Two cultures, two lives, one path.
Elizabeth Smythe is taken away from her privileged life and everything she knows. Her rescuer, Spirit Walker, treats her with gentle compassion, winning her trust and love. Elizabeth discovers Spirit Walker is so much more then just a strong man devoted to his tribe.
Spirit Walker is a multi-faceted man who carries the honour of his people with deep pride. Despite the wrongs committed against him, he knows crucial timing will reward his patience and soon enough fate plays it's hand fulfilling the blood price he so longs for.
Excerpt:
The warrior stopped and Elizabeth bumped into him. His piercing eyes drilled into her and she shrank back from him. When he turned again, she peered around him. It was a small, deep river and Elizabeth felt her spirit lift. She forgot all about the loose grip around her arm and started to move forward, but a quick tug from him reminded her she was not free to do so. Looking up into those sharp obsidian eyes, she stepped back. She reminded herself, yes, the man spoke English, but it didn’t make them friends, she was still his hostage. Stiffening her spine and raising her chin, she followed when he guided her down to a small alcove covered in fine, grey sand. A short distance from the water’s edge, he released her arm and held her with a pointed gaze.
The warrior untied the belt holding his breechcloth. He removed, folded and placed it on a large rock on the beach and toed off his moccasins.
He turned to Elizabeth. “Take off the dress.”
“What?” Her voice raised several octaves and her eyes grew large and round.
“You heard me,” he stated in a flat voice. “Take it off.”
She stared at him with a blank expression as self-conscious anxiety rose in her throat and terror re-blossomed within her heart.
“It’s not like I haven’t already seen you without your clothes. Come on.” He held out his hand. “The dress, if it gets wet, it will be ruined and then you will be without clothes at all.”
Looking from his hand to his expression and back to his hand again, she drew in a deep breath, ready to protest. Instead, her eyes widened as they slid down his lean, muscular body. The sun had deepened his earthen skin, drawn tight over flexed, defined muscle tone.
She resigned herself to logic and grasped the hem of her tunic, pulling it over her head. Elizabeth saw his breath hitch and a wince started to crease around his painted eyes before he caught it. Elizabeth handed him the dress and looked down to see large dark bruises on her ribs, thighs and arms. She assumed her back looked the same as well, by the way it felt. His jaw clenched visibly when he grasped her arm again and forced her into the water in front of him.
“Please don’t,” she pleaded, “I can’t swim!” She slipped and slid on the slimy rocks, clutching his arm between her breasts for dear life.
“I’m not trying to drown you, settle down.” He stilled his prompting, standing still in the shin deep water. “I’m trying to let you bathe. The cold water will help the bruising and soreness.”
Elizabeth calmed herself, but still clutched his arm in a death grip as her feet tried to grip the bottom of the river. He guided her to a shallow, slow running area where there were none of the large slippery rocks. Instead, coarse sand and small pebbles tickled at the bottoms of her feet and she relaxed. Feeling safe enough to stand on her own, she released his arm.
“Stay here.” His tone was gruff.
Elizabeth stood still in the cool water; too petrified to go any further then where she stood. He paced away a couple of steps, and carried over a large, flat rock from the beach and placed it down in the water for her to sit on. Elizabeth sat carefully in the cold river.
“Thank you,” she spoke softly, avoiding his gaze, trying not to stare at his naked body while he was watching her.
When the warrior walked away, Elizabeth watched after him. Raw power flexed his muscles with each step. He strode with long, confidant steps against the current and into the middle of the little river.
He turned to Elizabeth. “Take off the dress.”
“What?” Her voice raised several octaves and her eyes grew large and round.
“You heard me,” he stated in a flat voice. “Take it off.”
She stared at him with a blank expression as self-conscious anxiety rose in her throat and terror re-blossomed within her heart.
“It’s not like I haven’t already seen you without your clothes. Come on.” He held out his hand. “The dress, if it gets wet, it will be ruined and then you will be without clothes at all.”
Looking from his hand to his expression and back to his hand again, she drew in a deep breath, ready to protest. Instead, her eyes widened as they slid down his lean, muscular body. The sun had deepened his earthen skin, drawn tight over flexed, defined muscle tone.
She resigned herself to logic and grasped the hem of her tunic, pulling it over her head. Elizabeth saw his breath hitch and a wince started to crease around his painted eyes before he caught it. Elizabeth handed him the dress and looked down to see large dark bruises on her ribs, thighs and arms. She assumed her back looked the same as well, by the way it felt. His jaw clenched visibly when he grasped her arm again and forced her into the water in front of him.
“Please don’t,” she pleaded, “I can’t swim!” She slipped and slid on the slimy rocks, clutching his arm between her breasts for dear life.
“I’m not trying to drown you, settle down.” He stilled his prompting, standing still in the shin deep water. “I’m trying to let you bathe. The cold water will help the bruising and soreness.”
Elizabeth calmed herself, but still clutched his arm in a death grip as her feet tried to grip the bottom of the river. He guided her to a shallow, slow running area where there were none of the large slippery rocks. Instead, coarse sand and small pebbles tickled at the bottoms of her feet and she relaxed. Feeling safe enough to stand on her own, she released his arm.
“Stay here.” His tone was gruff.
Elizabeth stood still in the cool water; too petrified to go any further then where she stood. He paced away a couple of steps, and carried over a large, flat rock from the beach and placed it down in the water for her to sit on. Elizabeth sat carefully in the cold river.
“Thank you,” she spoke softly, avoiding his gaze, trying not to stare at his naked body while he was watching her.
When the warrior walked away, Elizabeth watched after him. Raw power flexed his muscles with each step. He strode with long, confidant steps against the current and into the middle of the little river.
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