Charmed

by Catherine Hart

  “You’ve . . . you’ve been camping here?” Nikki asked guardedly.

  “Hah-hah,” he answered with a bland look and a nod.

  Her snide reply was automatic. “Well, I’m so thrilled to have given you a laugh, but could you let me in on the joke? I could use a good chuckle about now myself.”

  Silver Thorn graced her with another frown, this one openly perplexed. “Please explain, Neeake. I fail to see why you think I am amused.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed in annoyance. “Surely you can’t be this dense! You laughed. I distinctly heard you say ha-ha.”

  He shook his head, a smile tilting the edges of his mouth. “You misunderstand again, little goose. Hah-hah is the Shawnee word for yes. I apologize for confusing you. I will try to remember to speak to you in your Shemanese English.”

  “There you go again,” she accused irritably. “What is this Shemanese? I consider myself a well-educated person, but I’ve never heard of it, and you’ve mentioned it twice now.”

  He thought a moment and explained, “You call yourselves American colonists, I think, though you speak nearly the same tongue as the Red Coat Englishmen from across the great sea. The words are the same, but the sound of them is not.”

  Her unexpected laugh surprised Nikki as much as it did Silver Thorn. Her amethyst eyes sparkled with wry humor. “These days, with people relocating all over the country and the world, you’re lucky if you can understand your own relatives, let alone your neighbors. A family from Delaware can move to Texas; and on top of trying to comprehend Southwestern diction, they’re apt to get an Asian doctor and an Hispanic librarian.”

  He shook his head slightly. “Communication between us is likewise difficult, it seems.”

  “It wouldn’t be if you’d give up this grand charade,” she retorted. “While I appreciate you’re trying to immerse yourself in your role, you are carrying it a bit to the extreme, don’t you agree? After all, when you get right down to it, I’m probably more Shawnee than you are.”

  His eyes narrowed with acute interest. “Why do you say this?”

  “My great-great-great-great-grandmother on my father’s side was a Shawnee Indian. Too far back to have passed on the language or traditions, but her genes have survived the years. Several of us have inherited her darker coloring.”

  “So. This is why the Spirits have sent you. You do belong to us after all.” His teeth flashed in a wide, pleased smile. “Welcome back to your ancestry, little goose.”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. “You really intend to play this to the hilt, don’t you? Well, don’t expect me to buy into it. And another thing, I wish you would refrain from calling me goose! It may sound cute to you, but it is quite annoying to me. I didn’t get my bachelor’s degree in education to have someone refer to me as an addlebrained bird.”

  “But that is your name, is it not?” he queried in puzzlement.

  “My name is Nichole. Nikki, for short.”

  “Neeake,” he agreed, “which in Shawnee means wild goose.”

  “Really? You’re not just making this up as we go along, are you? Pulling my leg?”

  “I speak truly,” he told her with due sincerity, “and while I find it strange that you would need this, I shall be glad to pull on your leg if you require such aid.”

  “I’ll take a rain check on that, thanks.” Her gaze drifted to the mouth of the cave, where sheets of rain still poured down. “On second thought, let’s just forget I mentioned it at all.” A giggle caught her unaware as her sense of humor kicked in. “Lord, that’s a real goose-drowner out there, isn’t it? In light of your interpretation of my name, I suppose I should be grateful to you for rescuing me.”

  As though suddenly reminded of his role as host, Silver Thorn strode to his bed, caught up a blanket, and handed it to her. “You are cold,” he stated, gesturing toward her arm.

  Nikki glanced down. “Goose bumps!” she chortled. “How appropriate! Especially since my last name is Swan. I just hope I don’t start to quack or waddle or, God forbid, molt! You know the old adage, ‘If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it probably is a duck.’”

  As Nikki started to wrap the blanket over her shoulders, Silver Thorn stopped her. “Mat-tah. No. You must remove your clothing first, else both they and the blanket will be wet, and you will still be chilled.”

  Nikki graced him with a glacial smile. “I’ve heard better lines from some of my eighth-grade students, chief. And I’ll remove my clothes when you stand on your head and stack marbles.”

  If her phrasing baffled him, her intent was clear. His face became stern once more, his voice like muted thunder. “You must not sicken, Neeake. There is much to be done. Now, defy me no longer. Remove your clothing and wrap yourself in the blanket, or I shall do it for you.” He turned his back to her and walked away. “I must tend to the fire. Do as you are told, and soon you will be warm and dry and, hopefully, more reasonable.”

  Silver Thorn had spent the past several days and nights outdoors, praying and awaiting his visitor from the future.

  It had been too long since he’d fed the fire to find any live coals among the ashes. From his small cache of firewood, he retrieved two pinecones. One he shredded into a tiny pile in the center of which he set the second cone. Taking up his bow, he twined a slender stick through the bowstring. Then, as Nikki watched in fascination, he began to manipulate the string, causing the stick to spin rapidly against the dry pieces of pinecone.

  “Do you really expect that to work anytime soon?” she inquired.

  He didn’t bother to look up as he told her, “Fret not, Neeake. In a short time, we will have smoke, followed by flame.”

  She was already digging into her knapsack, searching for her purse. Seconds later, she approached him and said, “I have a better idea. Try this.”

  Silver Thorn regarded the white cylinder in her hand. “What is it?”

  Nikki rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, sport. It’s a cigarette lighter, as if you didn’t already know. Now, as the ad suggests, let’s flick our Bic.” With that, she rolled her thumb over the metal wheel and the little yellow flame sprang up immediately.

  Silver Thorn lurched backward, dropping his bow. His eyes widened; indeed, his entire face registered his shock. Even as he watched, the flame disappeared into the hole in the top of the strange device.

  When he finally regained use of his tongue, he murmured wonderingly, “What manner of sorcery is this? Are you a witch?”

  “I’ve been called worse on occasion,” she admitted. Eyeing him skeptically, she added, “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re serious . . . that you’ve never seen a lighter before.”

  “I have not. Can you make the fire appear again?” he asked, sounding much like a child enthralled with a magician.

  “Of course.” Once more, she flicked the lighter, making the flame dance into sight.

  “It is truly wondrous!” he breathed. “Who would imagine a firestick so small and quick.”

  Nikki handed it over to him, watching as he lit the flame several times in succession, amazed that he seemed so thoroughly awed by it. “Hey!” she laughed. “Enough playing around! You’ll use up all the butane, and we still won’t have a fire going.”

  He grinned at her. “What is butane?”

  “It’s a sort of gas inside the lighter. When the metal wheel strikes a spark on the flint beneath, the gas ignites. Presto! Instant flame.”

  Silver Thorn turned back to the pine chips, flicked the Bic, and tossed it atop the pile. To his dismay, the flame disappeared at once. “It is broken,” he claimed in disgust.

  “Not at all,” she assured him. “But you have to hold the lever down for it to continue working.” Kneeling beside him, Nikki picked up the lighter, ignited it, and directed the flame toward the shredded cone. “This would be faster if we stuffed paper around the chips.”

  Silver Thorn shook his head. “Parchment is too valuable for heedless burni
ng, woman. Will you next suggest we burn some priceless book?”

  She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “May those words never pass this teacher’s lips.”

  While Silver Thorn’s attention was on his task, Nikki, still pondering his reaction and/or his superb acting skills, decided to take his advice. Swiftly, she peeled off her wet jeans, T-shirt, and running shoes, and wrapped up in the blanket. Though her bra and panties were also soggy, she was not about to remove them. Clammy undies were better than none, particularly since she still wasn’t convinced that this guy had all his marbles. If worse came to worst, a mad dash to her car in her underwear was preferable to mooning everyone in the park.

  She turned toward the fledgling fire just in time to see Silver Thorn, with his back to her, whip off his breechcloth with a nonchalance David Niven would have envied. Tossing the garment aside, he bent and plucked another blanket from his bed, in the process offering Nikki an enticing glimpse of his lean, tight buttocks. Her eyes widened in amazement. Her mouth went instantly dry. And the only thought she could form was, Oh, my gosh! He’s got the cutest twin dimples in his buns!

  Chapter Three

  Nikki didn’t think she’d groaned aloud, but she must have, because Silver Thorn turned to inquire sharply, “Do you have pain, Neeake?”

  “No!” she managed to squeak out, trying and failing to school her gaze away from his groin.

  Unconcerned with his nudity and totally ignoring her embarrassment, he took his time wrapping a blanket around his waist and knotting it loosely. “You are certain you are not hurt?”

  “Only my pride,” she muttered, tugging her own blanket higher over her chest.

  To herself she thought miserably, It isn’t fair! This guy is older than I am by at least ten years or more, and he’s absolutely gorgeous! “To die for,” as the girls in my class would say . . . while I feel like an over-stuffed couch-cushion! And why the hell am I ogling him as if he were some huge chocolate brownie when he’s as crazy as a bedbug and likely to kill me before the day is out? She shook her head in an effort to clear it and mumbled, “I always thought insanity was genetic, not contagious! If I live through this, they’ll probably lock me in a padded cell and make me eat spaghetti with a spoon!”

  “Is it considered polite in your culture to speak in tones too low for another to hear?” he asked reprovingly. Not waiting for her reply, he gestured toward the fire. “Come, Neeake. Sit and warm yourself while I explain why I have summoned you here.”

  Nikki edged toward the fire, skirting it and Silver Thorn cautiously, and seated herself on the floor opposite him, with the fire between them. “Okay, shoot. I’m all ears,” she said.

  “Does that curious phrasing mean that I have your full attention?” At her curt nod, he began his tale. “I am called Mona Kahwee, Silver Thorn. My brothers, Tecumseh and Tenskwatawa and I were all born on the night of the shooting star, one after another. Tecumseh is the firstborn, and takes his name from the shooting star. Tenskwatawa is next eldest; his name means He-Who-Makes-A-Loud-Noise. Recently, he chose to be called the Prophet.

  “From the time of our birth, the Spirits have blessed the three of us with special powers, which we have tried mostly to use to the benefit of the Shawnee Nation. Tecumseh now leads us in this war between the Shemanese and the British, though many of our people have no wish to be caught up in this conflict between the whites. Both the British and the American colonists wish to claim land upon which we hunt and live. Why should we aid either side? But Tecumseh says we should fight with the British, who give us guns and bullets and will help to push the Americans back to the East and into the ocean.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Nikki interjected. “You know that’s not the way it hap—”

  Silver Thorn held up his hand in a gesture for silence. “You may speak when I am finished,” he informed her. “For now, just listen and be silent.

  “Tenskwatawa agrees with Tecumseh, as do a number of our warriors. As a tribal sage, I am more a spiritual leader than one of war. Others come to me for advice, for guidance in their personal quests, for interpretations of their dreams and visions.

  “As one accorded unique skills, and in an effort to better guide my people, I sought a means to determine the future, that the Shawnee would know which path to take. In a vision, I was given that means. I was to create this charm,” he related, touching the silver medallion on his chest. “Upon it, the Spirits would bestow mystic and mighty powers, which would bring to me a messenger from years hence. When you found the charm, Neeake, and held it in your hand, you were brought from your time to mine, that I might learn from you the fate of my people and determine the best way to guide them in this time of trial.”

  At the conclusion of his speech, Silver Thorn lapsed into silence. With a keen gaze, he awaited her response.

  For the full space of ten seconds, Nikki remained mute. Then her words and her temper erupted like a spouting volcano. “Right!” she spat out. “And I’m the Easter bunny! What sort of fool do you take me for?” She leapt to her feet, leaning toward him over the low flames, pointing her finger at him. “You’re certifiable, you know that? A grade A lunatic! A nut! A squirrel! Furthermore, your story is chock-full of holes, fella! Ha! It was just your luck to try and pull this on a history major! Teaching Ohio history is what I do for a living nine months of the year, and I’m no slouch at my job. For your information, buddy, Tecumseh may or may not have been a twin to the Prophet. There is even a theory that there might have been a triplet brother; but if there were, he was malformed and sickly and died as a child. So, Mister Smarty-Pants! What do you have to say to that?” she ended on a superior note, her hands planted cockily on her hips.

  “It would appear that those who have recorded history are mistaken,” he replied calmly, with just a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Plainly, I did not perish as a child.”

  “Then why don’t the hundreds of books written on the subject relate that bit of information?” she countered smugly. “Why do they scarcely mention your not-so-credible existence and not even deign to give you a name, while they tout your brothers’ exploits long and loud?”

  His smirk grew, and laughter laced his voice as he said, “Perhaps because, unlike some people, I feel no need to flaunt my . . . ah . . . prominence. Speaking of such, your blanket has slipped, and your ‘prominence’ is bountifully displayed.”

  Aghast, Nikki glanced down to find one breast, covered only by its lace bra-cup, exposed to his view. Yanking the blanket back in place, she glared at Silver Thorn, as if it were somehow his fault. “Go ahead and laugh, you insufferable oaf. So I’m a little overweight. Big deal! At least I don’t spend half my life lifting weights at a gym like you probably do.”

  “Overweight?” he echoed.

  “Yeah, as in pudgy, pleasingly plump, fat. Take your pick, but I’ll have you know I am a mere twenty pounds heavier than I should be. I simply don’t carry it as well as some women do.”

  “This is untrue,” he disagreed. “The person who told you this must be blind, stupid, or envious. What man wants a thin, bony woman in his bed when he can have one who is soft and warm, with bones that are padded well and do not poke sharply through her flesh? You are neither fat nor thin, but just as you should be.”

  Despite herself, Nikki glowed at his compliment. “If you weren’t crazy, I could become very fond of you, Silver Thorn. You do know how to turn a girl’s head. Of course, by your age, you ought to. How old are you, anyway?”

  “I have lived forty-five of your English years. Do you realize that in this time, which you would call 1813, you are not yet born?”

  She blinked at him, momentarily stunned, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose that could be considered an improvement over being almost thirty-years-old, divorced, and childless.”

  An appalled expression claimed his face. “What terrible deed did you do to cause your husband to divorce you, woman? Tell me of your wickedness. Did you attempt to kill him? Were you so disres
pectful and ill-tempered that he finally rid himself of you? Or were you unfaithful to him, perhaps?”

  “Now, just hold on a minute, you chauvinistic ass!” Nikki exploded. Forgetting herself, she rounded the firepit to poke her finger into his chest, emphasizing her words with several sharp jabs. “It just so happens that he was the one who was unfaithful to me. And I’m the one who sent him packing!”

  The disbelief on Silver Thorn’s face magnified. “This cannot be so!” he exclaimed. “A Shawnee wife does not set her husband aside, as you say you did.”

  “Well, believe it, buster,” she announced bitterly. “I’d had enough of his philandering to last me a lifetime; and if I ever marry again, which will prove I’m as deranged as you are, hubby-number-two had better have his life insurance paid up if he decides to stray. A divorce is too damned expensive, both emotionally and monetarily.”

  Silver Thorn caught the offending digit, which Nikki was still stabbing at him, and held it gently aside. “This is allowed in your time?” he asked. “You make it sound as if divorcing one’s mate is most common.”

  “It’s all too common,” she admitted. “Readily procured by those who can afford it, and costs a bloody fortune. However, who am I to complain? If it weren’t available, I’d probably still be stuck with that skirt-chasing swine. That, or I’d have murdered him by now and be sitting in prison stamping out license plates.”

  “It occurs to me that I have yet to ask you how far into the future you live. What year do you come from, Neeake?”