Fire Dragon's Angel

by Barbara Blythe

  “There’s no way to know. He’s long gone by now. I’ll never catch him. Are you all right?”

  “I’m not hurt, but he was so—so fierce looking. He shot an arrow right at me.”

  “If he’d meant to hit you, he wouldn’t have missed. The arrow is a warning.”

  Bengie came crashing through the tangled, flowering vines that grew unhindered among the towering oaks and pines.

  “I heard a scream. What happened?” the young man asked breathlessly, gripping a flintlock.

  “I have good reason to believe we were paid a visit by a Pamunkey tribesman. Let’s return to the stable.” Grasping Ceressa’s hand, he led her back, Bengie reaching the stable first. He pulled out the arrow as a worried Mariette and Kate hurried toward them. Something had been wrapped about the shaft of the arrow, and Bengie removed it.

  “Mistress Ceressa, what happened?” Mariette asked. “We heard you scream, then Benjamin grabbed a musket and told us to hide in the pantry. He ran out of the cottage.”

  “I had my first sight of a native.” Ceressa seemed recovered from her fright, but she still held tightly to his hand. Latimer increased his pressure reassuringly.

  “What did he look like?” Mariette asked.

  “He was tall, his head shaved save for a long braid, and he wore hardly anything.” She paused, and Latimer noticed her blush. “There was a necklace about his throat and a large red glittering stone hung from it.”

  Anger and fear raced along Latimer’s spine. The nerve of him; the unmitigated gall; how dare the man trespass upon his land and frighten Ceressa?

  “Bocatakum,” Latimer ground between clenched teeth.

  “Who?” Ceressa and Mariette chorused together.

  “Kitchi’s brother,” Latimer said. “Constance’s brother-in-law.” Ceressa’s mouth formed a wide O.

  Mariette still looked confused, and Bengie explained, “Master Latimer’s sister was married to a native man. The child, April, was born of their union. Kitchi’s tribe split into sides—those who chose to live in peace with the Englishmen and those who preferred death rather than accept their presence. It was that group which attacked Kitchi and Mistress Constance. They never noticed baby April, so she was spared. Bocatakum is Kitchi’s brother, both men great nephews of Chief Powhatan.”

  “Why was he here?” Ceressa asked.

  “I think I know,” Bengie said as he extended the small piece of tanned hide that had been tied about the shaft of the arrow.

  Latimer took it and examined it. He was familiar enough with the Algonquin language and symbols to understand the message etched into the hide. And with understanding came a terror so unspeakable his hand shook.

  Ceressa looked up at him in concern.

  “What is it, Latimer?”

  “Bengie,” he spoke roughly, not intentionally ignoring Ceressa but not trusting himself to speak coherently. “Saddle Firewind.” He released Ceressa’s hand and strode into the stable.

  Bengie followed.

  Drawing a deep breath, Latimer turned to face the young man though he still struggled to contain his emotions.

  “Bocatakum has taken April from Tidelands. He plans to hold her until I agree to talk with him. Now that I’ve returned, he thinks I can stop Bacon.”

  “Master Latimer you can’t go to him alone. I’ll go with you.”

  “No!” thundered Latimer more forcefully than he’d intended. “You have to stay here with the women. Bocatakum won’t harm me.”

  “But there are others in the tribe who might. Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t believe that would be wise.”

  “I’m going alone, Bengie. Either saddle Firewind or go back to the cottage.” Latimer removed his velvet coat. Next, the soiled stock came off then he rolled up his sleeves.

  Sighing, Bengie went to the stallion and led him from the stall. He saddled Firewind quickly, and Latimer lost no time mounting. He pounded out of the stable and into the yard, drawing the horse up sharply as Ceressa darted into his path. Swallowing an oath, he looked down at eyes filled with fear.

  “Latimer, where are you going? Why won’t you tell me what’s happened?”

  “There isn’t time. You’ve already cost me precious minutes.” As soon as he uttered the harsh words, he winced inwardly. He was taking out his fear on Ceressa, and she’d done nothing but express her concern.

  She quickly turned and ran toward the cottage.

  “Ceressa!” She refused to turn around and soon disappeared from sight.

  Groaning, he put the horse to a gallop, knowing he had a long ride ahead—a ride that would take him beyond the York River and up the Pamunkey, deep into the land still populated by several tribes. Some of which were responsible for the murders and destruction in the western settlements.

  ****

  Ceressa entered the hall of the cottage in a daze, terrified by the look on Latimer’s face and by what he hadn’t said. Something dreadful had occurred, and she feared that Latimer needed help.

  Mariette and Kate entered, Kate’s face pale and Mariette trembling from head to toe.

  “Mistress Ceressa, are you all right?” Kate asked.

  “Of course I’m not all right. What has happened, Kate? I’ve never seen Latimer like this.” She’d seen him angry and condemning, as he’d been the night he rescued her from Charles Herrington, but never frightened and distraught. His eyes held fear even though his actions had portrayed anger.

  Wringing her hands, Kate dropped upon the settle. “I don’t know for sure, but I suspect it involves the little Miss—Mistress April. I’ve never known the master to be upset by anythin’ unless it concerns Mistress April. He loves that child even if he doesn’t talk about it much. I just can’t imagine…” Her voice faded and, clasping hands before her, she lowered her head as though praying.

  Benjamin entered the cottage, his eyes clouded with worry.

  “What’s happened to April?” Ceressa demanded.

  The young man glanced over at Kate accusingly then quickly returned his gaze to Ceressa. “I’m not sure—”

  Ceressa closed the distance between them and grasped the lapels of his waistcoat, prepared to shake the truth from him.

  “Mistress Ceressa, Master Latimer wants to take care of this.”

  “You’re wasting time, Benjamin,” she warned. “Tell me.”

  He sighed, the determination to remain silent escaping with his breath. Ceressa released him and awaited his explanation even as her impatience mounted.

  “Bocatakum has kidnapped April and is holding her until Latimer comes to him. He believes Latimer can keep Bacon and his band from attacking the natives along the western frontier. His tribe has been set upon twice, and they aren’t involved in the killings and burnings.”

  “That was the message?”

  Bengie nodded.

  Her mind whirling rapidly, Ceressa struggled with choices. Did she meekly stay behind or did she offer Latimer help? He’d saved her life in London. Didn’t she owe him for that? And his niece obviously meant everything to him. Her gaze rested on Kate’s mending, various garments spread over the work table, a pair of breeches among the collection. Judging by the length, she was certain they were Bengie’s. Snatching them up, she hurried from the hall. “Come with me, Mariette,” she commanded as she started up the stairs.

  “Mistress Ceressa,” Bengie called out, his footsteps following her. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m borrowing your breeches.”

  “You can’t leave the cottage, Mistress Ceressa,” Bengie insisted, still following. Ceressa refused to be deterred.

  “Latimer didn’t tell me I couldn’t leave. He may have told you to stay at the cottage, which you should do in the event the Indians deliver another message.” She entered Latimer’s chamber. Bengie stood outside the door, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Mistress Ceressa, you can’t possibly mean to follow Master Latimer. You’ll never catch up with him.”

 
“I will if you stop protesting and let me change.”

  Blushing furiously, Bengie accepted defeat, allowing Mariette to enter the room. She promptly shut the door in his face.

  Fire Dragon's Angel

  24

  Latimer hadn’t been long away from Middle Plantation when he noticed Firewind’s ears twitching as though the horse heard something he’d not yet detected. Slowing, he pulled out his primed pistol. He also had his sword, but he’d left a second one behind in the armoire of his bedchamber, and he prayed he wouldn’t regret the oversight. The faintest thud of galloping hooves was carried by the stiffening breeze and alerted him to the fact someone was fast gaining upon him. He didn’t relish taking Firewind into the dense forest that grew up on either side of the narrow road, yet there was no other option available.

  He veered off the road. Guiding his mount toward a cluster of trees, he hoped whoever approached would simply pass by now that darkness had fallen. He knew the ground here was marshy and reedy, making the footing uncertain and treacherous for man and beast. Perhaps confronting the approaching rider would be the best choice. If the man was merely traveling and in pursuit of home and bed, he would explain such and be on his way.

  “Psssttt…hsssttt…” There was no mistaking the dreaded sound of a combative snake, and Firewind lost no time in displaying his apprehension. Neighing shrilly, he bounded from among the trees and tore wildly toward the road. The other rider pulled up sharply, and a sliver of moon illumined the steel of a sword at the man’s side. Though the rider had yet to brandish it, Latimer drew his own from its scabbard, prepared for what was certain to happen.

  “Halt and I’ll give quarter,” he bellowed hoarsely, his voice unnaturally rough and nearly unrecognizable to his ears. Unexpectedly, the right to extend leniency was quickly wrested from Latimer as the still-fractious Firewind skittered and bucked. For the first time in his life, Latimer was unseated. As he hit the rutted dirt road, he lost possession of his pistol, which harmlessly discharged. Left with nothing but his sword, he scrambled to his feet and raised it in anticipation of an attack. The rider bore down on him, sword now in his hand. Latimer grabbed the man’s booted foot and yanked, throwing him off balance. He fell from his mount, hitting the road with jarring force, but forthwith the small man was back on his feet, cautiously advancing. Latimer had never engaged in a sword fight at night, but the shadowy man began to circle.

  Impatience, Latimer’s fencing master had oft told him, could easily lead one to an early grave, but April’s safety was at stake, and Latimer couldn’t afford to lose any time. A wild lunge at his opponent left him slicing air as the man deftly danced away leaving Latimer amazed by his agility. His amazement was soon diminished when the man leapt toward him, forcing him back toward the wooded area and the unhappy snake lurking in the twining undergrowth. Their swords met with a chilling inevitableness as Latimer attempted to take the fight back out upon the road. One horse neighed wildly and the other snorted; both sidestepped nervously as they tried to keep out of the way of the fight.

  Blades flashed in the moon’s glow and clanged, Latimer’s temper mounting by the second as his tenacious adversary ignored his attempts to bully through size and strength. Sweat ran down his face, and his breathing grew labored as the swordsman drew upon a combination of dexterity and cunning that taxed Latimer’s own stamina and strength. His opponent was truly skilled, his unerring movements and lightning swiftness an indication he’d been schooled by a master. Latimer’s arm ached, and he wondered how much longer he could hold out against this younger man with the persistence of a stalking tiger. Their engagement took on the overtones of a match—each parry, thrust, or glide countered by a beat, press, or strategic flick.

  Anger engulfed Latimer and, determined to be done with the irritating matter, he thrust his blade hard at his intended victim. But such was not to be as the man crouched and kicked him in the shin. Reeling, Latimer landed hard on his back. He fell full out, his arms and legs spread, the breath knocked from him, leaving him vulnerable to the man’s attack. The blade swept in close to his head, Latimer wondering if the man had chosen to take it off. Gritting his teeth, he braced for certain death and prayed that God would protect April and Ceressa.

  The flashing blade made contact but not with his neck—his hair—pinning him where he lay. Roaring out his rage, he rolled away, aware that a hunk of his hair was left on the road. Whipping about, he shoved the man down and brought his sword around, prepared to use it if the man so much as sneezed. At that moment, Latimer’s eyes fastened on the man’s heaving chest and shock spread. Reaching down, he grabbed one slim, gently rounded shoulder that a man’s shirt couldn’t conceal. Hauling up his captive, he brought her close to his face. The scent of roses teased his senses as a shimmering cascade of light-colored hair escaped a hat, and a tiny whimper passed her lips.

  “Ceressa?”

  “Latimer?”

  Both spoke at the same time. So overwhelmed by the knowledge he could have killed her, he released her from his shaking hands. Ceressa crumpled to the road while he dropped to his knees drawing in huge breaths to steady his shattered nerves.

  Ceressa sobbed, her arms wrapped about her shoulders, and she rocked back and forth as though in terrible pain. Forcing himself to move, he reached out to her. Ceressa tried to move out of his reach, but he wasn’t so deprived of strength that he couldn’t catch her arm. She quickly gave up her effort to resist.

  “Why are you here? Do you know how close you came to dying by my hand?”

  Slowly, she lifted her head.

  “Perhaps I should be asking the same of you. You’re quite fortunate you only lost a bit of hair.” Of all the things for Ceressa to say. How like her—how absolutely like her to point out she’d bested him. Fear mingled with anger and desire as he drew her so close he could feel the beat of her heart against his chest, the dampness upon her flesh melding with that on his. “I might have k- k-killed you.”

  “But you didn’t. Ceressa,” he rasped, “you shouldn’t have followed. Have you lost your mind?” He captured her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “How could Bengie have allowed you to leave?”

  “I didn’t give him a choice.” Her words came out haltingly as she, too, struggled for breath. “I took your sword from the armoire and threatened to use it on him if he tried to stop me.”

  “Then he did the wise thing.” Latimer managed an unsteady chuckle. Sudden remembrance of where he was bound and what he faced immediately sobered him, and he began to shake her. “You can’t come with me. I’m traveling deep into lands still held by the natives to find April. She’s her uncle’s hostage until I agree to put an end to Bacon’s activities. When I reach Bocatakum’s settlement, I’m not leaving without April. I could easily be killed. I won’t have you placed in such danger.”

  Ceressa shuddered yet she kept her eyes on his face.

  “I’m not leaving you. I’m going to help you just as you helped me in London. You risked your life to save me. Now I’m doing the same.”

  “I didn’t help you expecting payment in kind. I helped because I didn’t want to see you hurt, because I cared about you.”

  She caught her breath—her lips parting at his words, while her trembling ceased. Lifting a hand, she laid it against his beard roughened jaw. “Oh my,” slipped from her lips.

  Reason warred with want, but Latimer was quickly defeated by rose-scented skin and a cascade of silky, pale gold curls that enveloped him in exquisite wonder as she swayed toward him. Standing, he drew Ceressa up with him then cupped her face and captured her lips.

  ****

  When Ceressa roused, the fire was nearly extinguished. The dying sparks seemed to represent the end of her former life. She didn’t regret the change in her situation—she’d loved Latimer for so long she’d almost yelled aloud to all creatures that abided in the forest, “Thank You, Lord,” when he’d at last admitted that he cared. Turning slightly, she could see light from the dim
inishing flames flicker over his features. The strong jaw, the noble nose, the mouth that could be so firm yet in the moments not long ago passed, gentle and ever so pleasing.

  A heat rose up within her, and she quickly looked away, overcome by the emotions that still played havoc with her.

  Latimer stirred and rose up on an elbow, leaning over her to brush a kiss along the lobe of her ear.

  “Is anything amiss?” His whisper tickled her flesh, and she wondered if he spoke so softly so as not to disturb any of the animals that might still be sleeping. She especially didn’t want that snake aroused that had caused all the trouble. As she recalled, a snake had been Adam and Eve’s downfall in Eden. She shivered, and Latimer wrapped his arms around her.

  Those wonderful arms that had swept about her that terrifying night at the tavern when she’d thought she was soon to be torn limb from limb by the chasing mob. Turning over, she pressed her face to his chest. He kissed the top of her head, and her torturous memories eased. She knew she would always find safety in his arms.

  “I didn’t mean for things to go as they did—I’d hoped we would have more elegant surroundings in which to celebrate our marriage.”

  She looked up at him and smiled, not certain he could see her expression. “What better place to be than upon a bed of soft spring grass with a canopy of leafy limbs and a silvery sliver of a moon and stars for candlelight.”

  “You are a poet.” He breathed as though deeply moved by her words.

  “I’ve been known to write a verse or two.” She reached up and took hold of his cropped hair. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “Don’t be.” Taking her hand, he pulled it to his lips. “I thank God above that it was I who suffered the most during our fight and that my loss was nothing more than a lock of hair. Had I lost you as a result of my foolish attack…” He fell silent and tightened his hold.

  “Well, you did promise to fence with me. And I did promise to beat you.” She was teasing, but there wasn’t as much as a hint of teasing in his reply.