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SHE CAPTURES MY HEART
The Trading Room at Fort Union
The Northwest Indian Country
May 1835
"Where can I find A'sitápi?" Gray Falcon asked in the language of gestures, though he spoke the last word in Blackfeet. "Have you seen her? I have come for my buffalo lodge and other possessions; they were left with her before I departed from here several months ago."
"Pardón, Monsieur, only de Americanine or de French do I speaks."
Gray Falcon shook his head, one of the few physical responses understood by all the tribes, as well as by the traders. In response, the trader, Larpenteur, shrugged his shoulders. And, since Gray Falcon had brought no furs to trade, Larpenteur dismissed him by turning his back on him. Then, without a word, Larpenteur stepped to the door of the trading room and was soon gone.
Gray Falcon sighed in response, clearly frustrated. Why had none of these traders learned the language so common to the people who lived on the prairie?
His asking this question brought to mind one of the reasons he had made the long journey to this fort: A'sitápi. Were she here, he would be able to make himself understood.
But, where was she? Had she taken her pony for a ride outside the fort? Perhaps. In truth, were she anywhere within the fort, she would have sought him out by now. The thought made him grimace.
She was more of a pest than a friend. And yet, friend she was. Indeed, she was probably his greatest ally within this fort, although he would have never sought her out deliberately.
Saa, no, she had come to him last winter, invading his home in her quest to find her sister who had been lost in the midst of a blizzard. But, even when she'd learned he couldn't help her, she had refused to leave.
He hadn't known what to do with her. Factually, he shouldn't have been alone with her; she was too young to be anywhere near him. She was also one of the daughters of the fort's Trader and the younger sister of Ikamóso-niistówas-siitámssin, wife of his friend, Eagle Heart.
Hannia, the young girl could have caused trouble for him and for herself, also. Luckily for him, his uncle and auntie had stepped in to act as chaperones.
Yet, over time he had become accustomed to her presence in his life, for she had made herself a frequent guest in his lodge—all too frequent. Perhaps he had become too used to her, causing him to forget she was also the favored daughter of the fort's Trader.
What to do now? He certainly couldn't ask his question of any of the Indians standing here within the trading room. All of them, with only a few exceptions, were enemies of the Blackfeet.
Pushing himself away from the trading table, Gray Falcon turned and stepped to the back wall and, settling in, glanced around the room. The trading room was only moderately busy this day, which was unusual for the season of "when the geese come," since this was the best time of year to trade.
Deliberately he struck a leisurely pose, although he was ever alert and awake. And, as any scout must do, he glanced about the room quickly, reacquainting himself with this place, memorizing the differences between how it was now and how it had been several moons ago.
As he leaned back against the wall, he glanced casually at the long counter used for trading, or trading table, as it was known to the Indians. At present, there was a large buffalo hide spread upon it. Off to the side of the table were several beaver belts, mink, and even raccoon and skunk furs.
Many wooden shelves stood against the back wall, and at present, there were stacks of many furs, as well as neatly folded woolen blankets, on those shelves. Gray Falcon had become used to the sight of the mounted moose horns which were placed on both sides of the counter. Today these were displaying many different items of clothing, from belts and hats, to moccasins and a few fur-lined jackets.
Presently, four Blackfoot men—all of them friends and known to Gray Falcon—stepped into the room and trod toward the counter. Laying their stacks of furs on the counter, they waited patiently for Larpenteur to return.
With the addition of his four friends, there were now five Blackfoot men in this room, including himself. Glancing around, he counted eight men from the Crow tribe, four men from the Assiniboine tribe and two from the Gros Ventre. He reckoned these were fairly good odds if there were to be a fight, for a Blackfoot man counted as three men for every one man from another tribe.
Realizing there would be nothing more to be learned here, Gray Falcon pushed himself away from the wall and trod silently out of the room. The solidly built entrance gate was open and was only a few steps away. But, before leaving, he took possession of his own weapons, pulling on his quiver full of arrows, picking up his bow and lance, tying on his knife sheath and grabbing hold of his muzzle-loading rifle, shoving it across his shoulders and back.
He was about to step out of the fort when suddenly, from behind, someone jerked him around and punched him in the stomach. The blow knocked him backward, and, after rocking on his feet, he slumped to the ground. Immediately, before he had recovered from the first assault, strong arms jerked him upward and another strike followed, an upper cut to his jaw. The solid punch landed square in his face, and, as he spun around, his nose began to bleed.
Gray Falcon could barely stand, but was still aware enough and quick enough to jerk an arrow from his quiver, setting it against his bow, pulling back the string and pointing it directly at his attacker—his intent clear. He accomplished this so speedily, his attacker stepped back, his face red with fury.
Alarm rocked Gray Falcon's world: this was A'sitápi's father. Still, his aim did not falter.
But, why was her father so angry with him? Was it because of the recent fight in the Beartooth Mountains? Surely not. Hadn't they settled their differences honorably?
Gray Falcon was not left long to find out.
"Ya dirty Injun," began McIntosh. "Yer the one's been sniffin' 'round my youngest daughter's skirts, ain't cha? Well, no more. She's gone back ta her home far away, do ya hear? Now, get out of here. Don't ever come back. Next time I see yer face, I'll kill ya. Ya got it? Ya understand?" McIntosh waited barely a second before again spitting out, "Ya filthy Injun. The likes of ya ain't welcome here. I'll kill ya next time I see ya. And, this ain't a simple threat. I promise ya. I'll kill ya. Now, get!"
No translation was needed; Gray Falcon understood. This concerned this man's daughter, A'sitápi. The long-anticipated trouble had, at last, arrived.
Gray Falcon could feel his lips swelling, was aware blood was gushing from his nose, and, though he could taste his own blood, he forced himself to stand up straight and scan in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle around him without taking his eyes off his opponent. Good. No one stood behind him.
Gradually, with bow and arrow still trained on the Trader, Gray Falcon backed out of the gate, stepping onto the grassy terrain of the plains. He didn't say a word.
Several of his Blackfoot friends immediately surrounded him, their own bows and arrows drawn. Likewise, five of the fort's engagées formed a line against them, their pistols trained on the Indians. McIntosh spit forcefully at Gray Falcon, although the moisture fell short of its target.
"Don't ever come back here!" shouted the Trader. "None of ya." And, this said, he pushed the gate closed.
That's when it happened.
"Gray Falcon!?"
At once, Gray Falcon recognized the "talk" so common to his tribe's medicine men—the silent spirit-to-spirit speak. Had he not been in a life-and-death situation, he might have rejoiced; such was its importance.
For most of his life, he had thought he might never acquire the ancient skill of communication commonly used by many scouts and by all medicine men. But, try though he might, he had not yet accomplished it—even though he came from a bloodline of medicine men.
Yet, he had "heard" the thought clearly.
It came again. "What is wrong?" He now recognized the speaker. It was A'sitápi reaching out to him.
A'sitápi? The pesky white girl? The same girl and favored daughter of the Trader who had this very moment beaten him up?
Though it was puzzling how a white girl was able to speak to him in the mind talk, he answered her in the same manner, saying in thought, "I have been looking for you at the fort. Where are you?"
"St. Louis. My father sent my mother and me away."
"Your father hates me."
"I know," she responded in the thought speech. "He has forbidden me to see you again."
"Did you tell him about our friendship?"
"No. I promise I didn't, although it has been out there in the open for anyone to see. Still, someone else must have whispered it to him. After Father came back from his trip out west, he was like a man possessed. He might not have been able to keep my sister from marrying Eagle Heart, but he was determined I would never marry an Indian."
"We are not involved in that way!"
"But, I'd like to be and he knows it."
"Did you tell your father this?"
"No. He was too angry at me…and at you."
"You are too young for me, and, even if I were inclined to like you in the way you suggest—which I am not—you would have to grow up first. You are only fourteen winters old."
"I am soon to be fifteen. I know some girls who have married at this age."
"Do not say this to me. You know you are too young for marriage, as I am, too. And, even if we were both older, you are too bold. It is a man's task to ask the woman for marriage, not the opposite. And, it is doubtful I would seek you to be my wife since you are white and I am not. We have become united in a cause: your sister and my friend. That is all."
"Yes, I know. But, I can't help what's in my heart."
He didn't answer for a long while. At last, however, he said, using thought alone, "I am now forbidden from ever entering your father's trading post, and your father has threatened to kill me if he ever sees me again."
"I'm sorry," she said in the mind-to-mind talk. "Before I left, he told me he would kill you if he could, and I didn't know what to do to prevent you from coming back to Fort Union. But, I've had no way to contact you except through the means of the thought-to-thought speak. I've been trying to do it, really I have. But, I have not accomplished it until now. I'm sorry my father has treated you this way."
"He will never let us continue to be allied with each other, regardless of the cause. Never again."
"I know."
"But," Gray Falcon added, "take heart; it is not so bad. We are even now 'talking' to each other. He cannot stop what remains of our friendship if we continue to speak to one another as we are now. In this way, we can resist him and never be too far apart."
"Do you really mean what you've said? Do you, then, like me a little?"
"We are friends. Of course I like you a little."
"Only a little?"
He didn't answer. At length, glancing around at his fellow Blackfoot allies, he said in mind speak, "I must go."
"You are injured, aren't you?"
"I must go. Tonight, I will reach out to you again."
The communication ended.
Gradually he, as well as his friends, withdrew to a safe distance from the fort, their weapons still drawn. He felt a gentle touch upon his arm and, looking down, saw his auntie beside him.
She said nothing. Instead, with a careful hand, she took him by the arm and guided him to her lodge, and, looking back, Gray Falcon saw the Blackfoot warriors covering his retreat.
Sun, the Creator, had been with him today, ensuring he would come away from this confrontation with his scalp and his life still intact. This was without doubt. And, he had taken a giant step into becoming a medicine man. He had spoken the thought speech, and with a girl who wasn't even Indian.
Perhaps the day wasn't so bad, after all.
She
Steals My Breath
The
Medicine Man Book 1
Her
Beauty Takes His Breath Away… Only She Can Restore It
Eagle
Heart of the Blackfoot Nation has not come to the trading post, Fort
Union, to trade, but to find his missing brother. The medicine man
has never seen a white woman, but, when she walks into the room, her
beauty literally steals his breath.
Laylah
McIntosh has assets besides beauty that make her valuable to her
father, the fort's trader: her skill with numbers, her photographic
memory and her knowledge of the sign language used by all the tribes.
But, when she’s injured and caught in a fierce blizzard, it is
Eagle Heart, alone, who rescues her.
Forced
into each other's company, their attraction deepens. But a union
between them is forbidden in both their worlds.
Can
their love find a way to survive? Or will their differences separate
them forever?
Warning:
Sensuous romance and a love written in the stars could cause a gal to
go West in search of love and adventure.
**On
Sale for Only .99cents!**
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SHE STEALS MY BREATH, by Karen Kay
Eagle Heart was honestly worried, and, to counter this, he reached out into the environment, looking for She-steals-my-breath in the age-old manner of communication known and practiced by and between medicine men, as well as the Indian scout. Was she still alive?
He could no longer check his path for accuracy. The snow was too thick and spinning about the ground, and he could not see even a few hand lengths in front of him. There was now danger of losing his direction, as well. But, he wouldn't be turned away. No woman as beautiful as she should be made to die because her man did not understand the dangers of this land.
He reached out to her with his mind until he thought he'd found her, then said to her in the ancient way of medicine men, "I am coming for you. You must talk back to me with your mind so I can locate where you are. The snow is too dense, and I could lose my way. Can you speak to me with your mind so I can find you?"
"Yes," came her response.
With relief, he let out a deep breath. She had heard him and had even spoken back. He reached out again with his mind and said, "It is I, Eagle Heart, from the Pikuni tribe. Are you cold?"
"Yes. My fingers are frozen, I fear."
"Are you hurt?"
"Yes," she answered with her mind. "I can't move my right leg and my right arm. I fell upon them. My spine is hurt, too, I think. Maybe it's broken, for the agony in my spine when I try to move is very painful."
"I understand. You must remain warm, for the blizzard is coming upon us fast. I am going to see if there are wolves close to you who might come and surround you to keep you warm until I can get to you."
"Wolves? I'm afraid of wolves."
"You will not be afraid of these. I will try to find them and speak to them so they can come to you. If I locate them, they will help you and keep you from freezing. Do not be afraid of them."
"But, how can you do this?" she asked. "Talk to wolves?"
"I am speaking to you this way. I can also speak thusly to the wolves. I will send them to you. Do not be afraid of them."
The communication between them stopped, and, quickly, he reached out to her again and said, using the same ancient manner of communication, "You must keep talking to me with your mind even if I do not answer, for I am also seeking to find the wolves. Wait! I have found them. They are close and will come to help you. Let them keep you warm."
"I will try," she silently spoke back to him. "If I am to continue talking to you, as you say, what shall I tell you? I know not how to help you find me, and I am afraid for my life because I am so cold. Is there something else I could talk to you about to keep my mind off my fear?"
"Tell me about yourself. Why are you here? Are you in love with the man you are to marry?"
He sensed she might have found a little humor in his question. This was good. If she could laugh—even a little—perhaps she wouldn't center all her attention on her fear.
She silently spoke again in the mind-to-mind speak and said, "My name is Laylah McIntosh, and I have come here to help my father and also to marry the man I am engaged to."
"Do you love him?"
"Why do you ask?"
"It matters."
"Then I will tell you honestly," she told him, "that I don't know if I love him or not. I have believed I am in love with him, but recently I am beginning to experience doubts."
"How old are you?"
"I am eighteen years old. How old are you?"
"I am twenty and four snows."
"Snows? Do you mean years?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Eagle Heart, the wolves are here. I am afraid of them."
"Do not be. Let them lie next to you. They have answered my plea and are there to help you. You are close to me now. I have found the coulee, for I almost fell into it when I dismounted from my horse."
"Are you certain it is the coulee I am in?"
"Yes. The snow here is already deep. I do not wish my horses to lose their footing, so they and I must climb down to you slowly, one step after another."
"I understand. Should I keep talking to you with my mind?"
"Yes."
It was a slow, tortuous climb down the incline. But, at last, he and his ponies managed to step onto a more level ground and he found her lying there before him. Indeed, he almost stepped on one of the wolves who had come to surround her. He then said to her with his mind only, "I am here, but you must continue to speak to me silently and with your mind, for I must construct a shelter for us. Do not let yourself sleep. Stay awake."
"Very well. Should I continue to talk, then?"
"Yes. Can you see me?"
"No. The swirling of the snow is too thick."
"I am going to bend down toward you. Do not fear me. I am going to feel your body for injury. I shall try to touch your arm, your leg and your spine."
So saying, he bent toward her while the wind blew the snow around them. Reaching out to her, he felt underneath the blankets placed over her and ran his hands along her right arm and right leg. He said in Blackfeet, "I believe both your arm and your leg might be broken. I cannot feel your spine at this moment. I will need to move you carefully into a shelter, where I can determine if you have broken bones or if your muscles are merely strained."
"I don't understand you," she said in English, but he was aware of the concept of what she said anyway.
He nodded, then realized the snow was so thick, she couldn't see the movement. He repeated his words, but with the mind-to-mind talk only. Then he told her, "I must make us a shelter and a travois so I can move you without further injury. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"I have a warm buffalo robe to place over you to keep you as warm as possible. Stay close to the wolves and allow them to share the robe while I make a shelter and a travois to carry you. You have only to reach out to me with your mind if you need me. Thank you, my friends. My family. Please stay with her a little while longer. And, even when the storm passes, please stay close to me if you can. I might need your help again."
Only then did he rise to his feet, and he soon left to build a shelter that might keep them warm against the storm. And, it had to be quickly done.
Bestselling
author of Native American Historical Romance, KAREN KAY is a
multi-published author of romance and adventure in the Old West. She
has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing insights
into the everyday life of the American Indian culture of the past.
As
Reviewer, Suzanne Tucker, once wrote, “Ms. Kay never fails to
capture the pride, the passion and the spirit of the American
Indian…"
KAREN
KAY's great-grandmother was Choctaw, and she is adopted Blackfeet.
Ms. Kay is honored to be able to write about the rich culture of a
people who gave this country so much.
“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.”
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