Proud Wolf's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

it.
    So she stood, fear gripping her, although the emotion became buried as she felt as if she were moving away from her body. It was an odd sensation, she was to think later, for she found herself contemplating the warrior as though from afar, as though none of this were happening to her.
    It did occur to her once that she should feel something, yet as she stared at the Indian, nothing stirred within her, and she found herself studying the man, his body paint and his horsemanship, as an artist might, noting that white paint covered the warrior’s face, neck, and chest, while black slashes jetted out under his eyes and along his cheekbones. Feathers dangled from his hair, above his crown, and also from his spear, which he held in his hand…pointed at her. He screamed as he raced toward her, his war cry carrying on the wind, and Julia, silently admiring the man’s cleverness with his mount, watched, hypnotized, waiting for the death blow.
    Closer and closer he sped, the sound of his approach deafening, until she thought she could see the color of his eyes, the yellow of his teeth. Knowing she could do nothing, she watched, she waited as though her body did not belong to her.
    She noted the magnificent sight the warrior made, her own horse whinnying and stomping behind her, tugging on the reins she still clutched in her hands. Dust clogged her nostrils, stinging her eyes, stopping up the pores of her skin, finding its way into her system until she thought she might taste the dirt, and the warrior, ever closer, sprinted his pony right up to her, screaming. But at the last moment, he leaped on by her without more than a momentary pause, his spear coming a few scant inches from her face.
    He hollered as he burst past her, and minutes later Julia heard the scream; a scream of horror, a masculine scream.
    Kenneth’s?
    Lord, no!
    She almost swooned, but something held her upright, some emotion that would not let her fall.
    She heard the sounds of spear meeting flesh, of more crying, and then a horse blazed back toward her. She felt the jerk of motion as someone grabbed her around the waist, her hands twisting in the still-held reins of her own mount.
    She felt hot, sweaty flesh next to her own.
    The Indian’s.
    She felt the man’s pony burst to full speed, saw the bloody scalp of brown hair he brandished in his hand: Kenneth’s.
    She closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer for a man she had never truly been able to love.
    She began to cry, but the wind whipped the moisture off her skin, giving her the appearance of nonchalance; a look which, had she but known it, made her appear ethereal.
    Her Indian captor gazed at her, his look expressing a sort of awe, but she turned away from him, feeling nausea building within her.
    It didn’t take long; within seconds, Julia convulsed over and over, losing her meager breakfast onto the ground until, at last, her stomach would heave no more.
    She would never see Kenneth again. Not in this world.
    She began to cry again, but the tears, she found, wouldn’t come. Instead a sort of numbness filled her.
    Perhaps it was that which gave her the appearance of strength; perhaps it was something else. Whatever the cause, Julia, raising her chin and, feeling her hair blowing back with the wind, little knew that her attitude lit a spark of admiration within her captor—an esteem that could win her guardianship or perhaps bring her terror.
    Thankfully she was saved from this knowledge. For the moment, her insouciance became her saving grace, and she held on to it. It was, notwithstanding, all that she had.

Chapter Two
    “Saaaa, my brother from the north has decided to join his southern Cheyenne relatives at last.”
    “It is good to see you.” Neeheeoeewotis, or Neeheeowee for short, Wolf on the Hill, greeted his brother-in-law with these words and a brief shake of his head. He didn’t smile, but then he never did.
    “I see you have many ponies there.” Mahoohe, Red Fox, maneuvered his steed