"But how? The camp guards?" She pushed his hand away and rubbed at her eyes. She was barely awake and not thinking clearly.
"It's all right. Tschi's on duty. He's letting us escape."
"I don't believe it." Kate grabbed his arm. "Don't trust him. He hates me. Why should he help us?"
"Shhh. Sound carries easily," Pride warned. "He's as worried about Mother as I am. He knows she needs me there to look after her. Once I'm gone, the people will stop talking about the circle, and he can get back to being a war leader." He handed her a bundle. "There's food in there to last us a few days. Get dressed." No need to tell Kate that he didn't trust her or Tschi any farther than he could throw them. Pride's Shawnee half insisted that a brother would not—could not—betray another brother. It went against all Shawnee law. Family was sacred. A man who would do such a thing risked his immortal soul. And yet... The English half remembered the hatred in Tschi's eyes, remembered the old hurts and angers.
"Hurry," he whispered to Kate. A wave of shame passed over him. Tschi always said it was Pride's white blood that made him different, made him distrust. What kind of man would suspect his brother of treachery? This chance might not come again, and to refuse it would sever any chance he and Tschi would ever have of making peace between them. It would be an unforgivable insult to his brother's honor. They would have to risk it.
Kate interrupted his thoughts. "No. I won't go. I'm afraid, Pride."
"I'm going, and you're coming with me. If he tries anything, I can handle him. It's the first chance we've had, and I've got to take it. He loves Rebecca. She's probably the only person he's ever loved. Now, get dressed, or I'll drag you out of here the way you are."
Kate pulled the deerskin dress over her head and fumbled for her moccasins. "I don't feel right about this."
"Do you want to be a Shawnee all your life?"
"No... but..."
"No buts. Come on."
Cautiously, she followed him out of the wigwam. There was no moon. It was so dark she could hardly see Pride inches in front of her. He took her hand, and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
Every step she took was terrifying. Twigs snapped beneath her moccasins and dry leaves crunched. She could hear the pounding of her own blood in her veins. A baby cried and Kate almost jumped out of her skin. She clenched her teeth and tried to follow in Pride's footsteps.
A shadow loomed ahead of them, materializing out of the haze. "Chobeka?"
"Tschi?"
He grunted and motioned for them to follow him. Three horses were tied in the trees. They mounted in silence and rode off single file down the twisting path.
When they were a mile as the crow flies from the camp, Pride broke the silence. "Why?"
"I'm more familiar with the country than you are. There's a Lenni Lenape camp a half-day's journey away and I want to make sure you give it a wide berth." He switched from Shawnee to English. "You have Panther Woman to slow feet. No good you escape Shawnee, leave scalp Delaware lodgepole."
"He was supposed to be on guard duty," Kate said suspiciously. "Leaving his post demands the death penalty. Even a white squaw knows that." She guided her horse close to Pride's. "Why are you being so good to us, Tschi?"
"Your woman thinks too highly of herself," Tschi said in Shawnee. "She does not believe we left our anger in the sacred circle. H'kah-nih took my place tonight. He is known as a fool. None will doubt you slipped away without his knowledge. It is believed that I went to hunt a bear with three of my friends. My absence will cause no alarm in the morning." To Kate he said, " Chobeka my brother."
"Brother be damned. Pride, he—"
"Enough, Kate. We're too close to the camp to be sitting here. I want to put miles between us and them, and I want to do it before daylight." He kicked his horse into a stiff trot. If they got out of this with their hair they'd be lucky.
They pressed hard for several hours. Kate had no idea of the direction they had taken. Most of the terrain was wooded and hilly. She was grateful for the horse, knowing how hard it would have been on foot.
A false dawn sent halos of shimmering fuchsia spilling across a star-sprinkled sky. The growing light brought trees and rocks into focus, and Kate breathed in the dew-drenched air. An owl gave a final hunting cry as it swooped on a scurrying rodent almost in her path.
With a snort of panic, Kate's horse reared and she fought to hold her seat. Pride turned in the saddle, and a blow from Tschi's rifle barrel knocked him to the ground. Kate screamed, and a form hurtled from the tree overhead on top of her! The force was too great; horse, Kate, and attacker fell backward in a jumble of thrashing limbs.
Kate tried to struggle free. The horse's weight pinned her right leg; only the thick brush kept the bone from snapping under the strain. Cursing, she struck out at the Indian with her fists. He struck her on the face and the sting changed her terror to a white-hot fury. She dragged a knife from the brave's waist sheath and attempted to stab him with it.
The horse scrambled up, and Kate rolled and caught a handful of mane. The animal pulled her to her feet. From the corner of her eye she counted at least three men, all closing on her. Pride lay motionless, a dark stain spreading across his face. "You've killed him!" she screamed. She lunged at the astonished warrior with the knife, slicing a crimson streak down one copper arm.
Iron arms went around her, twisting her wrist cruelly until she cried out in pain. The knife fell from her numb fingers; she was thrown violently to the ground. Tschi kicked her several times. Kate seized his bare leg and sank her teeth into it. A blow knocked her senseless.
As she came to, her arms were being bound behind her back roughly. The blue Storm eyes fastened on Tschi's smirking face and darkened to gray slits of hate. A string of curses rolled from her lips until she had exhausted every foul name and oath she had ever heard. "May God strike you," she gasped, "and put the mark of Cain on you that you deserve. A man who would betray his own brother is yellow scum! What will you tell your mother when she asks? Will you lie to her too? Or will she see through you?"
Tschi backhanded her across the mouth and signaled to the brave behind her. A leather gag was tied over her protesting mouth. Tschi grinned wolfishly. "You talk too much, woman." He slung her up on the horse, tying her legs together under the animal's belly. "My brother is not dead," he said softly. "Not yet." The cold flame in his eyes struck her like blow. "He will die slow. You?" He shrugged. "You may wish for death."
Kate's mind fastened on Tschi's words, "My brother is not dead." If Pride were alive, it would be all right! He'd find a way to save them. She watched as they tied his unconscious body to the horse in front of her. The wound was still bleeding. It should be stitched. He moaned, and she strained helplessly at the leather thongs that held her. It was maddening to have him hurt, only a few feet away, and to be unable to help.
As the light increased, Kate recognized the braves with Tschi. Two were still in their teens. She knew none of them well enough to remember their names. They were Shawnee, from the village, and, she assumed, friends or followers of Tschi.
To her surprise, they did not turn back along the trail they had come on. Instead they turned west. She could get some idea of direction now, by the sun. It was rising in the east. Where was Tschi taking them if not back to the Shawnee village? She fought against the gag, succeeding only in rubbing a raw spot on her lip. I'll get even with you, Tschi, she vowed. On my brother's grave, I swear it!
There was no stop for food or water all through the long day. By the time night came, Kate was reeling from exhaustion. The leather gag was soaked with her own blood; her wrists had long since become fiery wounds. Only the bonds on her raw ankles kept her from falling off the horse.
Still, they pressed on. Kate's mouth felt like a desert. She would die before she would beg water from Tschi. In any case, she had seen no water. They had crossed no streams or rivers. Foggily, she began to pray for rain.
She was worried about Pride. He had drift
ed in and out of consciousness all day. Even when he was awake, he didn't seem lucid. He was talking crazy, half in English and half in Shawnee. He didn't seem to realize they'd been betrayed and captured. He kept talking about a bear hunt; Kate's fears grew with every passing hour.
The horses stopped, and Kate slumped forward. If they made camp, she might have a chance to get water, to see to Pride's injuries. Tschi fired his rifle in the air. Kate's horse jumped and she grabbed at the mane to keep her balance.
Two shots answered from the woods ahead. Tschi and the men dismounted. Figures began to appear in the trees. Kate soon lost count. They were not Shawnee. She didn't know who they were. The language they called out was totally meaningless to her. Tschi waved, and they walked forward, leading the horses.
Strange braves closed about them, fierce and hard-eyed. It was too dark to see clearly, but most wore their hair like Tschi's and seemed to be tattooed. They carried modern rifles and painted war clubs with vicious balls on the end. Kate had seen nothing like them before.
Tschi spoke with them in the strange tongue. A warrior took the reins of Kate's horse and they moved quickly down a tree-studded hillside. Kate heard the welcome sound of running water. When they rounded a bend, she saw a circle of camp fires.
"Ho!" Tschi called. "I come! Tschi of the Shawnee! I bring the man you want! I bring Pride Ashton!"
A white man stepped into the firelight. He wore fringed buckskin clothing and pistols at his waist. Cradled in his arms was a French long rifle. "Bon soir, my friends."
Waves of nausea washed through Kate as the man's accent sounded in her ears. He was French! Tschi was turning them over to the French!
The gray eyes appraised her thoroughly. "Madam," he said, coming forward to stand by her horse. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Andre DeSalle." He smiled and inclined his head slightly. "Be at ease." His English was stilted, but letter-perfect. "You are under my protection."
"I bring prisoner; you give guns," Tschi said. He lowered his own rifle menacingly.
DeSalle looked at Pride, saw he was still breathing, and nodded. Two Indians came forward carrying a heavy box. They put it on the ground and slid back the lid. It was full of rifles. "I keep my word, Tschi," DeSalle reminded him. "Tell your brothers, the Shawnee, the French are their friends. We will give them fine weapons, powder, and shot. The French King is generous to all his allies."
A brave pulled Kate from the horse, cutting the ties at her ankles and removing the gag. "Please," Kate cried.
"You're a white man! For the love of God, help him. He's badly hurt."
Tschi's men began to remove the guns and tie them on Kate's horse. Tschi cut the thongs holding Pride and he tumbled to the ground. Kate would have run to him, but the Frenchman stepped in front of her.
"Leave him to me, madam." He was not much taller than she was, but stocky. His white-blond hair was caught in a queue at the back of his neck. He smiled at her kindly. "You are in need of care yourself." The handsome young face was smooth and without blemish, his beard freshly shaved.
"You don't understand," Kate pleaded. "You must let me—"
The Frenchman's hand cracked across Kate's face. "It is you who does not understand, madam. I will have no trouble from an English whore. When I speak, I expect to be obeyed." He turned to an Indian and gave an order.
Hands grabbed Kate and pulled her away, struggling. "Damn you!" she cried. "Damn you! You're a white man! You're worse than they are!"
DeSalle rolled Pride over on his back with a booted foot. "Bon soir, Monsieur Ashton." He laughed coldly. "I told you we would meet again."
Chapter 15
Her captor had unfastened her hands and thrust her into a tent. A lantern on the table filled the interior with faint light. Kate picked herself up from the floor and reached for the bottle of wine on the table. A few slow swallows took the edge off the greatest part of her thirst. A little more went over her chafed wrists; the wine stung, but Kate knew it would keep the raw places from becoming infected.
A plate lay on the table. Tschi had interrupted the French captain's dinner. Good. Kate ravenously devoured the bread and meat, then washed it down with more wine. The wine was thin and sour, but it didn't matter. It tasted like nectar.
A quick search of the tent turned up clothing, a large map, and a round of sharp cheese—no weapons, to her disappointment. She broke off a piece of the cheese and ate it, then tucked another piece into the small bag at her waist.
She must get to Pride! He would die if something wasn't done for him soon. She tugged at the bottom of the tent. Perhaps she could slip under the—
"Ah, madam." DeSalle's smooth voice cut through her plans. "Are you a thief as well as a whore?"
Kate's face flamed. "I'm no whore! Pride Ashton is my husband. It's Lady Ashton to you, Captain."
He laughed, dropping the tent flap behind him. "So the Englishman's slut fancies herself a lady? You amuse me, fille. Tschi told me you went through some pagan Indian rite with the man."
"I'm his wife!" Kate insisted.
DeSalle's eyes took in the empty plate, the overturned wine bottle. "Mother Church recognizes no common-law liaisons. Neither do I. You're lucky, I haven't seen a white woman in months or I'd turn you over to my Hurons."
Kate got to her feet stiffly. "You can go to hell, you pious French bastard! I ate your supper because I was hungry"."
"A practical woman," he said, taking her arm and pulling her to him. "Just how practical are you?"
Kate slapped him as hard as she could. He shoved her back and hit her across the face. She fell back against the table, seized the lantern, and threw it at him.
The lamp shattered in a hundred pieces, and Kate dodged past the Frenchman as he frantically tried to stamp the fire out. Outside, she looked around for Pride. He lay in a heap where he had fallen.
The Indians stared incredulously at her. She glared back at them. One man was drinking something from a gourd. She snatched it from his hand and ran to Pride. Behind her rose the sound of laughter and catcalls. A tiny question formed in her brain. What had the Frenchman called them? Hurons? She'd never heard Pride mention Hurons; they must be insignificant. None looked as fierce as Tschi, although most were bigger.
She knelt beside Pride and lifted his head, shuddering at the sight of the wound. If he lived, he'd carry a scar the rest of his days. She brought the gourd to her own lips and gasped. It was rum. For the lack of anything better, she dribbled a little into his slack mouth.
A cry of alarm went up as the Hurons saw the flames from the tent. Kate ignored them. One crisis at a time was all she could handle. She poured a little more whiskey into Pride as he choked. She lifted his head higher. "Pride? It's me, Kate. Can you hear me?"
The brown eyes flickered. His lips moved. "Kate?" he murmured hoarsely. "Where are we?"
"Tschi betrayed us. He sold us to a Frenchman and his Indian allies. The man's name is DeSalle. Captain Andre DeSalle. Do you know him? Pride? Do you know him?"
He had passed out again. Kate heard movement behind her and quickly poured the rest of the whiskey over the open wound. Pride cried out and went limp. She lowered him to the ground and faced DeSalle, who had approached them. "He's my husband. We were married in England before we sailed," Kate lied. "You'll not make me a whore for any reason!"
The Frenchman swung at her and she ducked. He laughed. "Whore or goodwife, you have spirit. I like that in a woman. In any case, madam, you will be a widow soon enough." He prodded at Pride with his foot. "Tend him if you like. There's not enough left of him to provide good sport for the stake."
Kate turned her attention back to Pride. Let the man ramble on. He was of no consequence at the moment. As a captain, he must be of good breeding. Too bad he had the manners of a swineherd.
"Have you medicine? Bandages? How am I to look after him? I need a needle and thread to sew this cut. He must have hot food, something he can sip like broth."
"That, madam, is your problem
. If you venture from the camp area, my Huron will fetch you back and roast you over the fire. You'd make a tasty meal," he said sarcastically. "We camp here until I rendezvous with a comrade, no more than two days at most. After that, we move out. If he can't travel, I'll shoot him."
"At least help me move him closer to the river. I need water to wash the wound."
DeSalle shrugged. "You seem quite resourceful, Lady Ashton. I'm certain you'll think of something." He turned on his heel and strode away.
The arrogant French bastard! He was so sure she was helpless that he wouldn't even bother to confine her. If she could get a gun... or steal a horse... He'd see who was helpless!
The Huron watched curiously as the white squaw dragged her man inch by inch toward the river. They talked among themselves and joked, and made bets as to whether Chobeka Illenaqui would live to give entertainment. He was an old and hated enemy. Whoever ate of his heart would gain great courage. Whoever took his man parts would know a hero's virility. Whoever won his scalp lock would receive much honor.
Again and again, Kate had to pause for breath. She hadn't realized Pride weighed so much. He groaned when she moved him. She was sorry to bring him more pain, but she had to have access to water. She leaned against a tree to get a second wind. The tree was old; a large section at the base had rotted away. Then she remembered that Wabethe had said spiderwebs were good to heal wounds. Cautiously, she felt inside. Her skin crawled. What if there were spiders in there, or even a snake?
Quickly she drew out a handful of sticky spiderweb, balled it together, and tucked it into her pouch. First, the wound would have to be cleaned. With renewed strength, she pulled Pride the rest of the way to the riverbank.
Scooping handfuls of water, she washed his face and head, then laid the spiderweb in the gash. The washing had started the wound bleeding again, but it didn't seem too bad. He stirred and Kate warned him to lie still. Leaving him for a minute, she went to the tent. On a bush beside it, a white linen shirt was draped to dry. It undoubtedly belonged to DeSalle. Kate took it without hesitation. He'd told her to be resourceful, hadn't he?
By Love Alone Page 25
