Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One

by Jane Bonander

  He walked back to the table, enjoying the power he wielded over others.

  “I’m expecting a couple of young trackers in a few days,” he said. “We don’t have time to sniff out the Marauder’s hiding place. These men aren’t seasoned, but they’re eager, and they work cheaply.”

  “Where did you find them?” Dickson asked.

  “Bergman put me on to them. He lost another slave two nights ago.” He paused for dramatic effect. “That makes four in the last month,” he added, slamming his fist on the table.

  “Bergman?” Mueller’s voice held surprise. “Mein Gott! His place is like fortress. What kind of man sneaks in so?”

  “That goddam Marauder sneaks in and out of this valley like a friggin’ ghost. Hell, I don’t believe he’s flesh and blood, that one,” Dickson growled.

  “Oh, he’s flesh and blood, all right,” Marcus said.

  “How you be so sure?” Mueller’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  Marcus pulled out a piece of cloth from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to him.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Mueller whistled softly as he turned the swatch over and over in his beefy hand. “It’s blood?”

  Marcus nodded. “That’s not all.”

  Dickson grabbed the swatch and gave it a careful onceover. “By damn, it’s buckskin.”

  “Right,” Marcus said. “A piece of buckskin I found clinging from a branch exactly where we fired those shots.”

  Mueller let out a hollow laugh. “So what? Half the men in valley wear buckskin.”

  “I realize that. But who else does?” Marcus asked.

  Dickson shrugged. “Well, the Indians, but—”

  “Exactly.”

  Dickson and Mueller stared at their leader as if he’d gone mad.

  “You think a stupid savitch takes our slaves? Mein Gott!”

  Dickson’s high-pitched giggle joined Mueller’s grunt of disbelief. “They ain’t clever enough to cover their asses when it freezes.”

  Marcus grabbed the swatch of buckskin and ran his fingers over it. This wasn’t ordinary buckskin. He’d recognized the excellence immediately, for he had a jacket of similar quality. So did both his half brothers, Jake and Nicolas. He stuffed the remnant into his pocket. “You’re probably right,” he said lightly. But deep in his gut the seed of a suspicion had been planted, and before he dared voice any of his feelings, the suspicion would have to grow into a recognizable menace.

  Anna stepped into the small frame schoolhouse, her ongoing anger about being kidnapped gradually falling away as she saw the interior of the building. The only piece of furniture in the room was a long table that sat in the front, which presumably was to be the teacher’s desk.

  She walked over to the wall behind the table, glanced inside the boxes and found a variety of supplies. Pencils, slates, an assortment of spellers and readers—enough to start, but surely not what she would have had in Pine Valley.

  As she glanced toward the wall where someone had painted upper- and lowercase letters of the alphabet, her gaze was drawn to a pile of mats and pelts. What in the world?

  The mats were woven from some sort of green wood, but the pelts, she discovered, were soft and rectangular. She picked one off the pile and ran her hand over the smooth, soft surface. Turning it over, she saw the fine, tight stitching that held each pelt together, and she smiled in appreciation.

  She felt a tug at her skirt and looked down, her eyes meeting Summer’s. “Well, hello, little one,” Anna said softly, smiling down at the toddler.

  Summer’s thumb was in her mouth, but she pointed at the small blanket Anna was holding.

  “You want the blanket?”

  Summer nodded, her thumb still in her mouth.

  Anna draped the soft fur over her shoulder and held her arms out to Summer. “Can I hold you?”

  Summer appeared to consider it, then looked quickly out the open door at Joke, who was talking to someone on the steps.

  Watching Summer eye the blanket, Anna stooped down in front of her. Then the child raised one arm, and Anna pulled her into her arms, lifting her against a shoulder. Summer nuzzled her face against the fur and ran the fingers and thumb of her free hand over the end of the pelt.

  Pushing back the tears that threatened, Anna again thought briefly of the child she’d lost. So, this is how it felt to cuddle a little one close. She stood up and walked slowly around the room, humming softly into the child’s coarse black hair.

  She stopped in front of a map that was fastened to the wall and gazed at the outline of North America. Summer released the edge of the blanket briefly and pointed to it.

  “Here,” Anna said, bringing her finger to approximate spot she knew to be Pine Valley. “This is where we are, Summer. Somewhere around here.”

  Summer pulled away, pointed at Anna’s chest.

  “Don’t you know my name?” Summer shook her head. “My name is …” Anna paused. “My name is Miss Weasel Womple,” she said, holding her nose so her voice sounded comical.

  Summer shook her head and smiled around her thumb.

  “No?”

  Summer chuckled, a tiny husky sound that burbled out like warm butter.

  “Well, then,” Anna said, “my name is Miss Beaver Weaver.”

  Again Summer laughed and shook her head, watching Anna with newfound excitement.

  “Hmmm,” Anna said, sounding puzzled. “Who in the world am I?”

  Summer pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “Teeker Anya,” she said, furrowing her tiny forehead.

  “Oh,” Anna said, a strange, warm pain infusing her chest. “You’re absolutely right. Are you old enough to go to school, Summer?”

  Summer nodded and held up two fingers.

  “You’re two years old? My goodness!” Anna exclaimed. “You’re such a clever little girl.” Her gaze went over Summer’s tiny features. But what are you doing here? What are all of you doing here?

  Summer reached up and smoothed and patted Anna’s hair. “Pree,” she said, a touch of awe in her voice.

  Anna felt the protective scab around her heart loosen. Oh, God, she couldn’t leave this child. She couldn’t just up and leave. If one tiny child could have such a profound affect on her, what would happen if all of the children warmed to her as this one did?

  “Summer, are you bothering Miss Jenson?”

  Anna whirled to find Nicolas standing just inside the door. “Of course she’s not bothering me,” she said sharply.

  Nicolas strode up to them and took Summer out of her arms. She glared at him. “I said she wasn’t bothering me.”

  Summer raised her tiny plump hand and patted the scar on Nicolas’s cheek. “Kith?”

  Nicolas bent toward the child and received a noisy kiss on his flawed skin.

  Anna simply stared, wide-eyed. This wasn’t the first time she’d been astonished at the inconsistencies in his nature. Yet it was almost impossible for her to believe that this uncivilized-looking barbarian with the stark, haunting cheekbones and the Indian hair could have the heart and soul of a gentle man.

  Summer pulled away from Nicolas and reached for her. Anna raised her arms toward the child, anxious to take her back into her embrace.

  “She wants the blanket,” Nicolas said, his voice flat.

  “Oh.” Disappointment rushed over her as she pulled off the soft pelt and handed it to Summer, who rolled it into a ball and rubbed her cheek against it.

  Anna was flustered by Nicolas’s sudden presence. She cleared her throat and walked purposefully around the room. “You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this together.”

  “I’ve planned it for a long time,” he answered from behind her.

  Anna didn’t doubt it. She wondered how many attempts he’d made to bring someone up here. “It … it all looks quite sufficient.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.”

  She ignored the sarcasm in his tone, and crossed to the box of readers. As she pulled one out, she glanced at the cove
r. McGuffy Eclectic Reader. Very impressive, she thought, surprised.

  “How did you get these?” She thumbed through the book, noting it was new.

  “I have my ways.”

  She’d felt him come up behind her. Every nerve from her neck to her ankles quivered. She turned and found him so close, she could have reached out and touched him. If she’d wanted to, that is. Which of course, she reassured herself, she didn’t.

  She turned back to the box and busied herself, hoping he didn’t notice the flush that spread up her neck. The more teaching goodies she discovered, the more she wondered if maybe he hadn’t “waylaid” a load of supplies meant for Pine Valley just as he’d “waylaid” her.

  “Does it all meet with your approval?”

  She glanced over her shoulder briefly, then back down at the stacks of supplies. Picking up a slate, she ran her fingers over the rough wooden edges of the frame and glanced at the box of thin, pointed slate pens. There wasn’t much he hadn’t prepared for.

  “I … I guess most schoolmistresses could make do with what you have here.”

  “Could you?”

  She dared to look at him. His face was an unemotional mask, but his eyes were bright, anxious.

  “Well?”

  Her shoulders slumped. What choice did she have? It was either stay, willingly, or take her chances in the woods. That idea had sounded good a few days ago, but not now.

  She stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the compound. Face it, she thought, as she watched the children play on the grassy hill. It had only been a matter of time. She felt an obligation to stay. And, almost as strong as that, was the burning need to find out why all the children were hidden away in the mountains.

  She turned from the window and strolled to the front of the room, warming her arms with her hands. The children truly needed someone. Every time she closed her eyes, their sad, haunting expressions tugged at her sense of right and wrong, and she wanted more than anything to see them survive and succeed.

  “Yes,” she finally answered, turning to face him. “I believe I could.”

  Nicolas shifted a sleeping Summer to his other shoulder. When the child nestled her head against him, he bent down and kissed her hair.

  “When will you start?”

  Anna still wasn’t accustomed to this gentle, domestic Nicolas. The memory of his kiss heated her blood. She had a flash of the two of them, laughing and happy, surrounded by strong, handsome black-haired sons and fair-haired daughters. She gave her head a violent shake.

  “Wh-What?”

  “Do you need more time?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answered absently.

  He frowned at her. “You can start right away?”

  She looked at him, her mind blank.

  He swore and ran his free hand through his hair. “Don’t you need a lesson plan or something?”

  Her senses returned. She cleared her throat and fussed with the neckline of her gown. “Oh … oh … Ah, not really. I’m not exactly new at this.” What she was new at was feeling her Swedish pragmatism at war with her wayward daydreaming. With David she hadn’t even tried to fight her feelings. But she was no longer that foolish, lovestruck girl. And the man standing in front of her was no boy, like David had been. He was a changeable half-breed with the presence and power of a Norse god. Suddenly she knew that if she didn’t get a grip on herself, she’d be in big trouble.

  “Then how much time do you need?”

  He sounded so impatient. “Oh, ah, I should … I should really have a day or two to check the supplies and see how I can use them.”

  He nodded. “Then I’ll have the children here on Monday morning.” He turned to leave. When he got to the door, he looked back at her. “Joke’s just outside, if you need him.”

  She watched him leave. Lord, but she was an empty-headed fool. What had come over her? How could she have stood right in front of him and let those dangerous, capricious pictures sift through her thoughts?

  She sighed and walked back to the crates. Just a few days before, she’d been in fear of her life, wondering whether or not he’d been going to rape her. Now, after one kiss, she was daydreaming about having his children. Fool.

  She shook her head again, dug into one of the crates, and began studying each precious item.

  Chapter Six

  Anna and the children were halfway through their harrowing first day together when she saw Nicolas step into the room.

  “Don’t mind me,” he said as he leaned his long, hard frame against the back wall. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

  As Anna looked at the children in the back row, she stole a glance at Nicolas. Her heart thumped foolishly. He looked primitive, dangerous, and handsome. His hair was pulled back away from his face, accentuating the starkness of his high cheekbones. His arms were folded across his chest, the thick, powerful muscles threatening even at rest. Her gaze fluttered lower, over his hips and down his long legs. She cleared her throat and concentrated on her lesson plan.

  “All right, June,” she said, trying to ignore his powerful presence at the back of the room. “Can you show me the letter your name begins with?” She passed the girl the long, thin stick she was using as a pointer.

  The pretty young girl self-consciously smoothed her bangs down over the hideous scar on her forehead. She gave Anna a tentative smile as she got up, took the pointer and walked to the alphabet wall, where she stopped. After scanning the letters, she turned to Anna and gave her a puzzled look.

  “Remember what we talked about, June? That special word?”

  Suddenly June grinned and turned back to the wall. After a few moments, she lifted the pointer to the large black J.

  “Very good.” Her praise caused June to throw Nicolas a triumphant smile before she returned to her seat.

  Anna glanced at him briefly. He appeared intense and alert, as if waiting for her to make a mistake or do something he didn’t understand. The latter was more apt to happen, she realized, for she had, over the past two years, developed an unusual method of teaching the very basics to older children who hadn’t had much formal learning.

  “Well,” Anna said, closing her notebook. “I think we’ve done wonders today. We can start again tomorrow.” She was about to dismiss them when Two Leaf raised his hand. “Yes, Two Leaf?”

  “I want Nick to tell us a story.”

  The other children murmured in agreement. Anna raised her eyes and met Nicolas’s over the heads of the children. “A story?”

  “Nick tells the best stories!” he expounded.

  “Really? Just … just what kind of stories?” She glanced at Nicolas as he sauntered toward her. The muscles in his thighs flexed beneath his buckskin breeches, and she forced herself to look away.

  “These children are from different tribes throughout Northern California. I want them to remember their beginnings even after they’ve been assimilated into the encroaching … environment.”

  Only his eyes divulged his distaste for the whites, a distaste Anna often felt was directed toward her. She knew that her shrewish attitude when she’d first found herself kidnapped was part of the reason he disliked her. But even now, when she was willingly doing what he wanted, she felt the same aversion. She truly wanted them to be friends, but was fast giving up any hope of that.

  “I see. Well, then,” she said, smiling at the children. “You are dismissed until tomorrow morning.”

  The children piled their mats against the wall, then clustered around Nicolas.

  “I’ll meet you on the hill after you’ve all had lunch,” he said, pushing two of them gently toward the door. “We’ll talk about Hissik the Skunk and his son-in-law, Gray Fox.”

  To cover the discomfort Anna felt after the children had left, she straightened the books on her desk. “Do you tell stories often?”

  “I try to.”

  He gazed at her, narrowing his lids as if assessing her worth. She felt like a filly on an auction block. “Aren
’t you afraid you’ll run out of stories?”

  Nicolas clasped his hands behind his back and strolled to the window. “No. There are so many variations, I’d have to live to be a very old man in order to tell them all.”

  Anna heard the dismissive tone in his voice. He sounded bored. She wrinkled her nose at the back of his head. That was a mistake. She suddenly found herself staring at his wide shoulders, his broad back, his firm, narrow buttocks, and his long, powerful thighs. His calves were so muscular they nearly burst the seams of his breeches. But the strength in his frame belied the gentleness he had with the children. There was a budding in Anna’s chest. It was the same feeling she’d had while watching him hold Summer in the schoolhouse. It was a feeling she wasn’t willing to dwell on.

  “These stories aren’t written down anywhere?”

  He glanced back at her. “Many are stories my grandfather told me. It was to be my legacy, as it was his. I can only hope one of the children here will remember them well enough to tell them to the generation that follows him.”

  Anna heard the melancholy tone in his voice. She stacked the readers inside the crate. “I’d like to hear one sometime. Would you mind?”

  “No, of course not.” He stopped beside the crate and watched her work.

  “What are you telling them today?” She tried to ignore the bumping of her heart, for he was standing so close.

  “The skunk story is from Shy Fawn’s tribe, descendants of the ancient Ahwahneechee.”

  She tipped her head thoughtfully and looked up at him. “What an unusual-sounding name. What does it mean?”

  “Ahwahneechee means ‘people who live in Ahwahnee.’ ” He gave her a flicker of a smile, which she returned.

  “And Ahwahnee means what?” She hoped her pronunciation was acceptable.

  “It means ‘deep, grassy valley.’ Yosemite Valley is like a giant hole in the earth.”

  As she bent to the task of stacking the slates, a wayward curl escaped her bun and she tucked it behind her ear. “Is it just a valley?” She could feel him watching her.