Red Bird's Song

by Beth Trissel

  "I'm also the only white man here. No matter. Children may be just the thing to settle me.” He gave Emma a crooked smile and reached down to take her hand. “Let's have you up."

  She groaned as he pulled her to her feet, and rubbed her lower back. “I might have fared better walking."

  "Never,” Charity said. “Your mother feared you would tire yourself out nut gathering."

  Emma winced and her rounded figure sagged under the weight of emotion.

  Remorse crossed Charity's expressive face. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken of Aunt Mary."

  Waupee enfolded Emma and held her to him. “She got away, darling. Likely she'll seek refuge with your brother Robin and his family."

  Emma blinked at tears. “Are you certain they weren't also attacked?"

  "Their homestead lies beyond the targeted area. Your mother is a tough woman, Emma. She will survive this."

  "I pray so,” she whispered.

  "As for James, the boy will stay with us. Wake up, lad. Breakfast,” Waupee said, summoning the sleepy child.

  James hopped up from the leaves, having wriggled off his blanket in the night. Awareness drove all drowsiness from his green-gray eyes. Plucking leaves from his blond curls, he ran his widening gaze over the cave. His small lips puckered and he turned to Waupee. “I don't got a Papa no more."

  Waupee closed one arm around the boy's slight shoulders. “I'm sorrier than I can say, lad. How about helping me with your sister? Take her hand.” James clutched Emma's fingers and Waupee tucked her other arm through his.

  "You have another child to settle you,” she sniffed.

  "And one yet unborn."

  "What of its father? Will I ever know Edward's fate?"

  Waupee's chin jutted at an unbending angle. “All I know is that a young man fitting Edward's description was injured, but whether he lives or dies, I'll never surrender you."

  Emma lifted glistening eyes. “You may have to, sir. Captain Buchanan may leave you no choice."

  "Much as I admire Captain Buchanan, he has me to reckon with before he can take you back.” With that, Waupee led them from the cave.

  Wicomechee wondered about this formidable militia leader and the Long Knives under his command. Just let these Scotsmen try to reclaim Charity. They'd rue the day, he determined, getting to his feet. In imitation of Waupee's civility, he bent down and reached out his hand to her.

  "I will help you to the spring."

  She eyed him coldly. “No thank you. I can manage."

  Her icy refusal drove a shaft of indignation through him. She'd been compliant enough when addressing his brother. “Go to Waupee. You will accept his aid, I think."

  He swiveled on his moccasins and stalked from the cave.

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  Chapter Three

  Wicomechee had scarcely disappeared from sight before Charity repented of her rash outburst. His abrupt departure had left her in the cave with warriors and no guardian at hand. Thankfully, the rowdy assembly didn't seem to be taking any notice of her. Some who'd imbibed too freely reeled outside. She must hasten past them to reach Colin and Emma.

  She rose stiffly and took a tentative step. Despite the soreness in her knee, she quickly limped toward the opening.

  "Where you going?” a husky voice asked from behind her, his words slightly slurred.

  She froze, almost too paralyzed to speak. “To Mister Dickson—I mean, Waupee,” she squeezed from her throat.

  Chaka seized her shoulders and spun her toward him. Everything about him seemed larger than life, nightmarishly so. His black eyes swept her with a hungry gleam in his broad face. “Why such haste? Eat. Drink."

  She recoiled from the thought of food in her knotted stomach. Whiskey would never mix with her quaking fear.

  The taunting smile played at his lips. “Stay with me."

  Her heart drummed in her ears. “No."

  Nostrils flared in a prominent nose. “Who are you to refuse me? Do you know who I am?"

  The significance of his identity was lost on her.

  "Where is Wicomechee?” he demanded.

  "Nearby."

  Chaka smiled at her attempt, apparently gleaning the truth from her face. As though in a bad dream, she could summon no resistance as he pulled her farther back into a dark recess. An inner voice urged her to struggle but her body wouldn't respond except to tremble. She shook as he trapped her against a stone wall. The gloom swallowed his overpowering features, but not the fiery miasma of whiskey and the scent of bear grease used as a base for the war paint.

  "You're drunk,” she argued breathlessly.

  "Not so much."

  "What do you want?” she panted.

  "You."

  Her stomach gave a sick lurch. Was he simply toying with her, enjoying her terror, or would he act?

  He ran large hands down the loose hair cascading to her waist. “So beautiful, your hair."

  Was he truly admiring her auburn lengths, or would he scalp her? He could swiftly accomplish that bloody deed in the dark. A shudder convulsed her. “Let me go."

  "Shhhh. I will not harm you, pretty English girl.” Whiskey permeated every word.

  His fingers, seemingly unaffected by alcohol, smoothed her cheeks and drifted to the curve of her neck without a tremor. He could easily draw his knife and slit her throat, but if this was his aim, why was he stroking her skin? His fingers roamed lower, over her bodice.

  She jerked in a new sort of alarm. “Stop—"

  Disregarding her plea, he tugged at the lacing and the drawstring of her shift.

  Coming violently back into control of her body, Charity fought to push him away as he jerked down the freed cloth and pawed her exposed breast. Rough fingers scraped her nipple and she slapped his hand. Then he closed his arms around her and she caught her breath, feeling herself being crushed against his scratchy shirt. His burning lips covered hers, pressing down, forcing her mouth apart. Horror consumed her as she felt his tongue thrust inside her shuddering mouth. Her first kiss from a man was anything but tender.

  She kicked wildly at his muscular legs and twisted in his vise-like grasp. But he held her so tightly she couldn't move while his lips enforced her silence. Not that anyone could readily hear her over the boisterousness in the cave, even if they were willing to aid her. Never had she felt so helpless, not even when Wicomechee had taken her captive the day before. She desperately wished him back.

  Growling erupted near their feet. What animal could be causing the commotion? Her frantic thoughts touched on the dog that had adopted her in the night. He must have burrowed down into the leaves until, in that peculiar way animals have of connecting, he'd sensed her panic and come to life.

  Men's upraised voices neared their blackened nook in response to the irate dog.

  Chaka clamped his hand over her mouth. “Hush."

  "Chaka! Naga!” the men called.

  Above the barking, several braves spoke to him, but she couldn't see them in the dim light. Wrenching her head to the side, she sank her teeth into Chaka's hand. He freed her mouth. She shrieked, gaining their immediate attention.

  "Wicomechee's tamsah. Wehpeteh, Chaka,” one man scolded.

  The name ‘Wicomechee’ caught her ears in the heated exchange that followed, while she prayed the newcomers would interfere on his behalf if not hers.

  Chaka tersely relinquished his hold. “You will not escape me,” he hissed in a voice only she could hear.

  His ominous threat echoed in her mind as he left and her legs shook so badly she couldn't stand. She sank down onto the cave floor, clutching her sagging bodice with shaky fingers. “Take me to Emma,” she cried.

  "I take,” a warrior rumbled in his deep bass.

  She sensed his enormous size as he lifted her. Like a gentle giant, he carried her from the cave out into the brilliant sunshine. The dog, revealed to be a brown and white beagle, trotted beside them as he bore her toward the small group seated in the rippling gras
s and fern near the spring.

  "Waupee!” he beckoned.

  Colin turned his head and sprang to his feet. “Muga? Good heavens. What's happened?"

  Emma clambered up. “Are you all right, dearest?"

  Any response Charity intended strangled in her throat.

  Colin's brow furrowed. Taking her from her rescuer, he said, “Megwich, Muga. Posetha,” he added, with a distracted nod at the second brave who'd accompanied them from the cave. He laid Charity on the navy blanket spread under a red maple tree. “I thought you were with my brother, Miss Edmondson."

  "He thought I was with you, but Chaka—” Tears overwhelmed Charity and it was all she could do not to sob.

  Colin dropped his anxious gaze to her disordered bodice and turned explosively to the two warriors. The confusing sounds of Shawnee broke forth while Emma tied the neckline of her shift and redid the lacing at her chest with fingers that shook nearly as much as Charity's. Then she adjusted the bodice, ordered her petticoats, and rewrapped her cloak.

  "They're not certain what Chaka did,” Colin said, kneeling beside Charity. “But have their suspicions.” He took her chilled hand in his warm fingers. “I hate to press you, dear heart, but must ask, did he violate you?"

  She felt violated to her depths. “What do you mean?"

  Colin's eyes softened. “Poor girl. So like my sister Rachel."

  Emma nodded as though she knew the connection, and Colin continued. “It strikes me as especially vile when such innocence is robbed. Did Chaka harm you, Miss Edmondson, other than groping you disgracefully? Please tell me."

  "He terrified me. But no, he did not cause me pain."

  Breath rushed from Emma. “Thank God."

  Dismay overshadowed Charity's sense of relief. “He's not finished with me yet."

  Colin's brows arched sharply. “What do you mean?"

  "Chaka said, unless he's too drunk to know what he said."

  Colin gritted his teeth in an effort to contain the rage she sensed boiling just beneath the surface. “Whether he was or wasn't, rest assured his attentions to you are at an end."

  She clung to Colin's nearly fierce assertion and to his hand. “What does he want from me, Mister Dickson?"

  "Something precious he has no right to. I'll let Emma explain, or your husband when the time comes."

  Charity felt left on the perimeter of some vital secret with no hope of Emma enlightening her. Something else Colin had said caught her attention. “How am I like your sister?"

  He lowered questioning eyes to Emma. She gave a nod. He exchanged glances with the two warriors and they took James in hand, disappearing into the trees. Colin had the air of a man revisiting a place he'd far rather leave behind.

  "Rachel was your age when a man took cruel advantage of her. The difference between you is that you got away before it was too late."

  Charity pitied this unknown girl. “What happened?"

  "Rachel was one of the young ladies preyed upon by Lawrence Montgomery, an arrogant dandy. His father, Lord Montgomery, is a thoroughly unprincipled man and Lawrence was no better. I was out and our father in bed recovering from illness when Lawrence paid Rachel a call and persuaded her to go for a drive in his carriage—his closed carriage. The driver was instructed to ignore female cries from within. I expect you have some idea now of what followed."

  Charity shrank from the repugnant image he painted.

  Colin fingered his dagger. “After I'd seen to Rachel, I sought Lawrence out. He trusted his reputation as a swordsman would dissuade me from challenging him. He thought wrong."

  "Did you run Mister Montgomery through?"

  "Not entirely, but the wound I gave him in my fury was mortal. He died soon after, never to torment a woman again."

  Charity shivered with satisfaction. “A just punishment."

  "Not to his father. Lord Montgomery's trumped-up charges of murder are responsible for my flight from England. Damnable liar. Sorry. You don't need to hear all of this."

  "I don't mind, really. Go on, please."

  "He sent word to his powerful brother in Philadelphia, a discovery I made soon after my ship docked. It seems Oliver Montgomery also intends my arrest on the same false charge and had his cronies watching my uncle's home for my arrival."

  "Is that when you came to the Shenandoah Valley?"

  "Yes, after dashing off a letter to my uncle to inform him of my whereabouts. It must have been intercepted. How else could Oliver Montgomery have discovered my refuge?"

  "He must be terribly vindictive to risk coming into the frontier to seek you."

  Colin's sun-browned features creased in contempt. “Oliver is a base coward. He sent his men. I fled deep into the mountains to escape them where Wicomechee found me."

  "And now you're with the Shawnee, all because of Rachel?"

  "Not only am I with them, I'm one of them. And I must deal with Chaka. What he did defies their code of honor."

  "I didn't know they had one."

  "Oh yes. Forcing any woman, even a captive, is strongly frowned upon. Chaka has no shame."

  Charity considered uneasily. “What will you do?"

  "Challenge him.” Colin's eyes promised retribution.

  Emma flinched. “No. What if he kills you?"

  "I'll give him a good fight, darling."

  She grasped his sleeve. “If you kill him, what then? Will you not anger many warriors?"

  Colin shrugged. “He's well liked. So am I."

  "Don't take the risk,” she pleaded.

  Charity blotted her damp face with her sleeve and sat up. “Won't Mechee protect me? He said he would in the night."

  "I thought I heard some talk between you in the wee hours. You were sleeping mighty close together when I awoke."

  Her cheeks warmed at his observation. Emma swiveled her head at her, fair brows drawn together above gaping eyes.

  "I was cold—” Charity faltered, and appealed to Colin. “Please, sir, could you not allow Mechee to deal with Chaka?"

  "That's not a great deal better than my intervening. Those two have been rivals from the start."

  "With your temper, you're sure to be in deep,” Emma said, eyeing Charity as though she had some peculiar ailment.

  "Very well. I'll let Wicomechee handle this,” Colin agreed, still weighing Charity. “It's odd he left you so suddenly. Did he say where he was going?"

  "No. Though I might have vexed him,” she admitted.

  "Ah. I'll speak to him. Now, you really must eat."

  "I only want to wash away Chaka's touch."

  "Certainly. But you must keep up your strength or you'll never make this journey."

  "Mechee will see to it that I do."

  Colin's lips twitched. “Ah, Miss Edmondson. The stars are calling to you. Mars is aligning with Venus."

  His mysterious allusion sent a frightening yet strangely exciting tingle through Charity.

  The beagle begged for the scraps James tossed him while Charity sat eating slices of ham and wild grapes and listened to the unintelligible exchange between Colin and her rescuers. Whatever they discussed seemed to be a matter of disquiet.

  As they spoke, she grew increasingly aware of the young brave sitting beside her. Like Wicomechee and Colin, he wore his shoulder-length hair loose. His chiseled features set off black eyes shining with intelligence. She glanced his way, caught his warm gaze on her, and averted her eyes.

  He spoke rapidly to Colin, who gave a nod. “Posetha wishes to be introduced.” He laid his hand on Emma's shoulder. “This fair lady is Emma, my wife, niwah,” he said and gestured at Charity. “This beauty is called Charity. We will stick with Christian names to simplify,” he explained. “James they know. I entrusted him to their care yesterday."

  The big warrior nudged Colin. “Ah yes, Muga. His name means bear. Posetha and Muga are my good friends, gitchee niNeeakahs. They, Wicomechee and I are a band of brothers."

  Both men seemed pleased, and if they had any reservations
about the condition of Colin's newly recovered wife they concealed it well. “Do they speak English?” Charity asked.

  Posetha smiled. “I speak. Muga speaks little.” He pointed at her knee. “You are injured. Let me see."

  She watched cautiously as he knelt and pushed her cloak aside. Yesterday's bandage was stained and a dismal sight.

  He beckoned. “Come to the water."

  "Might I borrow your comb, Mister Dickson?"

  Colin withdrew a comb carved of bone from the beaded elk skin pouch hanging over his shoulder. The item in hand, she limped to the small spring bubbling up from between gray rocks and flowing into the trees at the base of a wooded slope. Inhaling the earthy scent, she sat on a sun-warmed stone.

  Where was Wicomechee, and why did she care? Only for protection, she reasoned, glad of Posetha's friendliness.

  Though not as tall as Wicomechee, he stood a handspan above her. He motioned her knee nearer the water to wet the bandage then carefully unbound the linen. The cut was closing well, though badly discolored with a purpling bruise.

  "Wait.” Posetha darted into the trees, returning with a handful of mitten-shaped leaves. “This kind brings healing."

  The spicy scent of sassafras rose around her as he pressed the crushed leaves to her wound and bound the poultice in place with a strip of linen taken from the pouch at his waist.

  "Thank you,” she offered.

  "Megwich."

  Was he teaching her Shawnee? “Megwich, Posetha."

  He watched appreciatively as she combed out tangles. “Your hair is colored like a red leaf. Pocoon sisqui. Your eyes are skipaki, the color of leaves in the planting moon."

  Colin stepped beside them. “Very poetic, Posetha."

  The earnest brave stood, plucked a fluffy milkweed pod, and bent to touch her cheek. “Like this, your skin."

  "Enough,” Colin chuckled. “Does Wicomechee want you to speak honeyed words to his captive?"

  Posetha shrugged. “I speak the words I like."

  "Until he puts a stop to it."

  Charity looked up at Colin. “Would Mechee really mind?"

  "Quite possibly. He took you captive for a reason."

  "What?” she asked guardedly, with that curious tingle.