she was not alone in her interest. Many of the unmarried women had made complete fools of themselves as they vied for his attention. But she would not. Though now his steady stare made her skin itch and she resisted the urge to cast him a look of invitation.
She even knew his name. Night Storm. His name had power in it.
His gray dog came forward, bushy tail wagging, and sniffed her offered hand before trotting back to his master.
“We have not been introduced,” he said.
She lifted her chin and wondered if he found her as appealing as she found him.
“I am the daughter of Gathers Quills and Falling Otter. My name is Skylark.”
“I am Night Storm of the Black Lodges people.”
“I know.”
His brow quirked and his smile widened. Her breath caught at the transformation. This steady stare and the curling of his generous mouth made her twitch.
“You do?”
“I saw you at the gathering, as well. It is my honor to meet you, Night Storm.”
“Will you ride with me?”
She knew what he asked. It was not unheard-of. A woman met a man from another tribe. They rendezvoused in secret and one day he took her from her parent’s lodge. When the tribes gathered in the fall, she would return to her people with a new husband from another tribe. But she did not know this man.
Oh, she could see his accomplishments and his strength. But who was he on the inside?
“I do not know you well enough to ride with you.”
“Riding with me is a good way to get to know me better.” His smile coaxed and the glint in his eye enticed. She wanted to accept his offer, but that was not all she wanted. The tingling in her belly told her that. She also wanted a man of her own.
But she shook her head.
“Or, I could help you look for your father.”
She must find her father and get him back to camp, and she could use his help. He had a horse, after all.
“Come,” he coaxed.
He extended his hand and Skylark stared at the broad palm and long, elegant fingers. She was so tempted, but she remained where she was. Once on his horse there was no guarantee that he would help her search. He might just take her to his tribe. And while he was handsome and finely formed, she resisted her longing. She could not deny her desire, but caution still ruled. She ground her teeth together as she considered what to do.
She shook her head.
“I could just take you,” he said.
She weighed her options. None of the warriors of other tribes had offered for her. Her aunt, Winter Moon, said it was because they did not wish a wife who had more power than they did. Yet the man before her was handsome and willing. And he did not seem afraid.
The chance she took was small and mighty all at once. He was strong. She found his face appealing with a blade of a nose and thick arching brows set above deep brown eyes that watched her every move. She admired the clean line of his jaw and how the corners of his mouth lifted under her gaze in an expression of confidence and interest...in her. It was the sort of face she would never grow tired of seeing. Her heart ached just at the sight of him. Was this the longing her aunt had described, the kind she had never felt until she looked upon this man?
But who was he really? Did he have a good heart?
“I am a medicine woman. I do not cook or tan or sew. I would make you a bad wife.”
“You do not need to cook or tan or sew.”
Skylark’s eyes narrowed. What man would wish a woman who did not perform her duties? And then it struck her.
Her mother’s warning came to her as if whispered in her ear. Skylark straightened. He already had someone to do these things.
“You already have a wife?”
His smile flickered and the pause was a little too long. “I have not yet wed.”
Not yet. She narrowed her eyes feeling the half-truth crawling over her skin like a spider. “But you have offered for one?”
“You are too clever for a woman, Skylark. Why do you not come with me? You can meet Beautiful Meadow. You two could be as sisters. She will cook and you will make strong medicines.”
Skylark backed away. She would never be a second wife. Her mother had often told her that a second wife was little better than an enemy slave. She might fare better in the hands of the Sioux than in the lodge of a woman who did not want her there.
“I will never be a second wife.”
“Then be my first wife. I will marry you first.”
“You do not even know me.”
His eyes swept over her. “My eyes tell me all I need know.”
“Then know this, I will not share a husband with another. Go back to the Black Lodges and marry your Beautiful Meadow, for I will not go with you.”
His brow lifted as if seeing her rejection as a challenge. His eyes fixed upon her and she knew in that moment what it was to be hunted. She dropped her gathering bag and ran, darting in and out of the tree trunks and leaping over fallen logs. He gave her a head start. It was several moments before she heard the horse’s hooves pounding on the soft ground.
One moment she ran and the next her feet left the ground. His strong arm gripped her, pulling her up and over his lap. Now, tipped over his muscular thigh with her head down, she watched the terrain below her flash by until she grew dizzy. Skylark clung to his leg to keep from falling headlong from the saddle. He rested a hand on her backside and laughed.
Finally he slowed his horse. She struggled and succeeded only in rising to a seated position before him. His arms looped about her waist, pressing her hip to his middle.
Now that she was in his arms she felt the rush of excitement.
“Tell me that you do not wish me to touch you and I will set you down.”
He stroked her cheek and then his fingers glided over the bare skin at her neck. The sensation was delicious and she gasped. He blew in her ear and she had to catch her lower lip between her teeth to keep from groaning aloud.
His breath was sweet as he whispered, “I have an empty lodge. I have horses. I have led many successful raids and will be war chief one day.”
Night Storm knew he wanted this woman. He should have spoken to her at the gathering. He had not for two reasons. First, he’d let his friend fill his head with stories about her mother, the one who left her husband and his first wife to live with the heyoka of the Low River tribe. Skylark’s mother had remained with the heyoka even after she had received offers from many, including the medicine man, himself. Her mother had survived unaided by trading her quillwork for all they needed and kept her lodge for only her daughter
