He was so startled that he let her go. She stumbled but managed to remain standing. There was rage in his eyes as he pulled her back into his arms. She fought him desperately and felt his rough mouth on her throat. She screamed and flailed at him. Abruptly, he went still.
She fell as he stepped back this time, for her legs wouldn’t support her. She looked up to see the speartip resting against his neck, followed the shaft of it to the old man who was holding it, and gave him a smile of pure gratitude. The spear lowered as the elder bit out an order. Words of anger were followed by words of rage, of accusation. Then the old man pulled himself up pridefully and spoke with authority. The warrior stared hard at him, then strode away muttering, maybe cursing, beneath his breath.
Another man helped Annie up. She stood, straight and determined, before the elder.
“Who you?” Running Wolf demanded.
“Annie Donovan.”
He pointed to her hair. “No Donovan. Donovan red, black. No gold.” He shook a finger at her. “No Donovan. Who you?”
“Annie Donovan. My husband is Daniel Donovan.”
“Hus-band?”
“My man.” She showed him her ring. “Husband. Daniel Donovan.”
“You Donovan woman?”
“Yes.” There was pride in her voice, in her eyes. “Daniel Donovan is my man.”
“Dan-el? Red?” He made a gesture, signifying the wild red hair of Jake or Brian.
“No.” Annie made a smooth movement over her own head. How to say auburn? “Hair like copper. Smooth, shiny like copper.” What else distinguished her man? She growled out, “Daniel Donovan.”
The elder made the sign of a mustache.
“Yes.” She imitated his sign.
“Woodsman.”
“Yes!”
“You Rose?”
“Annie.” She tapped her chest and repeated, “Annie Donovan.”
But he recognized her now, by the description he’d been given months ago. Delicate, and fairer than the red rose. Hair bright as buttercups, skin pale as the moon.
“You Rose,” he told her. “Woodsman dead?”
She shook her head firmly. “Hurt. Not dead.”
“Come for you?”
“Yes.”
The elder frowned and spoke again. She shook her head and he repeated it. She shook her head again and shrugged.
He started barking orders and the crowd around them dissipated. Women and children began to pack their belongings, the women packing up food and pots, wrapping their babies against the dew. Young men ran for horses, gathered them together in a group as the older men conferred in rapid undertones with their chief. For Running Wolf had claimed the title at last, knowing it was the only power that would protect his friend’s woman.
In less than half an hour, the tribe was ready to move. A half-dozen horses were packed with their belongings; the women carried baskets of foodstuffs. Annie was given a small bundle to carry and made to walk with the women. After the tribe left the campground, the young men sent the rest of their ponies scrambling through it, effectively erasing all traces of their flight. The horses would come back, or would be captured again. Or the men would go to the mesas after new ones. It was now more important to protect their families.
IT HAD BEEN SUNSET, two days ago, when they finally stopped climbing. They’d come around a rim of rock to a small glade in the forest and begun to unpack. A few yards away in the pines, a brook babbled. They were fairly high and the air was cool. Exhausted and aching from exertion, Annie shivered in her summer dress.
The pack was taken from her. She was given food and one blanket, a place to sleep with the young women and older children. She curled up as close to the fire as she could safely get, knowing she must keep warm but hesitant to ask for what wasn't given to her. Concentrating on Katie’s words, she fell asleep wondering how long it would be before he came.
She measured her days by the sunrises. She was never alone, for the elder had set guards around her; they watched her so subtly she was unaware of their scrutiny. They followed her every step—four of them, together or separately. Annie would have died of shame if she’d known how closely she was watched.
The attentions of the warrior hadn’t diminished, but he no longer grabbed at her. He brought gifts of food and jewelry which she refused. He’d take her arm but drop it when she pulled away. He’d sneak up behind her to touch her hair. Once, when she went to the stream to wash her face, he met her on the way back and stood in front of her on the path, making a gesture she interpreted as conciliation. She stared at him until he stepped aside, but felt his lips brush against her cheek as she passed. Deliberately, roughly, she wiped his touch away.
Yellow Knife didn't understand her. Seeing her for the first time in the Trading Post, he’d become obsessed, haunting the alleys between the buildings to catch a glimpse of her in her father’s shop. After she married, he’d lost track of her for several weeks and had hung around the outskirts of town at all hours, his passion driving him nearly insane. It was only by chance that he’d seen her riding home in the buggy with Daniel after an evening at the dairy farm.
Jealousy was not an emotion he recognized, yet it ate at his insides like lye.
Now, he had taken her. She needed a man, for her man was dead. Had he not proven how brave and bold he could be? Did he not bring her gifts? In his world, a woman wanted the best man, the one who was strongest, wisest, or most handsome. He considered himself the best the tribe could offer.
The other young women fawned over him, longed for his touch, his caress, his attentions. Yet she, whom he felt the most desirable, didn't want him at all.
The looks of scorn she gave him made him feel like a cowering child. Foremost in his memory was a teacher at the missionary school—a sour-faced blonde woman who’d regarded her charges as pagans and savages. He’d tried in vain to please her, but she’d hated him and his classmates. The contempt she’d shown him was reflected in Annie’s eyes. The chief’s threats had kept him from hurting her the first day. Her courage and scorn had kept him from hurting her since.
The elders were angry. Each day Running Wolf called him, ordered him to take the woman back, and each day he’d refused. Five days, five refusals. The chief had determined if a sixth refusal came, the danger must be removed. Yet Yellow Knife was the strongest, the most fearless, and there were none his equal with a knife. He’d have to be executed.
It wasn't this tribe’s preference to kill in cold blood, yet the woman must be returned or they faced annihilation. Already the four guards had volunteered to kill him—they’d eliminate the barrier and take her back.
The woodsman would be fair, the chief knew. If he still lived. If they could get to him before other white men found her with them.
He looked at the golden head shining in the campfire’s light, saw her shiver as she rubbed her temple, and signaled to one of his people to bring her an extra blanket.
Annie smiled at the woman, found the effort monumental, and bowed her head into her hands. What she’d feared most was coming to pass. She’d been five days without her tisane and was weak and dizzy. The nagging pain had begun. She was cold, she was frightened, and the old voice came no more.
She knew the Navajo were superstitious—if she became ill, would they take it as an omen and desert her? Would she be left to the questionable mercy of Yellow Knife? Could she live through the shame he’d inflict on her? Live long enough for Daniel to find her—to take her home again? What about her baby? She turned her wavering attention inward, found that delicate pulsing that told her that her baby was well. She concentrated on that, deliberately ignoring the pain in her head. She wove a spell of hope around the tiny heartbeat and did not hear the sudden silence descend over the camp.
Chapter 68
It was only a few hours after they took him home that the woodsman regained consciousness. He reached for the woman who knelt beside him, looked deeply into the big green eyes set like jewels in a heart-shaped
face, and found there hope and faith.
“Jesse,” he whispered.
She ran a hand over his hair. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve been better.” He didn’t dare to look at her as he asked. “Did they go for her?”
“Alec went.” He sensed her hesitation and opened his eyes again. He stared at her, willing her to go on. “They left their camp in the middle of the night. He went to find them. He said he’d leave a trail for you to follow.”
“If they left, they’ve taken her with them. She’s still alive.”
“That’s what Alec said, too. And he said the elder would protect her.”
“Running Wolf. If he can, he will. If he knows who she is. Jesse, help me up.”
“No, Daniel. Not yet. You’re too weak. If you get up now, it’ll do more harm than good.”
He couldn’t face the thought of doing nothing while his wife was missing. “Help me. Please.”
“Yes, acushlah, as you have helped me so many times.” Her smile was warm, generous, and he felt it reflected on his own face. “Can you eat? It will make you stronger.”
“Yes.” He would do anything she said to gain his strength back, anything that would take him one step nearer to his beloved wife. With an effort at levity, he said, “Bring everything you have. I’ll eat it all.”
“She’ll be all right, Daniel.” Jesse touched his cheek. “She told me once that Gran said she would never come to harm. Believe in it.” He nodded as she stood and left the room.
Moments later his father and Adam came in. His brother took his free hand and held it, sympathy and strength flowing from every pore in his body. Daniel drank it in, then whispered, “Thanks.”
Adam gave his place to John Patrick and sat on the floor. The old man looked at his son’s pale face and fought back misery.
“Feelin’ better?”
“Some. Any word from Alec?”
“Not yet.” They didn’t expect any word, and Daniel knew it. The longer Alec stayed on the trail, the better it would be. He felt another hand upon his cheek, saw Irene out of the corner of his eye.
“Hello, little one. Come sit where I can see you.”
She came around and took his hand from her father’s. He smiled at her, seeing the difficulty with which she held in her tears. He squeezed her fingers until she squeezed back.
“It’s all right,” he told her. Her tears began to fall. Adam stood and reached for her, but Daniel didn’t let her go. He used his good hand to pull her head down until it rested against his neck. His father and brother retreated, and he held her as closely as he could.
“It’s all right, mavourneen. I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too.” She looked up at him, a question on her face. “There’s no shame in being scared, Irene. Everyone’s scared sometimes. You just can’t let it take over everything.
“Bravery isn’t about not being afraid,” he told her. “It’s about not letting your fear take over. Nobody who hasn’t been afraid has ever been brave.”
“Really? Are you really scared?”
“More than I’ve ever been.”
“Daniel...” Her chin still quivered, but she didn’t cry. “Do you think we could maybe try to be brave together?”
“It’s a deal,” he whispered. “We’ll be partners—partners in bravery, okay?”
“Okay!” She chewed for a moment on her bottom lip. “Can I do anything for you?”
He accepted her help, and his parents’ and brothers’ and sisters-in-law. Tommy’s and Owen’s, Lowell’s and Evelyn’s. He ate everything they would give him, drank everything they told him to drink, and rested when they commanded it. On the next day he sat up, his pain somewhat relieved by the willow bark. By the end of the day he was standing on his own. And walking unaided by the next morning, flexing his arm after the doctor removed the stitches, finding enough mobility to feed himself. In the evening, he told them he was going after Alec.
Silence greeted his announcement. As they all stared at him, Jesse asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, mavourneen. I’ve got to go.”
“You can’t go alone.”
“I’m ready,” Jake stated. Molly gasped. “It’s all right, Mother. Nothing will happen to us. We’ll just follow Alec’s trail. We’ll find the camp and we’ll find Annie, and we’ll bring her home.
“It’s all right,” he said again, very gently. Molly closed her eyes and nodded.
“Thank you.” Daniel spoke to both his mother and his youngest brother. Jake was the one he needed. Not the biggest or the strongest, or the most experienced. But he could hunt, track, and hide himself in the forest, glide through the glades and parks, and understand the hand signals Alec had created. And since Alec had entrusted him with the call they would need to make contact, Daniel knew that Alec wanted the youth along, too.
“We’ll leave before daybreak,” Daniel said.
“Best get to sleep then.” Jake winked at him. “Mornin’ comes early these days.”
Chapter 69
After two days on the trail, Jake was worried. They’d ridden their ponies only as far as the original camp, having made one stop first at Sidhean Annie. Daniel had packed Annie’s medicine and given Jake precise instructions on the dosage she might need. Just in case. Then Daniel had looked longingly at the meadow as the sun rose over it, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, “Let all be well.”
“Amen,” Jake answered. The woodsman’s grip tightened on his arm, then they were on their way again.
There were no real trails north of the campsite, so they left their horses there and began to climb. North was always their direction, and every fifty rods or so they found Alec’s sign, directing them always onward, upward. The trek was exhausting, for Daniel wouldn’t waver from his chosen course. They crashed through bramble, crawled through brush, climbed through zones of broken shale and twisted pines. Always up, always north, and always finding Alec’s sign that led them further on.
They stopped at noon to drink at a brook and eat some of the food Molly had provided. She’d stayed up all night preparing a pack for them. Jerky and biscuits, pemmican, cornmeal, apples, bandages, salve and blankets. She’d boiled down the willow bark and lobelia into a tincture, so that two drops in a cup of water would equal a cup of tisane. In the morning, as she helped Jake strap the heavy pack on his back, her hands had trembled with fear for them. But she was clear-eyed and her voice was firm as she explained the importance of clean dressings for his brother’s wound and the need for Daniel to eat well. At the last moment she added a small paper sack filled with beet root powder, and told Jake to see that his brother drank at least a tablespoonful in water with each meal.
My mother, Jake decided, is the bravest person I know. When he offered the beet juice to his brother as they sat in the shade next to the stream, the woodsman laughed aloud.
“Can’t get away from that stuff for nothin’!” he complained gruffly, but reached out with his left hand to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Thanks, kid. Guess it’s a good thing you’re here.”
But when they camped that night, having stopped over three miles north of the cabin, Jake discovered that Daniel’s wound was bleeding under its thick bandage.
“Clean it off and wrap it up. We’re going on in the morning.”
“But, Daniel ...”
The woodsman grabbed his arm and held it so tight it hurt. “I’m going after her, Jake. Come along if you want, but don’t try to stop me.”
“All right. I’m going with you. But lie down and let me do this right.” He covered the wound liberally with salve, added several layers of padding, then wrapped it with linen strips. In the morning, the bleeding seemed to have stopped. But as the day went on and the climb became more arduous, flecks of blood appeared on the back of his brother’s buckskin shirt. As they stopped to camp again just after dark, Daniel drew the shirt off over his head and Jake saw a rivulet of blood running from under the bandage and down his brother’s back.
> They were camped again by a stream and Jake filled a tin cup with water, then dug in the pack for the willow bark. He put two drops into the cup and handed it to his brother.
“Drink it,” he commanded. With a slow smile, the woodsman obeyed. “I’ve got to ...”
Daniel held up a hand for silence. They heard the raucous call of a nighthawk, followed by the shrill cry of an owl. And then it came, unsuited to time and place, the lonely little trill of a mourning dove.
Chapter 70
Running Wolf was watching the Rose, unable to decide if it were sorrow or pain affecting her, when he heard the call of the dove. He signaled abruptly and a hush fell over the camp.
The forest greeted it with silence. His lieutenants waited for him to speak, but he listened until it came again. The nighthawk, the screech owl. And even more foreign than before in the utter quiet, the dove.
Someone has found us. Friend or foe?
He didn’t wait long for an answer. A tall, slender young man stepped into the clearing. His hair was dark as the raven’s wing. Soft and glossy, it was held by a silver-studded headband and fell past his shoulders. His face was dusky, not bronze, his eyes black and his expression stern. He faced the elder silently.
“Twelve Trees,” the chief acknowledged, a shade of deference in his voice. This was his friend. Was the woodsman’s friend. Was known and respected in the tribe. And hadn’t long ago been a boy and not a man to be reckoned with.
The chief stole a look at the golden head, still bowed in pain or sorrow. But the somber quiet of the man before him drew his attention again.
“Twelve Trees, why have you come?”
“You have no need to ask,” Alec replied in his father’s tongue.
The elder made a quick movement of his head, signifying his acceptance of the words. “You have come for her?”
“You have no need to ask.”
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