Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series)

by Beth Trissel

  He dragged his mind back to the rest of the war party advancing in front of them. His brother would be seething at their delay. Once again, because of Rebecca, they’d fallen behind. Tiny blue butterflies fluttered aside as she trudged wearily around the lichen encrusted boulders, climbed over two big rocks, and inched up the steep incline.

  He reached out, clasped her hand, and towed her up the last few steps. She could barely stand.

  She glanced up the trail snaking around a leafy corner in the late afternoon light. “How much further?”

  He picked up his musket from where he’d propped it against the furrowed locust tree and slipped the strap over his bare shoulder. “Not much more. I think the others are making camp, a little way ahead.”

  She passed her hand over her forehead. “Thank heavens. What of Fort Warden?” she asked in a whisper as if dreading to speak its name aloud.

  Shoka found he hated the fort more with each passing mile. “We will reach there tomorrow or the day after.”

  She regarded him with trepidation and her knees seemed to fail her. He gathered her to him. A few more minutes delay wouldn’t matter. “You need to eat. Wait here.”

  Eyes drifting shut, she leaned on the locust. He ducked beneath evergreen boughs and spicy sassafras leaves, stopping beside a black birch. Unsheathing his knife, he sliced a wide strip of bark from the reddish-brown trunk. He peeled the outer layer and released a pleasing wintergreen scent. Cutting a piece from the supple inner layer, he returned to her.

  He held it out. “This kind of bark is good. Will give you strength.”

  She chewed the fragrant strip hesitantly at first then with more interest. He ate some. The taste wasn’t disagreeable and it took the edge off his hunger. She seemed to lean less heavily on the tree and he gave her more.

  “I wish Kate knew what could be eaten. The food in her saddlebag must be long gone,” she said in a small voice.

  Rebecca’s fear for her sister sent a pang through Shoka. “I regret we have no word of her.”

  “Kate is so sweet. Never bad-tempered like me.”

  “What cause has she for anger? You kept her from harm.”

  “Kate has another reason. She knows nothing of men.”

  “How is this possible?” he asked.

  “I made certain she was kept safely at home under the care of a trusted servant. It was lonely for her, but far better than the life I was forced into. She spent her days on the back of a horse.”

  “This is why she stayed on her mount when we attacked.”

  Rebecca bit her lip. “It would be better if she hadn’t.”

  “You do not know this for certain.”

  Tears welled up in her blue gaze like troubled waters. “That’s just it. I’ve no idea what’s become of Kate.”

  Shoka set his musket back against the locust and cradled her in his arms. “Your sister is safe. You will see.”

  “I pray so.”

  “Leave her to God, then. Notha, Father Andrew, walks these mountains. Perhaps he will find her.”

  “Has he no fear of warriors?”

  “They will do him no harm.”

  “Because he is a holy man?”

  “Some, yes. Notha Andrew goes where he wishes,” Shoka said, remembering only too well how his old friend had earned that right.

  Seemingly comforted, Rebecca tucked her head in the crook of his arm. The sun cast its golden light through the forest canopy and a wood thrush trilled from high up in the branches. Bees hummed in the fragrant white blossoms dripping in loose racemes from the locust. The gentle buzz added a drowsy note to the surrounding peace.

  Again, he forced himself to concentrate. “We must seek the others.”

  She clung to him. “Not yet.”

  “Will you try to delay me as you did yesterday?”

  “I’m too weary to be seductive.”

  “I am not.” He cupped his hand around her smooth cheek, tilting her face toward him, and softly closed his lips over her sweet mouth. Dissolving in his arms took little effort from her and she gave herself up to his desire. He knew she would follow wherever he led.

  A thrill rippled through him—then he heard a rustle among the leaves that did not belong. He spied the barrel of a musket sticking out from behind an oak. Just as quickly, he shoved Rebecca to the ground. “Stay down,” he hissed, grabbing his musket.

  She crouched on her hands and knees in the fern as he fired over her head.

  The furtive brave reeled back with a cry.

  “Catawba,” Shoka said. He caught her arm and jerked her up, dodging with her behind the deeply furrowed locust.

  She closed trembling fingers over her mouth. “How many?”

  “Ten, twelve.”

  He pushed her down again and leaned the musket against the trunk. Pulling the pistol from his belt, he angled around the trunk. A second warrior dashed to heavier cover, making his way closer to them.

  Shoka fired. A yelp echoed through the trees.

  She sucked in sharply. “Dead?”

  “Injured.” Both his shots spent, he dropped the pistol to her.

  “How many braves are left?” she asked.

  “Fewer.” He uncorked the powder horn with his teeth and grabbed his musket.

  “God help us.”

  “Pray hard.” He tipped a measure of the black powder into the barrel. Dipping his fingers into the shot pouch, he closed them around a lead ball and a bit of cloth. Taking the ramrod from beneath the musket, he drove the cloth-wrapped ball into place then poured powder into the metal flash pan.

  He thrust a lead ball and the powder horn into her hands. “Load your pistol.”

  Fear seemed to have immobilized her.

  “Now!”

  She startled and poured the powder into the barrel. She rammed the ball in place, jumping as he fired.

  “Damn,” he swore. “Missed.”

  She screamed as an answering volley struck the trunk above them. Pieces of bark sprayed out and stung his neck.

  Another shot tore from the trees. Shoka grunted at the sharp bite in his shoulder. Fighting to keep a clear head, he clasped his arm. Blood seeped between his fingers.

  She swiveled toward him with a cry. “You’re hit!”

  “Not bad,” he said through clenched teeth. “We are surrounded. They fire from all sides.”

  Despite the panic in her face, she scrambled to her feet. She stuffed the pistol down her bodice.

  “Get down!” he barked.

  “If you’re about to die, I’ll die with you.”

  “You will blow your breasts off.”

  “It’s not cocked.”

  “The pistol could still discharge.”

  She didn’t heed him but snatched up her skirts and ripped a strip from her petticoat. “Let me see to you.”

  “They will fire again in one moment.”

  “Please. Hurry.”

  He slid his fingers aside to expose the ugly red trail where the musket ball had plowed across his upper arm.

  “Grazed,” she said, and wrapped the makeshift bandage around his wound.

  “Ilani chwek’queese paca tamsah! Aketcha gitchee newah!”

  Jeering laughter followed the jeering shout. Anger overran Shoka’s pain. “He taunts me in my own tongue.”

  She knotted the bandage. “What did he say?”

  “He saw you with me. Says you would make a good wife.”

  She glanced in the direction of the voice. The thick leaves hid the speaker. “For one of them?”

  “For him. It’s Tonkawa.”

  “That warrior who hates you, wants me?”

  Shoka nodded, cursing himself for falling into Tonkawa’s snare. “Give me the powder. I’m not dead yet.”

  She shoved the powder horn into his bloodstained fingers. He uncorked the horn as she whirled around, standing with her back to him. “How am I to fire with you before me?”

  “Over my shoulder. Don’t you see? They can’t strike at you if
they want me alive.”

  He tipped powder down the barrel. “You think this will defeat them?”

  “Have you a better plan?”

  “I’ll not hide behind a woman,” he said, ramming the ball into place. He tipped powder in the flash pan. “Get down.”

  She shook her head. “It’ll buy us a few moments.”

  “Pretty hair. Shake your head again,” Tonkawa mocked from the dense foliage.

  Guffaws rang out again.

  She looked in the direction of the braying laughter. “He speaks English.”

  “Well,” Shoka grunted, recorking the horn.

  She lifted the honeyed lengths of her hair, letting them fall. “You like my hair, Tonkawa? Come closer.”

  Shoka couldn’t believe her gall. “Are you mad? What are you doing?”

  “Luring a target for you to fire at.”

  “Come to us, woman!” Tonkawa called. “Catawba are friends to the English. Why hide this Shawnee coward?”

  Incensed, Shoka shouted, “I cannot see you! Are you not hiding?”

  “Not behind a woman’s skirts!”

  Rebecca trembled but doggedly stood her ground. “Don’t listen to him, Shoka.”

  Her courage amazed him, but he couldn’t let her defend him this way. He had nothing if not his honor. “Cut out his heart for me, Peshewa.”

  Musket leveled, he stepped out from behind her. For an instant he was beside her; then an explosion of white musket fire hurled him back.

  Blackness closed in.

  ****

  “Shoka!” Rebecca cried.

  He lay slumped at the base of the tree, eyes closed, arms flung out. His musket had fallen across his chest. No blood welled up from a fresh wound, but in her terror she didn’t dare take the time to look more closely.

  Drawing the pistol from her bodice, she crouched beside him. Her hand shook so hard she could scarcely aim the barrel at the three warriors emerging from the leaves. The others in their party must be closing in on her like wolves.

  She could do nothing to halt those unseen braves, but one of these three was about to take a lead ball. “I’ll fire!”

  The trio paused in mid-stride. The warrior at their head was all muscle and sinew. He fixed her with shrewd eyes. Green and black paint streaked his proud face, marred only by a scar. “You think to strike us all?” he asked scornfully.

  She steadied her aim and cocked the trigger. “I can take one of you bastards down. How about you, Tonkawa?”

  His mouth tightened, but he answered in mild tones. “I’ll not harm you, woman. Take you to the English.”

  She very much doubted she’d find herself conducted to a white settlement if she gave herself over to him. She detected the glint of hunger in his eyes. Even if she trusted him, nothing could induce her to leave Shoka. “Stay back!”

  He stretched out a powerful arm, palm up, and sidled closer. “Give me the pistol, I will not scalp him.”

  “I’ll say you won’t. One step nearer and I’ll fire.”

  He paused. “Shawnee are English enemy. Why seek his protection?”

  She fought crippling hysteria. Her voice cracking, she said, “I love him.”

  Tonkawa’s hard mouth twisted in a sneer. “Your lover lies dead.”

  She didn’t dare take her eyes from him to glance down and see if his horrible declaration were true. “If Shoka is dead, his last words were a request for your life.”

  Tonkawa impassively considered her threat then tapped his fingers on his bare chest. “Fire on me, woman, and die.”

  “Leave us in peace, Tonkawa, and live.”

  He slanted black brows together. “Still you defy me?”

  A shout shattered the standoff. “Becca! Get down!”

  Musket fire exploded from everywhere at once. Painted bodies scattered back into the foliage in a blur. She was too stunned to move. Then the pistol was wrenched from her hand and strong arms dragged her down to the ground.

  “Do as he says,” Shoka grunted.

  “Shoka!” she sobbed and flung herself over him.

  He winced, rolling over and pulling her beside him. “I’ll not hide beneath you anymore. Come. Stay low.”

  He grabbed his musket. Using it for support, he staggered up. He set the stock to his shoulder, his movements growing steadier. A loud blast tore from the barrel as he fired down the bank toward the stream.

  She heard the quick soft footfalls of a hidden warrior fleeing in the discharge of smoke and scattering leaves.

  Holding the pistol in one hand and the musket in his other, Shoka charged down the steep incline. She scrambled after him, skidding on loose stones. Righting herself, she ducked between the boulders that rose around the water. She darted behind him to crouch down behind the rocks.

  Musket fire erupted again. Shoka leaned out from their shelter and aimed the pistol. He fired. White gunpowder hazed the trees.

  “Catawba are fleeing,” he said.

  Mindful of his blood-soaked shoulder, she pressed against him. “Tonkawa?”

  “Escaped,” he said in disgust.

  “Meshewa won’t go in pursuit, will he? He’s too young.”

  “Wabete and Skaki will go with him.”

  She feared Shoka would join the chase. “Stay here.”

  “I will stay. Keep you safe.” He shifted his eyes from the woods to her. “You saved my life, Rebecca Elliot.”

  “I wasn’t about to let Tonkawa tear into you.”

  “Not only that. Do you not see your locket?”

  She lifted the nearly unrecognizable globe, flattened and distorted now. “You were struck there?”

  “Your gift preserved me.”

  An ugly bruise stained his skin where the precious keepsake had dug into his chest. “But you were knocked out.”

  Shoka fingered the back of his head gingerly. “The musket ball struck with such force I fell against the tree. For a time I knew nothing.”

  “I thought my heart would stop. Tonkawa said you were dead.”

  “I heard.”

  “Is that when you woke up?”

  “Sooner. It was better if he thought me dead.”

  “What if he had gotten the pistol away from me?”

  “I waited to spring at him. But to take it from you…” Shoka smiled and shook his head. “He was much surprised to find he cornered a devil cat.”

  ****

  Rebecca sat with Shoka beneath the bower of branches in camp, his wound dressed with crushed sassafras leaves and rebound. Both of them were subdued as Wabete railed at Shoka.

  “Catawba warriors were upon you before you knew. Where are your eyes? Your ears?”

  “I will have more care,” he assured his irate brother.

  “How? All your thoughts are for this woman. Give her into my care until we reach the village.”

  “How could I bear this?” Shoka asked.

  “You prefer death?” Wabete shot back, cutting his tirade short as a newly arrived warrior sprinted into camp.

  “Wishekuanwe, Capitaine Renault’s guide,” Shoka said to Rebecca.

  The brave skidded up to Meshewa and Skaki. He spoke rapidly, stabbing his finger at her.

  “What has your woman done now?” Wabete demanded, and stalked off to meet the agitated guide.

  Shoka looked at her questioningly.

  “I have no idea.” She stiffened seeing Wishekuanwe start toward her.

  “Stay here.” Shoka stood and walked forward to intercept the warrior.

  She focused intently on their faces as they spoke. Shoka nodded to the newcomer and hurried back to her.

  “He says Capitaine Renault found your sister.”

  Her weariness forgotten, Rebecca sprang to her feet. “He found Kate! Is she all right? Can he take us to her?”

  “Your sister shelters in a cave with Capitaine Renault and his party. She suffers—” Shoka hesitated. “Illness.”

  Rebecca gripped his arms. “Scarlet fever? Measles?”

&
nbsp; “Nothing like this.” Again he paused, his voice low. “You are certain she has been with no man?”

  “What? Of course not. Why on earth do you ask?”

  “Her distress sounds like the early loss of a child.”

  “Absurd. She’s a virgin!”

  Shoka pressed silencing fingers to her lips.

  Rebecca checked herself with effort. “She suffers with her monthly flow. Sometimes she even faints. We must go to her at once.”

  “It is not far. Wishekuanwe will show us the way.”

  A tremendous urge to reach Kate made Rebecca want to fly through the forest. “Hurry. ’Twill soon be dark.”

  “I have no fear of the dark.”

  “Poor Kate, all alone with Capitaine Renault and those warriors.”

  “No one will abuse her.”

  Rebecca wasn’t so sure. She paced in circles while Shoka pulled on his shirt and slid his weapons and supplies into place. He took her arm and led her after their guide.

  Unspoken curiosity filled Skaki’s nodding farewell. Wabete waved them off with clear warning in his grudging, “tanakia,” and Meshewa watched with wistfulness at her parting.

  Rebecca touched his shoulder as they passed. “Tanakia,” she offered, repeating the Shawnee for ‘until our paths cross again,’ that Shoka taught her.

  She needed no urging from him to set a brisk pace. Her almost giddy desire to reach Kate carried her above fatigue. She eagerly followed Wishekuanwe, gliding ahead of them like a shadow. The sun sank lower and emblazoned the sky. The brilliant red faded to rose, and then pale pink and the trail darkened. Sometimes she couldn’t be certain Wishekuanwe was there.

  Shoka seemed to know. He steadied her when she stumbled over a root. “I never thought to say this. Slow, Peshewa.”

  She reined herself in. Twilight lay heavily on them when at last Wishekuanwe pointed to the distinct boulder on a low rise above the graying trail. “A’wass lanah seegriana.”

  “The cave is beyond that stone,” Shoka translated and followed their guide off the dusky path into the trees.

  Rebecca stopped in front of the landmark. “The stone is shaped like hands folded in prayer.” She pressed hers together and held them out. “See?”