Seneca Surrender by Gen Bailey Page B

besotted with this woman who had literally been dumped into his life. Indeed, if he were honest, he would admit that he was drawn to her. But there was not a thing he would do about it. Not only were the two of them from different worlds—giving him no reason to flirt with her—his heart, his very life, belonged to another, to Wild Mint.
    Spreading out his arms toward the eternity of the skies above him, he prayed as he sang:
    “Howenio, Creator, I greet the morning with the happiness of a new day.
    “Howenio, Creator, I thank you for what you have brought me.
    “But, Howenio, Creator, I do not understand.
    “Is there a reason this gift has come into my life?
    “Howenio, Creator, my heart belongs to another, will always belong to another.
    “Howenio, Creator, though I thank you for what you have brought to me, I wonder.
    “Do you test me?
    “Howenio, Creator, I will do all within my power to remain faithful to the one who will always hold my heart.
    “But, Howenio, Creator, a man is but a man, and this woman you have brought to me is beautiful.
    “Howenio, Creator, I do not understand.
    “Howenio, Creator, thank you for your gift.”
    “Howenio, Creator, I greet the morning with the happiness of a new day.”
     
    White Thunder lowered his arms to his side and turned away from the east, where the sun was only now beginning its artistry, painting the skies with pinks, blues and golds. Soon the world would be bright with the radiance of autumn and sunlight.
    As White Thunder stepped away from the large rock where he had recited his morning prayer, he felt a cold touch upon his shoulder. There was no one there, and no reason to turn around, save one. It was Wild Mint.
    He smiled. Wild Mint was here with him. Hadn’t she avowed that she would be—at least until his task was completed?
    Alas, so heinous had the crime been against her, he understood that she could not, she must not, pass into the realm of the Sky People, even though a ceremony had been performed to release her. Not until true justice had been served, regardless of how long that took, would she be able to travel into the next realm of existence.
    On a brighter note, he was happy she was here with him. Her touch was always welcome; it was her way of reassuring him that she was here, on his side, keeping him firmly grounded in his purpose.
    But he did wonder: Was it her voice or was it the wind that whispered to him? “Do not forget your duty.”
    “Never!” he cried.
    Oh, to hold her in his arms again, to hear her laughter, to touch her, to make love to her.
    But no sooner had these thoughts begun, when, unbidden, the image of another woman filled his vision. She was delicate, with a small bone structure and a shortish stature, a woman who would probably come no higher than his shoulders were she to stand upright. With natural ringlets of blond hair and deep, trusting blue eyes, she had managed to become a part of his musings.
    The English woman. What was he to do with her?
    His life held no place for her, though he admitted that if he were free to woo her, he might try to persuade her into his arms. He might even attempt to coax her into his life. In truth, the mere idea of wedding her and bedding her encouraged such instant changes to his body that his mind spun with the possibilities. It was a shock. He’d thought such cravings were long dead within him.
    Staring down, he was not happy to witness the effects mere thoughts about her had on him. Indeed, he realized that although his body’s reaction affirmed that he was still a healthy male, this state was a complication he could ill afford.
    White Thunder sighed. Were cold-water swims, taken during any part of the day, to become a regular habit with him?
    He hoped it would not be. Unfortunately for him, he feared many a cold bath might lurk in his future. For days and days now, he had held her in his arms as he’d nursed her and fed her and coaxed life back into her. And if he were honest, he