The Warrior's Captive Bride. Jenna Kernan

with his things.”

      “That is good. You said that you have seen things that were not there. Will you tell me of them?”

      “Not tonight.”

      She pursed her lips at this delaying tactic and thought to remind him that he said he would be forthcoming. But he rubbed his forehead again, as he had done earlier when he said he had pain. She did not want to cause another fall by her questions.

      “These wounds look recent.” She laid an open palm on the scarred flesh at his chest. There were two ragged, raised places on each side of his upper torso that could mean only one thing. This man had tested his devotion and bravery in the most sacred of all ways.

      “I have the honor of success in the sun dance,” he said, his voice humble.

      This was no small feat. She had watched the sun dance in her tribe. Young warriors volunteered to have wooden spikes inserted through the skin of their chest or upper back. The spikes pierced in and then out at a different place, like a bone awl through a buckskin. From these dowels, long rawhide tethers were tied. The other ends of these ropes were fixed to a tall pole, set deep in the ground solely for this purpose. Then the men would dance as sweat streamed down their bodies. They would dance and chant and blow whistles made from the bones of an eagle’s wing. All the while they would stare at the sun and try to tear free of their bonds. This might take a day or more. Some men passed out during the dance only to revive to try again. Not all tore free. To voluntarily submit to such an ordeal was a true test of courage. And this man had succeeded.

      “I was the first to free myself.”

      “The first?” It was a great coup. Skylark did not think she could be more impressed. “That is amazing.”

      “It was not. I tore free only because I fell.”

      Unease prickled.

      “Your second fall.”

      Beyond the circle of their fire and past the open ground now fading with twilight came the hoot of a great horned owl. She stilled as the chill of night seemed to seep into every pore.

       Chapter Five

      Night Storm did not seem to be bothered by the nearness of the owl, while she was completely unnerved by the sound. What had her aunt always said? If you hear an owl, ghosts walk near.

      “The sun dance was my second fall,” said Night Storm.

      “Did you not hear that?” she asked.

      “What? The owl?” He blew away a long, suffering breath. “I hear them...everywhere.” He fixed his gaze on her and she wondered again who was this man?

      “Would you hear of the sun dance?”

      She nodded numbly.

      “It was my hope that the sun dance would cure me. I blew my whistle, and I prayed for the Great Spirit to rid me of my weakness. That my prayers would rise up like the sacred tobacco smoke to the Great Spirit. I leaned away from the attachments in my chest.”

      She flinched at his words but he continued on.

      “But the pain did not bring me closer to the spirit world. I smelled burning flesh and the ringing began. At first I thought it was the eagle whistles. But the sound was inside my head, and I fell before I could prove myself worthy of answered prayers.”

      “You fell in front of everyone?”