Book Trailer Anyone? #4 Native American

On my quest for book trailers for some of my novels, I took advantage of an offer made by the organisers of the mini litfest at FantastiCon held recently. The novels didn't have to be SciFi/F so I opted for my Native American historical Beneath The Shining Mountains.

I did not discover the identity of the trailer's creator, but the requirements seem more or less universal. It was seen with others in a loop playing at the Con, which was the first time I saw it. Now it's all mine. What do you reckon? I think it turned out rather well.

For more info on the novel and a full set of buying links, visit The Historicals page.

Next year's FantastiCon, to be held during Hull's City of Culture 2017, is scheduled for the weekend of 02-03 September. 

#SampleSunday 19: Beneath The Shining Mountains Chapter 3 Pt4

Sundays seem to arrive with alarming regularity. Let's hope they continue to! Please Tweet this sample and if you are enjoying the continuing story, take a moment to leave a message.

To bring readers up to date, Moon Hawk has caught Winter Man's attention, but her plan to marry him has had unforeseen consequences. Instead of taking her in his arms, he's joined a raid against the Shoshone, stealing a horse picketed outside its owner's tipi so as to gain a Grand Coup. The raid hasn't gone according to plan, and now Winter Man has to stand by his honour.

~~

The other members of the party had cut a large number of horses from the unguarded herd on the hills surrounding the Shoshone village. Running Fisher had sent them on ahead while he’d waited alone for his three remaining men. They waited now, the horses rested, the men crowding around Skins The Wolf, eagerly listening to details of his coup.

Winter Man felt his heart grow heavy as he rode towards them. There were many questions still in his mind, questions to which he’d found no ready answers.

Hillside slipped from his mount’s back before it had fully drawn to a halt, almost running in his haste to reach Skins The Wolf. He hit him in the shoulder with such force that he nearly knocked him off his feet.

‘You could have killed us!’ he roared.

Skins The Wolf stared at him. Spider and Otter Robe stared, too. Hillside was boiling with such fury that he could hardly speak.

‘Your foolery nearly cost us our lives!’

Skins The Wolf squared his shoulders and took a menacing step towards his accuser. ‘Foolery? I gained a grand coup. You saw me gain it. Are you going to stand before these men and say that you were blind?’

Running Fisher cut between them, separating them with his arms. He looked quickly from one to the other, finally resting his gaze on Skins The Wolf.

‘What is this?’

Skins The Wolf beat his chest with his closed fist. ‘I gained a grand coup,’ he said, his pride glowing in his face.

Ignoring Hillside, Running Fisher turned to Winter Man and called him into the circle. ‘Did you see this coup being taken?’

Winter Man’s stomach knotted. He’d known he would be asked to verify the deed. What was he supposed to say? A man never lied, it was an outrage against one’s Medicine, against First Maker, but could he stand before others and accuse the friend with whom he’d shared so much over the years of leaving himself and Hillside to die at the hands of the Shoshone?

He twisted the riding-thong about his fingers as he stood before Running Fisher. The tired roan nuzzled at his neck.

‘It was a good coup,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘A man and woman were walking between the tipis. Skins The Wolf gave warning of his presence. The man turned to attack him and he took the coup, knocking the man to the ground. The woman began to scream and he hit her with his club.’

‘Smashed in her skull,’ Skins The Wolf qualified with enthusiasm. ‘I felt it shatter beneath the blow.’

‘She fell on the man as he was trying to rise. It gave Skins The Wolf time to strike him, too.’

Winter Man looked straight into Running Fisher’s eyes. Running Fisher stared unflinchingly back into his.

‘And then?’

Winter Man could not say it. There had to be a reason for Skins The Wolf doing what he had, some fact of which he was not aware.

‘And then?’ Running Fisher repeated.

‘I cannot say with certainty what happened next. There was much confusion. I’d taken the picketed horse and—’

‘You were not on its back! I gained my coup first.’

Winter Man felt his jaw sag open, and quickly gritted his teeth to cover his astonishment. From his own lips Skins The Wolf was telling him that he’d known their positions. He’d simply ignored their safety. Winter Man didn’t want to believe what he was hearing.

‘Winter Man had gained the picketed horse,’ Hillside countered vehemently.

‘I had not cut its restraining line,’ Winter Man said. ‘I was waiting in the shadow of the horse for the two Shoshone to pass me.’

‘They would have seen you,’ Skins The Wolf snorted.

For the first time since he’d been called as a witness, Winter Man turned to look at him, and he did not like what he saw. Skins The Wolf was brimming with self admiration. He could hardly keep himself from strutting before them all.

‘I do not think so,’ Winter Man answered thickly. ‘I do not think so.’

‘Then the coup was good?’ Running Fisher asked. Winter Man had to acknowledge that it was. ‘It seems to me that you gained your coups at the same time within sight of one another. Both will stand. Neither will be devalued. It is rare that honours are gained this way, but it does happen.’ He looked from one to the other of them for signs of objections. There was none. ‘Then that is how it will be told.’

Skins The Wolf threw his arms up in jubilation. Whatever Running Fisher said, a grand coup always took precedence over a picketed horse. He curled his arms round the shoulders of Otter Robe and Spider and led them away to tell them, yet again, of the details.

Winter Man turned away, thankful to be able to tend to his new horse as an excuse to be away from the others. He had begun to rub the roan with grass when Running Fisher drew close.

‘Is there anything you wish to tell me?’

‘Tell you?’ he echoed.

‘That you would, perhaps, not wish the others to hear?’

Winter Man forced himself to look at the pipe-carrier. It was obvious the older man knew something was amiss.

‘Skins The Wolf took a horse from me a good while before you and Hillside came into view,’ Running Fisher prompted.

Winter Man ran his hand under the roan’s belly giving himself the opportunity of averting his eyes. ‘I have said. There was much confusion.’

An ominous silence gathered between them. It spoke much of Running Fisher’s true belief. He dropped his gaze and began to turn away, before pulling himself up to look back at his subordinate.

‘A man always holds the truth in his heart. Sometimes his words are the same, sometimes they are slightly different. Keep the truth in your heart in your heart, Winter Man.’

Winter Man watched Running Fisher walk into the darkness, his chest and stomach heaving until he felt bile rise into his throat. He turned to the roan and pushed his face into its flank in an attempt to hide his anguish.

Keep the truth in your heart in your heart. He had been called a liar. As near as possible without the word being spoken, he had been called a liar by a pipe-carrier, by a Good Man. Never change your story, that was what he’d been warned. Never speak of what is truly in your heart now that you have denied its existence.

The shame... The humiliation…

He felt a hand drop heavily on to his shoulder and shuddered under the impact, believing his thoughts had been discovered. It was Hillside.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’m angry with myself. That back of yours will need a salve.’

Winter Man worked his shoulders. ‘It does feel stiff.’

‘A lance skimmed you, I think. Your Medicine was strong today.’ Hillside showed him his arm. It was covered in dried blood from shoulder to elbow. ‘I was nicked by an arrow.’ He chuckled. ‘Both our Medicines were strong today.’ His amusement faded. ‘What did Running Fisher want?’

Winter Man wondered, fleetingly, if he’d the courage to speak of his dishonour, then realised he needed someone to confide in. ‘He wished to know what was truly in my heart. I couldn’t tell him. He called me a liar.’ He hung his head. Would he ever be able to hold it high again? He heard Hillside’s gasp of astonishment, and the pain in his chest increased until he had to grasp the roan for support.

‘To your face? He accused you to your face?’

Winter Man shook his head. ‘His words were couched very well, but he’ll never trust me again.’

‘Will he . . . Will he say this to others?’

‘He won’t need to. He’ll pick men to ride with him and he’ll not pick me. How many times will that happen before others wonder why? I’m disgraced.’

‘No,’ Hillside told him. ‘You are not disgraced. Running Fisher came to me, too, but I added nothing to what you’d witnessed before us all. I’m not disgraced. You are not disgraced. It is Skins The Wolf who has disgraced himself.’

He took a half step back, angling his shoulders as to leave, and then swung round again. ‘Why did he do it? He was there to guard your back, not to take himself a coup. He could have killed us. Why did he do it?’

‘Perhaps he couldn’t resist the opportunity when it presented itself.’

Hillside scoffed. ‘A man says that in defence of a boy on his first raid, not in defence of an experienced man like Skins The Wolf.’ He shook his head, not wanting to believe what had happened. ‘To gain such a coup and then turn and run, leaving us to the Shoshone…’ He raised his head, waving a finger a Winter Man. ‘You came back for me,’ he said. ‘You’d escaped and you rode that horse back into the Shoshone village to rescue me. I told Running Fisher that, and shall recount it to the village when we return. I shall recount it to the members of the Fox society. I shall not forget that you saved my life.’ He patted Winter Man on the arm, and walked away.

The roan turned in a tight circle and came to nuzzle at its new owner. Winter Man slipped a hand under its jaw and patted it. He should have felt exhilarated gaining such a coup, taking such a fine horse. Songs would be sung about the deed. Songs would be sung about his rescue of Hillside. He would be paraded around the village, his valour brought to the notice of everyone. His family, his clan, they would all be proud of him. The women would trill for him. Moon Hawk would trill for him. None of it would wipe away his shame. That would be with him for ever.

#SampleSunday 18: Beneath The Shining Mountains Chapter 3 Pt3

Busy week. Given two talks and spent time on research projects, so my TBDone list grows rather than shrinks. Such is a writer's life.

However, #SampleSunday carries on. This excerpt might seem action-filled - Winter Man is on a horse-raid so as to get the better of Moon Hawk by parading a fine mount - but the intricacies of building on the page a viable lifestyle alien to our own are much in evidence, especially how men behaved, or were supposed to.

~~~

This horse would live to graze the spring grass. It would live to produce young of its own. How Moon Hawk would look when he paraded this horse in front of her.

The lodge was quite dark. No sound came from it that he could hear. Perhaps the occupants were singing in another tipi. Winter Man stole round its covering to the edge of the shadow cast by an adjacent lodge. He spied Hillside. Hillside could also see him, because he gave the signal that meant all was well. Winter Man looked for Skins The Wolf, but his friend must have been too well hidden for him to be noticed.

Winter Man eased himself into the starlight. The roan saw him and pulled slightly on the restraining rope tied about its neck. Winter Man stood a moment, letting the animal see him, showing himself for what he was. Slowly, he advanced upon it. The roan eyed him with distrust. Winter Man began shushing to it, holding out his free hand so that the horse might take his scent. His other hand loosened the plaited riding-thong from his belt, ready to slip the loop over the animal’s lower jaw. He advanced further, attempting to stroke the horse’s nose. It bared its teeth at him, bared its teeth like a dog. Winter Man’s blood ran cold. If the horse began to shy . . .

‘Quiet, horse,’ he whispered. ‘I am Winter Man. You are my horse now. Accept me as your rider and I shall tie red streamers in your mane. I shall paint my honours on your coat and ride you in parades so that all might gaze upon you and say, “Winter Man’s horse is the most prized among all the Apsaroke horses.”.’

The roan pricked its ears at his words and eyed him afresh. It seemed a little quieter. Winter Man smoothed his hand down its neck and across its shoulders. It stamped a hoof and flicked its tail, but it did not try to pull away from him. He looped the riding-thong and slipped it about the horse’s neck, deciding that a choke harness might be a prudent idea. The animal snorted, annoyed that it should be meddled with.

Winter Man licked his own lips as he prised the horse’s lips apart and eased its jaw open. It had good teeth, the sort that could bite off a man’s fingers. Carefully, he moved the jaw-thong into position and tightened it.

He was ready.

Expelling his held breath he raised his head to signal to Hillside, but Hillside was frantically signalling to him. Away to the left, two figures were walking slowly between the tipis. They seemed to be bent, large shouldered. Lovers sharing a robe. And they were walking towards Winter Man.

He ducked beneath the roan’s neck to stand in its shadow. Yes, lovers. They were engrossed in each other. If the horse did not whinny and he did not move, they would come and walk straight by him and not notice his existence. He watched them come towards him. His heart beat so hard that it hurt his ribs. Keep still, he told himself. All he had to do was keep perfectly still. He glanced across to where Hillside had been standing, but he had retreated into the shadows. Winter Man looked back towards the lovers. His stomach lurched. There were three figures now, one behind the other two. Skins The Wolf! What was he doing?

In a moment of horrified perception, Winter Man realised exactly what Skins The Wolf was doing. He was getting ready to count a grand coup — in the middle of a Shoshone village.

Everything moved slowly then, so very slowly, yet so terrifyingly fast. The cry that leapt from the mouth of Skins The Wolf could have been heard clear beyond the edge of the village. The Shoshone unravelled himself from the robe and his lover’s arms with admirable speed, but he was not quick enough to dodge the blow Skins The Wolf delivered with his fist. The man fell to the ground as the Apsaroke’s cry of victory rent the air. His call was still jangling in Winter Man’s ears as the Shoshone woman began to scream. Skins The Wolf silenced her with a single blow from his stone-headed club. She fell heavily, knocking into her rising lover. Skins The Wolf dealt another blow, and, without a single look around him, darted away between two lodges.

Winter Man grasped the roan’s mane and heaved himself on to its bare back. All around him people were spilling from tipis, wondering what had happened. Winter Man drew his knife and cut the restraining rope which picketed the horse, leaving the loop and a short lead dangling from its neck. Free at last, the roan skittered backwards. Winter Man crouched low on its back, trying to control it with his knees, trying not to look conspicuous. He glanced about him. Where was Hillside?

The roan shied. It rose on its hind legs, a deep bellow forcing its way up its throat. Every Shoshone in the village looked at Winter Man. Their cries were unintelligible to him, but he knew what they meant. He had to get out of there. He had to get out of there quickly.

He fought with the roan, finally bringing it under his control. A searing pain streaked across his back. Men seemed to be all around him. He pushed one down with his foot, lashed another in the face with the end of the riding-thong. Then the horse was moving, kicking out with its hooves, lengthening its stride. A tipi loomed in front of it. The horse veered to the left to be confronted by a propped-up travois. The roan leapt it as fluidly as a springing mountain cat. Winter Man felt the blood surge in his veins. He would escape. He would live. Freedom was his!

Where was Hillside? He looked behind him. No one had caught a horse to follow him. No one, not even the enraged Shoshone. He reined in the roan and turned it back towards the village. Hillside was in there somewhere, without a horse, without a friend to die beside. Winter Man kicked the roan, kicked at its belly until it galloped like a true spirit-dog, streaking its mane and tail out behind it in the wind it created. They were upon the lodges before Winter Man realised. The Shoshone threw themselves aside as they galloped through, curving this way and that to create more confusion. The frantic pace fired the roan. It hardly needed a touch of command. It was, indeed, a spirit-dog sent by First Maker. Winter Man filled his lungs and cried out the fighting call of the Fox warrior society. Almost at once he was answered. Hillside was still alive.

Winter Man dragged the roan to a standstill and looked in all directions. A crouching figure darted from the shadow of a nearby tipi. Winter Man’s fingers sought his sheathed knife before he realised it was Hillside. A hand was raised. A hand was lowered. They clasped each other about the forearm and Winter Man pulled Hillside up behind him. He felt the fletching of an arrow pass his face and he kicked the roan into motion. The Shoshone were organising. Their initial surprise had been swept aside. They would be running for their horses, ready to give chase.

‘Go! Go! Go!’ Hillside shrieked.

The two Apsaroke went like the wind. Winter Man gave the roan every encouragement and the roan gave them all its speed, so sure-footed that it did not falter at the creek; it did not hesitate as the land broke up into a series of narrow gullies. It leapt them with ease, one and two and three. All Winter Man had to do was to keep heading it where he hoped the other Apsaroke were waiting.

They came upon Running Fisher long before Winter Man expected to. He was alone, sitting astride his captured mount, the riding-thongs of two others held in his hand. Hillside slipped from the back of the roan on to the back of one of the spare horses.

‘Change your horse!’ Running Fisher commanded. ‘The roan is tired.’

Winter Man shook his head. The roan was tired, but if he changed mounts now, he might lose it. ‘Skins The Wolf ?’

Running Fisher pointed ahead and kicked his own horse forward. Hillside and Winter Man followed him. Winter Man repeatedly thrashed the end of the riding thong across the horse’s rump, forcing from it reserves of speed and endurance it hadn’t known it owned. At any other time Winter Man would have continually praised it for such a feat, glorified its triumph, but his mind was full of confusion and doubts.

Skins The Wolf was alive and well. Running Fisher had already given him a horse, but… Skins The Wolf had been on foot. To have arrived before himself and Hillside, he must have run from the village as soon as he’d taken the coup. Winter Man wouldn’t accept that it was possible. He and Skins The Wolf had been on horse-raids since early manhood. It was inconceivable that one so experienced couldn’t have been aware of what would happen as soon as the coup was called. He’d known Hillside and himself were there. He must have done.

~~~

If you enjoyed this excerpt, leave a comment or Tweet the post. Thanks.

#SampleSunday 15: Beneath The Shining Mountains C2/Pt3

Sunday is here again. Enjoy this week's excerpt! If you enjoy it, leave a comment and/or Tweet. Thanks!

~~

‘He is not there again,’ Moon Hawk stated emphatically as she entered the lodge. ‘Three days have—’

She caught her mother’s agitated movement and her eyes flicked over the low-burning fire to the semi-prostrate figure of Bear On The Flat. Her father’s head was inclined to one side in a doze. A good ten years older than Little Face, his body was still firm of muscle, his eye quick and keen. Although a member of the esteemed Fox warrior society, he was more renowned as a fearless hunter than an adventurous warrior. He’d gained five coups in his life, including taking a picketed horse from inside an enemy village, but these honours had not been enough to elevate him beyond being a Good Young Man and he’d never led a raiding party in his own right. Exactly how much he knew of his women’s plan to bring about her marriage to Winter Man, she wasn’t sure. Little Face had soothed his affronted authority as head of the lodge over her refusal of the marriage enquiry from the family of Skins The Wolf, but she’d not told him of their blatant manipulation of Winter Man. Such a course of action was not considered at all proper, and Bear On The Flat, had he been directly told, would have had no alternative other than to call a halt to it.

Moon Hawk eyed the reclining form of her father. He’d not been in the lodge when she’d left to refill the water-paunch, slipping out to a meeting of his clan-brothers after the family’s large evening meal. She’d not expected him back so soon. Turtle and Bobtailed Cat were playing together close to his feet and were making more noise than warriors in a victory parade without any disturbance to him. He couldn’t possibly have heard her own words.

‘He’s asleep,’ Moon Hawk hissed.

Her mother’s grimace bade her be quiet. She was not so certain.

‘I’ve told you about going out on your own,’ Little Face whispered. ‘You must be chaperoned at all times. It is imperative, now, that there must not be a hint of gossip about your character.’

Moon Hawk rolled her eyes, tired of her mother’s constant remonstrations, but the words she heard came from another, deeper, voice.

‘It has always pleased me that my eldest daughter is strong in limb and pleasant of features. It pleases me even more to know that she is chaste like her mother. I would be the proudest man alive if she were to marry well, but I would warn the two of you to step warily. The land you tread has more quicksand than you think.’

With an affected snort and a trembling exhalation, Bear On The Flat resumed his doze, if ever he had truly been asleep. Moon Hawk and Little Face exchanged an astonished look and then suffocated a shared giggle. It was impossible for Bear On The Flat to give his blessing to their scheme, but at least they knew he wasn’t going to reproach them from it.

Little Face began her monthly flow the next day and left the family tipi to take up residence in the small women’s lodge used for such occasions. Late that night, in a bout of high spirits, Bobtailed Cat knocked the entire contents of the water-paunch over an embroidered robe. As quickly as she could, Moon Hawk caught up the edges and took the heavy skin outside.

It was a warm, starlit night without a breath of wind to stir her unbraided hair. Noises travelled in the clear air: horses whinnying far outside the circle of the lodges, the soft, slow beat of a drum and high-pitched voices raised in song, the giggle of lovers, the demanding cry of a baby wanting its mother’s milk.

Moon Hawk spilled the water from the robe away from the door of the lodge and shook the skin several times to ensure that no drops still clung to the fine porcupine-quill embroidery, but it was damp in several places. She stretched it in her arms, ready to throw it over the roof of the sunshade, but drew it back into her body with a gasp. Deep in the shadow cast by the roofing-boughs a tall, slim figure was leaning casually against one of the supporting uprights. He uncrossed his ankles and stepped into the bright starlight. It was Winter Man. Moon Hawk’s heart-beat doubled.

‘I’ve stood outside many lodges waiting to speak to a woman within,’ he said wearily, ‘but this one . . .’ He turned his lazy gaze on to the buffalo-skin tipi, the brightness of the fire within making it almost translucent. ‘You are more closely chaperoned than a Sacred Woman. I thought I’d grow old and lose my teeth standing here.’

A smile crept across Moon Hawk’s lips, and she pulled the edge of the robe up to her nose to hide it from his sight.

‘There’s no need to cower behind that robe. I’ve not come to entice a kiss from you. I have a more willing partner waiting for my touch.’ He inclined his head, indicating some other lodge lost in the darkness. Moon Hawk felt as though a bowl full of icy water had been poured over her head.

‘You trilled well for your sister’s doll. I’ve not heard you trill so well for the return of a Good Young Man.’

Moon Hawk affected an unconcerned shrug of her shoulders. ‘Perhaps your ears were attuned to other voices.’

‘Perhaps.’

Perhaps? Moon Hawk’s eyes widened. Was Winter Man openly admitting his interest in her? Could she drop this pretence and at last speak of her love for him?

‘We lost horses to the Shoshone during the last moon,’ he said. ‘Running Fisher is leading a raid against them in retaliation.’ He raised his hand level with his waist and wavered it slightly. ‘The horses of the Shoshone are not the best, but those Bad Lodges need to be shown that we will not tolerate their childish antics. I’m among those going with Running Fisher.’

A chill ran down Moon Hawk’s spine. He was going on a horse-raid. There was nothing untoward about that, she told herself fiercely. Wealth was measured in horses. Raiding horses from an enemy’s herd was the principal way of acquiring wealth. Only frightened men caught wild horses and broke them for riding. There were no frightened men among the Apsaroke. Her father had been on many horse-raids and had never returned without a string of mounts to his credit. Winter Man, too, was well versed in the art. Why was she so fearful for him?

She watched him raise his hands and rest them on the cross-pole of the sunshade roof. The blue-grey starsheen glided over his tautening muscles; it reflected off the abalone shell gorget tied about his throat. His eyes bore into hers, cold and calculating and proud. Far away a coyote howled its mournful cry and the half-wild village dogs answered it in turns. The sound made Moon Hawk’s flesh creep. It was as if they had caught the scent of a fresh carcass.

‘The others ride for wealth,’ he said, ‘but I have prayed to the Spirits. I have spoken with my Medicine. I will return with a single horse, and it will wear a short rope round its neck. I will hear you trill for me and see how well you do it.’

No! No! The words screamed inside her head. She had never intended this, never. To raid horses from an enemy’s herd was bravery enough. Scattered in their hundreds on the hills outside a village, men could take them and escape before the alarm was raised, but a picketed horse . . . A picketed horse was the pride of its owner. It was tethered to a tipi staking-pin outside the door of a lodge; an enemy lodge in an enemy village. One sound, one snort of the horse, one growl of the dogs, and that village would rise as one to rain death on to the intruder. On to Winter Man. He couldn’t do this, not just to flaunt the deed before her, not just as part of this courting game they were playing — she was playing. First Maker, what had possessed her to start it?

She swallowed down the fear risen into her throat. She would have given anything at that moment, made any sacrifice, to have been able to beg him to abandon his quest. Had he known her thoughts he would have hung his head in shame and gone high into the Shining Mountains to wail his grief like a wretched thing. Even though he might forfeit his life, she could not dishonour him that way. She took a breath to force courage such as his through her veins and lifted her head as any proud Apsaroke woman would on such an occasion. She only hoped that there was not enough light in the starsheen for him to see the tears standing in her eyes.

‘Bring a picketed horse to this village and you shall hear me trill for you,’ she said.

Winter Man did not smile. He did not give any sign that he had heard her words. As silent as a cougar, he turned and stalked away into the night.

~~

This completes Chapter 2. Next week we're off on a horse raid... that doesn't quite go according to plan. If you enjoyed this sample please Tweet and/or leave a comment. Thanks.

#SampleSunday 14: Beneath The Shining Mountains C2/Pt2

Did you enjoy Read An Ebook Week? Gosh, there was a lot of good stuff on offer. My TBR pile has just doubled, and that's saying something. Thanks to readers who downloaded mine.

Here is the next part of Beneath The Shining Mountains. Enjoy! And if you do, leave a comment and/or Tweet. I appreciate it.

~~

The sound of the snort was unmistakable, and to Moon Hawk’s practised ears it did not come from Winter Man’s horse. She didn’t look back, though, but kept walking, a smile of satisfaction lighting her face. She might have instigated this odd courtship, but Winter Man was going to have to fight harder than that to take her.

She saw him again on each of the two following days. His approach was more measured, more subtle. The first time he was standing outside a neighbour’s lodge discussing the relative merits of different saddle girths; the second he was washing down one of his notched-eared buffalo-horses in the creek when she went to refill the water-paunch. He did not look towards her on either occasion, and she did not look at him, but she knew he was only there because of her, and it filled the rest of her day with song.

‘How long do you think this will go on?’ she asked Little Face.

The older woman shrugged. ‘It’s hard to say. Until he tires of it, I suppose.’

‘Tires of it!’ Moon Hawk was beside herself. ‘You mean, until he loses interest?’

‘Oh, there’s no chance of that. You threw him a challenge in front of his friends. Even if he wanted to ignore you they wouldn’t let him. You know what men are like. They make up the most derisive songs about each other for the most insignificant of causes. It’s his reputation as a wooer of women which is being put to the test here. If it should be seen to fail him . . .’ Little Face chuckled to herself. ‘The longer you can keep him at arm’s length, the more chance you have of keeping him for good. You must give him no encouragement — not any.’

Moon Hawk felt a twinge of dejection. Winter Man was being heedful of her only because of a dare. She’d known it from the start, but it seemed harsh put so blatantly, so bound to failure. She carried on waiting, seeing him each day and ignoring his presence, until something happened that made her feel the sky had fallen in on her world.

She ducked into the lodge, almost tripping over the raised threshold in her hurry to be inside. Little Face looked up from the porcupine-quill embroidery she was working on.

‘He’s out there,’ Moon Hawk stammered, ‘sitting under a sunshade with Swallow in his arms. They are laughing and talking and . . . and he is kissing her and . . .’

‘You should not have even seen them. If you have carried on like this in front of Winter Man’s eyes, you will have lost everything. He’s wily. This is a test to see how you react.’

Moon Hawk let her gaze fall in her despair. Swallow. She was tall and lithe and beautiful. And she was lying in Winter Man’s arms.

Moon Hawk watched her mother cross to the doorway and lift the flap to peep outside. Little Face turned back to her, her eyes alight with excitement.

‘Two can play at this game! Grind meat ready for making into pemmican for the winter. Work diligently outside the lodge under our sunshade and be most courteous to all who come to speak with you. Remember that.’ Before her daughter could ask any questions, Little Face stepped out of the lodge.

Moon Hawk collected the items she’d need from behind her mother’s back-rest, and with a deep breath to steel herself, slipped out of the low opening of the tipi. Winter Man was still sitting under that same sunshade with Swallow. They had been joined by Hillside and his wife, and all four were laughing together and eating choke-cherry rounds. Moon Hawk studiously ignored them and set out the utensils of her labour beneath her own lodge’s sunshade. She laid a piece of dried buffalo meat on the flat stone pounding-dish and started hammering at it with the maul until it crumbled. Tipping the pulverised meat into the centre of a clean skin, she began her work again. Laughter drifted to her across the heat-haze; the deep, gusty laughter of the men, of Winter Man. Moon Hawk did not look up, but try as she might, she could not ignore it.

A shadow crossed her hands and she raised her eyes to find one of her more elderly clan-grandmothers standing there, kneading her thigh with the heel of her palm. From the other hand dangled an empty water-paunch.

‘Moon Hawk,’ the old woman said in a loud voice, ‘the young girls have gone swimming and left no water in the lodge. They have no mind for their duties. My leg pains me. Would you stop your work and fetch water for your grandmother?’

Moon Hawk stared first at the old woman’s odd stance and then at her tired and care-worn face. She had seen her grandmother not half a day ago, cursing ferociously and running after a dog which had stolen a length of the sausages she’d been making. What could she possibly have done to her leg in so short a time? She was about to ask when her perception cleared. There was nothing wrong with the woman’s leg, nothing wrong with it at all.

Moon Hawk rose to her feet, her face full of concern. ‘Of course, grandmother. You seem tired. Rest here awhile. I’ll bring you a fan to cool yourself.’ She helped the old woman to lower herself on to the robe she had made her seat, and ducked into the lodge to retrieve her own hawk-wing fan.

‘Here, grandmother,’ she said. ‘I’ll not be long.’

‘You are a good grandchild, Moon Hawk. Many look with favour upon you. You never desert your work.’

The old woman’s voice boomed out far beyond the reach of her own ears. Winter Man would have had to have been deaf not to have heard every word. Moon Hawk skipped down to the stream, unashamedly laughing all the way.

She had no sooner settled herself back to grinding the buffalo meat than Turtle arrived at her side. The young girl thrust a boy-doll purposefully beneath her sister’s nose.

‘Hail In His Eyes has been on a horse-raid and has counted a grand coup on a Lakota warrior,’ she announced loudly. ‘But I’ve nothing to blacken his face with in honour of the deed.’

Moon Hawk suppressed a smile, and told her sister that she would find something. She brought out a piece of charred wood from the lodge’s fire-pit and offered it to Turtle.

‘You do it,’ she ordered, and offered the doll to Moon Hawk’s hands. Moon Hawk blackened all of his face as any returning warrior would to announce that he had taken the coup, and handed back the doll.

Turtle looked at her sister’s handiwork and nodded her approval. ‘We should salute him for his bravery,’ she said in earnest.

‘Of course we should,’ Moon Hawk agreed, and the pair threw back their heads and trilled loudly for the doll the way any woman would for a man who’d risked his life in the gaining of a coup.

As Turtle ran back to her friends, Moon Hawk risked a glance in the direction of the other sunshade. Swallow was talking gaily, but, by the look on his face, Winter Man had no ears for what she was saying. Caught by a streak of sunshine flooding through a gap in the cut boughs above his head, his eyes were narrowed against the glare, his steady gaze only for Moon Hawk.

She turned quickly, picking up the maul to continue with her work. She hoped that he had not noticed her glance, but her heart sang just the same. She would win him. She knew, now, that she would win him in the end.

~~

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Read An Ebook Week - 50% Discounts

This week is Read an Ebook Week, and I, and hundreds of indie authors, are joining with Smashwords.com to discount our ebooks in a festival of exuberance for the electronic word.

Torc of Moonlight : Special Edition discounted 50% to $1.50
Hostage of the Heart discounted 50% to $1.50
Beneath The Shining Mountains discounted 50% to $1.50
Contribution to Mankind and other stories of the Dark discounted to FREE!

Right-click the chosen link, decide on your preferred format - "mobi" for the Kindle, "ePub" for the Sony, I-Pad, Nook and Kobo, or even "pdf" to read on your computer - purchase the ebook, and at Checkout add the discount coupon code RAE50. Follow the instructions to download your chosen ebook. It's as simple as that.

But don't delay: Read An Ebook Week finishes at 23.59hrs Pacific Standard Time on Saturday 12th March.

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#SampleSunday 13: Beneath The Shining Mountains C2/Pt1

Here is the start of Chapter 2 of Beneath The Shining Mountains. If you enjoy reading it, please Tweet. Or this week only - Read An Ebook Week - it is available to purchase at half price $1.50 (approx £0.99). See instructions on the post above.

~~

Moon Hawk spent three anxious days watching for a sign of Winter Man, praying that he would show himself, fearing to turn round in case he stood there, looking at her.

‘He’ll do nothing so obvious,’ Little Face told her. ‘He’s a man, not a gawky youth. First he’ll make enquiries about you, and then he’ll watch you, but you’ll not see him until he wants you to.’

Moon Hawk tensed. ‘You mean, he could be watching me at this very moment?’ All along her back her flesh pricked and rose as if a hundred pairs of eyes were burning into her. She didn’t know which way to look.

Little Face chuckled. ‘Did you think he’d sit outside our lodge and play a courting flute for you? That you would be able to walk over to him and take his hand in yours? Did you think gaining Winter Man for a husband would be so easy?’

Moon Hawk averted her gaze. She hadn’t thought it would be easy at all, but, in truth, she hadn’t contemplated the difficulties, either. When her mother had offered her a chance of gaining her heart’s desire, she had jumped at it without noting how far that prize lay beyond her reach, or how far she might fall if she failed.

She set her jaw and raised her head. She wouldn’t fail. She was the woman for Winter Man — and she’d make him see it if it was the last thing she did.

 *

‘I’m hungry.’ Bobtailed Cat wrinkled his brow and turned his face up to his elder sister towering so far above him. ‘I’m hungry,’ he repeated.

The heat had slipped from the land and the sky was paling ready for the onset of twilight. Moon Hawk eased the tumpline which secured the bundle of firewood against her back, and offered him her free hand. ‘Come. Mother will have a fine stew simmering on the fire and there will be roasted turnips if you are good.’

‘I’m always good!’

On their way back to the village, Moon Hawk spied a number of sticks dropped by another returning with firewood.

‘Can you hand me those?’

‘I am a man!’ Bobtailed Cat retorted indignantly. ‘I do not collect wood for fires. Do you want my friends to laugh at me?’

Moon Hawk altered the weight of her load and carefully bent low enough to pick up the sticks. ‘You’ll have to fetch firewood when you go on your first raid, and water, too, or the Good Young Men who take you will chase you back to the village and sing derisory songs about you outside our father’s lodge.’

Bobtailed Cat hung his little head, and muttered to himself. ‘I am not a woman!’

Moon Hawk smiled indulgently at him. The years slipped by so quickly. Already he was acutely aware of what was expected of him. Soon he’d be bringing a rabbit to the lodge, triumphant in his first kill. It would be a buffalo calf next, and then . . . She sighed. In no time at all he would be riding with the men. Would she be a wife then? Winter Man’s wife? A smile burned away any disturbing doubts. She’d have young sons of her own by that time, and would be telling them that collecting firewood was no work for a man!

Just outside the outer edge of the village another encampment had sprung up, and though the tipis were much smaller and far fewer in number, it was the same in most respects. Older girls were cooking over small fires, pretending to be wives and mothers. Some had little cradleboards on their backs, and carried dolls made from deer-skin stuffed with buffalo hair. Others trailed younger siblings with them, claiming them to be their offspring. One girl even had her pony picketed by her half-size lodge and was proudly showing the rest that she was more than capable of handling a horse-travois, the large triangular drag-frame a woman used to transport her family’s belongings. Not to be outshone, other girls had made themselves smaller versions to be harnessed to the wolf-like dogs which roamed the village.

Bobtailed Cat pulled back on Moon Hawk’s arm. ‘We’re not going over to them, are we?’

‘Your sister may well be hungry, too.’

Bobtailed Cat curled his lip. ‘She’ll want me to be her son again.’

‘I don’t think so. It’s too late in the day.’

Turtle saw them approach and ran to meet them. ‘Look!’ she called, waving a long stick on which were skewered several pieces of meat. ‘Snow Rattle brought these for me to cook for him. I am his lover!’

Moon Hawk noticed her sister’s beaming face and decided not to be too harsh in her reprimand. ‘It’s better that you be a chaste woman when you grow. You’ll gain much respect.’

Turtle shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s more fun having a lover. I can ride on the back of Snow Rattle’s pony when the boys have a victory parade.’ Her expression became more serious, Snow Rattle and his pony forgotten. ‘Do you think father will give me another pony to replace the one the Shoshone stole?’

‘I don’t see why not. If you help Mother, and you do as our father wants the first time of asking, you’ll show that you are worth being given another pony.’

Turtle nodded, deep in her thoughts. Angrily, she kicked at a clump of withered grass. ‘I hate those Bad Lodges! Stealing my pony . . .’

‘Yours was not the only horse stolen,’ Moon Hawk reminded her.

‘I don’t care! I’d dance with their scalps if one was given to me!’

Moon Hawk raised a disparaging eyebrow. ‘You are hardly likely to be offered a scalp just because your horse was stolen; besides, no one was killed in the raid, so I doubt the Good Young Men will be riding for scalps.’

‘I’ll not be offered one of the horses they bring back, either,’ the girl muttered.

‘I’ve told you, if you are good, father will give you another. We’re returning to the tipi to eat. Are you coming?’

Turtle shook her head and moodily stalked away, trailing the skewered meat behind her.

‘No man will take her as a lover,’ Bobtailed Cat said. ‘She grumbles too much.’

Moon Hawk laughed out loud and took his hand in hers again. There were times when her youngest brother talked so much older than his years.

Winter Man! It was Winter Man, there was no mistake. He was sitting astride his dappled grey racer in the space between the two villages. He had come. He had come!

She drank in the sight of him as if he was the only sweet water in the vastness of a salt desert. How imposing he looked, dressed in his warrior society regalia. She’d seen him in it on many occasions, but this time she knew he was wearing it for her. There was a dignity in his bearing, in the way he carried the russet fox-skin cape over his broad shoulders. His leggings, too, were not of the usual elk-skin, but were made from scarlet cloth expensively bartered from the hairy-faced traders to the north. Across his back was slung the finest otter-skin bow-case any man possessed, and cradled in his arms was a cut-down powder-gun, a single black-tipped eagle feather fluttering from the end of its shortened barrel. He was showing her his possessions, that he lacked for nothing, that he was a man who had the courage to take whatever he wanted; that he could — and would — take her if he so wished.

The racer lifted its forelegs in turn, tired of remaining so still. Winter Man calmed it with the lightest touch of his antler riding quirt, but it had altered its stance enough for Moon Hawk to see more of Winter Man’s face. He had been painted vermilion and yellow; his arms, too, banded in the same favoured colours of the Fox society. Like an angry thunderhead, his dark hair spread out behind him, the sun glinting off each oiled lock as if feathers in a raven’s wing. And there she was with twigs in her wind-blown hair and a great bundle of sticks on her back! Oh, why come now? Why now!

Bobtailed Cat pulled on her arm. ‘Are we going?’

Moon Hawk felt a trembling in her legs. She would have to walk by Winter Man. What should she say? How should she act? Her stomach tied itself in a hundred knots. If there had been another way to go she would have taken it, but there was no other way. That was the reason he was there. That was the reason he’d chosen the moment, the only moment of the day when she was tired and dishevelled. Her indignation began to mount — and then she realised something else. He was not looking at her. He wouldn’t look at her, he wouldn’t even speak to her as she passed him. He was parading himself for the prized catch that he knew he was. The conceit of the man! Flaunting himself before her so that he could watch her drool over him. She’d show him. She’d walk straight by him and not even notice his horse!

Clutching her brother’s hand, she headed towards the gap between the two nearest tipis where Winter Man and his grey racer stood as still as wooden carvings.

‘And what have you been doing all day?’ she asked of Bobtailed Cat in a loud voice.

He answered her, but she heard no more than a low murmur in the background of her noisy thoughts. Winter Man had painted his horse with his war honours so that she might be reminded that he was a man of valour. She could see hoofprints painted in red in an arc on its shoulder, telling of the many successful horse raids he’d been a party to. There were black lines signifying the secondary coups he’d gained, and red dots to indicate the number of times he’d been wounded during engagements.

She was close to him now, not four paces away, and still his gaze hadn’t so much as flickered in her direction. Curse the man!

‘And have you enjoyed yourself?’ she asked her brother.

What was that smell? Could it be . . . It was! Winter Man had rubbed himself with some mixture of herbs, the way lovers did, he was so sure of himself. She put a spring into her step and raised her chin a little higher as she drew level and passed him.

Bobtailed Cat slowed, pulling on her arm, turning to look at the adorned warrior, his little face full of questions.

Do not say a word! Moon Hawk pleaded. Not now, please!

‘Why is Winter Man sitting there like that?’

Moon Hawk felt her heart turn over. If she didn’t answer him he would make a fuss, but whatever she said would be heard by Winter Man. She pulled her wits about her and tried to make the tone of her voice sound as cutting as possible. ‘Who?’

Bobtailed Cat pulled hard on her arm and pointed behind them. ‘Winter Man!’

There was no other course now, Moon Hawk realised. She’d have to acknowledge that she’d seen him. Slowly, she turned round and looked behind her. As she had expected, his eyes were not on her, but she made a great display of looking him up and down, just in case he could see her out of the corner of his eye. She curled her arm about her brother’s shoulders and began to lead him away.

‘I really have no idea,’ she told him loudly. ‘Perhaps he’s hoping to entice some man’s wife. I hear it’s a favourite pastime of his.’

The sound of the snort was unmistakable, and to Moon Hawk’s practised ears it did not come from Winter Man’s horse. She didn’t look back, though, but kept walking, a smile of satisfaction lighting her face. She might have instigated this odd courtship, but Winter Man was going to have to fight harder than that to take her.

~~

If you enjoyed reading, leave a comment and/or Tweet under the #samplesunday hashtag. There are lots of excerpts each Sunday. Simply search Twitter under  #samplesunday and your chosen genre hashtags. Have a good day!

#SampleSunday 12: Beneath The Shining Mountains C1/Pt3

Today is the final part of the rather long first chapter of my Native American historical romance. The main characters have been delineated; time to get them together. Enjoy!

‘A wife!' Winter Man guffawed. 'You sound like a blackbird that can sing only one song! What do I want with a wife?’

Hillside lifted his head and gave him a look powerful enough to wither the grass. ‘The question is,’ he retorted, ‘what woman would possibly want you as a husband!’

 ~~~

 Moon Hawk prodded the ground with her digging-stick, desperate to keep her mind on her chore. As a woman, collecting roots to supplement her family’s meat-dependent diet was one of the many tasks she undertook, but because it was always dangerous to be so far from the village, women went on such forays as a group, for company as well as safety. The day had been long, and hot for so late in the autumn. The women with Moon Hawk talked and sang as they worked, stopping every once in a while to pick herbs, play dice or simply to laze beneath the sun. Outriders had accompanied them to keep open a wary eye, but root-digging was women’s work and the young men stayed at a distance, talking and laughing and singing among themselves. Such an expedition was not unusual and raised no speculations. Only Moon Hawk, Little Face and a few selected clan-grandmothers knew it had been organised with precision simply to intercept Winter Man on his return from a hunting trip.

Moon Hawk felt the tight clasp of her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

‘The outriders have given the signal for approaching men,’ she said briskly. ‘Winter Man is on his way.’

‘It might be Lakota warriors,’ Moon Hawk offered, hard put, in her moment of nervousness, to decide which would be the worse.

‘Nonsense! Even a child knows the difference between a hunting party and enemy raiders.’ She pulled the red-painted yoke of her daughter’s dress further on to her shoulders, making its bright shell ornamentation tinkle and dance against the soft elk-skin. A quick eye checked the blue and white beaded belt about her daughter’s slim waist, and the subtly decorated leggings and moccasins peeping beneath her calf-length dress. She brushed a suggestion of dust from Moon Hawk’s cheek.

‘I should have painted your eyes a darker vermilion, I think, and added a little more to your cheeks.’ She stood back and looked at her daughter’s face. ‘Perhaps not. After all, this is supposed to be a chance meeting, not a feast. Is it clear what you have to do?’

Moon Hawk nodded. Her teeth were chattering so much she dared not risk saying a word.

‘And smile! Be confident! A faint heart does not win a man his coups and neither does it win a woman her man.’

A grandmother called a warning, drawing Little Face’s attention, and Moon Hawk slipped away to her appointed place.

The grandmothers were instigating a little horse-play between the younger women and the outriders, who needed short encouragement to come down from their hill once they knew what was happening. No occasion for flirting was overlooked by men of their youth. The young people ranged themselves in two lines facing one another, the women with their roots piled at their feet for missiles. The ribald banter began from the unmarried women, growing to almost a raucous harangue before the bravest young man attempted to cross the ground to take a kiss from the woman of his choice. He was met by a hail of small nobbly turnips, as were the rest, and then, amid thunderous shrieks and laughter, it was every man for himself. Into the midst of this rode the hunters.

Moon Hawk recognised Winter Man at once and her heart turned to jelly. What if he were angry? What if he called her a stupid little girl? What if he rode away without saying anything at all?

She let her eyes run over those who rode with him. There was Hillside, Frost, Skins The Wolf and Walking Backwards. Between them they’d had a good hunt, for a butchered elk and two big-horn sheep were lashed to a travois being dragged by a loose horse, and each rider had a small antelope slung over his mount’s neck.

The hunters drew their horses to a standstill and looked on at the antics of their more youthful cousins with a mixture of amusement and disdain. Men who had counted coup did not begrime their prestige by entering into such games, but they all remembered when they had.

Moon Hawk had eyes only for Winter Man. He flanked the group, a mercy she gave thanks to First Maker for. She’d no idea what she would have done if he’d been surrounded by his friends. Despite being away from the village for more than four days, his raven-black hair was as immaculately dressed as ever she had seen it, its length almost touching his horse’s rump, the quiff above his brow erect and as whitened as a swan’s tail. His leggings were stained with mud and water to the knee, speaking much of his industry on the hunt. No shirt stopped the sun from shining on this bronzed skin, and only a looped necklace of tiny bone discs adorned his well-developed chest. Moon Hawk’s eyes traced the slight shadow of each rib beneath his muscled arm, and followed the expanse of firm flesh down past his breechclout belt to his powerful thigh. Just looking at him brought a thrill of expectation.

Putting such thoughts from her mind, she drew a determined breath. If she didn’t act now… Pulling back her arm she threw her chosen missile with accuracy. A small, shrivelled turnip caught Winter Man full on the base of the neck. Such a well-balanced rider needed more to unhorse him, but the blow made him lurch to such an extent that his mount shied. Regaining control, he swung round on his attacker, astonishment sharpening his high cheekbones and widening his eyes.

‘Did you throw that?’

Moon Hawk swallowed her fear and lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t mean to hit you,’ she said. ‘My throw was wild.’

‘Wild? No woman’s throw can be that wild!’

Moon Hawk flashed her eyes at him to give her words more vehemence. ‘I slipped,’ she said, and pointed behind her to some imaginary obstacle in the grass. ‘Do you think I would waste a hit on you?’

She glanced across to the young people disporting themselves in the sunshine. As she knew he would, Winter Man followed her gaze. She looked back at him in time to see his face registering utter disbelief that any young woman would prefer someone of no account to him.

‘I am Winter Man!’ he bellowed indignantly. ‘I am a Good Young Man.’

Moon Hawk gave a casual shrug of her shoulders. ‘I know that.’

Her reply seemed to cut him to the quick. She took a step towards her friends.

‘Ha!’ Winter Man spat after her. ‘Your lover seems to have deserted you. No boy waits for you that I can see.’

Moon Hawk’s heart sang. He’d drawn on the bait as her mother had said he would. She swallowed her smile of excitement and turned back to him with a look of disdain.

‘Lover? I have no lover! I am chaste. There’s not a man alive who can entice me.’

Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and strode off into the throng of kissing youngsters.

The temptation to turn and see if he was still watching her was great, but one she managed to ignore. Picking up her root-bag she pushed a few discarded turnips into it before sauntering over to where her mother was sitting with the older women.

Little Face, for all her easy stance, was as breathless as herself. ‘You did it! You did it! Do not look back now. I guarantee that he will be outside our lodge within a few days; then we shall put the second part of our plan into action.’

Her clan-grandmothers laughed and joked and pushed at one another, remembering with pleasure their own courting days and how they’d led the young men a dance. Only Little Face had eyes for the departing hunters, but as she watched them laugh and taunt Winter Man, her smile faded and her lips turned to a thin line of concern.

‘What is it?’ Moon Hawk asked.

The smile again in place, her eyes darted back to her daughter. ‘Nothing,’ Little Face insisted. ‘Everything went well. Didn’t I say it would? No man of his reputation could possibly resist such a challenge. His friends would laugh him to the peaks of the Shining Mountains and back!’

Moon Hawk smiled as her mother curled a protective arm about her shoulders and ushered her back into the welcoming throng of her relatives, but, deep within, her heart did not beat with the same fervour that it had. She wanted Winter Man for her husband, had always wanted him, but was this the best way of gaining what she sought? It wasn’t altogether honourable.

 ~~~ 

If you enjoyed reading, leave a comment and/or ReTweet under the #samplesunday hashtag. There are lots of excerpts each Sunday. Simply search Twitter under  #samplesunday and your chosen genre hashtags. Have a good day!