[Harlequin] - Emily French - Capture (txt), Ksiazki, txt
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capture [070-070-4.7]By: emily frenchSynopsis:He could not mean to torture and kill her, or could he?Black Eagle smiled, as if he were amused, and began to walk toward Jeanne,very slowly, twirling the knife in his fingers. "Are you ready?" His voicewas deep and husky, tinged with regret.The scent of him filled her nostrils when she dared to inhale. Hegently slipped his hand slowly up the side of her neck.Emily French is aninveterate traveller who has explored underground caverns in Europe, musteredcattle by helicopter in Australia, climbed a pyramid in Egypt, shared a tentwith the bedouin in Africa and gone bicycle riding in China. Emily confessesthere are many strange things in the world, but nothing more wonderful orcomplex than the love between a man and a woman.Emily FrenchMILLS BOONTo the Menominee people of Wisconsin, who history, legend and courageousstruggle for survival in a changing world epitomize the spirit and enduranceof the human raceDID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was reportedunsold und destroyed by a retailer. Neither the author nor the publisher hasreceived any payment for this book.All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination ofthe author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same nameor names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known orunknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. All RightsReserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises H B. V.The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includingphotocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, orotherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. This book issold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade orotherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without theprior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other thanthat in which it is published and without a similar condition including thiscondition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. MILLS & BOON and MILLS& BOON with the Rose Device are registered trademarks of the publisher.First published in Great Britain 1997 Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited, EtonHouse, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 ISRGermaine Kennedy 1994ISBN 0 263 80382 ISet in Times Roman 10 on ! ! l/4 pt.04-9709-82321 CIPrinted and bound in Great BritainPrologue"I ascend in a column of smoke that billows upward from the fireside. I risein the air on a stream of light, floating, floating .... " The young boy satcross-legged, dark eyes opaque, recounting his vision, his charcoal-smearedface in the shadows. Wise Speaker sprinkled more tobacco on the fire."Looking down, I see that one side of the stream has become dark, while theother has the glow of a new day. The parts mingle as the stream of lightbears me along. I become one with the stream. This sacred place has aguardian, an enormous black creature whose wings whip the air. He has onefoot in the stream and one upon dry land."Wise Speaker drew deeply on his pipe, pleased that the boy's fasting dreamwas a strong one. The boy was treading on the threshold of the spirit world,a place that encompassed powerful forces."Ride into the inner world, journey in the mind's eye to places unknown,"Wise Speaker murmured softly."I breathe deeply, and the energies of the eagle seem to rise within me. Ican feel its vibrancy. I am the eagle with soaring wings who flies to thetop of the universe, confined only by the curve of the sky. Far below I seethe earth. Iam the hunter. waiting . watching . "The boy's voice faded as he withdrewinto his secret dream.Sometime later, he slowly became aware of his heavy limbs, and of the wiseman on the other side of the fire. "What does it mean, Wise Speaker?" Theboy wriggled in anticipation, unable to suppress a shiver.The medicine man was silent, thoughtful. His hulking figure, cloaked in aheavy bearskin, was silhouetted against the blazing fire. He held the carvedstone bowl of his pipe firmly in one hand and tapped the long wooden stemagainst his swarthy chin. "The eye does not see. The ear does not hear.Only the spirit knows .... "Disappointed, the boy drooped. He had fasted for four days to clear hismind, and the dream had seemed so real he had found it difficult to return tothe fireside. His spirit had wanted to stay with the vision. He would fastsome more. He clamped his jaw shut with determination. Staring down at theground, deep in his own thoughts, he almost missed Wise Speaker'sannouncement."Black Eagle has favored you. He has given a sign that he will guide andprotect you the rest of your life. This guardian spirit is a strong totem,giving you the power to cure or to harm, granting you the ability toprophesy. In return, there will be many obligations. Are you willing toaccept Black Eagle on your personal drum? To be worthy of this honor? Topraise him by your daily actions?"The boy stared at Wise Speaker. The old one's expression was enigmatic. "Iwill," he promised, awed by the power that would be his. The ways of themanito, the spirits, were strange."I am grateful you chose me, Black Eagle," the boy said proudly. "I hope Iwill always be worthy of you."Wise Speaker nodded his head, pleased. "From this day forward, you will beknown as Black Eagle."Chapter One"Papa?" Jeanne leaned forward, ignoring the precarious tilt of the canoe andthe disapproving grunt of the Algonquin guide. "Are you all right, Papa?"she queried, her soft, musical voice sharp with anxiety. There was noresponse from her father."Mon Diem Do you want to capsize us! Keep still, ma'mselle.t" The man'svoice was. harsh, thick with a French village dialect.Jeanne clenched her jaws together, her slim shoulders hunching in protest,willing herself to remain motionless. The wind was coming up, churning theice-cold water into little waves. Still locked within winter's cold, theforest seemed to recede from the forest's edge into an endless green void.In the distance, an isolated group of mountains rose against the darkeningsky. Jeanne heard a bird cry out in alarm as the canoe passed. The soundseemed to come from far away. The thought made her frown. A sharp burst ofwind sent loose tendrils of hair whipping around her face. Wrapping her armsaround herself to ward off the chill, she lifted her face to the sky. ThisAmerican sun was so different from the paler French one. Even the cloudsseemed flat and ominous, stretched in a wind-smoothedfront across the icy amh of the sky, as if a thunderstorm might be brewing.Touched by some nameless dread, she felt a prickly fear race through her.Her father gave a restless movement, as though in pain, and the Frenchtrapper, lmile, muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath. TheAlgonquin guide stared straight ahead, dark and aloof, his shoulders movingrhythmically as he paddled steadily.Jeanne straightened cautiously. The feeling of foreboding would not go away,and she concentrated on the movement and timing and balance of the paddle.Her papa was dying. She knew it. He was dying in the midst of this hostilewilderness, with only herself, the French trapper and an Indian guide!Someday, Papa was fond of saying, the skeptics would recognize that there hadarisen among them a prophet, a dreamer of dreams. Someday, the heathens inthis wilderness would hear the voice of God through ltienne de la Rocque,fourth son of a duke.Dreams, Jeanne decided, huddling against the bundle of damp, stinking fursstacked against her aching back. Nothing but dreams. The reality was thisdreadful canoe, in which for weeks its four occupants ate, slept and carriedtheir equipment. Reality was the food hastily prepared, the river water.surging and sucking at the paddles, the misery of sudden spring squalls, thestench of rotting hides. Reality was the weariness, the utter isolation fromcivilization. Reality was the dying man opposite, his face shiny withperspiration, occasionally emitting mewing, kitten like cries as he lay inthe grip of fever.As the canoe rounded a bend, Jeanne fastened her eyes on a shaft of Aprilsunlight, transparent as ale, that lit a small clearing."Pull over them," she commanded, trying to infuse some authority into hervoice.The French trapper stiffened and glared at her. He was a thick-chested,grubby-looking man of indeterminate years, wearing a hide jacket trimmed withbeaver, and water-stained breeches thrust into fur-lined boots. He spat inthe water to indicate his contempt. Jeanne felt her heart sink. For aninstant she crumpled. He is only a guide, she reminded herself sternly. Asher shoulders squared, her voice took back authority, too. She let her eyeschallenge him."My father is dying," she heard herself say calmly. "It is going to storm.We will shelter hem, in the forest. The trees will give greater protection."For an instant, a dark, angry expression flicked across the trapper's face.Then it was gone. He shrugged and dipped his head. "Yes, ma'mselle."A rapid exchange in Algonquin occurred between the two men before the canoeturned toward the riverbank.While the de ia Rocques had wintered at the small settlement at Mont Real,Jeanne had whiled away many hours talking with some of the native women.During ...
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