by Beth Trissel
Shoka rubbed the dark whiskers dusting his chin. “We must soon return or he will seek us out. He does not want me to join with an Englishwoman. Not even one as fair as you.”
“Especially me. What does he want you to do?”
“Sell, trade, even give you to another and take a Shawnee or Delaware woman to wife. One he approves.”
Jealousy inflamed her.
Shoka must have read the volatile reaction in her face. He smiled. “This displeases you?”
“Do you ever want to taste my lips again?”
“I must or die, and yet…Wabete did not approve Akowa.”
“Your wife?”
He nodded. “Beautiful like the moon with a heart full of lies. He saw in her what I failed to. Like her, you are so fair. Men have much desire for you.”
“Such is the way of men, but none has had me willingly except John. The other took me by force. If I give myself to you, no one else will have me unless it’s against my will.”
“That man would surely die,” Shoka scowled. Doubt still colored his eyes. “How can I trust again? Bitterness gnaws me like rats. Akowa was very willing in my absence. She begged me to forgive her, said only I would be her husband. I was foolish to believe. Now she is gone.”
“How could she leave you?” Rebecca envisioned how wrenching it would be if he abandoned her and wished she weren’t fast growing so passionately attached to him.
“Akowa feared I would punish her harshly,” Shoka said.
“But you did not?”
His black gaze seemed to turn inward as he brooded on the past. “No. I cared for Akowa, hunted skins to trade for the goods she wanted. Always, she wanted more. I heard the English needed a guide. I already knew some of this tongue and learned more very quickly. All this I did to make Akowa happy. How did she thank me? By bearing other men’s children.”
Rebecca stared at him. “Are none yours?”
He relented slightly. “The firstborn is mine, I think. A son, Sonnes Sequoy, Little Fire, was born soon after we wed.”
A lively little boy took shape in her mind, a dark-eyed miniature of Shoka. “Did she take him with her?”
The momentary tenderness vanished and Shoka clenched his fists. “She would not dare. I would hunt them down.”
Rebecca quailed at the thought. “Who cares for your son now?”
“My mother. Sonnes Sequoy is very spoiled and does as he likes until my return. A younger sister, Shibinsee, also remains. She is not mine, but I am fond of this child.”
Touched by his affection for both children, Rebecca asked, “Are there any more?”
“One, still an infant. Not my child. Akowa has him with her. Now both are some other man’s trouble. I divorced her.”
“You think I will bring you only trouble, too, don’t you?”
“Also great pleasure. Wabete fears only the trouble.”
“What right has he to say whom you choose?” she demanded.
“Our father died many moons ago when I was still a child. I remember his eyes filled with laughter and stories of adventure. Wabete has been both father and brother to me. When I was young like Meshewa, I almost followed my father into death during a bloody battle with the Cherokee. Wabete gained his scars saving my life.”
“He and I each bear scars for a beloved sibling.”
“Yes. You risked much for Kate.”
“I would risk much for you, too.”
He considered her doubtfully. “You wanted to strike me.”
“Even so, I would.”
“Time will test your loyalty. All I know is I want you. Like the bear that sleeps all winter, my hunger is great.”
“When ’tis satisfied, what then?”
“I think this hunger cannot be satisfied, only eased.”
“Naga! Kawin!” Wabete’s voice rang out like a vengeful wraith in the gathering dusk. The lone figure strode over to them.
Shoka stood, pulling her up with him. He held her protectively while Wabete railed at him in Shawnee.
At last, there was a break in the onslaught. Shoka seemed to chafe with frustration. “My brother says we may do as we like, but he will not leave us. He also says you should eat and rest. Tomorrow we leave with the sun.”
Dismay rose in her. “Must you go to Fort Warden?”
Wabete sneered at her in the fast-diminishing light. “Where else will Shoka go?”
She pressed her cheek against Shoka’s bare chest. “Am I to wait in the trees while you attack the fort?”
“You will wait in silence. We will bind you, bind your mouth,” Wabete rumbled.
Rebecca whipped around like a cornered dog. “Why don’t you just kill me? That should still my tongue.”
“I would be glad for this.”
Shoka restrained her. “Do not enrage him, Peshewa. NiSawsawh, my brother, if you take this woman from me you will cut out my heart.”
“I will not harm your woman, Shoka. Have care. She will bring death to you both.”
Her mouth went dry at the prophetic note in his admonition. “How?” she asked shakily.
“Shoka knows the danger,” Wabete said.
Her stomach knotted and she looked up at Shoka. “What does he mean?”
“We are at war, yet I wish only to love you.”
“Is there nowhere we may go to escape this wretched war?”
Wabete grunted his impatience.
Shoka answered gently. “I must fight for my people, for our French brothers.”
“What of my family? Will you also fight them?”
“I will ask Black Knife for the life of Henry McCutcheon and others of your blood.”
“Her blood will gladly kill you, Shoka,” Wabete broke in.
She shuddered. “Dear God. What are we embarking on?”
“A path of much danger. You should not have come here,” Wabete said forbiddingly.
Chapter Nine
Wishing did not delay the inevitable dawn, but no rosy sunrise heralded its arrival. The all-pervading blackness faded to reveal a heavy blanket of gray mist that hugged the trees and settled into every nook. The only sound Rebecca heard as she knelt by the stream to drink and splash the sleep from her eyes was the drumming of a distant woodpecker. If she hadn’t known better, she could have imagined herself quite alone in these woods…an eerie feeling.
Was this what poor Kate had been forced to endure, or had someone found her, someone kind? Silently praying her oft-repeated plea, she reached behind her head and began plaiting her hair into a braid.
The strength of male hands closed around her fingers and stopped their practiced weaving. “I like your hair loose.”
She jumped. “Shoka. I didn’t know you were there.”
“Remember, you never know who or what is watching.”
He stepped around in front of her, his musket, hunting bag, shot pouch, powder horn and wooden canteen slung over his well-muscled shoulders. Likely his shirt was folded inside the bedroll wrapped in deerskin and tied with buckskin cords he had packed on his back. A narrow braid ran the length of his long black hair on either side of his face. Three rust-brown feathers fluttered from the top of his head, held in place by a woven band.
He looked down at her, his eyes tender but serious in his strong, well defined face…so handsome. His dark appeal was nearly impossible to withstand, but she fought to remain loyal to what little family she had left; loving him was a betrayal.
She stood and faced him in the silvered mist. “You had better keep a sharp lookout for us both, then.”
“Difficult with such beauty before me,” he said, sliding his fingers over her cheek in light, caressing circles.
Her skin tingled beneath his hand. “Another reason not to leave my hair loose.”
She shook her head to break free from his pulsing energy and shifted her partially completed braid over her shoulder. Her fingers flew as she resumed her plaiting.
The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. He lifted a buckski
n cord from the pouch at his waist and unsheathed his knife. With a slice of the blade, he shortened the strip and bound the end of her braid. He took a reddish-brown feather from the pouch and tucked it into her hair.
“From a red-tailed hawk,” he said.
She pulled out the feather and handed it back to him. “Would you make me an Indian?”
“Gnats fly to the highest point.”
“They’re not bothering me now,” she argued.
He gave a shrug and slid the feather back into his bag. “We must soon go.”
She sighed over what lay ahead. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Not quite. First, I must shorten your skirts.”
She clutched at her gown as though it were the last one on earth. To her, it might as well be. “You’ll spoil them.”
“Briars and branches have no use for a lady, Rebecca. They also will spoil your fine clothes.”
Biting back a retort, she relinquished her hold. “Just cut a little.”
“Stand still.” He squatted beside her and grasped the layers of cloth.
She winced as he slashed through the gown and petticoats, shortening everything to just below her knees. A swathe of blue linen and painstaking embroidery fell to her feet like the flag of a defeated nation.
Knife in hand, Shoka considered the remaining fullness. “Still too much cloth.”
“You are not cutting any more. I might as well be naked,” she said, wrenching up her skirts and spinning away.
He caught her wrist and spun her back around. She brushed against him. Though he didn’t hold her, his desire flowed through her as tangibly as if he had.
He smiled. “This I would like very much to see. But we must go.”
There was nothing for it but to walk back with him through what had been the camp. Only blackened fire pits remained to mark the vanishing presence of the war party. The men ahead of them disappeared into cloudy whiteness. She and Shoka brought up the rear. Occasionally the mist parted and a man’s back or feathered scalp lock emerged before haze swallowed him again. How they could find their way along the twists and curves of these shrouded mountain trails, Rebecca didn’t know.
Where the path was wide enough, Shoka walked beside her and helped her over downed branches torn from the trees by winter ice storms. Much of the way was narrow, though, forcing her to journey behind him. The brisk pace alone was enough of a challenge without the debris strewn over the path.
She struggled across an enormous limb torn from a chestnut tree and stumbled on the other side. Her unsteady legs staggered too near a patch of concealed briars. The thorns grabbed her skirts. Tugging to escape them was useless. The tiny needles only wound into the cloth more tightly.
Shoka retraced his steps and cut her free with his knife. The ragged edges of her once elegant attire lifted in the breeze and exposed her legs above the stockings that stopped at her knees. “I shall soon be bare to the thighs.”
He touched her creamy skin. “I will get cloth for you after we return to the village.’
“Where does it lie?”
“Far from here.” He swept his hand at the hazy ridges. “Beyond these mountains are more, like waves upon a great lake. Many days will pass before we see the last of them.”
“Is your village on the other side?” she asked.
“No. We must first journey the Spaylawitheepi, the Ohio River. My village lies along the Muskingham, farther still.”
“I shall be in rags by then, like a beggar.”
“A beautiful beggar.”
He walked ahead and she picked her way behind him over loose stones in the trail. He scaled a great log lying across their path then turned for her. She scrabbled at the wood with her toes and clung to him as he lifted her across.
He held her to him and whispered, “If I had my wish, you would lie bare in my arms on furs in my wikon, my lodge in the village. Better still, in my hunting lodge.”
The thought sent a ribbon of heat up her spine. “When will you take me there?”
“By summer’s end. It depends on the war.”
“Everything depends on this blasted war.”
“Speak soft. The trees have ears.” He stood her on her feet and brushed back the wisps that had strayed from her braid. “I see you sitting by the fire, sewing, with your hair spilling over you, my children happy, playing.”
“’Tis a lovely thought,” she conceded with another rush of warmth. “What of you? What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
This coaxed a smile from her. “Your brother doesn’t share your tender dream.”
“His wife, Abqueway, has much sweetness. You, she will like.”
“How can such a woman possibly be wed to him?”
“Wabete is not always gruff.” Shoka walked ahead then suddenly reversed his stride and bounded back to Rebecca.
She caught her breath as he swung her up and a snake shot across the path. Red-brown cross bands stood out against its copper skin.
“Venomous. This kind sometimes gives chase,” he said, and put rapid long steps between them. “You need moccasins and leggings far up your fair legs.”
“A sword wouldn’t come amiss either.”
He smiled and stood her on her feet. “To slash at them?”
“Or shoot. You could give me back my pistol.”
He shook his head and walked on.
She stayed close behind him, her eyes combing the veiled foliage. “A bear could hide in this, let alone a snake.”
“Yes. You prefer to go in front?”
“No.” Seeking hidden serpents occupied less and less of her energy, though, as the morning wore on. And on.
In addition to discovering Shoka had been right about the unsuitability of her gown, she also found he’d been right about her corset. Never had the restrictive garment seemed so binding, not even through the nights of dancing or hours on horseback. This exhausting hike taxed her more than anything she’d ever before been made to undergo.
Like the snowy wings of an owl, the mist lifted and was gone. When at last the sun broke through, the day and the trek grew sticky hot. He gave her swallows of water from his canteen until he had none left. Sweat trickled down her forehead and collected between her breasts in the damp corset. Tiny black gnats appeared from nowhere, swarming around her face. She swatted at them, her mouth dry, every step an effort. The stickiness combined with increasing fatigue did not improve her temper.
“Damn!” she burst out, stubbing her foot on a protruding stone. She pitched forward and nearly fell. Toe throbbing, she collapsed on a bench-like rock at the side of the path. “What’s the bloody hurry, anyway? Is Black Knife afraid some other war party will burn Fort Warden before he gets there?”
Shoka hurried back to her with a frown. He reached down and touched her heated face. “What must I do with you?”
“Let me rest and drink, or I shall fall and never rise.”
He smiled slightly. “Never? Come, then. But we will fall far behind.” He hauled her to her feet and led her through the chestnuts and dogwoods that stood between them and the thirst-quenching sound of flowing water.
She glimpsed the shaded stream just beyond the tangle of wild grapevines draping the trees across their path. She dashed forward. Pushing at the unruly vines, she shoved her leg through the snarl to try and worm her way past.
Shoka hooked his arm around her waist and dragged her back. “Never put your foot where you cannot see.”
She stepped aside while he chopped at the snarl of vines with his tomahawk. The instant he lowered his blade, she raced forward. Dropping beside the stream, she cupped mouthfuls of cold water to her lips.
Slipping the musket from his shoulder, Shoka knelt to drink. Her constricted breasts pushed up out of her gown as she bent over the stream to splash her face. He slanted his eyes at her and she warmed under the heat of his gaze.
“Just try journeying in what I’m wearing,” she said.
“It loo
ks far better on you.”
She tugged the limp kerchief from around her bodice and wet it to blot her neck. “I’d like to toss this corset to the trees,” she admitted and flopped onto her back in the moss.
“I would gladly toss it. But we would be much delayed.”
“I don’t mind. I would far rather linger here with you.”
“It is dangerous to remain here alone.”
The tranquil woods seemed to belie his caution. Swaying hemlock boughs mingled their deep green with the softer hues in the blend of leaves overhead. New fern fronds and wild lavender geranium spread over the floor. Yellow, pouch-shaped blooms, like exotic slippers, grew in the earthy humus where the ground sloped up from the stream.
She brushed back damp hair. “I see no danger.”
“Nor will you until danger is upon us.”
He took strips of dried meat from his pouch and gave them to her. She propped herself up on one elbow and ate greedily, then flopped back down. He finished his portion of the jerky and refilled his canteen.
A tiny wren flew to a sassafras tree and trilled its cheery ‘tea–kettle’ song. “Perhaps if we lie here very quietly, no one will take any notice of us,” she suggested.
He gave her a dry look. “We must go.”
“Just one more minute,” she begged.
He shook his head. “Get up, Rebecca.”
She opened her arms wide to him in a ‘come hither’ gesture. “Hold me first.”
He gazed at her with undisguised longing but made no move to oblige her.
Still she beckoned to him. “Please. Lie here with me.”
“With you? Or beside you?” he asked, his tone short.
“Whatever you like.”
He considered her narrowly. “How long will you let me hold you before you pull from me?”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“What of when I kiss you?”
“This time I won’t break away.”
“No? What if I enter you?”
She stared at him unable to articulate a reply.
He bent, grasped her outstretched hands and pulled her up. “You are a seductress,” he said tersely and strode off.
She pushed her stiff muscles into a sprint. “Shoka!”
