I hope you’ll take a few minutes to read this excerpt, especially if you’ve yet to read Genevieve Graham. Her stories are full of heartache, courage, triumph, love, loss, romance, a little bit of the paranormal, and, yes, even loads of reality for those of you who have to have historical accuracy in their books.
Adelaide has gone through hell, still lives a quiet life with the Cherokee where she’s accepted with no questions asked. That life is about to be turned upside down with the arrival of Jesse Black, a captive of the tribe, but one who is given unexpected opportunity among these natives. Jesse has his own realities to face, and he never thought they’d be as important as they are until he meets Adelaide.
This is the third book in the series, and I can guarantee if you pick them all up and start reading, you won’t stop until the last word is read at the end of this book. These stories are that engrossing, that real, and that good. Here’s a teaser to prove it to you.
Summary:
The tale of two strangers living with the Cherokee — one with a warrior’s heart; the other with deadly dreams…
The Cherokee call her Shadow Girl. A white woman adopted by Indians, Adelaide is haunted by the dark dreams she hides—of her murdered family, of the men she fears, and most of all, of the ones that foretell the future. After her visions cause her to make a terrible mistake, she renounces her power and buries her dreams deep in her soul.
Until Jesse Black is captured by the tribe. His life is spared because the Cherokee believe his warrior spirit belongs to their fallen brother. Though he hates all Indians, Adelaide illuminates their way of life for him, just as he shines light into her shadowed heart. But when her dreams return, Jesse must help her face them…or die trying…
Chapter 8
IntroductionsI went about my daily routine, tending whoever needed me, doing chores with the women, sitting and talking with Nechama. My mind, however, dwelt in the small, silent tent near the centre of the village. They had tossed him in ther with nothing but the blanket, and now took turns terrorizing him. I knew they hadn’t allowed him more than a couple of hours sleep. He was going to have to prove himself, and he was going to have to do it with next to no strength. In my opinion, they’d planned a horrible welcome home party for Soquili’s so-called brother.
I stayed purposefully away from him, though it bothered me how much I wanted to peek into that tent. I fought my curiosity for as long as I could, but I was plagued at night when his yellow eyes glared into my dreams. After a day, I gave in. I lifted the edge of the tent’s flap and squinted through the opening, relieved to see his eyes were closed. He sat straight, facing the tent’s flap, ready to defend himself … except his head lolled over his shoulder, long lashes rested on his pale cheeks, and soft snores padded his breathing. The cut on his brow seemed, from where I stood, to be healing all right. The scab was dark, and the purple black bruises around his eyes were beginning to melt into an ugly greenish tinge. The swelling was mostly down.
He looked younger when he slept, but then we all do. I wondered vaguely what his smile looked like.
Then I sighed. Why bother wondering? Another day or so and his pretty face would be pounded to a pulp again. What a waste.
I heard a sound behind me and turned slowly, not wanting to wake him. It was Kokila, which was a relief. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body.
“Does he sleep?” she whispered. I nodded and she pulled the flap farther, then squatted beside me. I felt exposed, as if we trespassed, but Kokila didn’t seem bothered by it. She tilted her head, studying him, then smiled gently at me.
“Does he eat?”
I shook my head. An untouched bowl of corn and rice sat by him. It had been brought the night before. The water bowl, however, was empty.
Kokila’s pretty mouth quirked up at one edge, and she nudged me with her elbow. “You could do worse,” she whispered.
I looked away. Though I’d said nothing of it, Soquili’s teasing hadn’t left my mind since he’d uttered it. He is your betrothed. I refused to make any kind of comment, but what he’d said simply would not happen. Not in this lifetime. I wouldn’t marry anyone. But to even consider pairing me to a white man? Did these people forget who I was? What I’d survived? This new approach was strange and confusing to me. They were usually so caring.
Kokila gazed back into the dark tent. It was midday, and the air was still. Sweat tickled down the prisoner’s chest and over the cougar scar while he slept.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “He will run tomorrow.”
A sadness swelled in my chest. Not for myself, surely, but for this brave young man who had done nothing but defend himself. I hadn’t spoken with him since I’d cleaned his cuts, so he was completely in the dark about what was coming.
Sometimes I hated the Cherokee with every one of my breaths. I hated their sense of right and wrong, their demeaning perspective that everyone but them was an imbecile, and their brutal methods of declaring superiority.
Superiority. Hardly that. For them to beat an exhausted man almost to death so he could prove something of which he had no idea? How could that be superior? I tried not to dwell too much on this aspect to their society, because I could do nothing about it. They were what they were, and despite what they might believe, I knew they weren’t better or worse than anyone else. They were human. But knowing what was coming for this man made me sick. My throat tightened as I stared at his sleeping form.
The Cherokee were human. White men were human. And yet they were so dramatically different. Their hatred was a living thing, and each wanted nothing less than to annihilate the other.
Somewhere in the middle was me. I straddled both races, terrified to plant one foot permanently in either camp. This man slumped before me was trapped between worlds as well, but he didn’t have to choose between one or the other. He knew he was white all the way through. He knew to hate the Cherokee.
I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was once a quiet middle sister with a skill at sewing. Nothing more than that. I thought of myself as Maggie and Ruth’s sister, not my own person, and I was happy that way. I liked to hover behind others like a shadow, watching, but silent. There was nothing special about me. Nothing except for the dreams I despised and ignored.
This man’s presence reminded me that I was a part of two separate worlds, but a member of neither. I was alone. I used to want that. Then everything changed and being alone turned into being lost. Now I wanted, more than anything else, to be found.
Kokila’s soft hand touched mine, and I turned towards her. Her eyes were dark and endless as night, liquid with mirrored pain. She didn’t have to say a word. Her gaze, deep with the gentle soul of the Cherokee, loving and loyal and beautiful, apologized on behalf of all of them. It is something that must be done, said her black eyes. I looked away and tried to remember the caring, healing hands, the songs the women had sung to rid my sleep of nightmares, of the lessons Wah-Li had taught me that had come close to
freeing me from myself. Remembering their generosity of spirit reminded me of the creatures from whom Maggie and I had been rescued. I steadfastly refused to ever think of those monsters or that day again, but just the thought of them helped me to see the prisoner as a white man again. That made it much easier for me to nod and back away from the tent.In the morning, excitement was as thick as the shrieks of cicadas in the air. Soquili and the others applied fresh war paint and bounced around each other, grinning with anticipation. The women were all outside, the children as well, and their laughter should have lightened my spirit.
Instead, I felt sick. While the preparations were getting underway, the guest of honour sat trembling in
his tent, unaware he was the reason for all this noise. I couldn’t stand it. I stomped back to his tent and stood
face to face with the warrior on duty.“I’m going in.”
“You are not allowed.”
I narrowed my eyes and tried to give my best impression of an angry Cherokee wife. “Do you have any idea of who I am to this man? It is not your place to keep me away.”
Uncertainty flickered. “Only for a moment,” he said, and I ducked inside.The prisoner’s eyes flew open, then narrowed with suspicion.
“I’m not allowed to be here,” I said quickly. He didn’t reply, only watched and waited. “But I thought you should know that you are to be tested this morning.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nose, which was still slightly swollen. Something that might have been resignation sagged across his shoulders. I frowned, then knelt on the dirt across from him.
“That doesn’t mean they’ll kill you. In fact, they’ll probably do just about everything but kill you.”
He kept his eyes closed. “So I’ll just wish I was dead,” he muttered.
I couldn’t argue with that. “Probably. You just have to get through them all. They won’t let you die, I don’t think. They definitely won’t let you escape, though.”
The golden eyes opened slightly and stared at me. His voice stayed low. “So what’s the point? Why are you here? Just to bring me the good news?”
“All you have to do is make it to the council house. I brought you more water and some meat to help you stay strong.” He didn’t reach to take either from me, only sat in stoic silence. I set them beside him. “It’s better to survive, in case you’re wondering. They don’t kill people nicely around here.”
I sat back, feeling unusually conversational. “What’s your name?”
“Why does that matter?”
“I want to know.” I debated with myself, then said, “I’m Adelaide.”“Adelaide, huh?” He snorted and stared at his legs, stretched out in front of him. “Adelaide the Injun.”
I ignored the intended barb, and his sneer relaxed. “All right. I’m Jesse. Black. Jesse Black.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said reflexively.
“Why ain’t I dead?”
“They have something else in mind for you.”
A dark flush rose up his neck. “I won’t be a slave to these savages,” he growled. “I won’t do it. I’ll kill myself before that happens.”
Male voices came from outside, and I recognized Soquili’s. I didn’t have time to say anything more before the flap opened and Soquili stormed in.
“Why are you here?” he demanded. “You cannot speak with this man today.”
I frowned at him, fighting the instinct to cower under those eyes. “No? You’d have me marry a man I know nothing about?”
He jammed his hands on his hips and paced, though the tent was only two steps wide. “What did you say to him?”
“What I say isn’t up to you, Soquili. You can’t tell me what to do.” That was true enough. They were a fierce, warlike tribe when they wanted to be, but the Cherokee were mostly ruled by their women. And I was one of Wah-Li’s favourites, so he would have to check his tone. He did. He also gave me a cynical grin.
“It is an important day for this man. He needs his rest.”
“Ha!” I said, shaking my head. “Rest? No one has left him alone for more than five minutes since he got here. The poor man is exhausted.”
“What’s going on?” Jesse drawled. He leaned his head back against the tent wall, trying to appear as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. But the tight fists at his sides told a different story.
I looked from him to Soquili. “He deserves to know what’s happening. He needs to understand why he has to go through today’s torture, and why he hasn’t been killed. Don’t you think you should tell him he’s your …” I struggled with the word, then finally blurted, “your brother?”
Soquili frowned, but it wasn’t out of anger. The tightness at the corner of his lips gave me the impression that he was nervous.
“So can I tell him?” I asked.
“Hey, Adelaide,” Jesse said. “I asked what you’re talking about.”
I lifted my eyebrows at Soquili, and eventually he shrugged. “Yes. Tell him.”
“Adelaide?”
I turned back to Jesse, who leaned forward now, elbows on his knees.
“I need to tell you something. You’re not going to like it, but it’s better than the alternative.” I gestured towards Soquili. “See this man behind me?”
“Hard to miss.”
I smiled. “True enough. This is Soquili.” I turned towards Soquili and said in Cherokee, “This is Jesse.” The men nodded warily at each other, like big dogs unsure whether to sniff or growl. “Soquili’s brother was killed a couple of weeks ago.”
Jesse nodded, not even blinking at the news. Then again, why should he? What did he care about another dead Indian?
“Soquili believes you are the spirit of his brother come back.” Jesse’s eyes widened. “Yes. He thinks you are his brother.”
“I ain’t no Injun!” Jesse exclaimed.
“Calm down,” I suggested when Soquili tensed beside me. I gestured for Soquili to step outside, and with a sigh he did so, leaving me alone with Jesse. “Here’s what you can do,” I said simply.“You can choose to allow them to adopt you in this manner, see how that is, or you can burn on a stake. Soquili has chosen to let you live. Would you throw that away out of stupidity?”
Jesse stared at me, glanced over my shoulder at the place where he’d last seen Soquili, then back at me.
“What would I have to do?”
“You’d be like a brother. Just like that. You’ll share food, friends, family—”
“Family?”
“His parents will be yours. He has no other brothers, no sisters.”
The most exquisite look of repulsion crossed his face. “I ain’t got Injun parents, no how.”
“Maybe not,” I said, trying not to laugh. “But if I were you, I’d pretend.”
I neglected to mention that he was not only expected to be a brother and a son, but a husband as well.
