Book 2, The Clan of the Wolf Series
He saved her life, then stole her heart….
To escape an arranged marriage, Mia Carlson, daughter of a U.S. senator,
instead elopes with the man she loves. As they are escaping from her Virginia
home, heading west, their wagon train is brutally attacked, leaving Mia alone and
in grave danger. Rescue comes from a most unlikely source, a passing Lakota
scouting party, led by the darkly handsome Indian, Brave Wolf.
Although Brave Wolf has consented to guide Mia to the nearest trading post,
he holds himself apart from her, for his commitments lie elsewhere. But long days
on the trail lead to a deep connection with the red-haired beauty. Yet, he can’t stop
wondering why death and danger stalk this beautiful woman, forcing him to rescue
her time and again. Who is doing this, and why?
One thing is clear, however: Amid the flurry of dodging assassin bullets,
Brave Wolf and Mia come into possession of a powerful love. But is it all for
naught? Will Brave Wolf’s obligations and Mia’s secret enemy from the past
finally succeed in the sinister plot to destroy their love forever?
Warning: Sensuous romance and cameo appearances of Tahiska and Kristina from
the book, Lakota Surrender, might cause a happily-ever-after to warm your heart.
Enjoy this excerpt from Brave Wolf and the Lady, Book 2 in The Clan of the Wolf series.
She awoke slowly, and to the scent of the fresh, wet dew that had settled over the entire landscape. The cloud-like moisture that hung over everything made for a gray morning, yet there was something comforting about it, all the same. In the distance, the sound of many different bird songs filled the air with music, and she wished that she could distinguish one song from the other. But she couldn’t, and she sighed at her inability.
Soon a deep, masculine voice, raised in song, drifted to her on the breeze. Of course, the voice had to belong to Mr. Lakota. What time was it? Where was he? He sounded far away.
Already the low-to-the-ground moisture was giving way to the new day. Was that really a pinkish-orange sun showing through the scattering of the steel gray mist and light-colored blue clouds? Obviously it was morning, and soon they would be back upon the trail. Shame. She would have liked to linger here if only to “catch her breath.”
She started to rise, but winced when her muscles refused to obey her. Fair enough, she thought, and she lay back down, only to find herself staring straight up. Dawn crept into the sky slowly today, but even still, faint colors of orange and pink were settling into the gray-blackened sky. The feel of the wet mist touched her everywhere, bringing with it the scents of mud, grass and prairie flowers.
Below her the ground was soft and giving, encompassing her weight with ease. The blanket that he had laid beneath her was warm, and for a moment, she experienced a feeling of well-being.
But the awareness was quickly gone, replaced instead by the utter realization of her loss. The tears, which were never far away, blurred her vision. She sobbed, then she checked it. She didn’t want him to know she was awake. Why she felt this way, she didn’t understand. She only knew that these few moments alone felt important to her well-being.
Luckily, he appeared to not notice her at all, for his singing continued, his voice deep and baritone. In many ways it was soothing to listen to him, but after a while she began to wonder what he was doing, and why he was singing at such an early hour of the morning, and to whom was he paying tribute?
Turning silently onto her side, she saw him at last, and despite herself, she found the sight of him inspiring. He was facing east, his arms outstretched, as though he welcomed the misty warmth of sun into them. Perhaps he was.
She watched him for the spread of a few more moments, admiring the muscles in his broad shoulders. The two lengths of his hair-braids fell down over his back, a back which narrowed in a V-shape into his breechcloth. An eagle’s feather waved back and forth in the ever-present wind, and she was reminded that there was a beauty to this moment that even she didn’t understand.
That’s when she realized it.
He was praying.
She sat up smoothly, so as not to distract him. Was she wrong about that? No.
He was standing, his legs apart, his arms open. And he sang and he sang.
There was a wonderment to the moment that reached out to her, but rather than such pleasure bringing her relief, her appreciation brought on more tears, which fell gently onto her bosom. That’s when it struck her: she hadn’t talked to the Lord since she had laid Jeffrey in the ground. Perhaps there was reason for that lack, for she couldn’t understand why God had taken a person so precious from her.
Watching Mr. Lakota carefully, she discovered a need in her to do the same. Perhaps a talk with the Lord might help her to understand her loss.
She rose up to a sitting position, and from there she came to her knees, and then onto her feet. She took up her rifle, placing it in the crook of her arm, as she stepped toward him, and reaching him, she fell to her knees. With head bowed, she brought her free hand to his, taking his in her own.
It gave her comfort to know he was there, to know that he, too, was praying. Perhaps between the two of them, God might smile more favorably on her…on them both, and perhaps He might forgive her the anger, the absolute horror, that even now stirred in her soul…