Winter's Touch by Janis Reams Hudson Read Free Book Online

captive’s fate. This was risky, as Little Raven was always speaking in favor of peace, of leaving the white man alone and staying out of his way. The elders would most certainly encourage Crooked Oak to let the white man go.
    Unless he could change their minds.
    Careful, he cautioned himself as he glanced at Red Beard across the fire. He would have to be careful. He wanted the white man—the one who was his captive—dead. Wanted it fiercely. One less white man to walk the earth.
    But he wanted Winter Fawn, too. She was there, seated behind her father. Firelight flickered copper and bronze across her face as she cautioned the two young white girls beside her to quiet. Crooked Oak would have felt her presence even if he hadn’t seen her. He always knew when she was near. She was that important to him.
    His vision had been clear. One day he would be a great leader of Our People, his lance heavy with the scalps of his enemies, and Winter Fawn would be beside him. He must have her for his vision to come true. The only thing standing in his way was Red Beard.
    As Two Feathers passed the pipe to him for the second time, Crooked Oak brought it to his lips and drew deeply. As he lowered the pipe and blew the smoke to the winds, his gaze met that of Red Beard. The man appeared calm, but his eyes were filled with anger.
    Yes, Crooked Oak reminded himself, he would have to be careful. And if caution did not work, he would have to eliminate this obstacle. For Crooked Oak would be a great warrior. He would kill many enemies and lead his people to greatness, with Winter Fawn beside him. He had seen it in a vision. It would come true. He would make it come true. Red Beard would not be permitted to stand in his way.
    Across the fire, Innes Red Beard MacDougall saw the flames leap. Not the ones from the pit in the center of the circle of men, but the flames in Crooked Oak’s eyes. The man was fair to bursting with anger at having his fun cut short.
    Well, that was just too damn bad. As long as Innes had breath in his body, the bloody bastard wasn’t gettin’ his hands on Edmond Dulaney’s son.
    O’course, he already had his hands on Carson. The lad was tied several yards away to a tree. It scraped at Innes’s pride. He imagined it did that and more to Carson.
    The need for a drink threatened to strangle him. Just a small one. A nip would do to steady his nerves, keep his hands from shaking. He kept those hands clasped over his knees so no one would notice their trembling. He couldn’t afford to put a weapon like that into Crooked Oak’s hands.
    Patience, patience, Innes cautioned himself. He would have his drink as soon as this was settled. First he must be patient, be silent until it was his turn to speak. The Arapaho, like any other tribe he’d known, and he’d known a few, thought it rude to just jump into a conversation before the niceties of smoking and silence had been observed.
    And it was silent. No talking, no restless movements, except from the two young white girls seated with Winter Fawn in the first row of women at Innes’s back. It was a tense silence, a hushed expectancy.
    Finally, when the pipe made its way back around the circle again, Little Raven spoke.
    “Four suns ago three of Our People rode out to hunt a deer.”
    A low murmur rose, then quickly fell.
    “The Bluecoats killed them.”
    A woman somewhere near the back of the gathered crowd cried out in grief.
    “Their women cry,” Little Raven said gravely. “They cut their hair, score their flesh.”
    Another murmur swept through the gathering.
    “Yesterday some of our men rode out to avenge these deaths.”
    Crooked Oak raised a fist in the air and punched the night.
    Little Raven turned his somber gaze on Crooked Oak. “Tell us what happened.”
    Crooked Oak felt his chest swell. To be asked to speak was a great honor and proved his importance to the band. “We rode for hours,” he said, his voice deep and strong. “There were no white men along