Free White Shadows by Susan Edwards Page A

as slowly. Controlled. In. Out. After a few minutes the tremors racking his body faded. Opening his eyes, he stared out at the blanket of fog creeping across the land below him.
    Though calmer, he made himself stand still. Control. His blood no longer raced through his veins, but thoughts scurried, darted, flew through his mind. He hated the night. Fears ruled his mind, and despair made him feel as though he’d fallen into a deep, dark pit. And during each night the dark tunnel of his life seemed endless.
    Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Focus. Take control.
    Each dawn Clay the man, the brother, fought his demons and struggled to regain control. He closed his eyes once more. During the daylight the warrior in him took control with no effort. Night Shadow felt nothing, showed nothing, feared nothing. Night Shadow existed. Clay did not.
    But each night and morning it was Clay who stared up at the stars and waited for the dawn, Clay who suffered the horrible nightmares. Clay, not Night Shadow, felt fear each night, and dealt with gut-burning guilt, and it was Clay who cried deep inside where no one could see or hear him.
    After several silent minutes, Night Shadow whirled around. “He’e! Noheto!” The low, harsh command broke the stillness of the early morning. Speaking the language of his mother’s people served to remind him of who he’d become and what was at stake.
     
    Winona stretched while Clay readied the horse. Above their heads the sky remained dark; dawn was hours away. She rubbed the stiffness from the back of her neck. To her surprise she’d slept until woken by Clay’s shouts during the night.
    She’d been confused, and it had taken her a minute to realize that she wasn’t sleeping on her warm pile of furs with the soft, reassuring sounds of her parents sleeping across the tipi from her. As effective as a dousing of cold water, the realization had caused her to throw the mantle of sleep from her.
    At first she’d thought her captor had ordered her to get up. But when his shouts turned to whimpers, she’d realized he was caught up in some horrible nightmare. Her first thought had been, Good. Serves him right to have the night spirits attack his sleep .
    But the despair and the depths of pain in his husky voice had tugged at something inside her. No one deserved that kind of torment.
    Winona moaned softly to herself. What was happening to her? Bad enough that she hadn’t dared escape or harm Clay. But then to feel sorry for him? That was where her true shame lay. For a few minutes she’d actually been concerned about Clay, vulnerable to his rapid breathing and tortured cries.
    Guilt slid through her. How could she feel sorry for this man when Spotted Deer was scared and all alone? Not that she wasn’t a bit scared herself. It was just that, of the two them, Winona was the instigator, the leader, the one who seldom felt fear.
    Sighing, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and ran her fingers through the tangled strands. “I promise to make this up to you,” she whispered.
    Promise you will run .
    Winona had promised.
    Worse, she’d made that promise knowing full well that she’d never keep it. And she hadn’t. She’d had not one but two chances to gain her freedom. While he slept Clay might have woken had she tried to escape. But during his nightmare he wouldn’t have been aware of her, or her actions. She could have escaped.
    But her freedom at the cost of Spotted Deer’s was out of the question. Until she was reunited with her friend, she’d stick to Clay like mud to rocks.
    Hearing the horse snuffling, she turned to face her captor. He stood an arm’s length from her. In the moonlight he looked every bit as controlled and harsh as the man who’d captured her. Gone was the hurt, vulnerable man.
    Jenny.
    Who was she? She stared at the long scar running down one side of his face. For the first time since her capture, Winona felt truly afraid. Something terrible had happened to him in the past, and