The Medicine Man Book 5

Liliann Varga had been too young the first time she met and fell head-over-heels in love with the Blackfeet Medicine Man, First Rider, the man who saved her father’s life. Besides, he was newly married to a woman of his own tribe. But years later, when Liliann’s husband has committed a terrible aggression against her, it’s First Rider who once again is called upon to put his healing skills to use.

First Rider has come to heal Liliann, not to seduce her. But his reaction to the grown up Liliann, the little girl who used to be his shadow, is entirely masculine and sensual. Though he’d vowed to bring his first wife back after her capture by an enemy tribe, he’d failed and she had died, causing First Rider to nearly lose his mind. Could Liliann be his second chance at love?

Enacting a “scout’s revenge” against Liliann’s cruel husband would leave the man alive but broken, and it would also set Liliann free. But, just as their love deepens, a report emerges: First Rider’s wife is still alive. To discover the truth or lies of the rumor, they both embark on a dangerous journey through the Backbone-of-the-world Mountains.

But, with little more than a bow and a gun, can they survive the beautiful but treacherous snows to find a world where they both belong?

Warning: Sensuous Romance that could cause a gal to climb the highest mountain to find true love.

Excerpt

“No! Father, do not seek out First Rider to come to me. I beg thee, do not go to him!” cried Liliann, sitting forward in her chair.

“But, me own daughter, he is returned to his people for these past few months. And, does thou not remember how the man, young though he be at the time, healed me own affliction? If there be any man who could make thee well again, ‘twould be he, right enough.”

“Aye, I understand, but please, Father, no. Do not be askin’ him to come here.”

“And, why not, child?”

“Please, I…me own self does not wish him to see me as I now be lookin’ with this thing stickin’ out my eye and with these bumps and bruises upon my body.”

Without warning, Liliann’s father jumped up from his chair, and, looking as though he might burst, he declared, “And, if that scoundrel should be a showin’ his face again at this fort, he be havin’ to answer to me, right enough!” The words were shouted. But then, with a quick look at her, her father added more softly, “How could it be that I be not seein’ through his lyin’ ways?”

“He put his lies on me, too, Father. After all, I be the one who fell in love with his drunkin’ self…explainin’ away what I saw in his character and hopin’ he be tellin’ me true about how marriage would be changin’ his no account ways. So do not be puttin’ this all onto your own shoulders.”

Taking a few steps across the room, Liliann’s father came to stand behind her and, placing a hand on her shoulder, asked, “How could thou be a knowin’? Why even now, thou be only a wheen bit older than a child.”

“I be old enough,” Liliann replied with a deep, regretful sigh as she leaned back against the chair. She had hoped so fervently that Ernest Stuart—her newly-wedded husband—had been telling her truthfully about what she could expect to be their future. She had believed him when he had proclaimed himself to be in love with her. She had trusted him, too, when he had declared how different he was from all the other grubstakers in residence at Fort Benton; she had even dreamed of a future time when her new husband, having mined enough gold to buy land for a ranch, would have loved her, and—

Liliann pulled her thoughts up short. Her hope for a future ranch life was not to be, and it would be best to think of it no more.

She said, “I be rememberin’ it now, and no mistake, how once, when we were still livin’ in the Pikuni camp, my almost-sister’s husband, Stands Strong, had described the white man’s whisky as a curse. He spoke true, Father. I did not know then how the drink could make me own newly-wedded husband the devil’s own.”

“And, may the devil bless him!” cursed her father as he stepped back toward his chair and sat down. Then, with a softness coming into his eyes, he added more gently, “What else be wrong, me own daughter? I can see there be somethin’ b’sides thy wounds afflicting thee.”

Liliann drew in a shaky breath and let the air out slowly through her lips before replying, “Forgive me, Father, but, once, I thought me own self to be in love with First Rider, and, though I be long over me own girlish crush, I do not wish him to see me own gruesome face as it now be appearin’, with this stick lodged into one eye and the other eye bein’ black.”

Her father’s sigh was heavy and deep with concern when he said, “Forgive me. Me own self should have told thee what I was plannin’ b’fore now. But, I will tell it to thee now. I already sent fer the man. When I saw his almost-brother, Red Fox, in the tradin’ room the day before this, I sent a message with the lad, no mistake, askin’ First Rider to come here. And, I am afeard that, with the Pikuni village camped only a little way up the Marias, he might already be on his way here.”

Liliann looked away from her father and tried to close her one uninjured eye in a deep lament. She couldn’t, however, close both of her eyes. And so, she contented herself with merely saying, “Then, me own heart be low, Father. It be low, indeed. But, Father of me, please, would thou bring me a comb and a mirror?”

“Now, that be somethin’ I can do, me own daughter. Indeed, that be somethin’ I can do.”

And, so saying, her father rose up to step into the next room where Liliann kept a mirror, brush and a comb. Returning to the room, her father presented the items to her along with a light blanket to place across her lap.

Exhaling softly, she gazed at her image in the mirror, stunned at the vision staring back at her. In addition to her left eye, which was showing a deep and ever-darkening black shadow around it, her right eye was in worse shape, having been injured by a skinny, but sharp, piece of wood. Like a weapon, it had been sticking up from the floor and had gone flying into her eye when Ernest, in a rage, had thrown her face-first onto the floor.

And, there the thing remained, even now sticking out of the right side of her right eye. It made her look hideous. The knife-sharp piece of wood had also cut into her right cheek, and the place where it was stuck looked red and on fire.

There were also bruises upon her body, no mistake, but these she could hide with clothing.

And so, with deep regret, she realized this was to be the first glimpse of her that First Rider would see after these four, long years. She groaned, feeling she was on the edge of tears, but she dared not cry. After all, she did not wish her appearance to become even more gruesome.

Indeed not. After all, she did not seek to have First Rider’s pity; therefore, she would use brush and comb, and perhaps even a bit of rouge, to try to make herself appear presentable. Somehow she would do it.