“It’s over.” She nodded. Before she’d passed out the previous night, she knew her uncle was finished. She did not remember what had happened from the moment she’d taken the knife from the sheath, but instinctively, she’d been aware he could go on no longer.
“He’s dead?” she asked huskily, her throat strangely dry.
“Yes,” said Sean and gave her the details. Abraham, an expert marksman who had been trained as a hunter by her father, was the one who saved her with a shot through Cornwall’s forehead. As Sean told her this, he saw the fear in Kira’s eyes. “Only a few of us saw Abraham,” he hastened to reassure her. “No one will tell. No one else will know.” Any slave who killed a white man, despite the fact that he saved a life, could be hanged, so Abraham’s deed would have to remain a secret forever.
When Sean finished his tale, he noticed how dry Kira’s usually moist lips appeared. He filled a glass with water from a pitcher on her night table and handed it to her. She drank it thirstily, and when she was finished, she lay down again. She still felt weak, and her stomach was queasy.
“I want to get married—soon!” said Sean emphatically, taking Kira off guard.
“So do I, but not until after we get my father’s affairs in order again.” Then, just as it had happened each day for the last few days, nausea struck her again. Kira jumped from the bed and ran to her small necessary room. She was dizzy, too, and Sean had to help support her.
Reaching the door, she pushed Sean away and went inside. When she emerged she felt better. Sean was sitting on her bed, a wide grin spread across his handsome face.
“Don’t laugh at me!” she ordered, trying to hide her embarrassment.
“Now, don’t you agree we should be married soon?”
“So you can carry me to the necessary?” she retorted sarcastically. “When the time is right, Sean, then we’ll marry. You certainly haven’t been waiting for the preacher before assuming your husbandly duties.” He laughed again, rising to come to her. His striking features took on a scolding look.
“Dammit woman, do I have to teach you everything? If we don’t get married soon you’re going to have a bastard!”
“Don’t order—” Kira forgot whatever it was she was going to snap back with, as his words hit her with the same force as that of a falling tree. She felt dizzy again, but that quickly passed.
“Kira,” said Sean, his voice low, his arms encircling her, “I love you.”
She smiled briefly before hiding her face against his broad chest. Then she cried silently.
<><><>
The wedding was the talk of Charleston. Her pregnancy was still unnoticeable, and no one had the opportunity to gossip, but the beautiful and elaborate ceremony and festivities were the subject of much admiration.
The bells of St. Michaels rang loudly that Sunday as Sean and Kira wed, and Robert wed Francine in the same ceremony. The guest list boasted the cream of society, and the women of Charleston talked about it for years afterward.
It was a military wedding, complete with an illustrious honor guard led by two commodores. Commodore Uriah P. Levy and Commodore Theodore Finch stood at its head, while no man under captain stood in the ranks. Two presidents stood for the wedding. Thomas Jefferson gave away the brides, and President James Madison was best man to both Sean and Robert. Charleston Harbor resounded with a twenty-one gun salute for the two couples as they went their separate ways on their marriage journeys. Sean and Kira to Haven, while Robert and Francine went to Philadelphia to visit Robert’s father, who could no longer travel.
<><><>
Kira rode swiftly through the fields of Haven, cutting through the trees that extended for miles along the northern edge of the Ashley. She wove the horse in and out among the trees as she rode along the sandy edge of the land, occasionally stopping to let the horse romp on the shallow bank of the river.
The sun beat down on her and a rivulet of perspiration travelled the valley between her breasts. She breathed in the sweet-scented air that blew over the Ashley before urging her horse to a single young oak where she dismounted. After tying her horse, she walked to the river’s bank where she pulled off her boots, and dipped her feet into the Ashley’s warmth. Then she lay back on the ground, her head cradled by soft grass, and dreamily let her thoughts wander over these last blissful days.
“Dammit woman!” a deep voice interrupted her musings, “do you always have to run off by yourself?” Sean teased, bringing Kira back to the present.
She glanced up at her husband, his handsome and angular face, his jet hair streaked with silver and his intense sapphire eyes, so crystal clear they seemed as deep as the ocean itself. Without willing it, the familiar heat spread through her body as she gazed at him. Her breasts rose and fell faster, as her tongue gently teased the moisture from her upper lip.
As Sean stood there, his smile turned into a look of desire. He bent to her and kissed her. The fire from his lips burned hers. Suddenly, he was next to her, his hands undoing her clothing as quickly as hers undid his. Their passion rose to a crest, as he raised himself above her and then plunged into her. She was carried along with the same wonderful glowing feeling she always had when they made love. When she opened her eyes, she saw him looking down at her and she lifted her face to his for a kiss.
Their passion gave way to a feeling of deep intimacy. They remained still for long minutes, locked together in their all-consuming embrace, and then at last he lay his hand on her still-flat stomach, trying to feel the new life that was growing inside. A new sensation of tenderness, love and understanding filled them. Slowly, they began to move again and Kira felt the resurgence of Sean’s desire, but it was different from before. Gone was the wild, demanding rush for fulfillment that she’d met eagerly and wantonly. Instead, the desire built first in him, then abated while it grew in her. The afternoon was endless as the sun kissed the lovers and the water near them, as they loved and made love.
Later, they lay in each other’s arms, silent in their adoration of each other. Strangely, from the back of her memory, came broken fragments of one of Kira’s dreams, from the time long ago when she was a prisoner in New Windsor. It was the dream of herself and Sean, near the water of Haven, making love as they had just done. But never, even in a dream, could she have envisioned this moment, which was the most intimate expression of love that she’d ever experienced.
Sean turned to her and, with a questioning look in his eyes, wiped the single tear that was rolling down her cheek. As if he knew her thoughts, he kissed her softly, then moved his lips to the small, crescent-shaped scar near her temple. At last, sighing happily, he placed his head on her breast and closed his eyes.
Following the author info pages is a special preview of
Run On The Wind
From the Author
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading A Whisper Of Destiny. I hope you have enjoyed it, as much as I did when I wrote it. I would love to hear from you about your reading experience.
If you like this book, I would appreciate your lending me your support and help by spreading the word about A Whisper Of Destiny, and sharing by writing a review. Nothing fancy, just say what you think—even just a sentence or two. To review A Whisper Of Destiny, please click here.
Reading your reviews, and receiving emails from my readers is important to me and I have included some convenient links for you below.
Thank you for taking the time to read Alana.
Monica Barrie
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eMail: [email protected]
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About the Author
Monica Barrie is a multi-published author of contemporary and historical romances. She is also geriatric social worker, wife, and mother. She lives in New York with her husband David Wind, a multi published author himself.
~~~~
For more information about Monica Barrie, please visit www.monicabarrie.com
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A SPECIAL PREVIEW
RUN ON THE WIND
By Monica Barrie
PROLOGUE
19th Century Wyoming, June
As dusk settled upon the mountains, two men slowed their horses. To curious eyes, they would appear a strange sight. The smaller man had copper-hued skin and long black hair falling straight below his shoulders. His bare chest was hairless and his only clothing was buckskin pants. Around his neck hung four large bear claws on braided rawhide. The Shoshone sat astride a cream and brown spotted Appaloosa.
Next to him was a man of opposite complexion. Dark, wavy hair topped a tanned face, with startling catlike amber eyes. Although a week’s stubble covered his face, his straight nose, firm mouth and strong chin were more than evident. A worn Union army shirt covered a well-muscled chest, and the golden braid of his captain’s rank was washed-out by the sun. The man’s waist was trim, and his thighs flared with muscle as they pressed against the horse’s flank. His high brown riding boots reached passed mid-calf. His horse was a giant gray Andalusian stallion that pranced easily as the tall man guided him between the rocks of the ravine.
The Indian signaled a stop. The white man nodded in agreement.
“Treemont tonight will be our last night. Tomorrow I will be home, and you, my friend, will follow your path.” The Shoshone brave slipped from his horse’s back. “I will start a fire.”
Kael Treemont dismounted and smiled at his friend before he began to unsaddle the stallion. Behind him, Two Wolves began to gather wood for a fire. Suddenly, the Andalusian shied from Kael, forcing him to stumble.
Two Wolves froze when he heard the animal’s snort of fear. From the corner of his eye, Kael saw Two Wolves drop the wood and draw his hunting knife. An icy chill spread through Kael as he looked over his shoulder.
Above him, on the reddish rock of the ravine’s wall, stood a tawny ball of death. Even as Kael reached for his rifle, the cougar tensed to leap.
There was a sharp pain in the center of his back as Two Wolves pushed him to safety. The Indian turned and met the golden cat in mid leap. The flashing blade of the Shoshone’s knife struck the cougar’s side as Kael watched the cat pull his friend into an embrace of death.
Rolling along the ground, Two Wolves and the cougar fought their deadly battle. When Two Wolves’ knife raked its side, the mountain lion screamed in pain and rage.
Galvanizing himself into action, Kael pulled the rifle and aimed at the two bodies rolling in battle. Kael couldn’t fire at the constantly spinning pair, and forced himself to wait until he could get a clear shot. The cat screamed again and drew its rear paws under its belly. The muscles of the cougar’s haunches knotted, and the cat raked Two Wolves from chest to groin with razor-sharp claws.
Standing motionless above its victim, the cougar glared at Kael with glowing yellow eyes. Opening its mouth wide, the animal’s loud growl of challenge tore through the darkening night.
Kael fired just as the cat jumped free of the Indian, and ran from its victory. Kael watched helplessly as the tawny four-legged killer fled with Two Wolves’ knife imbedded in its side.
Running to his friend, Kael knelt beside him. He lifted Two Wolves’ head, and gazed into his eyes.
“Treemont, the cat . . . He will kill many people before my knife finishes him. He must be stopped.” Pain twisted his face.
“I will kill the cat,” Kael promised.
“Good.” Two Wolves w body trembled within the hold of death. “Treemont. My village is half a day from here. Take me home…” The whispered words were his last.
“I’ll take you home.” He placed Two Wolves’ body next to the unlit fire, took a blanket from his saddle pack, and wrapped his friend within. Sitting through the night with his rifle beside him, Kael guarded the body against the cat’s possible return.
Kael Treemont had found Two Wolves four weeks ago, in the Black Hills. He’d been riding for most of the day when he reached a small plateau. Deciding to make camp, Kael scouted for the best spot. Then he’d seen them.
Lying on the ground were the bodies of five Crow warriors. In their midst was the bleeding body of a single Shoshone. Of the six, only the Shoshone still breathed. Kael spent three days fighting the death that threatened the Indian. On the fourth day, the man began to come around. By the sixth day, Kael learned Two Wolves spoke fluent English and the reason he was there.
The Crow war party had raided his village and killed many people. Among them had been Two Wolves’ sister. Two Wolves and three other Shoshone warriors had gone after the Crows, swearing an oath of vengeance, prepared not to return home until they’d avenged their people. The other three warriors had lost their lives several days later in a second battle with the Crow. Two Wolves had been the only survivor and continued to track the Crow. When he’d found them, he used the high vantage point of a tree to shoot them down. All but two died. Then Two Wolves faced them on level ground, and killed both, but had himself been fatally injured during the fight.
Throughout the long, dark night of Kael Tremont’s vigil, he pondered the fate that had led him to Two Wolves; at the coincidence that he, too, was on a trail of vengeance, and would not stop until his mission was complete or he was dead.
When the new day came, Captain Kael Treemont, United States Army, retired, secured his friend’s blanket-wrapped body on the Appaloosa. When the sun shone down on the thirtieth anniversary of his birth, Kael followed the bloody telltale trail.
PART I
The Idaho Territory, Wyoming
June, 1867
ONE
Placing a small, booted foot into the leather stirrup, Lara Dowley grasped the pommel of the saddle and swung her light body up. Pausing birdlike above the ground, Lara’s ice-blue eyes surveyed the land. The golden morning sun flowed down and across the lush green valley, sitting like an oasis surrounded by almost barren terrain. With a slight flaring of her nostrils, Lara picked up the scent of pine, sage, juniper, and wildflower. Her sigh of pleasure spoke more than words, as she began to complete her upward movement.
“Lara!” came her stepfather’s loud bellow.
With a tinge of apprehension, Lara brought her slim body back to the ground. She had hoped to be gone before he’d finished his breakfast. She turned to him, certain of what was about to happen.
“How often must I tell you that a lady does not dress like that?” Martin Dowley admonished when he completed his walk from the covered veranda of the too-large house. Although only a few hundred feet to the stables, he was breathing hard and sweating. Martin Dowley was fifty-two, with a balding pate covered by a succession of different hats. His face had a mean look, and his body shape was more that of an egg than a man.
“Father, I’m going for a ride, not a social,” Lara reminded him. Seeing the hardening set of his small mouth and the narrowing of his dark eyes, Lara reacted angrily. “I am not your property!” she spat.
“In that you are wrong, young lady. You most certainly are my property. You are bought and paid for, and I have the papers to prove it,” Dowley replied with a grotesque facsimile of a smile. “Now, damn it, girl, you’ll do exactly what I tell you. Look at yourself. Wearing buckskins and a man’s shirt. You should be ashamed! I am!”
“Am I to ride through the sage with a dress and petticoats?” Lara asked sarcastically, fighting back the tears his ta
unting reminder of her adoption summoned.
“No. You may take the carriage, or ride our property like a woman, with a woman’s saddle and a proper riding dress. You’re indecent the way you are.”
“Indecent? I’m indecent?” Lara cried her incredulous reaction to her father’s hurting words. “At least all I do is ride in pants. I don’t force women to travel across the country to chase my ambitions. I don’t push people beyond their capabilities. I don’t drive people to their deaths.” Lara’s twenty-year-old eyes turned cold, her entire frame tensed with anger.
Suddenly, Lara realized just how far she had overstepped her bounds. Watching her father’s face turn a dark shade of red, she mounted the roan mare and, using her heels, commanded the horse to move.
“Never—never speak to me like that!” Martin Dowley ran after the burgundy-haired woman. “Come back here this minute!”
Ignoring his shouts, Lara forced the mare to a gallop in an effort to put her father, and their home, behind her. Through the rich green valley, and then over the small hills that led toward the Wind River, Lara sped to freedom from prying eyes. The breeze tossed the heavy mass of her hair about as her buckskin-covered legs molded to the horse’s flanks.
The smooth movements of the roan’s muscles, rippling against her thighs gave Lara a sense of oneness with the large animal. She tried to block out all thought as she concentrated on the horse’s gait, the wind in her face, and the warm sun above her.
Lara’s mind was in a rage; her heart beat too fast. The rising heat of the day and the heat of her anger made the young woman perspire freely. Rivulets of moisture ran between the valley of her breasts, and the cooling effect of the perspiration beading on her brow, was cooling as it mixed with the rushing air.
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