The Warrior's Captive Bride. Jenna Kernan

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 to my village. Then we would have more time.”

      He shook his head. “I am a chosen hunter for my tribe. If I do not return, two widows with children will have no meat.”

      This was the way in her tribe, as well. Young single men were designated to provide for the families of those who had died in battle, from disease or on hunts. She knew it was a great honor and marked him as a man of promise with a bright future.

      And it gave him another good reason to hide his weakness.

      “The longest I have ever been away from camp is two nights,” she said.

      “That will not be enough.”

      They faced each other. She felt pulled in two directions at once.

      “Let us see what we can do in the two days. Then we will decide what to do next.”

      He stared for a long moment and then nodded his consent to this.

      “Why does your aunt let you leave the village alone and stay away for days?”

      “So I can gather plants for medicines.”

      “That is dangerous. You should not be alone. What if I had been a Lakota warrior instead of one of your own people?”

      “Then I would be taken. I know the risks. Still I would not give up my freedom because of fear. It is like sunlight to a flower. I need this time to keep...”

      He waited and when she did not speak he repeated her last word. “Keep?”

      “Keep from going mad.” Just like her father. She could see herself as a heyoka. Going out when others went in. Tanning roots instead of hides. Making medicines instead of food. Gathering Osha Root instead of the life-sustaining Bitterroot and Timpsula tubers.

      “Other women live in camp and leave only in groups for safety. You could venture out with them.”

      “And you could learn to paint tepees or make weapons instead of hunting buffalo.”

      “That would kill me.”

      “Then you understand my need to wander. Even if it comes at a cost. It is who I am.”

      He met her gaze and then nodded. “I understand.”

      Night Storm’s dog sat beside Skylark, leaning heavily against her leg.

      “Ah. You two have not been formally introduced. This is Frost.”

      She stared down at the now-familiar dog. “We have met but I am glad to know his name.”

      The dog’s head reached her hip. He was lean and lanky. The tips of his ears stood up like a wolf’s and his tail was full and bushy as any fox. The rest of his coat was short and uniformly gray except for his white muzzle and the spots upon his chest that spread outward and did look very much like his hairs were frosted. His eyes were clear, alert and the color of a lead bullet.

      Night Storm squatted and scratched the dog, who sat down, tail now thumping the ground.

      “He has been with me since...” His hand traveled down the dog’s spine and Skylark found her own spine arching at the sensual sight of his big, broad hand stroking over Frost’s body.

      It was her physical reaction that caused her to fail to notice immediately that he had stopped speaking in midsentence. She saw that he was now staring up at the treetops with unfocused eyes. Frost noticed his master’s distraction, as well, and poked Night Storm’s bare leg between his loincloth and the tops of his leggings with his cold wet nose. This brought Night Storm back to attention.

      Night Storm petted his dog and Frost’s tongue lolled as his eyes half closed.

      “What was I saying?”

      Skylark frowned. “You were telling me when you got your dog.”

      “Oh, yes. He came to me after my last battle. He kept coming into my mother’s lodge. Finally my mother just let him stay. She thought he would be good company for me. And so he is.” Night Storm straightened.

      She offered the back of her hand to Frost. He licked it. Then she scratched his cheeks and petted his head. When she glanced up at Night Storm, it was to find him staring at her with an expression that reminded her of pain.

      “Are you all right?” she asked.

      “No. I don’t think so.”

      Their gazes held fast and she felt the blood rising in her body. Was he having the same sensual reaction to watching her stroke his dog as she had felt watching him? The possibility filled her with a giddy longing mixed with terror.

      They stood, hands at their sides, eyes dipping and returning to meet. She remained fixed to the earth, stubbornly refusing to yield to the calling of her body to touch his. At last he looked away.

      “What should we do next?” asked Night Storm.

      “I suppose I should find out all I can about you. Ask you many questions. I will need to know your signs before you fall and all about your falls. Have you had many?”

      “Three.”

      “When was the first?”

      He glared at her and she knew. Of course, it was when they met. That was why he thought she had cursed him. His eyes narrowed.

      “I am not a witch. I cannot bring frenzy witchcraft or love magic. I cannot shape-shift, nor do I see visions.”

      His eyes widened and then his gaze darted away. Did he see visions, she wondered.

      “But I know many cures. Some for falling.” She folded her hands and squeezed one with the other.

      “Start with those,” he said.

      The silence stretched and she cleared her throat. “Now about my questions.”

      “I will answer, but let me first see to my horses and make a camp.”

      A camp. Her stomach lurched. Of course, he would make a camp. She was staying here in the forest with him for two days. And two nights. Alone.

      Fear and anticipation mingled.

      She warned herself against his appealing mouth and the enticing line of his jaw. He retrieved his bow and she watched the muscles of his forearm cord. His body was strong and muscular. It appeared perfect, but, just like her, he had flaws. This was not the kind of man she should want. Still, some part of her did. Was it because he had been bold enough to approach her in the woods that day?

      She recalled their first meeting and his offer to make her his second wife.

      “You were promised to a woman. Have you taken her as a wife?”

      He stilled and spoke to her over his broad shoulder. “No.”

      She nodded and he turned away from the direction where