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

she feared the man’s death, that her fright might come not because of what she needed from this Indian, for herself, for her father, but rather from an innate horror of…her own feelings?
    Genevieve shook her head, grimacing as she hurried down the companionway. What had gotten into her of late? That she should be in a dither over the fate of some half-naked Indian just didn’t sit well with her. The man clearly didn’t deserve the least amount of thought or attention.
    Still, she hoped that if the man were in danger, she wouldn’t be too late to save him, and she hoped—no, she prayed—she would find the man alive.
    So busy was she with her thoughts, she didn’t notice that the pink chiffon of her umbrella shimmered in the water where it landed, sparkling now, again, then once more before the muddy water of the Missouri claimed it, carrying the foreign-looking object away forever.
    And perhaps it was for the best.
     
     
    She should have knocked.
    It was the first thought that struck her. Well, maybe not the first.
    Red-faced, Genevieve could only stare at the scene laid out before her. She knew her mouth gaped open, but there was nothing she could do about it. Suddenly feeling as though her body were made of marble instead of flesh and bone, she stood, not able to blink, not able to move.
    And the men stared back at her.
    She tried to utter something, but her mouth wouldn’t work. And she couldn’t think of a single thing she could have said in this sort of situation, her knowledge of social graces failing her yet again.
    “It is the white woman.” It was the Indian who spoke, the naked Indian man who spoke. He grinned at her. “This does not surprise me.”
    Now, Genevieve had always known that men’s bodies differed from women’s. She’d even had a notion of what a naked man’s body looked like. But never had her imaginings prepared her for this…this very real flesh-and-blood man who stood before her.
    And it did not escape her notice that even as the Indian spoke, the part of his body most obvious to her seemed to grow, to expand, to—
    She gasped. She blinked.
    “Lady Genevieve, I am only trying to dress the young man. There is no need for alarm.” It was Robert who spoke, though Genevieve barely noticed the other man. “Our Indian friend here is quite resistant to wearing this pair of breeches.” It was only then that Robert seemed to notice, really notice, the state of dress—or rather, undress—of the man. The older man glanced from one young person to the other. “Might I suggest, milady, that you leave me alone with the Indian?”
    Genevieve licked her lips, wondering if she’d ever find her voice. At last, she averted her gaze. It was the only thing she could do. She couldn’t yet speak.
    “ Naapiaakii ,the white woman, does not wish to leave.” The Indian leered at her, though he spoke to the man. “ Naapiaakii has many plans for me; is this not true, my own enemy?”
    “No,” she spoke at last. “I…I burst in here only because I heard your scream.” She turned her head back toward the Indian—a mistake. Somehow that part of his body had grown even larger. She shut her eyes and groaned. “I was worried that you… I thought maybe some enemy tribe had… I had to—”
    “ Naapiaakii ,white woman, is my enemy, my own enemy.” His gaze at her was steady, direct. “Know that I always seek revenge, my own enemy. Always .”
    “Don’t call me that. I am not your enemy.”
    The Indian’s expression was disbelieving, insolent. “So the white woman has told me before.” The Indian lifted his arms, his wrists still clearly tied. “The Great Gray Hawk does not believe white woman. Gray Hawk is unwilling captive of white woman. Gray Hawk will obtain great pleasure from taking revenge on white woman.” He leered at her, his lips turning upward in a smirk. “And revenge will come soon.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous!” A chill ran down her spine as she backed toward the door.