Free Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 by Karen Kay

as though he shuddered. At last he said, “The fort was low on meat. I had been asked to hunt.”
    “Oh,” she said. “I see. Did you not see the war party?” She drew back her hand as she spoke.
    “I went west, they came from the north.”
    “It was silly of me, I reckon, to have gone out onto the prairie alone. But I had done it so many times in the past that I had felt no danger. You were always with me, though, were you not? Perhaps I felt too safe.”
    He shrugged, picking up his pace, and she had to practically run to keep up with him.
    She said, “Came out of nowhere, they did, right enough. Before I left from the fort, I thought I could see in all directions. But I did not see these Indians.”
    “No white man would have. Do not blame yourself.”
    “I cannot help it. If I had not been out gathering wildflowers and fruit, it would not have happened.”
    “Perhaps. But no more of this. It is an unwise man who constantly looks into the past to condemn himself. You breathe life today, and it is what you do now that will see you through to tomorrow.”
    “I cannot help it. It was terrible.”
    “ Aa .”
    “His face was painted black.”
    “It is the way of the warrior.”
    “And smelled awful, he did.”
    “The anxiety of a warrior can often be smelled.”
    “I was so frightened.”
    He nodded.
    “I thought I was going to die.”
    “You are too pretty to kill. Maybe Strikes The Bear spoke truth when he said he only wanted to frighten you before he took you for his wife.”
    “Slave, you mean. And no, I do not believe that to be truth. He is telling lies, I think.”
    “ Aa ,”he said.
    They both became quiet for a few moments, and then she asked, “Did you mean it?”
    “What?”
    “Do you truly think I’m pretty?”
    He chuckled slightly, and she was struck by the enticing quality of the sound. It wasn’t often that she heard him laugh.
    He said, “You are no different from women everywhere, I think.”
    “I am uncertain that you flatter me. But come now, you have not answered my question.”
    He gave her a curious look. “What is wrong with the white man that you are not told of your beauty every day of your life? You should already be certain of it.”
    “Then you do think me pretty?”
    “You need not ask.”
    “But I am asking. Do you?”
    “ Aa, yes,” he said with a sigh, “I do.”
    Such a simple word, aa. But it was at this moment the nicest of compliments. She smiled and glanced up at the blue of the sky, feeling strangely at peace as she said, “Thank you, Night Thunder. I will not be forgetting your kindness. Not for a very long time indeed.”
     
    “It’s noontime. Are we not going to stop to eat?”
    “Eat?”
    “Aye,” she said. “’Tis that thing people do at this time of day to still the hunger in their stomachs.”
    “ Saa, we will not eat. It is an unwise man who satisfies his hunger when the sun is at its zenith.”
    “Unwise? How can this be?”
    “Have you never noticed what happens when a man eats to his fill at this hour? When a man rises, that is when he should eat. He goes out and hunts. He feels good. Strong. Powerful. He kills much game, provides for his family. The sun rises and if he has not consumed enough at the start of the day and he decides to satisfy his hunger, he eats until he can eat no more. Then he feels suddenly tired. He can’t keep his eyes open. He falls asleep and maybe he is in enemy territory. The enemy finds him and kills him, or if he is lucky, he simply fails to hunt enough game, returning home to the frowns of his wife and children. There he lies and tells those close to him that there is little game to be found. No, you eat at this time of day if you dare; the Indian does not.”
    Rebecca digested all he said in silence. Hadn’t she often observed in herself and in others a sort of lethargy which set in after the noonday meal? Perhaps there was a bit of wisdom in what Night Thunder said. “Then we will keep traveling