Read Online Chieftain (Historical Romance) by Nan Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Nan Ryan
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Adult, Western, Native American, 19th century, Oklahoma, Virginia, Bachelor, multicultural, No Rules, teacher, Forever Love, Single Woman, Hearts Desire, reservation, American West, Love Possibility, Frontier & Pioneer, Comanche Tribe, Treatment, Fort Sill, Indian Warrior
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face glowing with excitement. He loved school. He loved being with the other children. And, amazingly, he never felt sorry for himself. Never whined or cried even when the other children refused to let him play games with them because of his infirmity.
Maggie’s chest tightened as she watched the sweet little boy hobble toward the schoolhouse. Bright Feather had been dealt more than his share of adversity. He had lost both his parents in a battle with white settlers when he was three years old. Such a shame. He was a beautiful child with his gleaming raven hair and huge dark eyes and sweet mouth that was constantly stretched into a pleasing smile.
Each time she sawhim, Maggie wanted to grab him and hug him tightly. Just squeeze him to pieces. She refrained. And she tried to conceal the fact that she was more than a little partial to him.
Maggie swallowed hard and hurried forward to meet the laboring little boy.
“Bright Feather,” she called to him.
He turned, looked up, saw her, and his smile grew broader. Pistol raced forward, skidded to a stop at Bright Feather’s feet, barked eagerly and pressed his big furry body against the child’s thin chest.
But Pistol didn’t leap up on the boy. The dog was invariably gentle with Bright Feather. The little boy laughed, threw his short arms around Pistol’s neck, hugged him tightly and rubbed his cheek against the dog’s great head.
“That’s enough, Pistol,” Maggie warned, and the dog gently pulled free and moved back.
“Good morning,” Maggie said, and smiled down at Bright Feather.
“Miss Bankhead,” he said politely, grinning. Then proudly displayed his growing skill in the new language he was learning by adding, very slowly, “How are you today?”
Maggiecouldn’t stop herself. She laid a hand atop his dark head, cupped it gently, leaned down and brushed a quick kiss to his smooth, coppery cheek. “I’m very well, thanks, and you?”
Bright Feather continued to smile, but he shrugged narrow shoulders, unsure. She prompted, “Very well.”
“Very well,” he repeated, and grinned happily when she laughed her approval.
Just outside the schoolhouse door, Pistol stopped and barked loudly. Maggie snapped her fingers and he immediately stretched, panted and lay down, knowing he was not allowed to enter. Maggie and Bright Feather went in together.
Inside the crowded classroom, noisy children were not yet in their seats. They were milling around, talking, laughing, playfully wrestling with one another, shouting across the room at one another. Being children.
Bright Feather, tired after the long walk from the tepee he shared with a half-dozen other reservation orphans, took his seat in the front row. Maggie nodded her approval. Then she began to look about for her friend, the aged Kiowa chief, Old Coyote. He was not in his usual place in the front row.
Each morning he sat in the same chair, directly in front of her and directly beside Bright Feather. He never missed classes. Maggie was momentarily concerned. Was the old Indian sick and unable to come to class? She continued to scan the sea of young bronzed faces.
Most of thestudents were standing, so her view was somewhat obscured. A number of the Indian children were fifteen, sixteen and older, and many of the boys—once young braves—were quite tall.
Maggie stood on tiptoe, glanced about, and finally got a fleeting glimpse of Coyote’s white hair and wrinkled face. He was seated at the very back of the room. Odd.
Relieved that he was well and present, Maggie clapped her hands for attention. “Class! Class, it is time to begin our lessons. Please sit down.”
It took a few minutes for the energetic boys and girls to quiet down and take their places. Maggie waited patiently. At last all were seated and Maggie had a clear view of the entire room.
That’s when she saw him.
Seated at the very back of the room beside Old Coyote was the half-breed Comanche chieftain. Dressed in white man’s
Maggie’s chest tightened as she watched the sweet little boy hobble toward the schoolhouse. Bright Feather had been dealt more than his share of adversity. He had lost both his parents in a battle with white settlers when he was three years old. Such a shame. He was a beautiful child with his gleaming raven hair and huge dark eyes and sweet mouth that was constantly stretched into a pleasing smile.
Each time she sawhim, Maggie wanted to grab him and hug him tightly. Just squeeze him to pieces. She refrained. And she tried to conceal the fact that she was more than a little partial to him.
Maggie swallowed hard and hurried forward to meet the laboring little boy.
“Bright Feather,” she called to him.
He turned, looked up, saw her, and his smile grew broader. Pistol raced forward, skidded to a stop at Bright Feather’s feet, barked eagerly and pressed his big furry body against the child’s thin chest.
But Pistol didn’t leap up on the boy. The dog was invariably gentle with Bright Feather. The little boy laughed, threw his short arms around Pistol’s neck, hugged him tightly and rubbed his cheek against the dog’s great head.
“That’s enough, Pistol,” Maggie warned, and the dog gently pulled free and moved back.
“Good morning,” Maggie said, and smiled down at Bright Feather.
“Miss Bankhead,” he said politely, grinning. Then proudly displayed his growing skill in the new language he was learning by adding, very slowly, “How are you today?”
Maggiecouldn’t stop herself. She laid a hand atop his dark head, cupped it gently, leaned down and brushed a quick kiss to his smooth, coppery cheek. “I’m very well, thanks, and you?”
Bright Feather continued to smile, but he shrugged narrow shoulders, unsure. She prompted, “Very well.”
“Very well,” he repeated, and grinned happily when she laughed her approval.
Just outside the schoolhouse door, Pistol stopped and barked loudly. Maggie snapped her fingers and he immediately stretched, panted and lay down, knowing he was not allowed to enter. Maggie and Bright Feather went in together.
Inside the crowded classroom, noisy children were not yet in their seats. They were milling around, talking, laughing, playfully wrestling with one another, shouting across the room at one another. Being children.
Bright Feather, tired after the long walk from the tepee he shared with a half-dozen other reservation orphans, took his seat in the front row. Maggie nodded her approval. Then she began to look about for her friend, the aged Kiowa chief, Old Coyote. He was not in his usual place in the front row.
Each morning he sat in the same chair, directly in front of her and directly beside Bright Feather. He never missed classes. Maggie was momentarily concerned. Was the old Indian sick and unable to come to class? She continued to scan the sea of young bronzed faces.
Most of thestudents were standing, so her view was somewhat obscured. A number of the Indian children were fifteen, sixteen and older, and many of the boys—once young braves—were quite tall.
Maggie stood on tiptoe, glanced about, and finally got a fleeting glimpse of Coyote’s white hair and wrinkled face. He was seated at the very back of the room. Odd.
Relieved that he was well and present, Maggie clapped her hands for attention. “Class! Class, it is time to begin our lessons. Please sit down.”
It took a few minutes for the energetic boys and girls to quiet down and take their places. Maggie waited patiently. At last all were seated and Maggie had a clear view of the entire room.
That’s when she saw him.
Seated at the very back of the room beside Old Coyote was the half-breed Comanche chieftain. Dressed in white man’s
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