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Ivy: The Montgomery Sisters, book 3

Ivy: The Montgomery Sisters, book 3

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Ivy: The Montgomery Sisters, book 3

135 pages
1 heure
Nov 5, 2018


Ivy Montgomery is tired of her sister's constant nagging and protectiveness. Blind, she decides to escape in the middle of the night when she is captured and brought far from home. With no understanding of the outside world, Ivy must use her keen abilities to navigate the wilderness around her. Anger and hopelessness are her only defenses against the things she cannot do. Until she meets a strong-minded Lakota Chief, who will not let her cower to the blindness any longer.

Lakota Sioux Chief of the Paha Sapa, Hotah is on a hunt for his brother, Kangi. Cast from their tribe five years before, Kangi has grown a dark spirit and a hatred for all white people. Now on reserved land, Hotah makes a deal with the General to capture his brother in return for his people to have the provisions they need.

After rescuing Ivy, he promises to take her home, but danger is near and Hotah soon realizes it is not just his brother he should fear.

Nov 5, 2018

À propos de l'auteur

Kat Flannery’s love of history shows in her novels. She is an avid reader of historical, suspense, paranormal, and romance. A member of many writing groups, Kat enjoys promoting other authors on her blog. She’s been published in numerous periodicals throughout her career Her debut novel CHASING CLOVERS has been an Amazon Top 100 Paid bestseller twice. LAKOTA HONOR, BLOOD CURSE, and SACRED LEGACY (Branded Trilogy) are Kat’s three award-winning novels and HAZARDOUS UNIONS is Kat’s first novella. Kat is currently hard at work on her next series, THE MONTGOMERY SISTERS.

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Aperçu du livre

Ivy - Kat Flannery


Novels by Kat Flannery

Chasing Clovers

The Branded Trilogy

Lakota Honor (Book 1)

Blood Curse (Book 2)

Sacred Legacy (Book 3)

Hazardous Unions: Two Tales of a Civil War Christmas

(by Alison Bruce & Kat Flannery)

The Montgomery Sisters Trilogy

Fern (Book 1)

Poppy (Book 2)

Ivy (Book 3)

For my mother…

Thank you for always being there.

Chapter One

Somewhere in Wyoming… 1886

Ivy Montgomery was dragged from her horse so quickly she hadn’t a second to scream. A wide hand clamped around her mouth and flattened her lips. Heart in throat, she blinked several times to try to focus on the darkness around her.

The cloudiness in her left eye made it difficult to see anything, so she concentrated with the right. Unfortunately for her, the sight in either eye wasn’t great in the daylight, let alone in the black of night. Rats.

It really was her luck—almost blind at eighteen and a spinster. She’d left her spectacles at home on the kitchen table on purpose—a show of defiance, independence. She needed no one, least of all her overbearing sisters, Fern and Poppy. Between the two of them, they’d coddled and repeated lecture after lecture on what she could and could not do. How far from the homestead she was allowed to go. No traveling into town alone. Stay inside the house if no one is home. Even now she could hear their voices reciting the rules. She was a prisoner, and her two treacherous sisters wielded the whip.

The thick arm snaked around her neck tightened, and a gruff voice whispered something she could not understand. It was a guttural tone with high syllables. The language sounded oddly familiar to her, but Ivy had not done much living being locked up on the homestead.

Oh wah’zhee-ahn’-kah wasicun winyan, he said again, each word dripping with anger, revulsion.

Ivy inhaled. The air burned her nostrils. She shifted to try to face him, but he squeezed harder. The muscles around her neck compressed. Terror raced up her back and lunged for her heart. She cried out, but no sound came. Instead, her throat seized and the breath there stolen. The blood left her head, and the forest walls closed in. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought for air. Why did she leave? She should’ve stayed home. Regret filled every part of her, and she didn’t know if it was his arm around her neck or the shame she felt that caused the air in her lungs to evaporate like ice melting in the spring.

There was nothing left…no more color…and soon no more life.

He chanted into her ear the same line over and over while he gripped her neck, and Ivy knew he was going to kill her.

Hotah stood next to his niece, Kimimela. At ten winters old she was as smart as some of his warriors. He placed his hand gently over the bow she held and leaned in.

"Be calm, ciqala—little one, he said, and listen to the wind."

She turned toward him, losing the stance he’d helped her acquire. "There is no wind, Leksi—uncle."

Ahh, but there is.

She shook her head.

He placed his finger over his lips. Shush.

Kimimela was not a patient child, and Hotah knew she had a lot to learn, but she was wise beyond her years, a gift from Wakan Tanka. It was his responsibility as her uncle and chief of the Paha Sapa tribe to make sure she was adept in the teachings of their father and fathers before them. He took great pride in the relationships he formed with the people of his tribe, treating each of them as his family.

Hotah wanted to be the leader his father had been. The great Matoskah had taught the men and women of the Paha Sapa to love first, be kind always, only battle when there is no choice, and trust in the ways of their people. Unfortunately, Hotah had failed his father—and their tribe. There would be no more battles, no more fighting, and no more death. One year before, Hotah agreed to take his people onto the reserved land the United States government held for them. He had hoped for peace. Instead, the Paha Sapa had been given nothing to start their new lives with. The government rationed all their supplies. Forbidden to erect their tipis, they were forced to live in wooden cabins on the sectioned grounds. He feared his people might lose their traditions and strived to continue their rituals.

I feel it, Kimimela whispered.

Hotah raised a brow.

It comes from the mountains.

Yes, you are correct. He patted her head before positioning her into the stance once more.

Kimimela held the bow and pulled back the arrow. She remained in the position for some time, and Hotah knew she was waiting for the light touch from Mother Earth to caress her round cheeks.

He waited.

Her brows furrowed and her lips grew taut before she released the arrow. Hotah watched as the red-tipped shaft soared through the air until it stabbed the tree.

Well done. He smiled down at her.

Does this mean I get to go on hunts? she asked. Round brown eyes the color of a redwood stump stared up at him.

You need to be better. He did not want to tell her the truth. The Paha Sapa no longer hunted their meat. They were forbidden to have their weapons. The arrow Kimimela used had been built in the secrecy of his cabin and solely to teach her how to shoot. When the government delivered the meat, most times it was rancid from days traveling in the hot sun. He hid the sadness from his eyes at what his people had become.

She tossed the bow and crossed her arms, an exact replica of Red Swallow. Hotah’s chest ached as memories pushed their way through to seize his muscles and cause his eyes to mist with tears.

I am good!

He blinked away the hurt. No, you are not. He picked up the bow and handed it to her. Try again.

Her bottom lip jutted out and she crossed her arms, the defiance more present than before.

Try again, he repeated.

Kimimela pushed her pudgy chin outward and growled.

You cannot get better if you do not practice.

I am good, she said again.

You are not good enough.

She needed to be shown, so he picked up the bow she’d thrown and took an arrow from the quiver on her back. With deft movements he shot it directly into Kimimela’s own arrow that was stuck into the tree.

Eyes big she stared up at him.

You can be better. You have to try.

I will not be as you, Leksi.

Why not?

You are chief of our tribe—the best and not to be challenged.

He smiled. She was smart—and yet too confident at the same time.

I want you to be better than me.


He knelt in front of her. When the time comes for Wakan Tanka to take me to the spirit world, you will need to protect yourself.

I shall marry, and my husband will do this.

No. You will learn. Hotah did not want his niece to lean on a man. He had watched his mother do this, and after his father died, she could not see her life without him. Ina was lost within herself, and no matter what Hotah did he could not reach her.

My ina was not subservient to my ate.

Mention of his brother set Hotah’s jaw, and he flexed his hand around the bow he still held.

Do not speak of Kangi—he is dead to us.

Kimimela nodded, but he could see within her eyes she did not understand. Kangi was her father, but Hotah had raised her. The Paha Sapa believed in good will, Kangi believed in killing and nothing more. Red Swallow’s face appeared in his mind—young, flawless, and full of life. He pressed his palm into his chest to ease the ache that never seemed to go away.

You will see this when you grow older. He handed her another arrow. Now try again.

"Do you teach me to protect myself from the wasichu—white man—or from my own father?" she asked.

You are to be taught the way of our people and nothing more. But the truth was in his eyes, and he feared his brother might one day return to take his daughter from him.

Kimimela raised a thick black brow.

Do not question this anymore. It is the way. He nodded at her to get into position.

She placed the arrow back within her bow, took aim, and released. She missed the target—it hit a foot higher than intended.

I am done. She tossed the bow onto the ground.

"Hoka hey—pay attention! You are done when I tell you so." He disliked being firm with his niece, but there was no one left to teach her but him. She needed to learn, and practice was the only way.

I am done now. She stomped her foot. "I do not care—

He raised his hand to silence her. What he saw in Kimimela was what he himself felt. Hopeless. Hotah took a long breath. His father would not approve of such foolishness. He must be strong, never show the weakness within him. His niece had to learn—if not for what they were, then for what they may become. He thought of the disastrous state they now called home. His eyes skimmed the wooden

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