Savage Abandon Cassie Edwards With much love and pride, I am dedicating Savage Abandon To my son, Brian Edwards. I also dedicate this book to a very special young lady, Tiffany Schrock. Love, Mom We stand together, hand in hand, Holding on to what’s left of our land. Our souls are bound, our hearts entwined, Who would have thought I’d make you mine. I know we have something far more, Than anyone has ever heard of before. You’re my lover, my soul mate, The very air I breathe. We’ll be together for now, Through eternity. By Diane Collett, Poet A WARRIOR’S VOW “But…I…am your captive,” Mia blurted out, stunned at his suggestion. “How can you help me feel less lonely? Why should you care?” Wolf Hawk badly wanted to reach out and touch her face, which had become flushed. “Just trust that I do care and I will not allow any harm to come your way while you are with me and my people. Did I not feed you well? Are you not in a safe place with comforts all around you? Is not the fire warm against your flesh?” “Yes, you did all of those things for me, yet…I… am still a captive,” Mia said, slowly lowering her eyes. “That word…captive. It fills me with dread.” He reached over and dared to place his hand beneath her chin. Slowly he lifted it so that her eyes were level with his. “You are not a true captive,” he said. Contents Cover Page Title Page Dedication Epigraph A Warrior’s Vow Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Praise Also By Cassie Edwards Copyright Chapter One Come quickly—as soon as these blossoms open, they fall. This world exists as a sheen of dew on flowers. —Izumi Shikibu Minnesota—l840. May, Wahbegoone-geezis, The Moon of the Flowers. Spring had awakened across the land, giving rise to the lush blossoms of dogwood and redbud. They gave off no scent, but filled the days with their beauty, as did the forsythia bushes dotting the countryside with their bright yellow flowers. Bees were busy at work, almost as busy as several small Winnebago girls who giggled and ran through the forest in search of the tiny violets that brightened the forest floor with their lovely purple faces. When they finally found a huge cluster, they fell to their knees beside them and gently, carefully, plucked several from the earth to take back home to their mothers. The women would enjoy the flowers while doing the daily chores that all Winnebago mothers carried out each day with love and dedication. Their hands filled with purple heaven, the girls turned back in the direction of their people’s village of one hundred tepees. The village had been established beside the Rush River, near enough for washing and drawing water, yet far enough for safety should the spring rains flood the river over its banks. Sitting in the midst of the river was an island huddled in mystery. A lazy fog hung low over it at most times, even now making Shadow Island scarcely visible to the girls, who looked occasionally at it, but were not at all afraid of its mystery. They knew who lived on that island. Talking Bird. Like everyone who knew him, they adored the old man. Talking Bird was the Winnebago people’s ancient Shaman, who knew everything about everything. But rarely did he leave the island. Those who were in need of his caring touch and kind words were taken to him by canoe. He was a man who had the skill to cure most ailments. Rarely had his Bird Clan witnessed him at a loss as to what to do for anything that ailed their people. The girls ran onward until they came into the village. Each hurried to her separate home. They were anxious to give their tiny blessings to their mothers on this most beautiful of mornings. Not far away, a huge hawk flew above the Rush River, soaring gracefully, peacefully, its bold eyes never missing the movements down below, nor the sounds that came from the island it was circling over. Despite its watchful, knowing eyes, the hawk could not see through the foggy mist that it was now moving into, not until it was finally on land, standing amid a clearing of willows. Suddenly a wolf appeared where the hawk had just stood. Powerfully muscled, it bound away into the forest and stopped near a large tepee where smoke spiraled lazily from the hole at the apex of the lodge. As the wolf ventured onward toward the tepee, it transformed into the powerfully muscled and handsome Winnebago chief known to his people by the name Wolf Hawk. He was a man of twenty-five winters, a chief of well- balanced temper who was not easily provoked. Clothed only in a breechclout and moccasins, his sleek black hair hanging long past his waist, Wolf Hawk stepped inside the lodge. He stopped there and gazed with love and devotion at his people’s Shaman, whom he was proud to claim as his beloved grandfather. Talking Bird sat huddled beneath a blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. He was gazing into the lodge fire that had been built in the middle of the tepee. There was no sound except for the popping and crackling of the fire and some slight wheezing as Wolf Hawk’s elderly grandfather clutched his blanket more closely around himself. He was a wrinkled, shrunken man, but his dark eyes were still brilliant and alive and filled with the wisdom he had gathered during his one hundred winters of life. Talking Bird was known by all for his wisdom and kindness. He was always interested in the problems of his people. To Wolf Hawk, his grandfather was the best example of what a leader should be. His grandfather had been like a parent to Wolf Hawk when his father was so deeply immersed in his duties as chief that he could not take time to spend with his son. Ho, yes, Wolf Hawk and his grandfather had become kindred spirits. Talking Bird had taught Wolf Hawk everything he knew about animals, plants, and what was required of a man. Awed by his grandfather’s vast store of knowledge, Wolf Hawk always loved to sit with him, savoring his words. Wolf Hawk knew he would never forget the insights Talking Bird had shared with him. They were the foundation of his life and would remain with him always. Talking Bird sensed his grandson’s presence. He looked slowly up at Wolf Hawk. “Ho, Grandson,” he said, his voice filled with love and respect. He patted the blankets that were spread before the fire, then gestured with his bony, long-fingered hand toward Wolf Hawk. “Come,” he said, in his gentle way of speaking. “Sit beside me. Tell me what has brought you to your grandfather’s lodge today.” Wolf Hawk knelt and embraced his grandfather, then smiled and sat beside him. “I have not come today for any specific reason,” he said in a voice that was rich and deep. “I came only to be with you, and to listen to your wisdom. I must confess to you that I have been restless of late.” For a moment, Talking Bird just gazed quietly at Wolf Hawk. He was proud to claim this man as his grandson. Wolf Hawk was a man of great dignity. He was tall and strong, a warrior loved and admired by all who knew him. His face was handsomely sculpted. He had midnight dark eyes, and in them was usually an expression of gentle peace. But not today. Today Talking Bird could see the uneasy restlessness that his grandson had mentioned. The Shaman looked more intently at his grandson. “You have confided in me that you are eager to take a wife, but can find none of the clan’s maidens