Running Wolf

by Jenna Kernan

  Snow Raven and Iron Wolf were married before the tribe, their hands symbolically bound together to signify that they walked, worked and followed one path from here forward. Iron Wolf promised to protect her with his life and Snow Raven promised to provide them a home. Her father, Six Elks, made no objections as their shaman, Thunder Buffalo, listed the items that Iron Wolf had offered for Snow Raven.

  Six horses, taken from the Sioux, including Song, Raven’s favorite horse.

  Six bridles woven from the hair of the former captives.

  Two Sioux lodges.

  Five buffalo robes.

  And the list went on. The captives had offered Iron Wolf every single item they had stolen or been given by the Sioux people in exchange for the servant Iron Bear had taken with him on the Sky Road.

  Raven knew her father still hated the Sioux, but hoped that her new husband might someday change his mind. The ceremony to wash away all Sioux blood had satisfied him for now, and all would accept this adoption because their shaman had told them her husband was now Apsáalooke.

  Her grandmother presented Raven with her own cooking pot and promised to show her how to use it. That brought good-natured laughter all around.

  Next her father stepped forward. Raven feared that his words might spoil this perfect day. Before the feasting, it was customary for the father of the bride to speak to the groom. He did not always do so publicly.

  Six Elks lifted his hands for silence. The tribe looked to their leader.

  “Our newest member has delivered four of our people back to us, including my daughter. He led them from enemy territory and to our tribe. According to the words of my daughter, he saved her life at least twice. For these acts of bravery, I present him eight coup feathers.”

  Raven’s chest filled with pride as her husband stepped up before all to collect this honor.

  Six Elks continued, “It is my belief that this one will be brave and true and soon will have enough feathers for his own war bonnet.”

  Iron Wolf nodded his thanks and returned to his wife’s side. She wanted to touch one of the feathers, but knew that a man’s feathers, like his weapons, were not to be touched by any but a warrior.

  The people came forward to congratulate the new couple, but her father lifted his hands again.

  “There are two more feathers to give.”

  The people looked about from man to man, trying to recall a new act of courage, leadership or prowess.

  “This first eagle feather goes to one who saved my own mother from capture by the Sioux.”

  There was a gasp and then a murmur and then a cheer as the people realized he spoke of his daughter. It was uncommon but not unheard of for a woman to earn a feather. All she had to do was save a life, defeat an enemy or perform some other act of bravery.

  “Snow Raven, come forward,” said her father.

  She could not see past the blurring of her vision as water filled her eyes. She was so proud she thought she might swell up and burst.

  He extended a perfect eagle feather, tufted with a fluffy white underfeather and the shaft wrapped with red trade cloth tied with cording.

  The honor felt light in her hands.

  Her father held up the second eagle feather, this one carefully stained with a single red bar at midshaft, indicating it marked a warrior’s second coup. “And this feather is for leadership of your people and the sacrifice you were willing to make for their sakes.”

  The people cheered and howled their approval as Snow Raven accepted the second feather and held them up for all to see.

  It was a long time before the people quieted enough for her to speak.

  “I am honored.”

  Six Elks placed his arm about his daughter’s shoulders.

  “My daughter has returned a warrior!”

  Another cheer filled the air. Snow Raven hugged her father and then returned to her husband, who hugged her.

  Thunder Buffalo, the shaman, lifted his staff and the people settled. “Tonight, after the feast, I will tell the tale of Snow Raven’s bravery and how the captives tricked the old Sioux chief. Oh, I have many new stories to tell!”

  Raven held tight to the hand of her new husband as her heart wept with gladness. She had all she ever wanted and more. A home, a husband and the coup feather of a warrior.

  Her grandmother took their hands, leading them to the feast set out in their honor.

  “Do you see my son and granddaughter?” she called to the people they passed. “They are warriors of the Large-Beaked Bird people.”

  All they passed offered the words of blessing, “Walk in beauty.”

  At the center of the gathered tribes, Iron Wolf stood beside his wife and held her tight to his side. They feasted and danced and finally gathered by the fire as Thunder Buffalo stood to tell the story of the bargain made by Snow Raven, the sacrifice made by one who now walked the Way of Souls and the dangerous journey of the captives back to their people. Finally, he told of two warriors, now husband and wife, who had gambled their lives for their love and won.

  * * ***

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE DUKE’S DARING DEBUTANTE by Ann Lethbridge.

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  The Duke's Daring Debutante

  by Ann Lethbridge

  Chapter One

  The foul stench coated Minette Rideau’s throat. With her skirts held high in one hand and the other clutching Granby’s arm, she focussed on taking only tiny sips of air as she picked her way over Bridge Alley’s slimy cobbles. One of many narrow passages in the reviled district of St Giles, it led to London’s most infamous hell. The only one owned by a duke. Falconwood. The man she now risked her reputation to track down in his lair.

  Ancient tenements crowded in on both sides, the glimmer of lanterns behind oilpaper giving them menacing aspects. All around, noises of a seething mass of humanity pierced the darkness. Shouts and curses, music from the tavern on the corner. A child crying. A woman coughing.

  So very different from the elegance of Mayfair, but not the worst she’d seen.

  Granby halted before a low wooden door bound with iron and set with studs. The lantern above the door cast an oily gleam in the slime oozing along the alley’s central runnel.

  ‘This is it?’ she asked. ‘The Fools’ Paradise?’

  ‘It is,’ Granby croaked as if his throat was parched.

  It had required all of Minette’s powers of persuasion to convince Lieutenant, the Honourable Laurence Granby, to be her escort when she’d named her destination. Now he was peering over his shoulder with the expression of one who had regained his sense of self-preservation and feared for his life. Finally he had realised that if this little adventure ever came to light, he was destined for a wagonload of trouble.

  He cleared his throat. ‘You can’t want me to take you in there.’ Begging her to change her mind.

  An unpleasant sensation squirmed behind her breastbone. A guilty conscience was an uncomfortable companion, but not unfamiliar. Guilt lay behind this expedition to London’s worst slums. Even as the idea had germinated, she’d known her escort hadn’t deserved to be placed in such an awkward position. Hono
ur balanced against gentlemanly conduct and no way to reconcile either. He was a nice young man. Open. Honest. And too terribly susceptible to female manipulation. For all that her conscience pricked her, in the end she’d been unable to come up with a better alternative.

  Worse, it might all be for naught. The man she’d come to for help had been going out of his way to avoid her for years, hence this charade. For all her careful scheming, he could easily turn her away and report her to Gabe, her sister’s husband.

  If so, she’d have to think of another way to achieve her ends and avert disaster.

  A disaster she’d set in motion years before. When she’d been young and exceedingly reckless. Not to mention in love.

  She patted Granby’s arm. ‘Surely you aren’t going back on your word?’ She put a full measure of disappointment at his lack of courage into her voice.

  The young man straightened his shoulders. ‘Certainly not. Gentleman, you know. But really—’

  ‘Courage, mon ami. Knock. It will be très amusant, n’est-ce pas? No one will ever know.’ She cast him a blinding smile.

  Predictably dazzled, Granby rapped on the door with the head of his walking cane.

  A square peephole opened. A glimmer of light quickly blocked by an eye peering out. Pah. Men and their dramatics.

  ‘Ah, ’tis you, sir,’ a gruff voice said from behind the door. The peephole snapped shut, and the door swung inwards. The porter’s glance slid over her without interest. Unlike proper gentlemen’s clubs, here there was no ban on admitting females. It was part of the hell’s attraction, along with wickedly deep play. Hopefully there would be others of her gender present tonight. Creating a stir was not her aim. A simple word with the club’s owner, His Grace, the Duke of Falconwood, was all she wanted.

  Granby tucked her arm under his in a rather sweet gesture of protection and escorted her along a short, dimly lit passage to a red velvet curtain drawn to cover a wide doorway. A liveried lad of about fifteen pulled the curtain aside, and they entered the low-ceilinged subscription room. The smell and haze of cigar smoke hung so thick in the air that Minette struggled not to cough as she gazed at men of every age and social class seated at green baize tables. Games of chance occupied their full attention. Pharo, deep basset, dice, to name but a few. Sovereigns and scraps of paper littered the tabletops. The bowstring-taut atmosphere reeked of both triumph and despair.

  No sign of her quarry. The elusive Duke of Falconwood, Freddy to his friends, though she did not rank among their number. Anticipation tensed her shoulders, her stomach fluttering with the hope he wouldn’t turn her away mingled with the expectation he would. The unpleasant churning brought bile rising in her throat.

  A stocky, pugnacious-looking young man in his thirties, neatly dressed in the style of a butler, his light brown hair fashionably dressed, stepped forward to greet them. ‘Lieutenant Granby. What is your pleasure tonight?’ The maître d’hotel, then. His gaze focussed on Minette, and she read surprise in his narrowed blue gaze.

  She held her breath, waiting for him to turn her away. Instead, he gave her escort a look of enquiry and she let her breath out.

  ‘Vingt-et-un, if you don’t mind, Barker,’ Granby said, as agreed earlier in the evening.

  The maître d’ settled them at a table and snapped his fingers for a waiter to take their orders while Minette casually glanced around, trying to spot her man. The back of her neck prickled. Awareness. Someone watching.

  The suave-looking gentleman seated at the next table leaned back in his seat. His heated gaze took in her face and the low cut of her gown. ‘Welcome, lovely lady,’ he said, eyeing her escort in the way of a male prepared to compete.

  She merely inclined her head and leaned closer to Granby. The gentleman shrugged and turned back to his game.

  After an hour of play in which Granby lost a great deal of money to her and there was still no sign of the Duke, she decided her quest was hopeless. So disappointing. And irritating. She’d been certain she would find him here tonight after trying for days to catch him at his lodgings. Now she’d have to think of a different way to meet him. She was running out of ideas.

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ The familiar deep male voice struck a chord low in her stomach. He’d always had that effect on her, though she’d tried to ignore it. As she did now. Slowly, she put her cards face down and glanced up to meet a pair of dark, insolent eyes set in a lean, saturnine face.

  A face of pure male beauty, his eyes of the darkest blue ringed by grey. He’d changed since she’d last seen him. His expression had grown colder, harder, more remote. More darkly fascinating. And while his form remained elegantly slender, he’d broadened across the shoulders to match his six-foot frame, which he now used with great effect to loom over her with all the menace of a greater physical force.

  Not that she was surprised by the anger smouldering in his dark eyes. She’d invaded his very masculine sanctum.

  ‘Good evening, Your Grace,’ she said coolly, the daringly low cut of her gown seeming far more outrageous than when she’d left home. Nom d’un nom, she would not give him the satisfaction of feeling embarrassed. She lifted her chin. ‘Quelle surprise.’

  His intense dark gaze shifted to her companion. The cold, hard scrutiny of an offended aristocrat.

  ‘Your servant, Your Grace,’ Granby said, rising to bow, colour flooding his face.

  A dark eyebrow lifted in question. ‘Hardly the place to bring a lady, Lieutenant.’

  Granby tugged at his neckcloth. Perspiration popped out on his brow. ‘A wager,’ he choked out. ‘Lady wanted to see the inside of a hell. Debt of honour and all that.’

  ‘Naturally you are not one to argue with a lady.’ The Duke’s narrowed gaze flicked down to the cards and the guineas on her side of the table. ‘Your companion has the devil’s own luck, I see.’

  He was being careful not to use her name. She couldn’t help but be grateful for the courtesy. She offered him a sweet smile. ‘Don’t you mean skill, Your Grace?’

  ‘A newly won skill, then.’

  As she had hoped beyond hope, he hadn’t forgotten her or their card games aboard ship some two years before. While she had played off her feminine wiles to get his attention, he’d treated her as little more than an annoying child. Brat, he had called her on the last occasion he had visited Meak, or any other of her brother-in-law’s residences.

  ‘Unfair, sir,’ she said, keeping her expression flirtatious. ‘I learned from the best.’

  His lips quirked at the corners, his eyes glinted, the brief smile making him appear less austere. And more devastatingly handsome. An unwelcome pang pierced her heart. As if she had missed his smiles, which back then had been wickedly teasing. Oh, of a certainty she had missed him. The way one missed a stone in one’s shoe.

  The maitre d’, standing at a little behind him, gave an impatient cough.

  The flash of amusement on Freddy’s face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He turned his chilly gaze on her escort. ‘Lieutenant, may I offer you a parlour where you can continue your game in private?’

  The commanding tone of his voice was something she certainly didn’t miss. His attempts to act like her older brother. To take charge, as if he had some authority over her actions. She damped down the instant raising of her hackles. After all, this was the reaction she had set out to achieve. His wanting to protect her from her own folly. Not that she would let him know the full extent of her error.

  Granby’s expression collapsed into something like relief. He gulped. ‘Very civil, Your Grace. Perhaps...’ He gave Minette a pleading look. ‘Perhaps we should leave?’

  Several nearby patrons, including the man who had inspected her when she’d first arrived, had paused in their game to watch the unfolding drama.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘We should accept His
Grace’s kind offer.’

  Granby’s face crumpled. ‘Really?’

  ‘Naturellement.’

  Freddy bowed, his expression mocking. ‘Be so good as to follow me.’

  He led them through a door in the back wall of the subscription room. As she passed him in the doorway, Freddy leaned close and murmured in her ear, ‘I wonder what Gabe is going to think of this piece of mischief?’

  She cast him a glance from beneath her lashes. ‘I didn’t take you for a tattletale, Your Grace.’

  Granby gasped.

  His Grace glowered.

  Minette gave him her brightest, most innocent smile and breezed past him. Her gamble had paid off. She had his full attention.

  Now came the most difficult part of her plan.

  * * *

  Following in the wake of the shamefaced Granby and the clearly recalcitrant Miss Rideau, Freddy curbed his ire. The attraction he’d always felt towards the stunningly beautiful French girl, with her velvety brown eyes flecked with gold and her deliciously creamy skin, of which he and everyone else in the club had seen far too much this evening, had nothing to do with his anger.

  He was a normal, red-blooded male, and she was a lovely young woman.

  No, it was Minette’s lack of respect for the feelings of his friends, Gabe, the Marquess of Mooreshead, and his wife, Nicky, that had him clenching his jaw to the point of cracking his back teeth. How could she be such a little idiot as to come to a place like this? ‘Heaven’, as his customers like to call his establishment when in the throes of their disillusion. For he had no doubt this was all her doing.

  Fortunately for her, Barker, his maître d’, knew a member of the Quality when he saw one. The moment Freddy had come in by way of his private entrance, his man had brought him the news that the wrong sort of woman had strayed onto the premises. She wasn’t the first lady to wander through his portals. Usually they were older, married, matrons looking for a bit of excitement after doing their marital duty. As long as they were discreet, no one paid them any mind. However, never did freshly minted debutantes like Minette Rideau darken his disreputable door. Neither did he want them to. He liked his women as dissolute as he was, when he bothered with them at all.