War Cloud's Passion

by Karen Kay

  He nodded. “Like us, save one difference. You would not let me go, not even in death. And I would have braved the gods themselves to keep you with me.”

  He kissed her then, and as a surge of pure contentment swept over Anna, Patty came to sit beside them. Along with her, she brought Lame Bird and Collin. Patty slipped her arms around Anna, her small voice crying, “Are you all right?”

  “I am fine.”

  The little girl gave her a hug. “I am so glad. I was afraid I had lost you, Miss Wiley.”

  Anna took Patty in her arms, placing her between herself and War Cloud and, motioning to the two boys to come and join them as well, Anna declared, “Mother. Please, Patty and Collin, from this day forward, please call me Mother.”

  Patty laughed, a beautiful sound, whereupon she threw herself into Anna and War Cloud’s embrace. Anna laughed until she cried and truth to tell, had she taken a moment to watch War Cloud, she might have been surprised by a tear of joy clouding her big warrior’s eyes, too.

  Taking them all into his arms, War Cloud vowed, “My family. My life.”

  Epilogue

  Oklahoma, 1973

  “It is said that they lived until a great age,” the old man concluded. “And always were they a model of happiness for all of the people.”

  The little girl sighed and fell against her elder, giving him a hug. She said, “That is a wonderful story, Grandfather. But tell me, what happened to Patty? Did she become well?”

  “That she did, my girl, that she did,” said the old man. “Patty became an artist for her people, catching their image on canvas. She lived to an old age, in this country here where we sit. In truth, she died not more than a score of years ago, and many is the night when she would tell this story over and over.”

  “And Collin and Lame Bird, Grandfather,” asked the young girl again, “what happened to them?”

  “Collin and Lame Bird, as is tradition, became blood brothers. Both of them took up arms and fought in the Custer battles. But to the Cheyenne, Collin is better known by the name Little Coyote.”

  “Little Coyote? Did you know that he was my grandfather?” asked the young girl.

  “That he was. And you, my son.” The old man turned to the young boy. “Do you know who your ancestors are?”

  The youngster nodded and said, “Haahe, I do.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “Because,” said the boy, “my sister has the green eyes of Nahkohe-tseske.”

  The old man nodded. “They were heroic people, your ancestors, but you must understand that there is much greatness yet to come. The future is before you, and their spirits live in you, my son and my daughter. Do them honor, and remember that the purity of love has always been and will always be stronger than any evil the world has to offer up against it”—the old man grinned at the two youngsters—“so long as you remain united. You are living proof of that. Naa-hetsetseha hena’haanehe. And now, that’s the end.”

  With these final words, the old man arose from his seat and, taking one last look at the children and at the countryside around him, limped toward the west, toward the place where the sun sets.

  Two pairs of dark eyes watched the old one until he was nearly out of sight, and then, as quickly as he had come to them, the old one disappeared, never to be seen again.

  Some say that the old man was Sky Falcon, come back to ensure that the story would never leave the minds of these his people, the Cheyenne.

  But the young boy knew the old man for exactly who he was, he who was his kin.

  Hova’ahane, the youngster thought, he would be true to his promise. He would never let the story die.

  Note to the Reader

  From all the accounts that I have been able to gather, the attack upon Tall Bull’s camp of Dog Soldiers is as accurate as I could make it and still be fiction. The only thing that I have changed about the battle is the time it took place. The actual attack occurred around noon.

  If you are at all like me, you might have had some other questions from reading that account. I’ve tried to answer a few:

  1. Was the river really flooded?

  It was and it was also the reason that Tall Bull stayed in camp.

  2. Did the Sioux really warn the Dog Soldiers about the impending danger?

  They did, and history has it that the Sioux fled the Dog Soldier camp in the night—same as my hero and heroine.

  3. Did the Dog Soldiers really defend the flight of their women and children by standing off the soldiers?

  Yes. One of the customs of the Dog Soldier was that when the battle was turning against them, they were to give their horses to the women, turn to the enemy and fight on foot. The Dog Soldiers were also the warriors who were known to wear the “dog rope.” This was a sash of buffalo hide that was worn over the right shoulder. At the end of this sash was a wooden pin. Only the bravest warriors were allowed to wear the dog rope.

  These warriors, when the tide of battle was going against them, would dismount and drive their pin into the ground. If this was done, the wearer could not leave. He was to stay at that place and defeat the enemy or die trying—unless some other Dog Soldier was able to pull out the pin and let him flee. The driving of the pin was such a brave act that doing it alone often provided the turning point of many of their battles. The last instance of the dog rope being used was in 1869, in Tall Bull’s fight. Wolf with Plenty of Hair died in this way.

  Glossary

  Included are some definitions for terms used in this book that the reader might find unfamiliar. I hope this helps.

  Black Kettle—Great Peace Chief of the Cheyenne Nation. He was killed at Sand Creek.

  Cocopa tribe—a tribe in the southwestern United States, originally living near the Colorado River. Having a population at one time estimated at around three thousand, now boasts about six hundred souls, mostly living in Mexico.

  Dog Soldiers—a military society within the Cheyenne Nation. It was, at the time of our story, one of the most feared societies on the plains.

  Haahe—Cheyenne word for “yes.” Historically used by men.

  Hova’ahane—Cheyenne word for “no.”

  Lakota—this is the tribe that is currently often referred to as the Sioux. The Brule Lakota are a band within the tribe. As a note: Dakota, Lakota and Nakota are really the same sort of word referring more to dialects than to different tribes, although the Dakota generally lived east of the Missouri River, the Lakota were generally the western band of the same tribe, and the Nakota were usually thought of as the northern relatives.

  Na’neha—Cheyenne word for “my older brother.”

  Nasemahe—Cheyenne word for “younger sibling.”

  Orphan trains—in the mid-1800s, New York City and a few other eastern cities had an overpopulation of homeless children. The orphan trains, originally envisioned by the Reverend Charles Loring Brace, were to be the solution to this problem, a solution that he hoped would save the children. He formed the Children’s Aid Society and began the practice of sending the children west where he hoped they would find families who would take them in as their own. In the West, he supposed that the farmers had food in abundance and would welcome a helping hand. The trains ran for about seventy-five years, and the children generally ranged in age from seven to fifteen. Soon the practice caught on and other orphan societies sprang up to help send children west. There were sometimes as many as one hundred or more children in these “trains,” many of the children having been taken from prison. To their credit, railroads offered reduced rates to these charities. The orphan trains came to an end around 1906 under Theodore Roosevelt when social workers began to emphasize the importance of families keeping their children, and new laws were passed to help mothers and children stay together.

  Pawnee—a tribe of Indians on the Platte River in Nebraska. They had permanent villages and engaged in farming. One of their ceremonies included the rite of the Morning Star, which demanded a human sacrifice. For this reason
and perhaps others, they made enemies of some of the other plains tribes, specifically the Lakota, the Cheyennes, and the Arapahoe.

  Tall Bull—the leader of the Dog Soldiers at the time of this story.

  Spotted Tail—the leader of the Brule Lakota at the time of this story.

  About the Author

  Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.

  Karen Kay, whose great-great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.

  “With the power of romance, I hope to bring about an awareness of the American Indian’s concept of honor, and what it meant to live as free men and free women. There are some things that should never be forgotten.”

  Find Karen Kay online at www.novels-by-karenkay.com.

  Look for these titles by Karen Kay

  Now Available:

  Lakota

  Lakota Surrender

  Lakota Princess

  Proud Wolf’s Woman

  Blackfoot Warriors

  Gray Hawk’s Lady

  White Eagle’s Touch

  Night Thunder’s Bride

  Coming Soon:

  Legendary Warriors

  Lone Arrow’s Pride

  Soaring Eagle’s Embrace

  To save her life, they must expose their hearts.

  Night Thunder’s Bride

  © 2012 Karen Kay

  Blackfoot Warrior, Book 3

  When lady’s maid Rebecca Cothern journeyed westward, she never thought to leave her mistress’s side. Yet as Katrina Wellington completes her own journey with White Eagle, Rebecca waits at Ft. Union under the protection of Blackfoot warrior, Night Thunder.

  Despite what she’s been told about the wild nature of the native tribes, Night Thunder is different. Kind, gentle, honorable to a fault…and handsome in a way that makes her breathless for his next touch.

  Though Night Thunder relishes stolen moments with the beautiful white woman, circumstances dictate that he should keep his distance. Until she is stolen away in the night, and he discovers he cannot simply ride into the enemy camp, kill the guilty and sweep her to safety. The thieves are vengeful malcontents from his own tribe, which leaves him only one way to save her from the worst kind of violation.

  He must claim that she is his bride. Not only that, she must willingly bare all—heart, soul and body—to claim him as hers.

  This book has been previously published.

  Warning: Contains warm, sensual love scenes that are certain to have you reaching for your own true Night Thunder.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Night Thunder’s Bride:

  Surely Rebecca hadn’t understood. Was Night Thunder asking her to kiss him? To show him a wheen bit of affection? Here, before all the others? Was this, then, an added insult on top of what she had been made to endure by these Indians?

  She hadn’t expected to look upon Night Thunder again. When she had been captured by the Indians, she had assumed Night Thunder would go back to his own people with nary a thought for her, believing as she had that the man would feel his obligation to her at end.

  But she had been wrong.

  Had it been only a few months previous that Night Thunder had pledged his word of honor to protect her?

  “I will watch over Rebecca,” he had told his friend and companion, White Eagle, “so that your woman need not worry about her. I give you my word that so long as I breathe, Rebecca will remain safe.”

  That White Eagle’s woman had been the niece of a new breed of man that the Indians referred to as the Long Knives had made no difference to Night Thunder. White Eagle had needed help. Night Thunder had given it, no questions asked.

  Rebecca remembered at the time being struck by the incongruity of it.

  An Indian swearing his life to protect a white woman?

  Yet he had.

  She was suddenly glad she had spent the time necessary to ensure this man knew her language. Addressing Night Thunder, she said, “Do you want me to kiss you?”

  Despite his stately demeanor, Night Thunder looked suddenly sheepish. And Rebecca could well understand why. Thus far in their relationship, Night Thunder had shown her nothing but the utmost respect, keeping a careful distance from her. Even during those times when the two of them had been alone, he had rarely spoken to her, Rebecca coming to understand that in his society, their association with one another—that of an unmarried woman with a man—would have been strictly taboo. Rebecca could only wonder at what else had been said among these Indians to cause Night Thunder to ask her for her embrace now.

  “Why is it that you would be asking me this?” She put the question to him gently.

  “I have told these people that you are my wife in order to save your life,” he replied to her, his voice deep and strong, yet with a hint of chagrin. “They are demanding some…proof of our union. But I can say no more on it now. I can tell you only that you are being asked to choose one of us. Either myself or my cousin who stands here beside me.”

  She glanced from one man to the other, her gaze coming back to settle upon Night Thunder. She held out her wrists. “If someone would untie me?” The old man stepped forward, the knife in his hand, cutting the rawhide bonds.

  Several pairs of eyes watched her as she paced toward Night Thunder. She glanced up at him warily and raised her eyes to his. “Could you help me with this…kiss, now?”

  She glimpsed no emotion on the man’s countenance before he said, “This is a thing you must do on your own. I can only tell you what you have to do. You must choose either myself or my cousin.”

  “With all these people here watching?”

  “It cannot be helped.”

  “And will this act truly make us man and wife within the eyes of your people?”

  An embarrassed, almost bashful look stole over Night Thunder’s face, though his voice was strong as he said, “Only if we consummate the union as a man and a woman who are truly married are bound to do.”

  She was certain her face filled with color. She stammered, “And…and must we do this in front of…?” Her hand swept out in front of her.

  “No, just one kiss should be all that is required.”

  She sighed. “It is little enough that you ask in exchange for my life.”

  With this said, she came right up to Night Thunder and put her hand on his shoulder, reaching up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

  As soon as he received the kiss, Night Thunder stepped immediately back from her, and in his own language, said something to the others.

  Chuckles were heard from around the circle surrounding them, and after some moments, Night Thunder said to her, “They say a kiss on the cheek is little enough proof.”

  She paused. “Then let them deny this,” and she threw herself into Night Thunder’s arms, placing her lips against his.

  When her lips met Night Thunder’s, something unexpectedly stirred to life within her. What was it? A warmth. Aye, surely, and yet more.

  She felt her blood surge with newfound exhilaration. It made her want to curl in closer toward him, though she curbed the inclination to do so.

  The faint scent of him engulfed her and she found it pleasing. He smelled of grass and smoke and prairie, yet more…There was another, almost indefinable aroma about him, too, something very male, and very arousing.

  And there was an almost soft texture to his skin, his lips. She wondered, how would the rest of his skin feel beneath her fingertips? She brought her hand up to trail her fingers down his arm, only half aware of what she did.

  He moaned in response and his reaction, far from causing her to reevaluate her actions, made her lean in closer.

  His lips were full upon hers, making her feel warm, protected. Making her aware of her femininity. She became conscious of her breasts pushing forward against her dress, suddenly
sensitized, and that area of her body most private to her began to ache, as though that part of her had awakened to life, too. The whole effect caused her to utter a soft sound, deep in her throat.

  Rebecca heard another groan from Night Thunder and then all at once his arms came around her, pulling her in so closely to him that she could feel the evidence of his masculinity against her belly.

  She could barely think.

  For the past two months, she had grown accustomed to the company of this man as he had watched over her, guarding her. She had observed him within this time, had become used to the look of him, the sound of his voice, his quiet humor. She had even come to admit a fair amount of respect for him.

  But this? What was happening here between them was more than mere respect. This was…well, it was…sexual.

  Ah, yes. Pure and simple. This kiss was communicating more than words could have, that she might…fancy him…and he her.

  Had he felt this pull all these months? Had she? Surely not. Or were they both only realizing this now?

  She barely heard the footfalls of the other men in the camp, as they moved away, uttering words she didn’t understand. She was only aware of this one man whose arms held her securely, whose touch roamed even now up and down her spine, causing her to shiver.

  Someone spoke from beside them, jarring Night Thunder’s sensual exploration.

  “Soka’piiwa,” someone said. What did that mean?

  His arms fell from around her, and she lowered her head, looking down at the ground. Without his arms around her, Rebecca felt suddenly embarrassed. She had meant to give him only a chaste little kiss. It should have been a simple affair. Yet the kiss they had just shared was anything but modest.