Lakota Dawn

Book 2: Lakota Winds

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

From New York Times bestselling author Janelle Taylor, comes her most compelling Native American saga. Taking you to an unforgettable time and place, the Great Plains of 1854, this magnificent novel of a proud warrior who must reclaim his heritage and the woman he is destined for, will move you with its breathtaking beauty and spellbinding passion. . . LAKOTA DAWN Cloud Chaser was merely a boy of ten when a cruel twist of fate took him away from his family and changed his life forever. Now, after twelve years, he has returned home. Struggling to gain the trust and acceptanceof his tribe, Cloud Chaser is ready to face any obstacle to fulfill his dream of riding with the Lakota. But he never expects to lose his heart to the beautiful Indian maiden Dawn, who shared his wish of bringing peace to the Black Hills. Now as an even greater challenge awaits him, he and Dawn together strive to secure the future of their people-and their love. . . "A STORY THAT WILL THRILL." -Romantic Times

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 308

Sample

JULY, 1854

Chase Martin took a deep breath and slowly released it. He kept his rifle sheathed and his handgun holstered to indicate he was no threat to the approaching Red Shield warriors as he guided his horse from concealing trees. He was not surprised that the party’s leader spotted him immediately and alerted his followers to a stranger’s presence. Chase reined in and lifted his hands to signify he only wanted to parley with them. He wasn’t afraid to die for a just cause, but his heart still pounded in suspense and blood sped through his veins in anticipation of what he would learn. He watched the warriors race forward and encircle him. He said to the young man who sat astride a mottled mount before him, “I’ve come to speak with Chief Rising Bear. Will you take me to his camp and tepee?”

As Chase saw the leader’s keen gaze search the trees behind him, he added, “I’ve come alone to see your chief. This is no trick or challenge. Do you speak English and understand me?”

The warrior nodded, still on alert. “Why you seek my father?” he asked.

Chase eyed the speaker with great interest as he said, “My words are for the ears of Rising Bear alone. I come in peace, War Eagle.”

“How you know my name, wasicun?”

Chase knew he appeared to be at least part Indian, even if War Eagle had called him a white man, and in a near insulting tone. Considering the past and growing hostilities between the two races, he was lucky he hadn’t been slain on sight. “At Fort Pierre, I was told Rising Bear has two sons: Wind Dancer and War Eagle. You are Rising Bear’s second son?”

“It true. Why you ask men at trading post about my family? You Bluecoat come to scout our camp for attack?”

“No, War Eagle, I’m not a soldier or an enemy. I come from far away and had to ask questions at Pierre so I could find Rising Bear and his camp. You must take me to him, for the words within me are powerful medicine.” If they don’t heal me, I don’t know what will…

“What big medicine words you bring to my father?”

“I must speak them to Rising Bear; only he can tell them to others if he so chooses.” Chase observed as War Eagle scrutinized him intently and considered his bold request. He listened as the leader spoke with his hunting party, pleased that he understood the Oglala tongue he had not heard for many years.

War Eagle felt there was something oddly familiar about the intruder, but he could not determine what it might be. From somewhere deep within him, a voice—perhaps the Great Spirit’s—advised him to take the evasive man to his father. “Give weapons to Swift Otter.”

Without protest or delay, Chase surrendered his rifle, pistol, and knife to the warrior, who edged close to his mount and confiscated them.

“Come. I take you to my father. If you speak false words or seek to harm him, wasicun, you die by my hand before this sun sleeps.”

“Trust me, War Eagle, for I speak the truth.”

“I trust no white man, for truth does not live in their hearts or come from their mouths; they prove this on each rising sun. Come. We go.”

Chase knew it was futile and a waste of valuable time to argue with War Eagle, so he remained silent. He rode behind the leader, with the other warriors positioned on either side of him and to his rear. So far, so good, he told himself.

They journeyed over the edge of the Great Plains where tight bunches and singular stalks of various grasses swayed in a constant wind, and traveled into foothills of fragrant pine and cedar and fully leafed hardwoods. Along the way, they encountered straggling buffaloes who were not members of the vast herds which spread across the rolling grassland like enormous dark blankets and unknowingly awaited the Indians’ impending annual summer hunt. They also sighted small groups of antelope, several coyote, a few turkey, and many deer. Amidst flower-filled meadows with winding streams, and creeks, they spooked grouse, other birds, and burrow-dwelling creatures. Beyond their current position were canyons and higher elevation of ebony or gray granite boulders, towering needles, spiky spires, and picturesque cliffs. Those rugged mountains with their jagged peaks and lofty pinnacles comprised the Black Hills, the sacred Paha Sapa.

From childhood recall and the maps he’d studied, Chase knew they were between Swift and Bear Gulch creeks, and north of a site called Cave Of The Winds, where powerful spirits allegedly dwelled. He realized he would soon reach the Red Shield camp to face Rising Bear and others. A multitude of contradictory feelings and thoughts filled him: tension and serenity, eagerness and dread, trust and doubt. The moment of truth would be at hand soon.

At long last, the village was in view. Numerous buffalohide tepees with lodgepoles jutting upward were situated on the relatively flat surface of a canyon floor, which was sheltered against the harsh winter forces by evergreen-tree-covered hills and large, dark rock formations. Most featured what he knew were colorful paintings of their warriors’ skills and exploits. There was no circular pattern to the arrangement, as was the custom on the Great Plains for self-defense in the open. In the spaces between them, Chase saw racks with pelts and hides being dried and stretched for tanning. He saw campfires enclosed by rocks. Kettles were suspended above the fire from three-pronged stands over them and smoke and vapors rose from the simmering meals. Some horses were picketed near conical abodes, and others were grazing and drinking at the nearby river. Weapons were proudly displayed on trilegged stands as they soaked up the powers of the earth and sun. Women were busy with daily chores. Older children played on the camp fringe; younger ones and infants were tended near their homes by their grandparents or sisters. Men talked and worked on their tasks, mainly preparations for the impending annual buffalo hunt. It was all so familiar and yet alien to Chase. For a moment, he wondered if he had been wrong to come there, if he should have left the past dead and buried. Yet, even if he had made a grave mistake, it was too late to change his mind now.

Chase noted that many people halted their chores and headed toward them—whispering and pointing—as the riders entered the busy area and dismounted near their chief’s tepee, their curious or narrowed gazes focused on him, a white man who arrived unbound. Several young boys took the horses away to be tended, including his own. He waited in silence as Wind Dancer and Rising Bear scrutinized him with keen dark eyes before looking quizzically at War Eagle for an explanation. The leader hurriedly related the news of Chase’s “capture” and persistence in speaking with the chief.

Wind Dancer gave the man another quick study and had a strange feeling they had met before. He asked in English, which he had learned from his wife during the last few years, “Who are you and why do you come to see my father?”

So, like War Eagle, you don’t recognize me, either. I guess the same is true for our father and everyone else here. “I want to speak with Rising Bear alone; my words are not for the ears of others unless he so chooses.” Chase waited and listened as Wind Dancer translated those words into Lakota, and the older man responded to his eldest son.

“My father says you can speak your words before his family and people,” Wind Dancer said. “But who are you? Why do you come to our camp?”

Chase had yearned to be remembered and for this initial meeting to take place in private. His hurt and displeasure sent forth a response in a near-surly tone as he frowned, “Does Mato Kikta not recognize the face and voice of Yutokeca Mahpiya, son of Rising Bear and Margaret Phillips, the white woman he called Omaste, Sunshine, for her golden, hair? Is my father not happy I have found my way home after being stolen from him twelve summers past? Has he forgotten his own flesh and blood?”

A shocked Wind Dancer glared at the scowling stranger and almost gritted out the angry charge, “You lie, wasicun! My brother is dead. You are foolish to come here and claim to be him. What evil trick is this?”

Chase leveled his gaze on the man whose height matched his own of six feet. “Do I look dead, Wind Dancer, my brother who is five winters older than I am? Do you not remember Cloud Chaser who followed in your shadow on most suns after he learned to walk? It isn’t a trick or a lie. I have proof: the clothes and possessions I was wearing when I vanished long ago, they’re in the saddlebag on my horse. In my medicine bundle is the feather you gave me from the first bird you killed with an arrow. Also there is the sacred red stone my father gave to me following my first vision and the golden lock of my mother’s hair, and I wear the locket which holds her parents’ image. If I’m not Cloud Chaser, how would I have and know such things?”

Wind Dancer eyed the stranger with astonishment. He and Cloud Chaser had been separated by evil forces when Wind Dancer was fifteen winters old and his half-brother was ten, and Cloud Chaser had been presumed dead or lost to them forever. Was this man speaking the truth? Was that what evoked such eerie feelings within him? If this was Cloud Chaser, he had changed from the almost black-haired and -eyed boy who had looked Indian to a man who appeared mostly wasicun with his medium brown eyes and hair with lighter streaks. His features were larger and different, but the passing of time could account for those changes. As a curious Rising Bear nudged his arm and questioned his reaction, Wind Dancer’s muddled thoughts cleared. He translated the shocking words to his father, whose widened gaze jerked toward and stared at the stranger who oddly tugged at his emotions.

Two Feathers snarled in the Lakota tongue, “It is a trick! Cloud Chaser walks the Ghost Trail, not the face of Mother Earth! This man is a white man who has come to spy on us for our enemy! We must slay him where he stands. I will do the deed for our chief,” he offered as he withdrew a weapon.

Wind Dancer told his irate first cousin in their language, “Hold your tongue and sheathe your knife, Two Feathers, and allow him to speak.” In English, he asked, “Who are you, wasicun, and why do you come here?”

Chase ignored his hostile cousin as he avowed, “I told you such news should be revealed in private to my father. Our long-awaited reunion was not for the eyes and ears of others.” When Rising Bear failed to smile, embrace, and welcome him home, disappointment and bitterness shot through Chase and provoked angry words, still in English. “Tell me, Father, would you have tried to find and recover me if I weren’t half white or if I had been one of your other three children? Does it bring you shame and sadness to have me return and remind you of past dark days?”

Of necessity, Wind Dancer translated those words to their father.

“Do not speak such bad words and show such bad feelings to our chief or your tongue will be taken!” Two Feathers shouted in a threatening tone.

Chase disregarded his cousin, whose Lakota words he had understood. “If my father will not answer the questions which trouble my heart, then you tell me, my brother, how long and how hard did he search for me when I was stolen by the Whites? Why didn’t he follow the cloud-covered wagons? They move slowly and he is a great warrior, so he could have easily overtaken them and rescued me. Was he glad to have me gone?”

“He and others searched many suns and moons, but Cloud Chaser could not be found,” Wind Dancer rebuffed. “He followed the wagons but did not see him among the Whites, so it was foolish to attack them and call forth a war with the Bluecoats. He found Crow tracks near his last moccasin prints; he followed our enemy and recovered his pony, but all Crow were slain in that battle and there were no signs of him in their camp. He did not know where he was or what happened to him. If you are Cloud Chaser, why did you wait so long to return to us? Why do you return in this season?”

“I was wounded by the enemy,” Chase began his explanation, “and thrown from my pony; my leg was broken. White settlers found me, tended me, and took me with them to a place far away called Oregon and named me Chase Martin. I was told my people were attacked and killed and that I must remain with them to recover and be safe. And I did not know the long path home. Before my white father died, he revealed the truth to me, but begged me to forgive him and to stay with the woman who raised me as her son to help her on the farm and to protect her. After her death, I returned here.”

“Why did those who took you speak such lies?” Wind Dancer asked.

“Because they wanted a son badly and couldn’t have children. They also believed I was a white captive being held and reared by the Indians. They said nobody came searching for me or claimed me, so they kept me.”

After Wind Dancer translated those words for their father, Two Feathers snarled, “The Oglala blood he carried at birth has been slain by his many seasons with the Whites; he is more wasicun than Red Shield. He must be slain or sent away or he will cause much trouble for us.”

Chase, glared at his cousin and refuted, “The blood of Rising Bear lives strongest within me; that is why I have returned to him and the Oglalas.”

“You speak our tongue?” Two Feathers asked in astonishment.

Chase replied again in Lakota, “I speak the tongue of my father and our people. I have forgotten little about my life here long ago.” He realized he had to settle down or he would be sent riding before he gleaned the truth. “Give me time, Father, and I will earn your love, respect, and acceptance; but you must also earn mine and my forgiveness. I will—”

“You speak foolish and dangerous, half-breed!” Two Feathers shouted. “How do we know you are Cloud Chaser and not a wasicun who uses his thoughts and possessions to trick us?”

“I have not forgotten what I was taught as a child, but you have done so. You forget it is not the Oglala way to walk upon the words of another, son of my father’s sister. Do you still hold a wicked grudge against me for the many times I beat you in foot races and in arrow practice? After so many years, do you still hate me and wish me dead?”

“Do you come to cause trouble and to shame our chief? Do you—”

“Be silent, Two Feathers, and let him speak what lives in his heart and head,” Wind Dancer interrupted his angry cousin. “Do you wish to speak in our tongue to my father or will I reveal your words to him?” he asked Chase.

“It has been a long time since the Lakota tongue has lived in my mouth, but I will speak it.” He turned to the chief. “What of the Four Sacred Virtues, Father? You must show Courage and Generosity by allowing me to return and to prove myself. Where is the Wisdom in rejecting or slaying me? Where is your Fortitude, your strength of mind and body at this difficult and painful event? Are we not taught to be fiercely loyal to our family and people? I did not leave them by choice: I was stolen from both by the enemy. You did not refuse to take back your wife when she returned from our enemy’s captivity, so why do you retreat from one who carries your blood and came from your man seeds? What Red Shield or Lakota law have I broken that says I must be banished? Give me until the first snow falls from the sky to prove I am more Lakota than White. If I fail to do so, you can slay me or order me to leave and I will obey; you have my word of honor as a man and as your son by blood.”

Nahemana stepped forward. “Three summers past when we gathered near Fort Laramie for the Treaty of the Long Meadows,” he said, “I had a dream and revealed it to Wind Dancer. The sacred dream said: ‘The past is not wrapped in a blanket or buffalo hide and does not rest on a death scaffold. It hides in clouds and will be seen before many more seasons pass.’ That message has come to be: Cloud Chaser is alive and has returned.”

Chase remembered the shaman, father of Rising Bear’s wife, and grandfather to Wind Dancer, War Eagle, and Hanmani—his half-brothers and half-sister. It was evident from everyone’s expression and reaction that the elderly white-haired man with much weathered skin and stooped shoulders was loved and respected and was believed to know and speak great wisdom.

Nahemana continued. “The moon your adopted white mother died, an Indian maiden appeared to you in a dream and said it was time for you to return to this land and your father’s people. Is that not true?”

Chase was amazed by that news. “How did you know about my dream?”

“The Great Spirit put that thought inside my head, for He knows and sees all things,” Nahemana replied. “He has a purpose for calling you back to this land, but He has not revealed it to me.”

Wind Dancer knew his grandfather’s revelation about his dream long ago was true. Yet, even if this man was Cloud Chaser, the motive for his return might not be a good one. Perhaps evil forces were at work in Chase’s life and heart, powers which could endanger his loved ones. Wind Dancer decided that until he was certain his half-brother was no threat to their father and people, this long-lost man must be watched closely.

“You must prove yourself worthy to rejoin our band, if that is the Great Spirit’s will,” Nahemana told Chase. “You must prove when the time comes—for surely it will do so during this hot season—you are more Oglala than White and you will side with us in all things and ways against our enemies, those who carry the same White blood as did your mother and the people who reared you far away. Can you turn your face from the Whites forever? Can you raise your weapons against them when they attack us?”

“I will do whatever I must, Wise One,” Chase vowed to the shaman.

“Let him prove himself at the Sun Dance pole,” Two Feathers scoffed.

“I will surrender myself to the Sun Dance to prove myself worthy to be a Red Shield and to give thanks to Wakantanka for bringing me home, but I will do so when the time is right, not by your challenge, my cousin.”

“Are you afraid to—”

Rising Bear lifted his hand. “Enough, Two Feathers. Our shaman has spoken and so it will be until the Great Spirit tells him otherwise or our laws are broken.” He said to Chase and his other two sons, “Come to my tepee; there are many words to speak between us.”

As the four men headed for the chief’s dwelling, Chase glanced to his left. His gaze widened and he missed a step as he stared at a young maiden not far away. If he didn’t know she was real, he would swear it was the female spirit who had appeared to him in his beckoning dream months ago! She was the most beautiful and tempting woman he had ever seen. He saw her lower her gaze and turn to speak with a younger girl beside her, and he refocused his strayed attention on his retreating father and brothers. Even so, he experienced a strange and powerful pull toward her and knew he must discover her identity. As he glanced toward Two Feathers, he saw the warrior’s sullen gaze flicker from him to the maiden and back to him. Judging from the scowl on Two Feathers’ face, Chase concluded the other man was going to cause trouble for him as he had in the past, but he would ponder that problem later. For now, other matters were more important. He was eager to see how his father and brothers treated him in private, for they had shown no affection, joy, and acceptance in public, to his dismay.

As the crowd dispersed to return to their chores, the two young women walked into the forest to speak beyond the hearing of others.

Hanmani, cherished daughter of Rising Bear, told her best friend Macha, “I was only four winters old when he vanished, so I am not sure I remember him. After living so long as the half-white man he is, why would he want to return to a land filled with conflict and hatred between the two bloods he carries? How will he bring himself to side with one against the other? If he is not loyal to his mother’s and adoptive parents’ side, how can we trust him to be loyal to ours? Dawn, what do you think of him and his coming?”

Macha vividly remembered the boy called Cloud Chaser, though she had been only six when he disappeared. Even at that young age, she had loved him and used many pretenses to be around him. Now he was back, a grown man, a handsome and virile one with great courage, strength, intelligence, and boldness. “Perhaps the Great Spirit has summoned him here to help bring peace between our two peoples.”

Hanmani shook her head. “Father and others say there can be no peace with the Whites who seek to destroy us and steal our lands. Already they have misused and broken the Long Meadows Treaty with us and other tribes. If a treaty born only three summers past has withered and died, what and who can give it new life, and how long will the second one last? It cannot be, my best friend, for our peoples and desires are too different.”

“If there can be no peace as our leaders say, perhaps there can be a better truce, for the Whites are here to stay, Hanmani. Even if all enemies who live or travel through our lands are slain, more will come, as will a bitter war if we attack them. Do not forget what we have learned: they have many powerful weapons and their numbers are larger than the buffalo herds which cover the grasslands. If we do not find an honorable way to live with them or a means to utterly defeat them, we, along with the buffalo, will vanish, and we will not be able to return as Cloud Chaser did. Perhaps the Great Spirit allowed his capture so he could learn the white man’s ways, then return to teach them to us, or to help us use those ways against our enemy.”

That speculation intrigued and excited Hanmani. She smiled and asked, “Do you really think so, my friend?”

Macha thought for a short span, then sighed and shrugged. She could not outright lie to her best friend, but she was not ready to expose her deepest feelings on the matter. “I do not know why he has come, but surely the Great Spirit will soon reveal it to our shaman.”

“If he seeks to trick us, he will be slain by Wind Dancer or War Eagle.”

“Could they truly slay their own brother?”

“If he is a threat to us, they will do what they must. I am sure they will watch him as keen-eyed hawks until they know he can be trusted. We must gather our firewood so we can hurry back to see what happens.”

As they worked, Macha struggled to quell her fear at that possibility, and her elation and suspense at his sudden return. It was as if she had been dreaming and waiting for Cloud Chaser to reappear since the day he had vanished. Why, she did not know, as any kind of relationship with him was impossible. She had noticed Two Feathers’ study of them when they had glanced at each other. The warrior had begun to crave her as his wife. Yet, she could think of little which would be more saddening or repulsive than mating with Hanmani’s cousin. Macha sighed. She felt trapped in a powerful whirlwind that was blowing her in two directions at once: one toward the bond to her people and one toward the man who caused her body to warm and tingle, her heart to pound, and her mind to race with forbidden thoughts and desires.

As she did her daily task, several questions plagued Macha. What if his wasicun blood and years with the Whites had changed Cloud Chaser from the boy she remembered? What if his reason for returning was-not a good one? What if he called down the wrath of their enemies upon them? Even if he had not become more White than Indian, what if he could not bring himself to choose sides when that awesome moment arrived? If he could not convince the others he was being truthful and sincere, would he be slain or simply sent away? She, too, must watch him for answers.

When their woodslings were filled and they headed back toward camp, Macha somehow knew that her parents, especially her father, would tell her to come home whenever Cloud Chaser visited his family and to avoid him completely. Could she—would she—obey that impending command? She could not decide how she would react if Cloud Chaser approached her, especially in private, or surmise how she was going to handle the imminent and repugnant joining offer from Two Feathers. Help me, Great Spirit, for my heart and mind are caught in traps and I do not know how to free myself.

Inside the chief’s tepee, the four men sat cross-legged on oblong fuzzy hides, Chase facing Rising Bear and Wind Dancer facing War Eagle. It was as if each had assumed one of the four points on a compass, and leaving a space of three feet between him and the man opposite him. Since the Red Shield leader had implied he wanted privacy, all knew they would not be disturbed, even by his wife Winona or his daughter Hanmani.

Wind Dancer opened their talk by asking Chase to relate the news of his capture, life far away, and his journey back to them. More confident of his knowledge of English than of his alleged brother’s grasp of the Indian tongue, he told Cloud Chaser to use the white man’s language. Before reaching the tepee, he had whispered to his father that he and War Eagle would translate for their chief. He wanted Cloud Chaser to feel confident, comfortable. Perhaps then he might stumble more easily.

Chase focused his attention on Rising Bear, whose unreadable gaze was locked on him. “I was injured and captured because I disobeyed you, Father, and the teachings of the Great Spirit. There was much conflict between me and my cousin when we were boys, and from his behavior toward me today, that has not changed. After Two Feathers slayed the wolf who attacked your war horse and gave you its pelt, he boasted to me about his brave deed and teased me about being weak because I was half white. I yearned to give you a better gift and to show greater courage than he had. Such feelings were wrong, but I was blinded by love for you and anger toward him. I went after the ghost horse who roamed our lands and could not be caught, though you had told your sons not to do so, for it was dangerous. As I chased him, a Crow hunting party tried to capture me. I shot many arrows at them, wounding two. They were angered and sent an arrow into my arm,” Chase disclosed, touching a spot just below his left shoulder.

“I was thrown from my pony when he stepped into a creature’s burrow and stumbled. My leg was broken and my head was injured, and a great darkness came over me. When I awakened, many suns and moons had passed and I was traveling inside one of the settlers’ cloud-covered wagons. When I told the white man and his wife I was from the Red Shield Oglalas and must be freed to return home or much danger would approach them, the man called Tom Martin said my people had been massacred by the Crow who had wounded me. He said I must remain with them to heal and to be safe from our enemies. When you did not come after me, I believed his claim that my family and people were dead. My heart was filled with more pain than my body suffered. My head was filled with anger and hatred toward the Crow and I hungered for revenge against them.” Chase quelled his bitterness and disillusionment as his father showed absolutely no reaction to his tale.

“His wife, a gentle and generous woman named Lucy, tended my injuries. She called me Chase, for I had murmured part of my name while ensnared by the blackness. My blood mother had taught me much English, and I learned more from the Martins. I could not walk or ride with my leg in wooden bonds; I was weak in body and spirit and I was in unfamiliar territory, and I was scared, for I was only a child of ten, and all I had known, loved, and was had been stolen from me. The Martins were kind to me and I believed my family and people were dead, so I stayed with them. I vowed to return and seek revenge on the Crow after I healed and learned my way home, but time escaped me as I waited to grow older and stronger and wiser before challenging such a powerful force.”

Cha. . .