Read Online Sweet Savage Surrender by Kathryn Hockett - Free Book Online

Indian after what he'd gone through?  Bitterness threatened his reason until he remembered the gentleness in her large blue eyes.  He recalled what had happened earlier in the day.  Those leering savages, his dead comrades and the tortures he would have endured -- if not for the lovely Indian maiden.   She had rescued him at risk of her own well-being.  He owed her his sanity, his very life.
    "Skyraven.  Beautiful raven haired, blue eyed Skyraven."  He repeated her name over to himself.  His countrymen would call her a savage, a squaw.  Still, he had never met anyone mo re gentle or sincere than she.
    Unconsciously he rubbed his hand over the stubble of his beard.  What he wouldn't give for a razor right now .   He laughed softly to himself.  What a ridiculous thought.  The stubble of beard was the last thing he should  be worried about.  H e was lucky to be alive. Never had his life meant s o much to him as it did now. 
    Images flashed before his eyes   as he vividly recalled the bodies of the soldiers who had not been as lucky as he, but he quickly banished them from his mind.  It was over now.  Torturing himself with such visions  would cause him helpless anguish. All he could do was pray for the dead and make a vow that they had not died in vain.
    But a corner of his mind screamed for vengeance.  Ride back to Fort Lyon , gather a troop of soldiers and retaliate for what those heathen bastards had done. There were some people who said that  all Indians were alike and that the only good Indian was a dead Indian.  But no!  That kind of thinking would only make the rivers run red with blood.
    The lovely Indian girl who had saved him had told him the Utes who attacked his soldiers were  her enemies too,  that they were vicious warriors.  It was logical.  How could all Indians be alike any more than  all whitemen were identical?  Hadn't he known some men who were real bastards?  Indeed he had.  Suppose he were judged as being of the same tawdry mettle?  Skyraven had said that her tribe was not like the chanting naked heathens who had murdered his fellow soldiers and taken him captive in order to torture him.  He believed her.  They couldn't have anyone as gentle and kind as Skyraven among them if they were nothing but heathen savages.
    She had put her own life in jeopardy to rescue him.  She didn't have to do that.  She didn't even know him.   She told him that the spirits had led her to him, that her gra ndfather was a healer and holy man and that her tribe, the Arapaho , were buffalo hunters not warriors.  She had blue eyes and spoke English fluently.  That  sure didn't sound savage to him.
    H is whole idea about Indians was changing since he had met her.   He would have a message  for those who thought Indians were all alike.  When he got back to Fort Lyon ,  he could tell them that by first hand experience he had learned that it simply was not true. From now on it would be hard for him to listen to the stories he had heard.  He would want to judge thi ngs for himself.
    "Oh Skyraven there is so much more I must learn about you and your people"  he murmured.  He could still feel the gentle touch of her hand upon his brow.  The wounds and bruises on his arms felt much better now thanks to her knowledge of medicine.
    She had left her buf f alo robe, a bowl, a knife, some food and drinking water for him. Taking a bit of pemmican from the pouch she had left by his bedside, John scooped it into his mouth and began chewing.  He couldn't say that he liked the taste.  It was quite tart and unlike anything he had ever eaten before.  In time he could probably get used to it if he had to.  Right now he had no choice.  Food was food.    His nearly empty stomach was crying out for anything to fill it.  It had been damned nice of her to leave anything at all.  Reaching for the water pouch, he took a big drink to wash the pemmican down then  pulled the robe tightly around his