by Vella Munn
He couldn't either. His eyes told her the truth of what he was feeling.
She touched him then, not the male part of him because he was too new to her and she too new to wanting a man for that, but at least she needed no guidance, no help to run her fingers over his high cheekbone, the solid collarbone, his ribs.
He came to her inch by inch until she thought she would scream before they were no longer two separate people. He eased himself into her, kissing, touching at the same time so she couldn't tell where to focus. Before she knew it, they'd joined. Become the same. He wouldn't begin pounding at her! He wouldn't!
Not her warrior.
Still, she tensed and would have remained like that if he'd left her mouth alone, but he didn't. She lost herself in his kisses, his hot and fast breath, the size and strength of him protecting her from the world. Becoming her world.
The lightning he'd caused to shoot through her earlier had never died but had simply simmered while she gave her body over to him. No longer content with that, it flickered countless fingers of heat through her. Every time he pressed himself into her, the wavelike rushes he ignited added more energy to the storm until she no longer thought to try to control it, to protect herself.
Now she rode with him. Forgot who and what she was. Embraced the moment. Buried all sorrow.
For now.
Surrendered herself to him.
For now.
* * *
Reddin Croon sat across from General Joseph Hernandez. In the firelight, the Spanish American's nose seemed even larger, his mouth more sour than Reddin remembered it. He had had no use for the man since he'd failed to protect plantations around St. Augustine from attack nearly two years ago. If it had been up to him, he would have sent both Hernandez and the equally ugly Zachary Taylor to the remote frontier of the Mississippi Valley where Taylor had come from. However, both men were firmly entrenched at Fort Peyton on Moultrie Creek a day's ride southwest of St. Augustine. And because Hernandez had taken responsibility for the capture of the slave known as John Philip, Reddin had no choice but to meet with the man.
"He can be convinced," Reddin insisted. "There isn't a man alive who can't be persuaded to change his mind."
"I don't want him dead, Reddin."
He hadn't said anything about killing the captive, had he? He wanted him alive, at least until he'd told his captors everything he knew about the Seminoles' strength. From the moment he'd heard that one of the most militant slaves, a nigger who'd become one of Osceola's trusted warriors, had been brought in, he'd been forming a new plan, and he wasn't about to leave Hernandez until he'd put it into motion.
"Neither do I," Reddin said. Glancing down at his hands, he thought about how easy it had been to kill Isiah. A miserable slave wouldn't be any harder. "Neither do I."
"It sure sounds like it."
"I said nothing of the sort. What I said was if this nigger has been by Osceola's side all these months, he knows everything the chief does about where the rest of the Seminoles are."
"Why do you think I've been telling John Philip he can go to Oklahoma as soon as we're done with him? I don't want him so scared he can't talk."
Hernandez was a lily-livered nigger lover. Who cared whether John Philip's heart stopped from fear, just that it didn't happen until he'd led the army to the Egret clan and Calida and Panther. "He's a slave. He knows what a whip feels like."
"The government doesn't—" Hernandez began.
"Are they here? Damn it, are they?"
Hernandez tugged at the corners of his mouth and drew them down even more. The so-called fort was a joke. If the Seminoles decided to attack, it wouldn't last a day. The army didn't dare wait for that. They had to keep on the offensive.
"You've got how many men?" Hernandez asked.
"Here? Not a hundred right now, but I've got three companies of regulars and two made up of citizen soldiers under my command. I thought you knew that."
"I just wanted to be sure." Reddin managed to keep from smiling, but it took effort. "Once we combine that force with the two companies I'm willing to bring in from Palatka, we'll bring the Seminoles to their knees."
"Two companies? Do you have any idea what it'll cost to get and keep them here?" Hernandez asked.
"Yeah. I do know." Reddin made no attempt to disguise his intensity as he leaned forward. "I'm willing to do that, at my own expense, General. I have the resources. I'm committed to ending all resistance."
"I heard you were looking to hire some slavecatchers. What happened to that plan?"
That so-called plan had blown up in his face, not because it wasn't a good one, but because he hadn't been the first to think of it. While he'd been forced to waste precious time getting things in order at the plantation, every man who claimed he could bring back a runaway had gone to work for other slave owners. Most of them were as worthless as the soldiers who'd deserted him, but a few had met with success. None of them, as far as he knew, had gotten anywhere near the Egret clan or clapped eyes on a beautiful octoroon known as Calida.
However, as soon as Reddin could get his hands on John Philip, her luck would change.
Chapter 24
Turtle Follower had broken her leg. If they'd still been on the move, Panther would have had had no choice except to leave her behind, but because he still hadn't convinced Osceola to leave the area, the healer had splinted the leg of the young mother of two. Barely able to get around, she depended on Calida to care for her children.
Panther crouched at the base of a palm and watched. Although the children were pretending to wrestle alligators and took turns playing that role to the delight of several younger children, he paid them little attention.
Calida was a woman of great patience. If she ever grew weary of the children's energy, she kept it to herself. This afternoon she sat near the makeshift wrestling ring as she applauded first one and then the other. She occasionally admonished them to be gentle and never once allowed them to make enough noise that their voices carried, but she understood that children couldn't spend all their time being quiet and still.
She loved her young charges. Listening to her faint laughter, Panther had no doubt of that. In the not quite two moons since their bodies had finally joined, he'd discovered how precious children were to her. No one had had to ask her to take care of Turtle Followers children; she did so willingly, joyfully.
After easing himself to his feet, Panther came closer. As Calida always did, she sensed his presence this time as well. Her eyes said nothing of how she felt about seeing him after a two-day absence, but then he'd come to expect that from her.
She never kept her body from him. She seemed to need him at night as much as he craved her. But she remained silent; they both sought silence. She knew he feared that the time of the Seminoles was coming to an end, something he'd told no one else, not even Gaitor. What, other than Reddin Croon, did she fear? He wanted nothing more out of life than to spend his days and nights free. What did she want? She hadn't told him.
"How is he?" Calida asked.
Knowing she was asking about Osceola whom he'd just left, Panther explained that the chief's fever had broken, but he was too weak to walk, or to make decisions. "His words have not changed. He speaks only of being near his ancestors."
She barely nodded. He wondered if she might leave the children and go into the wilderness with him, but she didn't move. In the past when he returned, her eyes had betrayed her anxiety and hunger, but today her emotions remained deeply buried, hidden from him.
"Turtle Follower is no worse?" he asked.
"She hates the way her splint itches, but the swelling is gone."
"Do you want to spend the night with her? She needs your help even then?"
"No." Calida's fingers clenched. She didn't look at him. "No, she doesn't."
"You will join me then?"
Mouth trembling slightly, she nodded. Before Panther could say anything else, one of the children let out a sharp squeal. Calida jumped t
o her feet, ran over to him, and pulled the little boy against her. With one hand clamped over his mouth, she hugged him. Red marks from a bite on the back of his hand explained his outcry. It wasn't the way of a Seminole woman to coddle her children, especially a son, and Calida knew that. Still, she held the boy for a long time, rocking, whispering low in her throat. When she at last looked over at Panther, sunlight glinted off her tears.
* * *
Panther and Gaitor had been sitting together talking for a long time, but although she wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, Winter Rain knew Gaitor hadn't told his chief what was foremost on his mind. She understood that the words wouldn't come easily and maybe not tonight, but Gaitor couldn't remain silent much longer.
As a distant limp kin wailed into the growing night, she left the shelter Gaitor had built for them, keeping to the shadows because she didn't want to draw attention to herself.
Gaitor's wife.
She'd said the words over and over to herself since he'd given her marriage gifts, and still it seemed unreal. Whenever she looked at him, it was all she could do not to cry because he had ended her loneliness. She might always love Panther a little, but she'd learned to survive without her mother, and she would survive without Panther because a big, black, and gentle man loved her.
Calida was just leaving Turtle Follower's chickee. The woman glanced over at where Panther and Gaitor were seated and then headed toward the creek. Calida had knelt before the creek and was dipping her hands in the water when Winter Rain called out to her. Although it was nearly dark, Winter Rain realized she'd startled the other woman.
"I am sorry," she apologized. "You want to be alone?"
"No. No, it's all right." Calida held up her dripping hands. "I just wanted to clean myself. Caring for children is dirty work."
"The night does not bother you, does it? You often seek to be alone."
"I don't know if I seek it. I just know I don't try to avoid it." Calida inched off the rock she'd been squatting on, indicating Winter Rain could use it if she wanted. Instead, she continued to stand and watch as Calida stepped into the water. "What is it?" Calida asked softly.
"Our men are together. They speak and yet they do not."
"What do you mean? They're talking about Osceola."
"And Gaitor wants to hear what Panther has to say, but that is not all."
"Not all?"
Calida was waiting for her to say more. For a moment Winter Rain hated the other woman for knowing so much about her thoughts, but the emotion didn't last long because she wouldn't have followed her out here if she hadn't needed to talk. "I cannot speak for Gaitor. Perhaps I should say nothing."
"Perhaps."
A pain throbbed against Winter Rain's right temple. Trying to straighten her thoughts, she rubbed it. Calida seemed to have nothing to do except watch the water. Either that or she was reluctant to leave the creek and return to where Panther might be waiting for her. "We cannot stay here," she blurted. "When the army comes, and they will come, Gaitor will no longer be free."
"You don't know that. The—"
"Do you think General Jesup will let him go to Oklahoma? Do you believe Reddin Croon will allow it to happen?"
Calida shook her head. It was too dark to see what was in her eyes, but Winter Rain could guess. After all, Calida's fate was the same as Gaitor's. Unless they were killed, they would again become slaves.
"That is why we have decided to leave here," Winter Rain said. The words came more easily than she'd thought they would. "Why we believe we have no choice."
"Leave? Where would you go?"
"Into Piahokee's belly."
Calida scrambled out of the creek and came to stand beside her. Despite the dark, Winter Rain was struck anew by how light-skinned Calida was. "Alone?"
"No. There are others. Only a few now but maybe more once they face the truth."
"The truth?" Calida asked.
"You know! The army's word cannot be trusted. They say one thing and then another. Always those things are for the army, never the Seminole. I think—" Winter Rain paused to give herself strength. "I think that if the army men see me with Gaitor, they will treat me as they do him."
"I've thought about that. I wish I could say different, but I can't." Calida held out her arm and slowly turned it first one way and then the other. "Our color isn't that different, Winter Rain. You were born into a Seminole clan, but that won't matter to the army."
Frightened and yet resigned, Winter Rain nodded. "They will look only at my Negro blood. They will make me a slave."
"Not just a slave." Calida gripped her arm with such strength that she winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. And I don't want to say what I'm going to, but you have to understand. Understand everything. You're young. Beautiful."
"Beautiful?"
"White men will like the way you look. They'll want your body. They'll use you. Force themselves on you."
"I would rather be dead."
"Yes. You would." After Calida released her, she didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. "I think it would be worse for you than it was for me because you were born free. I never knew what it meant to call my body my own, not until I came to live with the Egret clan, but you did. You'll fight the ropes they throw over you. You'll hate—you'll fight." Calida ran her fingers into her hair and clamped down so tightly that it must have hurt. "If you have children, they won't be yours."
"Not mine?"
"The man who owns you will do whatever he wants with them. Maybe take them from you."
"No!"
"Yes. Oh god—Winter Rain, I know what I'm talking about."
"This happened to you?"
Calida's hands dropped to her sides, and she seemed barely able to stand upright. "When will you leave?" she whispered.
Leave? They'd been talking about something else; Calida had been drowning in whatever that was. Not caring what she was saying, she told Calida that the time hadn't been set yet, but it wouldn't be much longer. Gaitor had decided to kill a couple of the white men's cattle so they'd have meat to take with them. Calida barely reacted to news that the whites would have even more reason to hate the Seminoles.
"Come with us," Winter Rain insisted. "Panther will go where you do."
"No. No, he won't."
"You believe that?" Winter Rain asked, although she already knew the answer.
"He can't leave his people. He'd never do that; he's a tastanagee."
Slowly, deliberately, Winter Rain pressed Calida's cold hand between her two warmer ones. "You are not a tastanagee, Calida. You are a slave."
"Not anymore! Not anymore."
"You will be again if they capture you."
"I would rather be dead."
Holding Calida's hand was like trying to still a frightened bird. "Then come with us. Alone, if that is how it must be."
"Alone?" Calida started to pull away but stopped as if still needing the human contact. "Alone," she whispered.
"Do you think I want to say this? Panther is my chief and a man of my heart, but he must do as he must; it is the way of a Seminole tastanagee. What is honor to him may kill you."
"It may kill him too."
"I know." Tears welled in Winter Rain's throat, but she willed them away. "So much of what is happening is beyond us. Although we breathe our ancestors' air, the old ways no longer serve. Sometimes—sometimes I think Breath Giver is no more."
"Winter Rain, no!"
"Do you think I want to say this, to fear—I cannot stay with you tonight. Gaitor will be looking for me. Listen to me. He and I do not dare stay in this place. I will not have my husband become a slave again! I would rather kill him myself than that. What will it be for you, Calida?"
* * *
What will it be for you? No matter how desperately she fought to rid her mind of Winter Rain's question, Calida couldn't. In truth, the other woman had forced her to face something she'd been hiding from for too long. In her heart of heart
s, she believed Panther wouldn't run again. He was a tastanagee; he couldn't, wouldn't walk away from his clan, his people. These days few had the strength or will to go back to being fugitives. They felt safe back on holy land, or maybe the truth was, they'd decided to stay here until the army men said they could leave for the reservation. Panther knew how dangerous it was for her to remain by his side, but he hadn't spoken of that, and she guessed he was waiting for her to say what she must. If she left with Gaitor and Winter Rain, would it matter to him?
Of course it would.
Panther was already in the shelter he'd built by the time she reached it. Because night fires might alert army scouts to their whereabouts, none had been started. The moon had shrunk down to nothing and hadn't begun its journey back to life. The stars were out there, but it had rained late this afternoon, and the clouds lingered. The heavy air smelled of more rain. It was fitting; after all, a storm raged in her heart, didn't it? Thinking briefly that she no longer cared whether she ever saw another lantern or lamp, Calida ducked under the low-hanging roof and stepped toward Panther. He lay on his back on their mat bed. When he was silent like this, she knew he was thinking about the heavy burdens in his heart. She didn't want to add to them, but what choice did she have?
"What did Gaitor say?" she asked. In a minute she might be brave enough to join Panther, but not yet.
"He is leaving."
Hurting for both men, she couldn't stop herself from imagining how painful that conversation must have been. It couldn't be any easier for brothers to separate than it had been for her to leave her mother. "When?"
"In two days, maybe three. Sit with me, Calida."
She did, dropping heavily beside him. She'd told herself she wasn't going to touch him until she'd said what she had to, but now that he was so close the flesh over his ribs felt warmer than the air pressing around her, and she sensed a humming in her fingertips she knew was his heart.
