Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series)

by Beth Trissel

  “It’s not mine, exactly. But Black Knife’s.”

  “Great Lord Almighty,” Logan groaned. “We’re done for.”

  “No. Listen. Black Knife has agreed to Shoka’s request for mercy if your father and Tessa will give themselves up. Tomorrow Capitaine Renault will request a parley with Captain Bancroft. If he refuses, I am to go and plead for surrender.”

  “Of the whole damn fort?”

  “Shoka said far fewer will die. Many will be captives.”

  “It’s a fate none will welcome, Ma’am,” the lieutenant said.

  “Surely preferable to certain death? And perhaps their freedom can be regained.”

  “Eventually, perhaps. I can’t imagine Bancroft will agree.”

  Logan shook his head hard enough to make his brown hair fly around his face. “Or Papa. Indians sometimes hesitate to challenge a strong fort. They may retreat under fire.”

  “Not this time. You’ve seen how large this war party is. Black Knife is a shrewd leader and Capitaine Renault has skilled knowledge of assault. Shoka told me what they plan. Warden hasn’t the men to resist.”

  Logan ground his teeth. “I’ve never felt so helpless.”

  “Don’t despair. If need be, I shall speak with the captain and your father.”

  Lieutenant McClure spoke heavily. “Your intentions are good, Mrs. Elliot. But there is much you don’t understand.”

  Letting out his breath in a weighty sigh, Logan said, “Papa’s too proud to allow himself to be taken captive.”

  The pain in his voice tore at her and she wished with all her heart that this evil before them could be avoided. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Becca.” So soft-footed was Meshewa’s approach, he stood beside her before she noticed. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Enough talk. The others begin to grumble.”

  She gave Logan an awkward one-sided embrace and kissed his smooth cheek. “Have courage. You, too, Lieutenant,” she said, reaching over to touch his face.

  “Have care. Don’t rush in where angels fear to tread.”

  She stood. “I may have to.”

  Logan’s glum silence spoke for him.

  Meshewa pulled her away. “Wait, cousin,” Logan blurted.

  Breaking from Meshewa’s light hold, she spun around. She saw only the dimmest outline of her cousin. “Yes?”

  “Try and persuade Papa to surrender Tessa. You’ll likely have the devil of a time with her. She won’t want to go.”

  “Surely I can compel a child.”

  Logan’s voice was thick with emotion. “Tessa’s no child. She’s sixteen. We’re only a year apart, more like twins.”

  “I’ll wrestle your sister to the ground if I must, but I’ll get her away from the fort,” Rebecca promised.

  “Good,” he said. “There’s something else you should know. Tessa bites.”

  ****

  Meshewa spread a blanket over the evergreen needles beneath the boughs of a pine not far from where Kate lay, and Rebecca sank down onto the woolen cloth. She envied her sister’s sound slumber, certain that sleep would elude her this night.

  A man called softly from the darkness. “Umbe, Meshewa.”

  Rebecca recognized the word for “come” and reached up to snag the hem of his shirt. “No. Stay with me.”

  “I will. Naga, neeakah,” he said to the hidden man.

  A low burst of Shawnee came at his reply. She didn’t catch the rapid-fire words but detected teasing in the man’s tone.

  Meshewa sat beside her. “Skaki says I prefer my cousin’s fair woman to him. Shoka will not like this.”

  “Surely Shoka would not have you leave me alone when I very much do not want to be.” She shivered in the breeze fast cooling with nightfall, but the air alone did not account for the chill gripping her. “I wish we had a fire.”

  “We can build none. Long Knives will see.”

  She curled in her cloak on the blanket and looked up at the stars shining between the rustling boughs. “This night seems colder somehow. Even the stars look distant.”

  “Stars are like you. They have much beauty. I wish to touch but cannot.”

  “I am so well wrapped we would not really be touching, and you are like a brother. Can’t I rest against my brother?”

  “Come. Yet, to me you are no sister.” He lay down next to her, closing an arm around her and drawing her close.

  She huddled gratefully against him. “I’m so scared.”

  “Only a foolish man or woman knows no fear.”

  “But I’m frightened to death.”

  “You, Peshewa?”

  “I’m not always bold. Are you afraid in battle?”

  “Some. More of Shoka when he sees I hold his woman.”

  “I am clinging to your comfort. You are doing no wrong.”

  Meshewa brushed her forehead with his lips. “He knows I wish to. But I will give you only the kiss of a brother.”

  “What will happen tomorrow?”

  “Do not fear so. See, Sister Moon smiles on you.”

  With a little imagining, the pearl-white orb did seem to be smiling. “Is that a good sign?”

  “All will be well. You will save this biting cousin.”

  In spite of the worries oppressing her, the absurdity of his assurance struck Rebecca. A series of giggles escaped her and she buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her laughter.

  He waited while she fought to regain some control.

  When she’d finally calmed enough, she wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t think what came over me.”

  “If any ask, I say you weep hard.”

  “It could just as easily have been tears.” And the result was similar. She was drained, yet surprisingly relaxed. Fatigue filled tension’s place and she yawned. “Stay until Shoka comes. Don’t leave me alone.”

  “I will wait.”

  Lifting her head, she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “I would give far more. Sleep now, before I forget you belong to another.”

  She slid drowsily to his shoulder. Tree frogs peeped and an owl hooted somewhere. Woven through it all was the liquid song of flowing water, her favorite sound and the last one she heard as she drifted to sleep. She woke once to find Shoka had taken Meshewa’s place. Snuggling into his warm embrace, she fell asleep.

  As had happened before, the feeling of close scrutiny gradually penetrated her unconscious mind. She eased onto her side and opened her eyes. The gray pre-dawn light revealed the white wolf, silent and motionless, sitting not more than twenty yards away from them. It seemed as though there were another world in those unwavering dark brown eyes.

  Goose bumps tightened her skin, and she nudged Shoka whispering, “Kate’s friend is come.”

  “I see. I felt him, too,” he said.

  Gabe lingered a moment. He rose without a sound and disappeared into the silvered trees. “He comes and goes like a ghost.”

  “He comes for you now, Peshewa.”

  A chill prickled down her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “His eyes are on you, not your sister.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rebecca held herself skittishly on the blanket with the agitated wariness of a horse ready to bolt, straining for the slightest noise that carried above the early morning bird chatter. She sipped the sassafras tea Meshewa had given her while Kate huddled beside her. Both of them darted glances through the trees, startling when a knot in the campfire popped.

  No need to ask why this blaze now crackled before them. The war party awaited Black Knife’s signal to begin the attack. Their preparations in the night had gone unnoticed. If anyone within the fort now wondered at the smoke curling from the trees, it no longer mattered.

  A man called out, his words indistinct.

  Kate grabbed her arm. “It’s Marc.”

  Capitaine Renault was calling to Captain Bancroft from the edge of the woods that bordered the clearing. Agonizing moments
passed before a far more distant voice shouted back.

  “Captain Bancroft,” they whispered together.

  If Bancroft agreed to a parley, Renault would present the terms of surrender and Rebecca could relax a little. If not—

  Kate turned anxious eyes to her. “I wish we knew what they were saying.”

  A tremor ran through Rebecca. “We shall soon enough.”

  “If the captain refuses, I should go with you.”

  “Capitaine Renault will not permit you to go, dearest. You have not yet recovered your strength.”

  Kate chewed her lower lip in the way she did when trying not to cry. Tears slid down her cheeks. “It’s not right for you to go alone while I hide like I did from Papa.”

  Rebecca patted her arm. “You’re not. Besides, I’ll be careful. You stay with Meshewa, as the capitaine said.”

  Meshewa approached them now, his arms full with a fresh load of kindling. “I will keep you safe, sonnes shema.”

  Kate sniffed. “What does that mean?”

  He knelt to feed the sticks of wood to the fire. “Little sister.”

  Kate glanced up at him uncertainly. “Thank you. But I should do something, not leave everything to Becca.”

  “Calm Capitaine Renault’s horse if he grows alarmed,” Rebecca said.

  Meshewa looked over his shoulder at Kate. “You can touch his horse? None dare, except Lieutenant Remy.”

  Kate’s chin went up and she squared her slender shoulders. “I dare. What’s more, Marc said I might.”

  “Marc?” Meshewa repeated, clearly surprised.

  Rebecca intervened. “It’s Capitaine Renault’s Christian name. He allows her to address him by this title.”

  Meshewa looked confused.

  She added, “He intends to make Kate his wife.”

  “Ah. She has much beauty. Still, I am surprised he wishes to wed.”

  “Why” Kate frowned. “Because I’m English?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  Rebecca suspected Meshewa found it remarkable that Renault would commit himself to one woman, but would not say so in the face of Kate’s winsome innocence. “My sister has captured the capitaine’s heart with her charm.”

  “She strikes very fast. So do you,” he added.

  “Are you speaking of Shoka?” Kate asked.

  “Him also.”

  Kate didn’t press Meshewa for more, although plainly she wanted to. Rebecca swallowed the last of the spicy brew and handed him the cup. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Megwich, neeakah,” he gently amended. “Learn to say this in Shawnee. Remember, you are one with us now, Peshewa.”

  “I will remember.”

  Skewering a chunk of roasted meat on the sharp point of a stick, he held out to her. “Eat. Gain strength.”

  She shook her head. Solid food would never get past the churning knot in her stomach. Kate also refused the spitted meat. The sisters wrapped their arms around each other, their heads rested together, and waited out the torturous minutes.

  Meshewa pointed through the leaves. “Shoka comes.”

  Rebecca jumped up and ran to meet him. His grim eyes answered her question before he’d spoken a word. “Captain Bancroft refuses to meet with Capitaine Renault.”

  Her heart sank into her volatile stomach. “Oh dear.”

  Kate rushed up to them. “No!”

  Striving for a calm she didn’t feel, Rebecca lent a steadying hand to Kate. “I suppose Captain Bancroft can’t be blamed for his reluctance. He’s surrounded by warriors.”

  Shoka wrinkled his nose. “He is a coward. Capitaine Renault and Black Knife gave their word no harm would come to him at this meeting.”

  “Is Black Knife angry?” Meshewa asked.

  “Furious. He thinks only to fight.”

  A vision of the fort consumed in flames flashed through Rebecca’s mind. “He promised to give me a chance first.”

  Regret edged out the anger in Shoka’s face. “Capitaine Renault will hold him to this. I am come to bring you.”

  “Don’t go, Becca. I fear ’tis hopeless,” Kate cried.

  Rebecca hugged her. “I must try. I promised Logan. He’s so like Mama.”

  “Yes.” Kate heaved a shuddering sigh. “God keep you.”

  “Pray for me. For us all.” Surely God would hear the petition of one so pure. Giving her sister a final squeeze, Rebecca stepped back.

  Kate lifted brimming eyes to Shoka. “How will I know what’s happening?”

  “Your ears will tell you. Come, Rebecca.”

  Fear cloaked her as she followed him through the trees they’d looked down upon from the overlook the afternoon before. Her untrained feet crunched on the occasional twig, the only sound she heard other than the glad song of finches and a wren. Dewdrops sparkled where the sun broke through the green canopy and spilled over the beaded leaves, and the warm hay-scent of fern rose from the new fronds drifting among white foam flowers and airy goat’s beard. Never had the woods seemed lovelier or Shoka more desirable…as though she were being driven from Eden.

  He stopped and turned to her. “I despise to let you go between the camps of bitter enemies.”

  “I dread to go.”

  He drew her close, his grip on her arms hard enough to bruise. “If you fail, run back to me.”

  “As soon as I’m able. I would bring cousin Tessa away.”

  “Do not place yourself in danger for this girl.”

  “Nor you for me. Have care, my love.”

  A slight breath caught in his throat. “You never called me by this name.”

  “Yet you are.”

  He took her lips with a kiss both fierce and tender, holding her as if he would never let her go. “I have found such joy with you, Peshewa. More than I have ever known.”

  She touched his cheek with the backs of her curled fingers. “And I with you, Shoka.”

  Pain shone back at her from the black depths of his eyes, and love. “Yet will you stay with me or return to your own?”

  “I would fight like the very devil to come to you. Promise me something?”

  “Anything in my power, fair one.”

  “When all of this is over, give me a day for love.”

  “I know not how or when, yet I will give you this day, meh newah.”

  The longing in his voice echoed the wrenching pang in her heart. “What did you call me?”

  “My wife,” he said huskily.

  Her throat swelled as they broke away from each other and continued their solemn march through the trees. Rebecca saw Renault’s blue uniform and Black Knife’s straight figure among the warriors spread along the edge of the clearing.

  Skaki spotted them and signaled Renault. The Frenchman glanced back and waved them over. Affection lightened his solemn eyes as they touched on her.

  “Shoka’s woman is come, Black Knife,” Renault said.

  No hint of fondness softened the chief’s forbidding countenance. “This captain will not hear you.”

  Rebecca steeled herself. “Perhaps my uncle will listen.”

  Black Knife gave a curt nod. “Go then, Rebecca Elliot.”

  Shoka rested his hand on her shoulder. “I gave my woman the name Peshewa. And I took her to wife.”

  A slight smile curved the older man’s hard mouth. Evidently the appropriateness of her new name wasn’t lost on him. “Go then, Peshewa. Remember, you belong now to Shoka, to Shawnee. If you return to the English, you will eat fire with those hiding in Fort Warden.”

  The resolve behind his words promised no mercy. She had expected none. “I will not forget.”

  Wabete strode up to them, his customary scowl notably absent from his scarred features. “Do nothing foolish, Rebecca Elliot.”

  Shoka squeezed her shoulder. “Have care.”

  A thick upwelling of emotion choked her and she covered his hand with hers. No words could capture her feelings, nor did she want to speak with everyone’s attention fo
cused on them, but she refused to part from him in silence.

  “You owe me a day,” she whispered, wishing with all her being that this perfect June day stretched out before them with only the promise of love to fill its happy hours.

  “I will not forget.”

  His glistening eyes vowed an eternity of remembrance. Tears blurred her sight as she slid her fingers from his and walked through the last few trees. She dared not glance back for fear she would abandon her mission and run back to Shoka.

  “Godspeed, Madame!” Renault called after her.

  “Merci!” Rebecca called, and walked on alone beneath a chestnut with wide-spread branches.

  Leaving the leafy canopy behind, she stepped out into the meadow, a far greater expanse than she’d realized from the overlook. It must be two miles from the woods behind her to the front of the wooden palisade. Fort Warden had appeared deceptively small from her bird’s-eye-view. The fort seemed much larger now, partly because it was the only structure rising from this green island and the only one she’d seem since the last cabin she’d ridden by with the militia.

  Had it only been a week since she first entered the frontier? Time had lost all normal meaning; she felt a lifetime removed from the past.

  Dread in every step, she journeyed on across the field. Elusive meadowlarks trilled from the sparkling grass and the sun shone down on her like a benediction. It would seem more fitting to venture forth under a sky heavy with clouds, but what care had the sun for who might die this day? The ancient orb had shone down on endless spilling of blood and would not alter its course one jot if man were to vanish from the earth entirely.

  Wait—something was amiss. The men standing on the firing platform that ran along the inside of the walls appeared small, and their faces unclear from this distance, but the muskets they held were aimed right at her.

  She halted. Surely they saw she was a woman and not a threat? Apart from the feminine flow of her crimson cloak, her hair spilled to her waist. She’d left it loose, sensing that she might have need of all her wiles.

  Why, then, did the lethal barrels still target her? Did they think her part of a trap?

  Suspecting that was exactly what they feared, she waved both arms at her wary observers. “I am Rebecca Page Elliot, niece to Henry McCutcheon! I come alone bringing terms from Black Knife! Please, Uncle, are you there?”