Charmed

by Catherine Hart

  “I was joined with another when I was young,” he confessed. “She was the only daughter of my father’s most honored friend.”

  “Are you still married?” Nikki awaited his answer anxiously.

  Silver Thorn shook his head. “She, too, is gone, many years now. We had been wed but a short while when our camp was visited by disease. Measles. So common to the white man, but so lethal to the Shawnee.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “I have already said that you are the only woman with whom I have sown my seed. I have no other wives or offspring.”

  Tired of discussing his past relationships, Silver Thorn switched topics. “I have eaten of your repast. Now, you must eat of mine.”

  After having inadvertently committed several social blunders in succession, Nikki could hardly refuse. Reluctantly, she accepted the corncake he handed her and nibbled tentatively at it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bland as she had expected. “Not bad,” she told him. “Not bad at all. If you can make this taste good, I can hardly wait to see what you do with a steak or a roast or maybe a turkey.”

  He chuckled. “I cannot be wife and husband all at once, Neeake, though I shall help you with many daily chores.”

  Nikki sighed. “Look, pal, I like you. Really, I do. And I can’t deny the sexual chemistry between us, but let’s not rush things. If you’re really serious, we’ll see about getting you some good psychiatric help and play the rest by ear, okay? Besides, I’m not quite ready to buy into the wife routine again. Once burned, twice shy, and all that. So just hang loose, and maybe in a year or so, if you’ve responded well to treatment, I’ll accept your proposal and agree to marry you.”

  He eyed her curiously. “Do you not understand, Neeake? By sharing this feast and joining our bodies we are already wed. You are my wife and I your husband, bound by the laws of our people.”

  She stared at him, aghast, but rallied quickly. “Your people, Silver Thorn. Not mine.”

  “Our people,” he corrected firmly, his eyes glinting like burnished steel. “You, by your own words, share our blood and our ancestry. Therefore, in this time, you must also abide by Shawnee custom and rules.”

  “When pigs fly!” she countered haughtily.

  “That should not be too difficult a feat for me to accomplish,” he responded with a cocksure smirk. “Will morning be soon enough, wife, for me to make pigs fly for you?”

  “Oh, sure!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in defeat. “Silly me! I forgot! I’m dealing with a man who can literally move mountains, who can transport humans and objects through time and space, who can implant his sperm at will and designate the sex of his child—all without breaking a sweat! Flying pigs should be a breeze for you! ”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Holy Moses, Thorn! If we’re supposed to be equally matched, tell me how in sweet hell I’m supposed to compete with that!”

  He reached for her, tugging her around the fire and into his arms. “You have your own power, Neeake. Woman’s magic, potent enough to bring a strong man to his knees.” His lips sought hers, caressing softly and persuasively. “Shall I let you test it on me once more?”

  “Aw, heck!” she muttered, her mouth melting beneath his, her hands already delving into his sleek black hair. “Why not? In for a penny; in for pound. What is it about you that turns me on so . . . you handsome, crazy, horny hunk?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Get a grip, Neeake!” Silver Thorn exclaimed.

  Nikki swiped her sopping hair from her eyes and glared up at him, her expression both accusing and triumphant. “Aha! If that isn’t modern slang, I don’t know what is! I knew you’d slip up sooner or later and give yourself away!”

  “Stop spouting nonsense and do as I say, woman. Reach out and grab hold of the olagashe, the canoe!”

  “For crap sake, Thorn! I’m sitting in a foot and a half of water! I’m not likely to drown unless I start breathing through my rear end!”

  Silver Thorn tossed the armful of gear on the bank and waded quickly into the river. “The canoe,” he repeated irritably as he flung himself forward and arrested the floating craft, “was drifting away, as were the paddles.”

  “Well! How nice of you to be concerned for my welfare!” she huffed. “And I fail to see what you’re so ticked about. I’m the one who took a dunking.”

  He righted the canoe and pulled it back to shore, casting her a peevish glance as he passed her. “You needed a good dousing after crawling through the bowels of the cave on your hands and knees. However, you could have avoided getting wet if you had not lunged into the canoe like a stampeding cow.”

  Enraged, Nikki reached out, snagged the heel of his moccasin, and yanked. A split second later, with a mighty splash, Silver Thorn landed on his backside beside her. Propping himself on his elbows, he shook the water from his black mane, sending the spray in all directions.

  Before he could utter a word, Nikki was snarling at him. “Call me a cow again, and see how fast one of those oars connects with your thick skull, buster!”

  “I did not call you a cow,” he argued. “I merely compared your clumsiness to one.”

  “Semantics!” she countered. “Furthermore, if you’d bothered to instruct me on the proper way to board that floating booby trap, we might both be dry right now.”

  He rose to his feet and extended a helping hand toward her. “It did not occur to me that you would not know this, Neeake.”

  She accepted his aid, her disposition only slightly improved. “For your information, I was not a Girl Scout and I never attended Camp Wishy-Washy, or whatever.”

  “Oui-sah, oui-i-si?” He spoke precisely, trying to mimic her enunciation. “You have young female scouts lodged in this place of Good Head?”

  Nikki stared at him, her puzzlement momentarily as great as his.

  “I think I misinterpret,” he concluded. “Is your English word not the same as our Shawnee word oui-sah, which means either good or great? Is this not Good Head then, but perhaps Camp Great Head when imparted by your tongue?”

  “Lord, I hope not!” Nikki burst out laughing as the risque side of his unintentional double entendre struck her funnybone. “Especially when it comes to those little darlings selling all those cookies to millions of Americans each year! And, in case you’re wondering, my tongue doesn’t grant such generous favors either, at least not on the first date.”

  His face was a study of confusion. “What is so amusing? Explain, please.”

  “No way, José,” she intoned playfully. “You’re not luring me into another one of those intimate exchanges now. We don’t have time for more ‘show and tell.’ Later, if you’re a very good boy, maybe I’ll give you a ‘brief’ demonstration.”

  Nikki went into gales of giggles again at her own glib pun, and it was some time before Silver Thorn managed to bundle her, their possessions, and himself into the canoe and set off at last.

  The morning was made-to-order, the sky a cloudless blue canopy above them. A light, balmy breeze played over the sun-dappled water. Birds sang, frogs chirped, squirrels chattered as they chased from tree to tree; butterflies flitted about in gay abandon. It was all so picturesque, Nature at her finest.

  As Nikki’s clothes began to dry and she began to appreciate the beauty surrounding them, her mood mellowed accordingly. When Silver Thorn pointed out a fawn and its mother drinking at the edge of the creek, she was thoroughly enthralled.

  “Despite our bumpy start, I’m glad I came along with you today, Thorn,” she said. She missed the measuring glance he threw back at her from his place in the front of the craft. “Between classes and grading homework papers and the numerous other tasks that make up my routine, it’s rare that I get an opportunity to just kick back and really enjoy the wonders of the world around me.”

  She trailed a hand lazily through the water at the side of the canoe. “This is much better than one of those crowded, noisy tours—even if my guide is rowing with one oar,” she added im
pishly.

  “I am aware of the implication, Neeake,” he informed her dryly. “That is an old jest, one the white man learned from us.”

  “Explain to me, then, why we aren’t going in circles.”

  He chuckled. “Because I know how to ply my paddle, little goose. Which would be good for you to keep uppermost in mind.”

  “Spousal battering is against the law,” she informed him confidently.

  “Perhaps in your era,” he allowed, “but in mine, when a wife needs correction it is her husband’s duty to dispense it.”

  She let that issue rest as she drank in the sight of him, so strong and straight and handsome. He was decked out in full Shawnee regalia this morning, complete with silver wrist and arm bands, a breechcloth ornately decorated with quill embroidery, and the requisite “spirit” bag hanging from a cord around his neck. He also sported the “magic” amulet, and a quilled hair disc. A silver ear cuff dangled from his left earlobe, not detracting one whit from his blatant masculinity. Rather, it only served to enhance it, somehow.

  “How long will it take to reach our destination?” she asked some time later.

  “We will be on the river for most of the day.”

  “The whole day? We’ll stop somewhere to eat and stretch our legs and use the bathroom, won’t we?”

  “Bathroom?” he queried.

  “Oh, come on! Quit jacking me around,” she grumbled. “The restroom. With a toilet and sink. The potty. The place you go when you have to pee.”

  “The Galloways have a building behind their house for that purpose. It has a quarter moon cut into the door.”

  “An outhouse?” Nikki squealed. “You’ve got to be kidding! ”

  “They consider it a necessity,” Silver Thorn went on, “but I fail to understand why they close themselves into that tiny, stinking room when they could as easily relieve themselves outdoors, behind a tree or bush if they require privacy.”

  “Ri...i...ight,” Nikki intoned incredulously, dragging the syllable out the way her students often did when they didn’t believe what they’d been told. “So where are we eating lunch? Is there a riverside Mickey D’s?”

  “When we are hungry, we will stop for our meal. If I catch the fish, can you prepare it?”

  “Sure,” she countered with a saccharin smile, “if you can conjure up an outboard motor. Nothing fancy, mind you, just something fast and reliable.”

  It was dusk when they secured the canoe to the dock at the edge of the Galloways’ front yard. Nikki was bone-tired, queasy, sweaty, and peppered with mosquito bites. In contrast, Silver Thorn appeared as fresh as morning dew.

  As he helped his itching bride alight from the rocking canoe, Silver Thorn said, “If you would have applied the bear grease I offered you, you would not be scratching now.”

  “Oh, pu . . . leeze!” she griped. “I was nauseous enough without inhaling that obnoxious stench.”

  “And what put your stomach awry?”

  “All right, rub it in! So the fish was a little underdone. I’ve never tried to make sushi before. Besides, I don’t think the fish made me sick. More likely, it was that five-mile hike we took through the wilderness in the noonday heat. You didn’t tell me we were going to have to walk part of the way.”

  “You did not ask,” he parried. “And you have little to complain of, for I bore the canoe while you carried only your back sack.”

  “Backpack,” she corrected wearily, her teacher’s reflex kicking in automatically.

  “Before I take you to meet my friends, we must do something to correct your appearance.”

  “Ah, geez! Stroke my ego, why don’t you! Tell you what, sweetcheeks. Why don’t I just dash down to the nearest beauty parlor, get a wash and set and a manicure, and dig out my war paint?”

  This brought him to immediate attention. “You have war paint in your bag?”

  “What woman doesn’t?” she replied indignantly.

  “Do you also have more clothing? Your shirt with the writing and your men’s trousers are most improper attire.”

  “Sorry, Charlie. Wrong tuna. If I’d had extra clothes, would I have been huddled in a blanket and my skivvies all yesterday afternoon? Of course, I could always wear my birthday suit,” she taunted. “Would that be more appropriate?”

  “What is . . .”

  “Oh, hell! Talking to you is like trying to converse with a Martian! A person’s birthday suit is his skin, you dunce! Naked skin! Just what you were born with, and nothing else covering you!”

  Silver Thorn was more than astounded; he was perturbed. “You propose to meet the Galloways wearing nothing?” he thundered.

  “Hey! You’re the one who doesn’t like my T-shirt and jeans!” she pointed out.

  “I suppose there is no help for it,” he admitted. Then, “Could you wear your blanket-coat over the shirt?”

  “Blanket-coat? Oh, my sweater! Sure.” Nikki dug the garment out of the top of her bag and quickly donned it.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, Silver Thorn murmured. “Our host approaches. I have but one parcel of advice, Neeake. Do not mention where you come from or how you came here. These people will not understand.”

  “Neither do I,” she groused.

  “Who’s there?” James Galloway called out.

  “ ’Tis I, Silver Thorn.”

  A second later, the farmer emerged from the darkness and thrust out his hand in welcome. “It’s been too long since you last visited us, my friend. Who is this young fellow with you?”

  “Neeake is not a lad, James. She is my wife.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, ma’am. My eyes must be failing me to make such a mistake.”

  Nikki forced a smile. “No, apology needed, Mr. Galloway. Silver Thorn thinks I look like a boy in these clothes, too.”

  Silver Thorn rushed to explain. “Neeake’s clothes were all lost . . . in a mishap. We were able only to secure these garments for her.”

  “Well, we’ll fix that soon enough,” Galloway claimed. “I’m sure my wife can find something more adequate. If her dresses are the wrong size, Rebecca left a few behind.”

  “Rebecca is not here?” Thorn inquired. Realizing how abrupt that sounded, he added, “Neeake was looking forward to meeting her since they are of much the same age.”

  “Becky has gone East for a time,” James said. As if reluctant to pursue that vein, he turned and led the way up the slight incline to the house. “Come. Mrs. Galloway will be wondering who is here and what became of us. We don’t want to worry her.”

  As they stepped into the house, Nikki felt as if she’d just entered the Twilight Zone. That or she truly had stepped back two centuries in time.

  To the left of the hallway, which appeared to run the length of the house, front to back, they entered what could only be termed a parlor. Oil lanterns and candles were placed strategically around the room, the only sources of light as near as Nikki could tell at first glance. A huge stone fireplace dominated one wall; but as the evening was warm, it was unlit. On the mantel sat a pendulum clock, the old key-wound type. The furniture, though not crude, was of an older handmade style, including what was probably a horsehair sofa. The backs and arms of the couch and the tops of the few tables were adorned with stiffly starched crocheted doilies. A large braided rug covered the plank floor. There were no electrical appliances in view. No television. No radio. No telephone.

  On either side of the fireplace and along the wall nearest Nikki, shelves had been built. They were crammed with at least three or four hundred hardbound books, with nary a paperback among them. A quick scan of the titles and the authors within range of reading sent Nikki’s eyebrows soaring. Homer’s Iliad, The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer, Don Quixote, Pilgrim’s Progress; poetry by Robert Burns and Wordsworth; works by Goldsmith, Dante, Fielding, Plato, Wesley, and Milton; and volume upon volume of Shakespeare, in leather-bound, gold-leaf editions. And that was only a small portion of an assortment designed to make a book collector�
�s heart do flip-flops!

  All in all, Nikki was in a state of stupefaction, matched only by the stunned, what-do-I-say look on Mrs. Galloway’s face as they were introduced to each other. Again, Silver Thorn explained their predicament concerning Nikki’s strange attire; and frontier courtesy being what it was, Nikki was immediately shepherded away beneath Mrs. Galloway’s benevolent wing.

  “You poor dear,” she sympathized. “Imagine being married, torn away from your home, and losing your worldly goods all in the space of a few days. But don’t you fret. We’ll have you straightened around in no time. Have you eaten supper yet? I have some leftover beans and corn-bread on the sideboard. It won’t take a moment to heat it up.”

  The older woman rattled on, barely giving Nikki a chance to get a word in edgewise. Evidently she missed having her daughter around and was very enthused at having another female with whom to converse.

  In short order, Nikki had been supplied with three hand-me-down dresses and an assortment of homespun underwear and left alone to change into her new clothes. She cleaned up as best she could, using the old-fashioned washbasin, lye soap, and linens her hostess had thoughtfully provided. Then she sat down at the antique dressing table—or what should have been an antique under normal circumstances.

  She began working the tangles from her hair, employing the brush mechanically as her mind struggled to analyze the compounding mystery of the past two days. Disregarding her encroaching panic, she methodically reviewed the various aspects of the enigma and the possibilities they presented.

  First, she could have fallen, hit her head, and now be dreaming or in a coma. After all, the most brilliant doctors were as yet unsure precisely what went on in a person’s brain in that catatonic state. Still, as useful and tidy an explanation as it would be, this theory just didn’t ring true somehow. Surely, even intravenous drugs couldn’t induce hallucinations this wild, and Nikki’s imagination had certainly never run to these extremes before.