He shook his head at her. “My name’s Devon Macalister, but I’ve always been called Mac.”
“I thank you for the water and the company, Mr. Macalister.”
“Not Mr. Macalister, just plain Mac!” The girl was making him angry. “Look, I didn’t mean…” He stopped as he heard a step just outside the low doorway.
“You must go,” she whispered. “I don’t think they will like finding you here.”
He looked at her again in astonishment and left the shelter.
Mac walked alone into the woods. She was the strangest girl he’d ever met, and in spite of what Crazy Bear said, he could only think of her as a girl. The Indians talked about her courage on the trail, how she’d carried the youngest child most of the way. Mac had seen the boy and he was certainly no light burden.
How calm she’d been! Last time he’d seen a girl in her situation, the girl’d been hysterical. He’d tried to help her, too, but she’d screamed so loud, he’d hardly escaped being found out. He didn’t like to remember what these men were like when they’d had too much whiskey. The last girl had bled to death.
He thought of the girl who waited so patiently in the shelter now. Instead of screaming, she’d asked him about the others and thanked him, as if they’d been sitting in some rich woman’s fancy parlor.
He remembered her big, luminous eyes and wondered what color they were, remembered holding her little hand in his. Damn! he thought, then sighed in resignation. He’d probably just declared his own death.
He saw her again when he reentered the shelter. She was sitting quietly, hands folded in her lap.
“Why, Mr. Macalister, I don’t think you should be here again.”
He grinned, white teeth showing, and shook his head at her. “Tell me, can you read?”
“Why, yes, certainly.”
“If I take you away from here, would you teach me to read?”
“Of course,” she whispered and her trembling voice betrayed how frightened she really was.
His admiration for her increased. “All right then, try to stay calm. It will take me a while and then I might not win.”
“Win? What do you mean?”
“You’ll just have to trust me. Now try and sleep, nothing will happen before morning. But tomorrow, just be silent and trust me. Will you do that?”
“I will, Mr. Macalister.”
“Not Mr. Macalister!”
She gave him a weak smile. “I will trust you…Devon.”
He started to protest but knew it would be useless. “I’m sure this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up soon. You are truly the beatinest woman I have ever seen.” He gave her one last look and left.
Linnet could not sleep. She had resigned herself to whatever the future held for her, but now this big man had given her new hope, and she almost wished he hadn’t. It was easier before. Dawn came, and one of the Indian women entered the shelter and motioned for Linnet to follow her, pinching her several times.
Other women waited for them outside, laughing, hitting her when her wobbly knees threatened to collapse. They half-dragged her to a tree and pulled her arms to the back of it, tying them securely. There was no sign of the children anywhere.
Two Indian men walked toward her, each clad in the small breech cloth, their bodies lightly oiled. Her eyes were drawn to the taller man with the blue eyes, and she saw Devon clearly for the first time. He walked solidly, as if completely assured of his place on the earth, the lean muscles of his body playing under his dark skin.
Devon was also seeing the woman he was about to risk his life for and he was not so well pleased. Her delicate features were distorted by a swollen cheek, deep hollows under her eyes, and her skin and hair reeked of rancid bear grease. But the eyes that looked up at him were clear and oddly colored, like mahogany.
Before he could reach her, one of the women tore her shirt away, revealing Linnet’s breasts and the girl bent her head forward in an effort to cover herself. She knew Devon stood before her and she made a great effort to look at him. She looked instead to the woman beside her, laughing and pointing from Devon to Linnet.
She looked toward his face then, saw he nodded at the laughing woman before meeting Linnet’s eyes. She immediately felt her strength returning, as if it flowed from him to her.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said as he put his hand on her shoulder. “The Indians already talk of your courage.” He moved his hand downward, and she was startled when he cupped her breast, her breath catching in her throat, but his eyes never left hers.
His hand left her body and he grinned at her. “I hope you clean up better than you are now. I don’t think I could stand a teacher that smells like you do.”
She managed a slight smile, but his hand on her body had stunned her, as much from her reaction to it as anything else.
He pulled Linnet’s shirt together, nodded to the old woman, and walked away to stand beside the other Indian. The woman cackled and pointed from Linnet to the Indian but his eyes were angry, and he spat on the ground at Linnet’s feet, turning his back to her.
Linnet still wasn’t sure what was to happen until the two men faced one another in the grassy clearing before her. A piece of rawhide was tied to their ankles so that they were never more than a yard apart. Linnet drew her breath in sharply when they were each given a knife.
They circled one another, and a knife flashed in the sun as the Indian drew first blood, cutting Devon’s arm from shoulder to elbow. The man didn’t seem to notice the cut, but quickly grazed the Indian’s stomach with his own knife.
Linnet watched the animal grace, the strength of the man who risked his life for her. He was neither a white man nor an Indian, but a combination of the white’s cunning and the Indian’s oneness with nature.
Devon slashed the man’s shoulder, barely missing the vulnerable neck, all the while his left arm dripping blood onto the thick grass. The Indian lunged and Devon sidestepped, jerking his foot back sharply. They both sprawled in the grass, rolling together. Both knives disappeared between their bodies, Devon on bottom, then they stopped, neither moving.
There was a hush in the camp; even in the forest, the stillness seemed to penetrate. Linnet didn’t dare breathe and wondered if her heart still beat.
The Indian moved, and she could feel the triumph of the women near her. It seemed ages before the Indian was gone from Devon’s body, and she had trouble realizing that Devon had thrown the other man’s lifeless body off. She watched, still unbelieving, as Devon cut the rope about his ankle, sprang to his feet and came to her. He cut the leather binding her wrists and freed her.
“Follow me,” he said in a cold, steely voice.
She clutched her buttonless shirt together and used all the strength she could muster to keep up with his rapid pace. He practically threw her onto the saddle of a big sorrel and mounted behind her in one fluid motion. His arms encircled her; one took the reins, the other held her waist. She tried to see the bloody cut on his arm, glad it was not too deep.
They rode hard, as hard as the horse could stand carrying two people and Linnet sat as straight as possible, trying not to add an extra burden to the man behind her. They came to a stream when it was well past noon and finally stopped. He lifted her from the horse and set her to the ground as she tied the tails of the shirt across her stomach.
“You think they’re following us?”
He bent over the stream and splashed cold water on his arm. “I’m not sure, but I’d rather not take the chance. These aren’t like a tribe of Indians, they have no honor. If the Shawnee made a bargain, they’d keep it, but not these men. At least, I’m not certain of them.”
“Here, I’ll do that.” She tore away half of her petticoat and dipped it in the water, then began washing his wound. As she bound it, she looked up at him, and only then did she realize he was looking at her breasts, at the shirt pulled tight in a knot, bare skin showing from throat to the top of her stomach. Instinctively, she clutched it toget
her.
He looked away. “Don’t worry. I haven’t sunk to Crazy Bear’s level yet, although I may look like one of his tribe.”
She was glad to change the subject. “You do, Devon, except for your blue eyes. I imagine that when you’re asleep, you look just like an Indian.”
He still wasn’t used to the name Devon since, to his knowledge, no one had ever called him that in his life. “I’ll remember that next time I’m sleeping on the trail. Let’s go now and see if we can put some more miles between us and them before dark.”
He stopped beside the horse and removed several pieces of jerky from a pack, handing her some. “The Indians called you Little Bird. The name fits you, because I’m sure your bones aren’t much bigger than a bird’s.”
“Little Bird,” she said, as if amused at some private joke.
“It was an honor that they named you,” he said as he lifted her onto the horse. “They don’t often do that with captives.” He put his arms around her to take the reins. “What is your name?”
“Linnet. And I am sure you’ll not believe this, but a linnet is an English finch.”
“You mean…”
“I’m afraid so—a little bird.”
Devon laughed, a rich, deep sound that she could feel where his chest pressed into her back. “You are…”
“May I guess? The beatinest woman, whatever that term means.”
“I should say it’s exactly what you are, the oddest woman I’ve ever met.”
She didn’t know why the statement pleased her so much, but it did.
Chapter Two
THEY RODE UNTIL DUSK, NOT TALKING, UNTIL they finally halted by a stream. “We’ll camp here for the night,” Devon said as he put his arms up to help her from the horse.
Linnet briefly wondered at the way she took for granted that he would help her.
“Stay here. I’ll go back a ways and see if we’re being followed. You’ll be all right here alone?” He grinned at her, knowing how ridiculous his question was.
Linnet sat alone for a while, resting. Her head itched and she scratched it, giving a look of disgust to the black filth under her nails. Sighing, she began to look about for firewood to set up a camp.
Devon returned and saw she had unsaddled the horse and made a comfortable camp.
“I wasn’t certain if I should light the fire yet, in case you didn’t want to be seen.”
“Good, but I think Crazy Bear’s people are too lazy to follow us. They got their children and that’s all they wanted.”
“Crazy Bear. Was he the man you…?”
“No, that was Spotted Wolf.” He looked at her intently as he fed the new fire.
“I’m sorry you had to…”
“Let’s not talk about it again. It’s done. Now come over here and let me look at that cut on your mouth.”
She moved across the few feet separating them and sat down before him as he took her face in his large, strong hands and gently probed the bones.
“Open your mouth.”
She obeyed, looking at his forehead as he studied her teeth.
“Good. They didn’t seem to break anything. What about the rest of you? Hurt anywhere else?”
“My ribs, but they’re only bruised.”
“Here, let me look. I imagine they could all be broken and you’d not say a word.” He lifted the tail of her dirty shirt and ran his hands firmly along her delicate ribs and, when he finished, he took his hands from her and sat back on his haunches. “Doesn’t seem to be anything broken there, either, but if I didn’t know for sure, I’d say you were no more than a kid. I brought a couple of birds back with me. Let’s get ’em cooked and some meat on you.”
“Birds?” she said as she tied her shirt again. “I didn’t hear a shot.”
“There are other ways of trappin’ game besides using a rifle. While you start cookin’ I’m gonna wash some of the dirt off me.”
Linnet looked toward the water wistfully. “I’d like to bathe also.”
He shook his head at her. “It’s my guess it’s going to take more than just water to get that grease off you.”
She looked down at her torn, ragged skirt, the knotted shirt, her dark, greasy skin. “Do I really look so awful?”
“I’ve seen better lookin’ scarecrows.”
She frowned up at him. “I can’t understand why you risked so much to save me. You could have been killed, Devon.”
“I don’t understand either,” he replied in all honesty as he tossed the dead birds to her. “You know how to cook, don’t you?”
She smiled at him for the first time, showing perfect, pretty little teeth. “Yes, I am glad to say that I can.”
The smile made Devon remember her femininity, well hidden under the dirt. He turned away quickly, took his saddle bags and went to the creek.
When he returned, Linnet was startled by Devon’s transformation. He wore dark blue cotton trousers and a heavy blue homespun shirt, gathered about his broad shoulders. A great deal of his Indian looks had gone with the scant breech cloth and bone necklace, but he still had the aquiline nose, the almost straight profile, and dark hair. Sitting across the fire from her, he grinned. “I’m civilized again.”
She touched her hair, plastered to her scalp. “That’s more than I can say for myself.”
“If I can stand the stench, you’ll have to.”
They ate the birds greedily, so delicious after all the jerky and dried cornmeal. Devon gathered leaves and made two beds a few feet apart. He handed her a blanket.
“It will probably be ruined after touching me,” she laughed.
Devon stared at her, the moonlight making the dirt on her face less obvious. “I doubt that,” he said quietly.
Linnet looked into his eyes and had a momentary feeling of fear of the man she owed so much to. She looked away as she settled into the bed, and she was asleep before she had time to consider her fear more fully.
When Linnet awoke, she saw she was alone, but a twig snapping made her turn. Devon came from the trees carrying a dead rabbit by the ears. “Breakfast.” He grinned. “This time, I’ll cook.”
She smiled at him and walked to the stream, determined to try and wash. After several minutes, she decided she was doing little good, merely rearranging the grease rather than removing it. Giving up, she returned to the camp.
Devon turned a smile to her that soon changed to laughter, but he stopped when he saw her almost tearful expression. He went to stand in front of her, pulled his shirt from the inside of his pants and began to wipe at her face. “It’s hard to believe, but I think you’ve made it worse. I hope the people of Sweetbriar realize you’re human.”
She looked at her feet. “I’m sorry I’m so offensive.”
“Come on, sit down and eat. I’m gettin’ used to you.”
She sat, bit into a rabbit leg, and as she wiped the juice from her chin, she grinned at him. “Maybe I should just run after the animals and scare them to death.”
Devon laughed. “You just might be able to do that.”
They rode hard the next day and Linnet had to concentrate to stay awake.
“I guess you’re pretty tired,” he said in the afternoon.
She shrugged. “I’ve been worse.”
“Well then, maybe it’s good we rode so long last night. We’ll reach Sweetbriar tonight.”
“Sweetbriar?”
“That’s where I live. One hundred of the most beautiful acres you ever saw, right along the Cumberland.” He handed her a piece of jerky.
“Do you live there alone?”
“No, it’s practically a city,” he said, laughter in his voice. “There’s the Emersons, the Starks, the Tuckers. Nice folks, you’ll like them.”
“Then I’m to live there too?”
“Sure, how else you gonna teach me to read? You didn’t forget our bargain, did you?”
She smiled because actually she had. “Well, that should be an easy matter.”
They reache
d the place Devon called Sweetbriar late at night, and Linnet was beyond exhaustion. She had a brief glimpse of several cabins in a clearing before Devon put his arms up for her and she practically fell into them. He caught and carried her easily.
“Devon, please, I can walk. I’m just a bit tired.”
“After what you’ve been through, I wonder you can open your eyes. Gaylon!” he bellowed above her head. “Unlock this door and let me in.”
The door opened, and an old man stood there frowning. “What you doin’ comin’ here this time o’ night and what you got there?”
“It’s not a what, but a who.”
The thick old man raised a lamp to Linnet’s face and she closed her eyes against the glare. “Don’t look like much,” he declared.
“I am Linnet Blanche Tyler, Mr. Gaylon, and I am very happy to meet you.” She held out her hand to him.
The old man looked in astonishment at her: a filthy girl, lying in a man’s arms and acting as if she were being presented to the president. He looked at Devon incredulously and Devon grinned back at him.
“Ain’t she somethin’? She was like that when I found her—Crazy Bear’s prisoner.”
“Crazy Bear! He didn’t let her go just for the askin’!”
“Sure didn’t and I got a sore arm to prove it.”
“Devon, would you set me down, please?”
Gaylon stared at her. “Who’s she talkin’ to?”
“Me.” Devon was embarrassed. “Calls me Devon.”
“How come?”
“Because, you old coot, that’s my name—Devon Macalister.”
“Hmph! Didn’t know you was anythin’ ’cept Mac.”
“You argue with her,” Devon said as he set Linnet to her feet. “Run over and fetch Agnes. She’ll like the girl, her bein’ English and all.”
“That why she talk so funny?”
“Yes, it is. Now go get Agnes and hurry up.”
He led Linnet to a chair in front of the fireplace, and she sat down gratefully. She didn’t think she’d ever been so tired in all her life.
“Agnes’ll be here in a minute and she’ll take care of you,” Devon reassured her as he brought the fire to life.
Sweetbriar Page 2
