Wind Dancer Read Online Free PDF

Carefully calm, he said, “I was walking by …” He looked into Isabelle’s eyes, hardly believing this fierce creature with her wild, dark hair, long and swirling provocatively around her skirts, was the one he had just heard conversing with her brother. “I heard your cry—the lightning, I supposed—and came to investigate.”
    Isabelle eyed him like he had never been looked at by a woman before. He found himself both repelled and fascinated. A sudden image of her fierce and in his bed flashed through his mind, leaving him feeling as if a fog had invaded his brain, placing him under some spell. Worse still, he didn’t know what to do next. Frustrated, he shook his head to clear it. Such things never happened to him.
    â€œCome closer.”
    Was her voice huskier? Was she weaving a magic he was hopeless to resist? It made him angry and determined—to do what, he didn’t know—but he found himself obeying, walking slowly up to her.
    * * *
    ISABELLE TOOK A deep breath as the man walked toward her. An odd sense of familiarity slammed through her as he moved out of the shadows. It was as though he was walking out of the pages of history. Yes, that was it, he was like a knight of old, or what she had always imagined one would be, except he was clothed in frontiersman’s garb. A poem she had memorized flashed through her mind as she stared at him, unable to lookaway. She recalled the lines, speaking them just under her breath in smiling admiration.
    He sees his future
stretched before him,
cold as steel.
Sleepless, lonely
await the kill.
Going for to find the damsel,
dragon-slayer, crusade-warrior.
No choice of mine,
knight in shining armor
weighted heavy, silver-shine.
Tall and broad, he blocks the sun,
man of honor,
chivalrous Knight.
Great men tremble in his glory,
pay him homage, dread his plight.
Courtly manners, noble talk.
Not a prancing peacock, he.
His word of honor, binding truth
the truth of chivalry.
    â€œAre you mumbling, miss?”
    Surfacing back to the real world, where this man could be a threat, Isabelle scowled at him. “Where are you heading?” she demanded instead of answering, rifle trained on his heart.
    Samuel held out his hands. “I’d be happy to oblige your questions, miss, but could we dispense with the weaponry? I’m not generally given to harming women.” He looked questioningly at the Indian, who nodded his agreement. Julian and Quiet Foxlowered their weapons but kept them easy and ready at their sides.
    Isabelle kept the weapon trained at him in silent challenge. For a long, quiet moment, they just stared at one another. Finally she shrugged one shoulder and lowered her weapon. Then she laughed. “But you’d harm a man, I dare say.” She stared at him, her chin poking out defiantly as she brazenly teased in a low voice, “You have harmed more than few men, I would guess.”
    He only stared back. This man would not be the easy conquest of a few batted eyelashes. Here was someone with more substance. How much more was still to be discovered, causing a thrill to rise inside of Isabelle at the thought of it.
    He took a step closer to her. It was as if they were alone and neither of them could tear their eyes off the other long enough to see the reactions of those with them.
    In a deep voice he responded to her needling. “Stories that would curl your toes, miss. Maybe you will be able to coax them from me … someday.”
    A slow smile spread across her face and coursed all the way through her body. “Perhaps our acquaintance will lend itself to such discourse, sir. Perhaps not.”
    Before he had time to respond, Julian interrupted their banter. “Isabelle, you have only just met the man.” Stretching out his hand toward Samuel, he said, “Julian Renoir. We travel west from Vincennes to Kaskaskia on a mission of old books. Please excuse my sister’s brazen