “She is with a man, not of our clan but of our tribe. It may be that she has finally found a suitor.”

      “Did he take her?” asked Winter Moon, now gripping her brother’s arm.

      “Yes,” said Falling Otter.

      Winter Moon sagged in relief.

      “So she has gone,” said Wood Duck. “It is good.”

      “How is this good?” asked Winter Moon.

      “She has chosen a man, and we will see her at the gathering. Perhaps she will even be a married woman.”

       Chapter Three

      Skylark attempted to lower Night Storm’s expectations. “I do not know exactly which medicine will work. So we will try them one by one.”

      “How long will that take?”

      She grimaced. “It might take several moons.”

      “You will stay with me that long?”

      “No. Two nights. Then I must return.”

      “Two. It is impossible,” he said.

      “You could come with me