Red Bird's Song

by Beth Trissel

  A root caught her toe and she lurched forward, jerked back to reality. The warrior behind her grabbed her arm, preventing a fall, but he offered no other assistance. None of the men she journeyed between were particularly helpful. Wicomechee had given her far more aid than she'd realized on that initial trek. How distant her valley seemed, like the eagle wheeling high above her on the currents. Rugged mountains with their endless ups and downs were her world now.

  Surely the warriors would stop soon. They'd hiked all day, pausing only for short breaks. The hasty lunch Colin had given her was long gone and an empty stomach gnawed at her along with her knee. Her breath in her throat, a stitch in her side, she clambered over yet another fallen limb.

  Finally, the braves ahead of her angled to the left and she followed them into a clearing. Butterflies fluttering among white milkweed and purple asters scattered as the men passed into the trees. The sound of rushing water beckoned to her from beyond the brilliant leaves. Would the men just let her go there? She nervously scanned dozens of strange faces.

  Strong fingers grasped her shoulder and spun her around. “Why did you not stay with Waupee?"

  Relief displaced her momentary alarm and a quiver ran through her middle. “Mechee. I looked everywhere for you."

  The annoyance in his face softened a little. “You would see me sooner if you stayed where I left you."

  "I grew tired of riding."

  "What of your knee?"

  "Sore. May I go to the stream?"

  "Go. Your friend waits there with the little ones. Waupee and Posetha tend the horses. I will get food."

  She left the clearing and descended into the shade of hemlocks. The rasp of breathing was just audible above the gurgling water. She sought the source. The bloody homespun she glimpsed through the trees resolved into the shape of Rob Buchanan slumped at the base of a trunk, his wrists bound.

  How she pitied him. A kind word from her might lighten his spirits, but she didn't dare approach the prostrate man. Outhowwa and Wicomechee had forbidden contact between them.

  She crept past her would-be suitor and neared the roaring tumble. A small waterfall collected into a wide pool. Red cardinal flowers sank their roots into the moist shade, while purplish Joe-Pye weed grew in the sunny spaces.

  James, Lily and the beagle played in the shallow end; Emma sat on a stone trailing her fingers in the clear water. Warriors knelt at the edge to drink and several waded near the fall. Chaka's broad bare shoulders stood out among these, but she refused to hang back on his account. He wouldn't dare molest her with so many gathered around. The scent of moist earth rose around her as she descended the fern-covered bank. She stopped beside Emma and reached down to take off her shoes.

  Emma smiled wanly. “No chance of keeping you out?"

  "None.” Charity tossed her shoes beside the children's discarded pairs. She peeled off her stockings and dropped them and her cloak on the pile. Reveling in her bare toes, she stepped over the mossy stones and bent to drink.

  Clusters of grapes dangled from the vines climbing throughout the trees on the other side of the pool. She pointed at the fat bunches partially concealed by yellow heart-shaped leaves. “Emma, look. I could fetch some."

  "Better wait. The pool might be deep in the middle."

  "Nonsense. I can swim if need be.” Snatching up her skirts, Charity waded in past the children and collected warriors. She couldn't choke back a gasp, though, as the icy water climbed to her knees. She tugged the layers of her skirts higher and picked her way over the stones and grit on the streambed. The water now lapped well up her legs. Gritting her teeth against the chill, she waded farther in. As the water rose, so did her skirts, nearly to her thighs. “Good heavens, Charity! Have you cast all modesty to the wind?"

  "I'm hungry! Aren't you?” she tossed over her shoulder.

  "Yes,” Emma admitted.

  "Me too!” James and Lily chimed in.

  Charity reached the pool's center. “Not so deep here—” she ventured, and promptly lost her footing on a slick stone.

  Plunged backwards, she squealed as the icy water closed over her head. She floundered in her petticoats and surfaced, spluttering, to the amusement of the men. Chaka seemed especially entertained by her display.

  "Come on back,” Emma urged.

  "Why? I can't get any wetter."

  In spite of Chaka's mirth, or perhaps because of it, Charity waded doggedly to the other bank and struggled up the rocky incline. Her dripping skirts clung to her legs as she claimed her reward and sucked out the grape's tart sweetness. After harvesting handfuls of clusters, she waded back.

  Emma eyed her in concern. “You'll take some drying out."

  Charity thrust the fruit into her hands. “I'm fine. Take these. I'll harvest some more."

  James and Lily pounced on their share and stuffed the fruit messily into their mouths. Emma hesitantly accepted her portion. “Thank you, dearest."

  "For me, you also get, dearest?” Chaka mimicked. Surrounding warriors roared with laughter.

  Tight-lipped, Charity waded past him, her skirts floating around her. She crossed to the pool's center forgetting the slippery spot in her anger. Again, she was thrown backwards, more forcefully this time. She scrabbled for her footing, choking on the water she'd gulped. One foot slipped between two large stones at the bottom. She fought to jerk it out, but was trapped and thrashed in a panic.

  Powerful arms pulled her, strangling, to her feet.

  Emma called out, “Charity! Are you all right?"

  Chaka kept one hand on her shoulder as she coughed. It took several moments before she'd recovered her breath enough to sputter, “Yes!"

  That infuriating smile played around his lips. “Pretty English girl cannot stand. I help you over."

  She could imagine what kind of help he might offer if he got her on the other side, alone. “Leave me be."

  He fingered her dripping hair. “I saved you from the water. I will not harm you."

  At least he was sober, but the glint in his eyes wasn't reassuring. She pulled from him and backed away.

  Weshe growled from the water's edge as Chaka stepped toward her, hand outstretched. “You are a frightened rabbit. Come, petakinethi. Will you hop from me?"

  His taunt elicited more laughter from spectators.

  An overpowering urge welled in Charity to see this arrogant warrior fall as she had done. With all the speed she could muster in sodden skirts, she hurled herself at him and shoved his solid bulk.

  "Charity! No!” Emma shrieked.

  Chaka staggered under the sudden impact, but held his ground. All trace of humor vanished from his face. “You attack me?"

  No one laughed now. Multiple pairs of eyes watched, silent and expectant. Charity raked tendrils of wet hair away from her face. “I only tried to knock you down."

  He drew thunderous brows together. “That is attack."

  James grabbed the frantic beagle. “Charity didn't mean nothing! And she ain't no damn rabbit!"

  Emma hushed him. “Apologize to Chaka at once, Charity."

  She lifted her chin. “He provoked me."

  Chaka's narrow gaze was unrepentant. “You provoke me."

  He snagged her, shrieking, around the middle and lifted her up into the air then flung her into the icy pool. She landed on her back. Shaking with cold and fury, she staggered to her feet amid hoots from onlookers. She saw at a glance that Emma had gone, taking the furious dog with her.

  "You lout!” Charity shouted up at Chaka.

  "You will learn respect.” Digging his fingers into her shoulders, he forced her back under the water.

  She twisted to escape his grip, pushed against his legs, clawed at his hands, but he didn't budge. The cold water imprisoned her and her tortured lungs spasmed for air. Was he holding her under to teach her a lesson or something far more insidious?

  If she took that desperately needed gulp, she'd drown. But she couldn't deny her body's reflexive need to breathe much longer
. Her struggles grew more and more feeble.

  Suddenly she was yanked to the surface and her chest filled again and again with great gasps of air. Chaka pulled her upright, and she swayed in his grasp. James and Lily crouched on the stone beside the pool, thin arms wrapped around each other, eyes wide, while the gathering looked on.

  "Wicomechee will punish you,” Charity choked out.

  That maddening smile curved his lips. “I did nothing."

  "You did plenty.” He knew where and when. Drawing back her hand, she struck him across the cheek hard enough to leave her palm stinging.

  "Charity! What are you doing?"

  Wicomechee's shout rang out across the frozen tableau. All eyes followed his rush to the water.

  Chaka jabbed his finger at her. “She attacked me."

  "Why?” Wicomechee shot back.

  He shrugged. “This English woman has much temper."

  James jumped off the rock and ran to Wicomechee's side. “Chaka threw Charity in the water, two times!"

  Wicomechee slid the musket, powderhorn, and shot pouch from his shoulders and laid them on the bank. He loosed the knotted sash at his waist and dropped the pouch and sheathed knife hanging from it onto the pile. “Wait here small one,” he instructed James. Leaving his tomahawk behind, he waded into the pool wearing his shirt and buckskin vest. “Do you want to fight her or me?"

  Chaka sneered. “Fighting is not what I want from her."

  Like an incensed elk, Wicomechee flung himself at Chaka. He hurtled backwards, yanking Wicomechee down with him. Charity dodged the clashing men. Splashing through waist-high water, she headed to the bank where she'd gathered grapes and huddled beneath the vines.

  More warriors joined the excited crowd.

  Wicomechee smashed his fist into Chaka's jaw with a bone-cracking uppercut. Chaka reeled backwards, flailed to recover his balance, and stood unsteadily. Blood ran from his lip as he lunged at Wicomechee with a hoarse cry. Both men went down in a fury of churning water.

  "Howay, NiSawsawh!” Colin burst from the trees and shoved several braves aside to reach the water. He stripped the musket and powder horn from his shoulders. Flinging them on the bank, he charged into the stream between the battling men. “You want Outhowwa to know Charity's the cause of this?"

  A punch intended for Wicomechee caught Colin on the cheek. He staggered back, eyes flashing. “Back off, Chaka."

  "Puckechey! It's not your fight, Waupee."

  The Englishman clenched his fists. “You leave that sweet girl alone, or I'll make it my fight."

  Chaka's lip curled. “Sweet? She attacked me—"

  "And didn't inflict nearly enough damage!” Colin swung hard and his knuckles opened a gash on Chaka's chin.

  Chaka recovered and struck out, getting off a crack to Colin's jaw. He hurtled back—a momentary retreat—then tore into the warrior. His fists were a blur as he pummeled Chaka's face. The waterfall muffled onlookers’ enthusiasm.

  A visibly winded Emma staggered through the gold leaves. “Colin! Stop!” she cried, but he was beyond heeding her plea.

  "NiSawsawh!” Wicomechee grasped Colin's arm, but his friend pulled free and plunged his fist into Chaka's stomach.

  He doubled over, gasping like a stranded fish.

  "Enough!” Wicomechee seized Colin's shoulders from behind, struggling to force him away.

  Colin lunged. “Just one more good—"

  "Naga,” Wicomechee panted. “As you said, Outhowwa may be angry."

  Chest heaving beneath his wet shirt, Colin wiped at the blood running down his cheek. “I'll stop, if Chaka will."

  Chaka slowly straightened and regarded him through a rapidly swelling eye. Breathing hard, he gave a nod.

  Wicomechee released Colin and gingerly fingered his jaw. “Keep away from my captive, Chaka."

  "She attacked me first,” he grunted, and turned away.

  Charity chewed her lip as he left the pool. His sour expression made a sharp contrast with the other warriors, their spirits boosted by the entertainment. Now that the brawl was over, they followed him into the trees. She shivered from the chill and sobering awareness of her rash actions. Would Chaka complain about her to his father?

  Colin waded back to his shaken flock and gathered Emma and Lily in a damp embrace. “It's over now,” he said, tousling James's head.

  Charity didn't dwell on this touching scene. Wicomechee was making his way through the water toward her. Any relief she'd felt at being rescued evaporated at the rigidity in his bruised face. She shrank back under the vines, feeling far more subdued than the woman who'd dared to defy Chaka.

  In one lithe movement, Wicomechee was out of the water. With three short strides he stood over her, his black hair streaming. “You attacked Chaka first?"

  She stared up at him, shivering in her wet clothes. “He provoked me,” she faltered. “ I only tried to knock him down,"

  Disbelief mixed with the potent censure in Wicomechee's eyes. “Is this a fight you thought to win?"

  "I didn't mean for it to be a fight."

  "It is well Chaka has much desire for you, or I would find my fair captive with her throat cut."

  "He made me so angry. I didn't think."

  "No. You did not. Come, Charity. We will speak.” He appeared on the verge of a great deal more than that.

  She waded behind him back across the pool. Emma and the children pressed around Colin. Emma clasped trembling fingers to her mouth. “Oh, Charity, whatever possessed you?"

  "I can guess that easily enough.” Colin reached his hand to Wicomechee's shoulder. “Let me handle matters if there's any trouble with Outhowwa."

  He arched one brow. “You are the calm one?"

  "Not so much where Chaka's concerned. But better than you with his father."

  Wicomechee shrugged. “You speak."

  The men caught up their weapons and supplies. Charity pulled on her stockings and shoes. Colin headed up the trail with Emma and the children. Wicomechee fell in behind him, his displeasure with Charity evident in the set of his shoulders. She grabbed her cloak and followed. The wrap did little to ease her chill or trepidation.

  Camp lay above the falls in the grove of hemlocks. Their boughs rocked with the evening breeze. Thin high clouds like soft white fish scales laced the sky. A change was coming in the weather, though there was no sign of impending rain beyond the swirls overhead. She sensed a change coming for her too.

  As their subdued group approached, they found warriors eating chestnuts, cornmeal and the last of the ham carried off on their raid. Some sharpened knives or cleaned muskets. One animated group was playing a game of cards before the light faded. Campfires were still taboo for fear of detection.

  Outhowwa sat, flanked by warriors, his back against a large stone. Some men recently come from the stream walked between them, but the eagle-eyed chief took in Colin and Wicomechee's damp, battered state and shifted his study to Charity. His mouth tightened at the sight of his son.

  "Umbe Chaka,” he said, motioning to him with his fingers.

  Charity waited in an agony of suspense. Would Chaka rush to Outhowwa with accusation? To her surprise, he approached his father with evident reluctance. Arms crossed over his chest, he stood in rigid silence as Outhowwa questioned him.

  Chaka strained each short syllable through his teeth.

  Clearly dissatisfied, Outhowwa pressed him for more.

  "Naga,” Chaka bit out, and strode away.

  Colin and Wicomechee exchanged glances. Colin left his little band with Muga and walked to the exasperated chief. Charity slipped behind Wicomechee and peered around him.

  Earnest words passed between the two men. Then humor hinted unexpectedly in Colin's face and a slight smile curved Outhowwa's hard mouth. Colin sat beside him. Their conversation flowed more easily, the mood lighter.

  "Come, Charity.” Carrying his blue-black blanket, Wicomechee stole from the camp. She followed at his heels through the hemlocks, past rhododendrons.
He stopped on the other side of a thick white cedar. “Here. Speak softly."

  They were only yards from the others. “Are we hiding?"

  "No. Just keeping away for a time."

  Her skirts dripped steadily onto the carpet of needles. “What of Outhowwa? What did Colin say to make him smile?"

  Wicomechee slipped off his musket and laid it on the ground with his blanket. “He said you wish to be a warrior."

  She couldn't be certain if he were serious. “Really?"

  Wicomechee's supplies joined the musket, and he took off his vest. “Waupee said you are a foolish woman who thinks to fight his son. Warriors laugh at you both."

  She clutched trembling arms around herself. “Is that why Chaka is so angry?"

  "You caused him shame."

  "What of Outhowwa? Is he still angry with me?"

  "Not so much.” Wicomechee stripped his shirt over his head, exposing the chiseled planes of his chest.

  Apprehension undercut her sense of relief. “Are you?"

  He spread the fabric over a green bough and draped his vest. “Speak later. Clothes must dry. We can make no fire."

  "I can't undress with you here."

  "You prefer to freeze? I will share my blanket."

  "At least turn your head."

  Wicomechee looked away, watching from the corners of his eyes as Charity dropped her cloak beside his pile. She tugged at her bodice, fumbling the ties with grape-stained fingers.

  "Blast these laces.” She shook all over.

  "Let me help you,” he offered.

  "Oh, all right. I grow more chilled by the moment."

  He freed the sodden cords, peeled the bodice from her, and tossed it to the fragrant tree. He undid the drawstring at her waist and pulled the saturated petticoats to her knees. She shivered out of the bedraggled heap. Her shift clung to each rounded breast and puckered nipple. The pleasing sight nearly took his breath away.

  "You're enjoying this,” she protested through chattering teeth.

  He smiled and swept his admiring gaze over her. Despite her slender build, her breasts would spill over his hands if he cupped them, and her hips curved enticingly. He fingered the drawstring at her neck. “You would be warmer without this."