by Beth Trissel
The muskets lowered and a bearded man hailed her. “I am Henry McCutcheon! How in God’s name did you fall into Shawnee hands? The last I heard, Rebecca Page resided in England.”
She broke into a run. “No, Uncle! Did you not get my letter? Kate and I fled Papa more than a year ago with my late husband. We were taken captive trying to reach you!”
“How on earth did two ladies think to find their way?”
“With soldiers sent from Fort Loudoun! We were attacked two days into our journey. All but one lies dead.”
“Damn. No reinforcements.”
“None. And you’re surrounded by seventy warriors!” she shouted breathlessly, closing the distance to the fort.
“We’ll have a hell of a time fending that lot off!”
She saw the dry brush laid in readiness all along the base of the wall, just as Shoka had described. The pine knots leading to the stream bank would be hidden from view behind the fort, along with the warriors lying in wait.
“You cannot long hold out! Please, Uncle, hear Black Knife’s terms!”
“Sent you to carry them, did he? Crafty devil.”
She stopped twenty yards from the palisade. “Even so, he knows your weakness. You are all in grave danger.”
Henry McCutcheon bent farther over the twelve foot wall, his thick brown hair pulled back under a wide-brimmed felt hat with gold pheasant feathers and a red fox tail attached.
“No doubt,” he answered. “We couldn’t halfway hear that French bastard Captain Bancroft refused a parley with. But the captain is going to have to hear you.”
He turned to the youth standing beside him. “Fetch the captain, Peter,” he said, and beckoned to her. “Come closer, gal. I’ve not seen you since you were a wee lass. Lord only knows if I’ll ever see you again.”
Also curious to get a better look at this man she remembered so fondly, she walked forward and halted only a dozen or so yards from the log barricade. She craned her neck up at his handsome weathered face and blue gaze, uncannily like the man in her dream, down to the details of his hat.
“It’s said I favor Mama,” she offered. “Apart from my eyes.”
He propped his musket on its stock and gazed down on her, stroking his gray-streaked beard with a sad smile. “Aye, you’ve got my eyes. But, by heavens, you’re very like my dear sister. Elizabeth was a good woman and a right beauty.”
A sorrowful twinge pricked Rebecca. “Indeed she was.”
“Now, what’s this talk of fleeing your father?”
“If you saw my back, you’d understand. It’s badly scarred from Papa’s abuse.”
He frowned. “I had no idea you suffered such ill treatment. Still, I never liked Nathan Page. Always said Elizabeth could have done better, no matter how rich he was.”
“Papa wasn’t so bad then. Drink and greed soured him.”
“As it will all. Poor Elizabeth. Your mama died far too young. And now my Mary’s gone.”
She saw his heart’s grief in his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m mighty sorry for you, too. You’re plenty young to be a widow. Tessa’s all I have left now.” He worked his jaw as if striving for composure, then said, “My boy’s gone missing. Fine lad. I can guess what evil has befallen him.”
On this point, at least, she could ease his mind, and pointed back at the woods from where she’d come. “No, Uncle. Logan’s well. He’s there. Bound, but unharmed. A powerful warrior intends to adopt him.”
Henry McCutcheon blew out his breath in relief. “He lives? Thank God. If he’s to be adopted, they’ll treat him well enough until a way can be found to gain his release. What of your sister? How does Katherine fare?”
“Quite safe, and I—” She broke off as a younger man in his early thirties appeared beside her uncle.
The newcomer wore his sandy blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck and tied with a black ribbon. His white linen shirt was of a better quality cloth than Uncle Henry’s plain tan homespun. Of medium build, the man appeared well muscled and had an air of authority. This must be Captain Bancroft.
He cast a questioning glance at her uncle before lowering sharp eyes to Rebecca. “What’s this about, McCutcheon? Peter says you’ve a captive niece with word from Black Knife.”
“That’s her. Tell the captain what you know, gal.”
“Seventy warriors await the chief’s signal to commence a fiery assault. He knows your supplies are low and you’ve few men within to mount a defense. He is confident of victory.”
Captain Bancroft’s hazel eyes drew tight. “How does the chief know our condition?”
“He is skilled at forcing information, sir.”
“Did Logan tell him?” Uncle Henry asked.
“Nothing Black Knife didn’t know already.”
The captain rubbed a hand over his forehead. “They’ve taken your son?”
“And both nieces.”
“A great misfortune.” Bancroft nodded at Rebecca. “This one best hasten inside.”
Shaking her head, she took a few backward steps and held out her hands in a warding gesture. “No, Captain. Black Knife will think I’ve betrayed him and attack at once.”
“He’ll do that whether or not you seek shelter within.”
“Not if you surrender!”
He frowned at her. “Do you honestly think I will abandon the security of this fort, placing all gathered within its walls in the hands of bloodthirsty savages?”
“I have been assured that far fewer will die if you do.”
“You are a foolish woman to accept the word of that cunning chief.”
“Not his word alone, though I think he will keep it. Capitaine Renault and several powerful warriors will hold him to it.”
His eyes scorned her. “What is that to me, the pledge of the French and their godless Indian allies?”
Rebecca refused to concede without putting her whole heart into her plea. “Please, Captain. Your situation is indeed desperate.”
“And will rapidly worsen if I do as Black Knife intends. We will defend our walls.”
“With so few men to counter an assault? Are not some of these ill, others injured?”
Bancroft drew his lips into a thin line then said, “They will muster themselves as true Englishmen.”
Any hope that he might accept Black Knife’s terms vanished like mist in the sun. Perhaps he would have listened to Renault, if the parley had proceeded. She’d failed in her mission and must abandon the fort to the fate he’d ordained. There was still a chance she could persuade Uncle Henry to surrender, or at least allow her to take Tessa.
She looked around for him. Another man had taken his place beside Bancroft. She’d been so engrossed in pleading with the captain that she’d missed his departure from the platform.
“Please, sir! I must speak again with my uncle!”
The gate swung open and Henry McCutcheon charged out. “Get inside, Rebecca!”
She stumbled back. “No, Uncle! I cannot!”
Closing the distance between them with a speed that belied his years, he closed strong arms around her. “Come away. Inside you’ve a chance.”
She struggled to break free from his iron grip as he dragged her toward the gate. “No one has a chance in there!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Ignoring her resistance, he forced her into the fort yard.
“Shoka!”
She channeled all her fear into that frantic cry—one she instantly regretted, terribly afraid he’d charge into the clearing and be shot on sight. Then she was inside the walls, the gate slamming behind her, the wooden bolt sliding into place. She was more a prisoner now than when Shoka had first taken her captive.
Uncle Henry still held her. He turned her around to face him, consternation in his eyes. “Who did you call out to?”
There was little use in trying to conceal the truth, but she struggled to find her voice, wanting to burst into tears. “The warrior I love.”
&n
bsp; A horrified gasp ran through the women and children crowding around them. The faces of the men up above them on the catwalk were incredulous. “How can you possibly feel affection for a bloody Indian!” her uncle roared.
She made the heroic effort to reply calmly. “Shoka is kind, clever, handsome—”
“I don’t believe my ears!” he roared again.
Hot temper flashed through her like a spark to dry tinder. Though nearly a foot shorter than her bristling relation, she thrust her face as close to his as she could. “Neither did Logan. Yet it’s largely because of Shoka’s regard for me that his well-being is assured.”
Uncle Henry drew a deep breath as if to castigate her again, then paused. “What?”
“All my kin will be spared. Shoka gained Black Knife’s agreement for mercy. Come with me, Uncle. Bring Tessa. We haven’t a moment to lose. You can regain your freedom and escape from them later. I’ll do everything in my power to aid you.”
For a moment he seemed to consider her plea then shook his head as if to clear it. “’Tis madness you speak, niece.”
“No!”
A teenaged girl with frightened blue eyes peeked around from behind his shielding bulk. Brown-gold curls spilled from a white cap, framing her pretty face, reminiscent of Kate’s.
“Tessa?” Rebecca guessed.
The girl nodded, and leaned further to the side of her father for a better look at Rebecca. A green short-gown, striped petticoat, and apron clothed her slender figure. She hardly appeared to be the biter Logan had described.
“What’s she speaking of, Papa?” Tessa asked.
“Your cousin, Rebecca Elliot, declares we’d fare better fleeing with her to the savages.”
“To them?” If possible, Tessa’s eyes grew even larger and she slipped back behind him.
“Please, Uncle. Hear me,” Rebecca pleaded. “I promised Logan I’d get Tessa out. He feared you’d never agree but begged me to bring her.”
“Great God Almighty. Has he lost all reason as well?”
“No. Logan’s quite sane.”
“What can the lad be thinking of?”
“He knows the force Black Knife is prepared to attack with.”
Uncle Henry’s resolve held fast. “We’ll just have to fight them with the will of the clans.”
“You can’t win. For the love of God, let me take Tessa. I can keep her safe. Shoka promised me. And he has much influence with the others.”
Captain Bancroft pushed through the stunned onlookers. “I see a glimmer of hope in the nonsense your niece proclaims, McCutcheon. If this Shoka values her so dearly, perhaps he can persuade Black Knife to delay his attack.”
“I’m certain he’s trying, even now,” Rebecca said above the growing murmur. “But Black Knife told me once I entered the fort, I would eat fire with the rest of you.”
Bancroft looked at her in that hungry way men often did. “Surely the chief also values one so fair.”
“Only out of regard for Shoka. I cursed Black Knife to his face.”
Her uncle shook his head. “I stand in wonder you live.”
“I shan’t much longer. None of us shall.” Rebecca cast her eyes past the knot of women and children toward the other log buildings within the fort, desperately seeking a way out other than the bolted front entrance.
“Give your niece into my care, McCutcheon, and get back to your post. I’ll see to it she doesn’t escape,” Captain Bancroft directed, and yanked her away.
She tried to free herself from his unyielding restraint. “Let me go!”
“Back to your lover?” he sneered. “Not while there’s any hope of warding off an attack by keeping you here.”
“Indian-loving bitch,” hissed a plump woman with graying hair coiled at the back of her head.
“Hush, Ida. The poor thing’s quite mad. You can see it in her eyes,” the petite woman beside her chided, clutching a blonde girl in braids to her apron.
The woman called Ida crossed stout arms over her ample bosom. “She needs some sense beaten into her.”
And Ida seemed fully prepared to deliver it, wallop by wallop. If Rebecca remained among these people, she’d be forever known as “the crazy Indian-loving bitch.” If they let her live.
No one cared that she’d left the man she loved with no guarantee of returning and risked her life for them, with the possible exception of Uncle Henry. Behind the shocked censure in his eyes, she saw warmth and affection. Of Tessa, she was uncertain. The girl seemed dazed.
Bancroft spoke in a voice meant to carry to everyone within the palisade walls. “We can’t stand about here. Get to the firing platform, McCutcheon. We’ve a fort to defend.”
Rebecca couldn’t reach out to her uncle, but she could speak. “Help me. Let me help you, before it’s too late.”
Regret crossed his eyes. He shook his head. “I can help you best by fighting, gal. You’ll come to see the sense of it.”
Her heart sank.
He picked up his musket, turning away, and the captain towed her toward the officer’s quarters. Though not as muscular as Shoka, Bancroft was formidable. Hopelessness washed over Rebecca. It seemed no one would come to her aid, but Tessa still stood in the crowd watching her.
“Tessa! Logan begged me to—”
“Enough!” Bancroft clapped his hand over her mouth and dragged her across the flattened grass to the small log building. He flung open the door and hauled her into the room—his evidently..
A man’s white shirt and brown breeches hung from a wooden peg near the narrow bed built against one wall. Beside the bed stood an open leather-bound trunk containing books, letters, and a portable writing desk with a quilled pen and an inkwell. This man was well-educated. Perhaps she’d find some way to reason with him. He shut the door and shot the bolt into place.
The instant he freed her mouth, she tried again. “Captain, please. Making me your prisoner solves nothing.”
He pushed her down into a rough-hewn chair. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“You don’t understand!”
“I think I do.”
She bounded up. “You can’t keep me here!”
He fished about in the leather pouch at his waist and drew out a length of cord. “I’m not averse to binding you.”
She ducked beneath his outstretched arms and ran across the wide floorboards. “What crime have I committed to be treated like a common criminal?”
He lunged at her. “Fraternizing with the enemy.”
“For God’s sake, I was captured!” She thrust the chair between them. “Besides that, I’m a lady. My late husband, a British captain.”
Bancroft dashed the chair aside with a clatter. “What would he think of his fair widow now?”
She fled to the other wall. “Captain Elliot would have your head!”
Bancroft charged after her. “Would he? Or would he have yours?”
“I’ve done him no dishonor.”
“No? How would Captain Elliot feel if he knew of your infatuation with a Shawnee warrior?”
“John would want only my happiness!” she cried, racing to the opposite wall. Instinct guided her just out of Bancroft’s reach.
His hazel eyes taunted her. “At any cost? Tell me, is it possible you are carrying this Shoka’s bastard?”
Fury exploded into a haze of red across her vision and she threw herself at him with a wild cry.
He seized her. “It is possible, is it not?”
“’Tis no concern of yours!”
“You’ve made it my concern, by trying to persuade me and others within this fort to surrender to a brutal enemy.”
“I thought to save lives.”
“Or help your lover gain prisoners and a fort?”
“No!” The injustice of his charge enraged her.
Bancroft embodied the arrogance of the pompous aristocrats she’d left behind. She wanted to drive her elbow into his gut and her knee where the sun didn’t shine. But he clamped her wrists in one han
d and wound the rawhide around them, knotting the ends.
“Granted, the situation is highly unusual. Still, you could be justly accused of attempting to incite insurrection.”
She thrashed in his arms. “Son of a bitch!”
“Cursing the senior officer of a fort carries a stiff penalty,” he calmly informed her.
“Worse than cursing a chief?”
“The punishment is flogging.”
She stilled at his threat. “You would beat me?”
He pulled her to him and buried his heated lips in the vulnerable spot where her neck met her shoulder. “If you were not the most disturbingly beautiful woman I’ve ever met, I would do just that.”
She tried unsuccessfully to twist from his lusting mouth. “Will you force your attentions on me with a war party on the verge of attack?”
“I’m sorely tempted to.”
“Bastard!”
“That’s another fifty stripes,” he said, his breath hot against her skin.
But it wasn’t the threat he voiced that frightened her.
“What intrigues me,” he continued, “isn’t why this warrior is so taken with you. Rather, why you’ve given yourself to him. Do you honestly care for him?”
“Is it so impossible to believe?”
“Perhaps you just need a man.” He gripped her face with hard fingers, crushing his lips against hers.
A fist pounded on the door. “Fire at the north gate, Captain!”
He jerked from her mouth. “Damn. I hoped they’d hold off with you inside.”
“I told you Black Knife wouldn’t.”
He hauled her across the room, kicking the overturned chair out of the way, and pushed her toward the wall.
She bucked in his grip. “What are you doing?”
“Being certain where you are.”
Forcing her arms above her head, he caught the binding at her wrists over an iron hook high on the log wall. The tips of her toes barely touched the floor.
“You can’t leave me like this! I’ll be overcome by smoke!”
“You’re safe enough for the present.”
“Not if you’re killed.”
He strode to the door and opened it. “Best hope I’m not, then,” he called over his shoulder, and stepped outside. The door swung shut behind him.
