Free Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1 by Karen Kay

nature. There is always the sticks that are trapping us. But do not fear, mademoiselle .I am to getting you back to St. Louie soon.”
    She smiled. “Thank you, I am happy to hear your reassurance.” She looked away from him. “But please tell me, Mr. Chouteau, I am curious—do you know what has happened to Mr. Catlin? I know he arrived with us when we reached Fort Union, and I remember him painting several portraits of the Indians there. But I notice that he is not on the steamer going home. Do you know why?”
    “ Oui , mademoiselle ,” the handsome Frenchman said. “He is, how you say, floating downstream with Ba’tiste, the trapper who has come in from the West. Mr. Catlin, he is visiting the other tribes, and he is painting pictures of the Indians.”
    “I see.” Her grip on the man’s arm tightened. “Do you know, perchance, how long Mr. Catlin might be gone?”
    “ Oui , mademoiselle .That is, if he is survive, he will be for many months gone, one year perhaps.”
    Genevieve nodded her head and looked away. “I am most grateful to Mr. Catlin for introducing me to you. If not for you and your steamboat, I would not be able to accomplish what I must. I wish him well, though I would have liked to have told him so personally. I trust Mr. Catlin will arrive safely home. I believe that he will.”
    Pierre Chouteau nodded. Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, “ Mademoiselle ?”
    “Yes?”
    “The Indian.”
    “What Indian?”
    “The Indian, below. The one in your suite. He is… mademoiselle ,how do I say? I have for many months traveled on the Missouri. I have seen very, very much. I am for living many months with the wild Indian, so I am to think I know them. And I am to tell you that this one, this one on the boat, he is trouble, you understand. I am hearing, as you say, him growl all the night, and I say to myself I am must to tell the mademoiselle .She, I am saying to myself, does not know the danger.”
    “Danger? But Mr. Chouteau, he is no danger to anyone. He is—”
    “ Non , mademoiselle ,the Indian, he is wild. He is not liking to be inside a cabin. He is vengeful. He is best to be put to the shore and let loose. We get you another Indian on the way down the Missouri.”
    Genevieve glanced upward and away before at last saying, “I cannot do that. I need a Blackfoot Indian for my father’s studies. It is the only reason I have made this journey. If I don’t return home with this Indian, I will have failed.” She held up her hand when the older man would have spoken. “Oh, I know,” she said, “that it would have been better had we taken away a woman or a child, but what can I do? It’s not as though this man were my own choice. As you may recall, I hired some trappers to bring me a Blackfoot Indian. I cannot very well… Mr. Chouteau, the man is all that I have.”
    Her companion shook his head. “ Mademoiselle ,I—”
    A wild scream split the air. A manly scream.
    Genevieve and Pierre Chouteau both turned to stare at one another, both voicing the same words at the same time: “The Indian.”
    Genevieve was the first to recover, picking up the front of her skirts and running to the nearest set of stairs. With nary a thought, she let the umbrella slip out of her hands as she hurried as quickly as possible.
    She hadn’t seen the Indian in a full week, ever since that first day when she had guarded him while her manservant went ashore. She didn’t want to see the Indian now, or even in the future, really. But something in that scream, something frightful, gripped her.
    What if the man were in trouble? What if some warring tribe member had found her Indian tied, unarmed, unable to defend himself? Weren’t there enemy tribes riding upon this boat, roaming freely even now? Wasn’t the boat carrying Indian as well as white passengers? What if her Indian were attacked? What if her Indian…died?
    The thought was too much to bear. And Genevieve didn’t stop to scrutinize the facts: that