Authors: Karen Kay
Everyone filtered out of the tepee, save the lone child with the strange combination of blond braids and dark, dark eyes.
As she sat around the fire, a wind swept into the tepee, sparking the fire, sending smoke everywhere.
For a moment, just one tiny space in time, there in the smoke, the youngster saw two lovers embrace, and when she listened, she could have sworn she heard the happy sounds of laughter, of love.
And the little girl, her eyes wise for one so young, smiled.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader:
If your curiosity about the interaction between the Europeans and the Native Americans has been piqued, I encourage you to obtain a copy of a rare old book entitled
Eight Years’ Travel and Residence in Europe
by George Catlin. You may share my surprise in the discovery that the manner in which the English accepted the Indian, especially the women’s reactions to them, is just as I have described them in
Lakota Princess.
As a matter of fact, Catlin records (albeit a little dryly) the romance of one of the traveling young Indians with “an English black-eyed beauty,” their eventual marriage, and their ultimate acceptance into British society.
This makes for entertaining reading, and if you can obtain a copy of this account, even if only in microfilm, I would highly recommend it.
About the Author
Author of seventeen American Indian Historical Romances, Karen Kay aka Gen Bailey, has been praised by reviewers and fans alike for bringing the Wild West alive for her readers.
Karen Kay, whose great-great grandmother was a Choctaw Indian, is honored to be able to write about something so dear to her heart, the American Indian culture.
“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.”
Find Karen Kay online at
www.novels-by-karenkay.com
.
Look for these titles by Karen Kay
Now Available:
Lakota
Lakota Surrender
Coming Soon:
Lakota
Proud Wolf’s Woman
Blackfoot Warriors
Gray Hawk’s Lady
White Eagle’s Touch
Night Thunder’s Pride
Legendary Warriors
War Cloud’s Passion
Lone Arrow’s Pride
Soaring Eagle’s Embrace
Forbidden love…
Lakota Surrender
© 2011 Karen Kay
Lakota, Book 1
As she heads west to join her cavalry officer father at his Kansas outpost, Kristina Bogard eagerly anticipates new adventures—and her first glimpse of wild Indians. She has long dreamed of flashing black eyes, skin-covered lodges and buckskin and leather.
What she finds in Fort Leavenworth, though, is a far cry from her Indian nanny’s thrilling stories. What few natives are left are crushed, brokenhearted shadows of their proud past. Except for one, a handsome warrior who stirs up a whole new set of dreams.
Tahiska can’t take his eyes off the green-eyed beauty whose graceful hands are fluent in his native sign language. Except he can’t afford to let anything distract him from avenging his father, who was killed by two white soldiers.
Though anger fills his mind, Kristina steals into his heart, igniting a wildfire passion that must remain their desperate secret. For soon comes the day of reckoning, when justice will be served…or a travesty will shatter their love.
Warning: Sensuous romance that could prompt you to send up smoke signals for the one you love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Lakota Surrender:
Kristina had witnessed the entire exchange all from close range. In fact, she still stood beside the Indian, only a few inches away. She had situated herself so that she had a clear view of both her father and Tahiska.
When her father turned to speak with the colonel, she took the opportunity to study Tahiska in closer detail. He was utterly handsome, utterly compelling, and he seemed quite unaware of it. His skin was a few shades darker than her own; his hair, which fell well below his shoulders, was neatly combed; his nose was straight and slightly aquiline; his lips were full and sensuous; his eyes black and mysterious, yet always direct.
He glanced at her now and she smiled, averting her eyes. But he would have none of that. Touching her gently under the chin, he brought her gaze back to his.
She blushed. The Indian’s touch was gentle, yet her pulse responded as though she were running. She couldn’t control these feelings and worse, she knew they were radiated in her eyes. Though he lowered his hand, just the remembrance of his touch set her on fire, made her limbs weak, quickened her heartbeat.
What was happening to her? Why did her vision come with a touch that stirred her very soul? Surely she was not attracted to him. He was Indian. There was a gulf between them, between their two cultures, that would be almost impossible to bridge. And yet, hadn’t she jumped at the chance to visit their country, knowing there was something out there for her? But she hadn’t actually envisioned staying in Indian country, and she had surely never anticipated these feelings of…
Covertly she glanced up at him. Her stomach dropped and, despite herself, despite the other company in the room, she wanted him to kiss her so badly she felt almost faint from it. She gazed at his lips. A mistake. For when she raised her eyes back to his, she knew he easily read the desire in them.
Kristina squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. Who was she trying to fool? She was very attracted to him.
“Will you show us the trading post?” He spoke to her, and when she, at last, opened her eyes, he made the signs in front of her face. Never once did he relinquish eye contact.
“Yes. You—your friends, come with me.”
She swung away and faced the two men at the opposite side of the room, who were still arguing. “Father,” she interrupted, “I’m escorting the Indians to the trading post. Then I’ll prepare for the Fourth of July celebration.”
“Yes,” her father answered, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Go on, Kristina. I’ll join you later.”
Nodding, she pivoted to find three Indians patiently waiting. But only one stared at her, and in his expression was a knowledge of her she wished he didn’t have.
Kristina felt desperate to fly out the door and scramble to the trading post as quickly as possible. However, all of her Bostonian social training came to the fore and Kristina stepped through the door as demurely as possible. Once outside, she glanced back to ensure the Indians were not far behind.
She stopped short.
No one was there.
Picking up her skirts, she backtracked to the colonel’s office. As she peeked around the door, she saw them, still standing in the same place and glaring at her.
She gazed at her father and Colonel Wheeling. They were locked in argument and were unaware that anything untoward was occurring.
Stealing back into the room, she addressed Tahiska in sign. “I will show you the way to the trading post. Please follow me.” She twirled around.
“Hiya!”
She peered back over her shoulder. The Indians hadn’t budged. Kristina didn’t understand what Tahiska had said, but she knew noncompliance when she saw it. Hadn’t she read his signs correctly? Didn’t he want to see the trading center?
Again she turned toward them. She smiled, then signed, “If you will follow me, I will show you the trading post. Did you not wish to see it?”
“I will follow no woman!” Tahiska’s gestures were rapid, his expression grim. “I would not insult my friends by insisting they be led by a mere girl.”
“But I mean you no insult,” she spoke in sign. “How else can I lead you to the post if you do not follow? I cannot point it out from here.”
“Then we will stay here until you discover a way.”
Kristina stared at Tahiska as though he had suddenly grown another two eyes. “You don’t honestly expect me to…” She halted her speech, switching to sign. “It is our custom that a woman precedes a man into and out of a room. There is no insult meant. It is only custom.”
“It is not ours!”
Kristina expelled one long breath, realizing belatedly that being interpreter for these Indians would be no easy task. “Then tell me,” she said, standing directly before Tahiska. “What is your custom?”
“You must discover this yourself, for I cannot speak it to you.”
Kristina took a moment to try to clear her thoughts. She was to show them the trading center, yet they would not follow her to it, for it was not customary to lag behind a woman, nor would they enlighten her as to exactly what was the custom.
Kristina caught Tahiska’s scrutiny and smiled.
“Perhaps,” she gestured, “if you lead the way, I will
show you the trading post.”
Tahiska nodded and brushed past her, the other two Indians adhering to his lead.
Stunned, Kristina gazed after them. This was the oddest way she’d ever seen of escorting guests.
She shook her head and, picking up her skirts, tagged along behind.
Now and again one or the other of the Indians would glance back at her to discover which way to turn. Kristina would motion to them in sign and though slow, the quartet eventually found their way across the fort to the trading center.
They had stopped just short of the building and all three Indians stared at the sign affixed to the top of the building.
Kristina glanced at it, wondering what it was about the sign that had captured their attention. It clearly read “Trading Center,” the letters carved into the wooden log, and at each end of the post hung a huge bouquet of flowers, probably, thought Kristina, the feminine touch of the trader’s wife.
Tahiska scowled over his shoulder at Kristina and motioned her forward.
“What is the meaning of the flowers?” he wanted to know. “Must we also trade with women? Is the white man so cowardly that only his women are here to meet strangers, to face possible danger?”
Kristina gasped. She had never heard anyone speak so disparagingly about her race and so condescendingly about her own gender. While she tried to think quickly of a defense, she was reminded that to the Indian eye, her presence here, without a soldier escort, could make the white male appear fainthearted.
“It’s only a sign that says to others that this is the trading center,” she finally responded. “The trader’s wife has most likely hung the flowers upon this post to create beauty.” Kristina motioned toward the beadwork on the Indian’s own clothing. “Even the shirt that you wear boasts of beauty. It was obviously made by one who cares for you. The flowers you see there are meant as ornamentation only. Come inside, you’ll see. It’s not a place where many women dwell.”
While Tahiska’s look at her clearly stated that he would reserve judgment, Kristina stared at the beadwork and porcupine quilling on his shirt, his leggings, his moccasins. Who had cared enough to ornament his clothing in such an intricate fashion? Was he married? Disappointed, Kristina remembered that marriage would not rule out an Indian male’s flirtation with others. They were allowed more than one wife.
Kristina watched the Indians enter the small, one-room building. And though one of Tahiska’s friends turned around to motion her after them, Kristina’s heart was not in it.
Nanny was wrong, she said to herself. My future cannot lie with these people. I could never follow my husband around like a puppy and I could never share him with another. And with this reluctant self-revelation, Kristina followed her guests into the store.
She’s learning to live. He’s forgotten how. Love will be their teacher.
Endless Heart
© 2012 Emma Lang
Heart, Book 3
Lettie Brown has lived in the shadow of violence. After escaping her brutal past, she’s finally at home in Forestville, Wyoming, where she would live a normal life—if she knew how. She’s content working at The Blue Plate and printing the town newspaper, if not happy. Then a stranger stumbles into her world and turns everything upside down.
Shane Murphy is a shell of a man, destroyed by the aftermath of the war, his personal tragedies and a penchant for cheap whiskey. When he lands, literally, on Lettie’s feet, his future takes a hard right turn.
As they fumble through a relationship that should not have been, a deep love takes root, one that cannot be denied. Together they discover a bond as unbreakable as steel and as undeniable as life itself—until the past rears its ugly head and threatens the happiness they’ve found in each other.
Warning: Get ready for a deep, intense love story that will leave you crying, cheering, shouting, squirming and sighing. Prepare for a hero who needs to be held, a heroine who needs to be loved, and a story that needs to be told.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Endless Heart:
The wagon was ready and waiting outside the restaurant. The rig and the horses had been rented from the livery in town, costing the Gundersons money. Yet she knew others in town had contributed some, asking for supplies of their own. Lettie had a hefty list of goods to purchase, and she hoped the store in Benson had everything she needed.
Without waiting for assistance, she climbed into the wagon and settled onto the seat. The wood creaked and popped as Shane hoisted himself up beside her. He didn’t say a thing, but his thigh settled inches from hers. Feeling petty but unable to help herself, she pulled her skirt closer so it didn’t touch him.
What was wrong with her? He was a seemingly good man, who for some unknown reason found her attractive, and she pushed him away. It wasn’t logical, and she could hardly explain it to herself. Here they sat, uncomfortable and out of sorts, barely speaking. It seemed like a lifetime ago she’d bathed his body and they’d kissed. In the days since then, she had dreamed of making love with him.