LOVING SOMEONE IS HARD…ESPECIALLY IF THEY'RE SUPPOSE TO BE YOUR ENEMY!
Willow Creek, Arizona saw its share of Indian attacks. Amanda Gregory witnessed the sorrow first hand with her father's murder. Refusing Reverend Joshua Holmes' proposal,
Amanda decides to stay on her farm and run it alone. When she saves Proud Eagle, a wounded Apache warrior, he wins her heart, calling her his golden lady and Amanda's hatred of Indians begins to change.
The night the Chiricahua's attack Amanda's farm, Proud Eagle helps her to escape, taking her back to his tribe to become his wife. But their love is forbidden and Amanda finds herself fighting the biggest battle of her life . . . the right to love her enemy.
Amanda woke to a calloused hand covering her mouth, the chill, black silence of the room surrounding her.
He spoke in an odd, yet gentle tone. “Do not be afraid, I have not come to harm you.” He moved his lips inches from her ear. “Listen to my words very carefully before you speak.”
She nodded, swallowing the lump of fear forming in her throat.
He removed his hand and moved away from the bed to let her rise. “You must get up quietly and come with me . . . we must leave quickly.”
Her eyes widened in fear. “Indians?” she whispered.
“Yes . . . they have already set fire to the barn.”
She flung the quilt aside. “I’ve got to save my horse and cow.”
“There is no time.”
She started to protest. “I just can’t leave them to die.”
Proud Eagle’s voice was stern. “It is too late, they will have taken them.” He tossed her the robe that lay across the foot of her bed. “We go . . . now! In very little nkeez . . . time they will be here.”
She scurried to find her shoes. “Are they Chiricahua?”
“Yes. Many Nagonlkadi’s from that tribe are wild. They not only raid the indah, but other tribes as well.” He ripped the blanket from the bed and draped it around his naked shoulders. “We must leave . . . now.”
She reached for the lantern on the bedside table.
He stilled her hand. “No light . . . they might see.” He took her by the arm. “Come.”
Amanda ran with him to the kitchen. “What are we going to do?”
“We must get to the woods and hide.”
Amanda, thankful she listened to Sara Driscoll about having water jugs filled at all times, watched Proud Eagle fill the canteen and sling the strap across his chest. “But won’t they see us . . . find us?”
He turned and held her by the shoulders. “You must trust me, Golden Lady. I know where to take cover.” His brows knit together. “But, I would feel better if I had a weapon.”
She pointed to the firearms by the door. “The rifle . . . take the rifle.”
“Petiltow’s make too much noise . . . will draw attention to where we are if we have to use it. What I need is my spear.”
“I shoved it under the back porch.”
Proud Eagle took her by the hand and opened the door.
“Wait,” she said, breaking away and reaching for the knapsack she had packed for just such an escape. She slung it across her back, and grabbed the violin. “Now, let’s go.”
“Crouch low,” he instructed.
Together they crept onto the porch and off the steps.
“Where is the spear?”
She pointed to the area left of the stairs.
Proud Eagle knelt down, sought his weapon, and in one fluid motion stood; aiming the spear into the darkness.
Something hit the ground with a thump.
Proud Eagle ran to his target with Amanda close by. She sucked in her breath when she saw the dead Indian, Proud Eagle’s spear piercing his chest. “How did you know he was there?”
“A Nagonlkadi is giannahtah . . . always ready and aware of his surroundings,” he explained, pulling the spear from the dead man’s torso.
Amanda’s stomach lurched. She swallowed hard the bile rising to her throat, and watched Proud Eagle strip the enemy of his knife, bow and arrows.
They only want weapons, she remembered the reverend saying.
She backed away to collect her thoughts. Granted, Proud Eagle kept them from getting killed . . . but to see him in action confused and frightened her.
He looked up at her, reading her thoughts. “I only take what I need to keep us alive.”
Still in shock, all she could manage was a nod.
He stood to face her, loading the weapon and aiming it over her head.
Amanda saw the pain carved in merciless lines on his face as pulled back the string and released the arrow.
There was another thud.
She turned to find a second Indian lying dead.
He even has the eyes and the ears of an eagle.
Proud Eagle stripped that enemy of his knife and arrows, handing her a dagger. “Come, follow me.”
She hesitated, staring down at the large blade. It felt heavy and foreign in her hand.
“Come,” he repeated in a sharper tone.
Amanda clutched the violin to her chest and ran . . . not knowing where he was taking her, or how far into the dark woods they were going. All she knew was she couldn’t lose sight of him. She forced her legs to move, her lungs to breathe, her mind to stay alert . . . and followed him deeper and deeper into the forest.
They ran a great distance before Proud Eagle pulled her behind a clump of bushes and collapsed, gasping for air.
She huddled down beside him, and removed the canteen from across his shoulder. “Take a sip.”
Proud Eagle reached for the water and sat forward.
Amanda, ripping the knapsack off her shoulders, placed it behind him. With a gentle hand upon his chest, she guided him to lay back. His flesh was damp and clammy with sweat; his heart racing. “How were you able to do this?”
“Do what?” he choked out hoarsely.
“Act so swift and precise, and run so quick after being ill?”
He continued to struggle for air. “There was no choice.”
Amanda grabbed the hem of the blanket slung around his shoulders and wiped his face and chest. “Just take deep breaths.”
He coughed, clearing his throat. “Chiricahuas can be yudastcin . . . bastards. They zas’tee . . . kill ruthlessly. Quick is the only way to act when you are face to face with one.”
She pushed aside a thick strand of black hair clinging to his neck. “Were you attacked by a Chiricahua before I found you at my back door?”
He nodded. “I was hunting when I was challenged by one called Nahdaste . . . Fire Star. I sent his spirit to O’zho, but not before one of his arrows found my shoulder.”
She frowned. “What is O’zho?”
He pointed to the heavens.
Amanda swallowed the despair in her throat and looked up at the night sky, holding her tears in check. The chill of the night whipped against her. She pulled the collar of her robe higher on her neck and thought how nice the warmth of a fire would feel.
Again he read her thoughts. “I would build a fire, but that could draw the enemy near.”
She edged closer to Proud Eagle, covering him with the blanket, and scanned her surroundings. “Do you think they still might be on our trail?”
“Chiricahuas are cunning trackers and fierce fighters. None of them can be zonta . . . trusted.”
She sighed. “If that’s true, then what do we do?”
“We wait till the first morning light.”
She tucked her feet beneath her to keep them warm. “What good can that do if they are as fierce as you say?”
“I think by that time they will make their way back to their camp for yuta. . . food.”
Fear and fatigue took its toll on her body. “What happens then?”
“I will take you home.”
She glanced down at the clothes she wore; now all she owned. “My home and barn, no doubt, are by now burnt to the ground. I pray my horse and cow didn’t burn with it.” She sighed. “And only God knows what happened to my poor old dog.”
“I did not mean your home, Golden Lady.”
She frowned. “Then whose?”
He responded matter-of-factly. “Mine.”
