Red Bird's Song

by Beth Trissel

  She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt at modesty. “You are not removing anymore. I'll be naked."

  "Yes."

  "You are not supposed to be looking at me,” she chided, and grabbed up her cloak to wrap in.

  "How can I stop my eyes from such beauty?"

  She settled, shaking, beneath the cedar. “Do you truly find me beautiful, stained from grapes, my hair a tangle?"

  He knelt beside her and ran his fingers through the damp spill covering her like a second mantle. “Truly, I do."

  "Perhaps purple becomes me,” she said with a half-smile.

  "Any color.” He sat at her side and closed the blanket around his shoulders then drew her beneath the cover. “I will warm you, feed you. Then we will speak."

  She shook against him. “I hoped you'd forget that."

  "No. Though you give me other thoughts."

  "Good ones?"

  What a guileless girl. He was acutely aware of her body pressed hip to hip against his. She kindled a fire in him that shot a scorching signal to his loins. If he weren't careful, all rational thought would flee.

  "Very good.” Taking slices of jerky from his pouch, he handed them to her.

  She bit into the meat, darting glances at him. A pink blush stained her cheeks and she looked away.

  What had triggered the flush and averted eyes? Did her feelings flow as his, like a swift stream?

  She ate in silence, seemingly doing her best to conceal her emotions.

  He took hickory nuts already separated from their shells out from under the blanket and gave them to her. She devoured her share and he crunched his, enjoying the nutty flavor. “Would you like these?” he asked, dipping his hand back into his pouch and opening his fist to reveal the tiny red berries.

  She looked wonderingly from his offering back up to him. “When did you gather them?"

  "While you warred with Chaka."

  "Oh.” She lowered her guilty gaze. Scooping up some of the berries, she poured them into her mouth and slowly chewed.

  He chewed the remaining portion.

  She seemed to come to a decision. “I'm sorry...for most of what I did, anyway."

  "Only most?"

  "Surely, you can't expect me to regret everything? Not after what Chaka did to me."

  "You risked much. Who taught you to behave this way?"

  "Craig said never to let any man get the best of me."

  Wicomechee doubted she had any real idea what he meant. “If I had not come, Chaka would have gotten more than this."

  "He taunts me. He's infuriating."

  "Can you not hold your tongue, pretend not to hear?"

  "He called me a scared rabbit."

  Wicomechee considered her in bemusement. “For this, you struck him?"

  "No. That's why I tried to knock him down."

  "You are like a small dog who attacks the wolf. Must I tie you to a tree?"

  "Why won't Chaka leave me be?"

  "Has no one told you anything of men?"

  "Not really. I asked Colin. He said to ask Emma, only she won't tell me. Or my husband, when I have one."

  Wicomechee's chuckle interrupted her.

  "I was being serious,” she reproached him.

  "I see this. Also see something more. You asked me to tell you what Chaka wishes."

  Charity weighed him with a cautious look. “So?” “My brother told you to learn from your husband. Do you want me for your husband?"

  Her mouth fell open. “I—just thought you might say."

  "I prefer to show you."

  She blinked at him.

  He closed his arms around her and pulled her inviting softness against him. To his delight, she sank into his embrace. Her smooth back was firm beneath his hands. “Be my wife, Charity. I will teach you what you ask, give you much pleasure."

  She stiffened as if catching herself. “I can't. You ask the impossible, Mechee."

  He pressed his lips to her damp hair. “Why do you continue to speak this name? I think you can say Wicomechee."

  "I hardly know. It's more of a feeling really."

  "Tell me,” he invited.

  "Wicomechee is a warrior I fear. Mechee is...my friend."

  He blew lightly into her ear. “I would be far more."

  A tremor ran through her. “I mustn't let you."

  Not only her wonderfully responsive body, but her words betrayed her. He pounced on them like a sharp-eared cat. “Now you say mustn't. Before, you say can't."

  "Can't, mustn't, shouldn't—what's the difference?"

  "Shouldn't is weaker still,” he pointed out.

  She buried her face in his shoulder. “I wish you didn't speak English so well."

  He chuckled. Not once had she said she didn't want him. He smoothed her hair aside and pressed his lips down the curve of her neck. “Do not hide from me, sweet one."

  Goosebumps flushed over her. “I'm afraid to do anything else."

  "Why? Am I harming you?"

  "No—"

  "What of this?” he asked, untying her cloak at her neck.

  "I'll grow cold if you take that from me."

  "Not in my arms.” He spread the cloak beneath them and coaxed her down onto the earth, covering them both with his blanket. Turning onto his side, he held her to him. Only her shift lay between them and her breasts swelled against his chest. He took care to shield her from his pulsing loins. “Are you still frightened?"

  "Some."

  Yet, he felt her pressing nearer. “Do you like my touch?” he asked, loosening the drawstring of her shift and sliding his fingers over her smooth shoulder.

  "Yes,” she admitted with a shiver.

  "Why such fear to wed me?"

  She sighed. “How can I betray my father and all the others who died at Shawnee hands? Your people are brutal."

  "I do not ask you to wed my people. Only me. Am I brutal?"

  "Not just now."

  "Never to you. Tell me again why you cannot care for me."

  She struggled to reply as though his nearness muddled her mind. “It's not that I don't care. I can't wed my enemy."

  She gasped as he slid his hand lower and rested it just above her left breast. Her heart pounded beneath his fingers and it was all he could do not to let them stray. “Your heart agrees not with your words. Why not do as your heart wishes?"

  Her chest rose and fell under his palm. “My heart forgets you are Shawnee."

  "Let us see if your lips remember,” he coaxed, and curled his fingers around her cheek.

  "Don't kiss me. Please."

  He halted a whisper away from her lips. “I will not, if you do not wish it. Tell me you do not."

  "It's not that I don't wish it. I mustn't."

  "Again you speak this. Can you not do better?"

  Settling his lips over hers, he silenced her faint refusal. Her mouth parted beneath his and all his feelings for her swelled inside him. She pressed his lips in return...the elusive spirit of the trees bending under his persuasion and giving back to him. What bliss it would be to join himself to this fairest of women. And if she conceived with his seed, what a strong beautiful infant she would bear. These imaginings charged him with even greater desire, as though he'd swallowed the most powerful love potion.

  Twice he released her mouth only to surge back, covering her lips again. A small whimper escaped her but she did not try to break away. And he couldn't possibly get enough of her lips. Her kiss was honeyed torment, her scent heated his blood. Whether she understood what she did or not, she called to him and he longed to drink great draughts of her nectar.

  "Enough—no more—” she pleaded, flushed against him.

  "Ah, Charity. I could make you my wife now, so easily."

  "How? We haven't even exchanged vows."

  Even in the deepening dusk he saw her perplexity. Groaning at her ignorance, he forced himself to stay his hand. “So tempted I am to take you."

  "But you will not?"

&nb
sp; "Not without your consent to wed. I give you my word."

  "I cannot give you mine."

  She would drive him mad. There was only one immediate solution. “I will return you to your cousin."

  Still, she held to him in all her alluring sweetness. “Must I go from you?"

  Despite being nearly wild with frustration, he smiled. “You will not agree to wed me, yet you wish to remain in my arms?"

  "What will happen if I stay?"

  "Do you really want to know?” he whispered.

  "Better take me to Emma."

  "Hide by her while you may."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eight

  Charity gazed around her in amazement. How had she come to be in this grand room? Never had she beheld such luxury.

  Candelabras on the blue walls shone over an immense sideboard that held sprigged-floral platters heaped with pastries, steamed puddings, fish in sauce, roast beef, and a whole cooked goose. Red and yellow apples and nuts of all sorts spilled from the polished silver bowls. A magnificent table ran the length of the room, laden with china plates, soup bowls, silver spoons, forks, pearl-handled knives and sparkling goblets filled with red wine. Ornate chairs carved of fine wood with seats of gold cloth lined the table.

  Servants waited to serve the merry party of ladies and gentlemen entering through the double doors. The elegant assembly was dressed as she'd always imagined the wealthy would be. Men wore tailored coats and breeches of rich fabric. Ruffled shirts showed above their waistcoats.

  What a contrast the ladies’ glowing gowns made to her plain homespun. Flowered fabric or stunning solids in blue and crimson draped their shapely figures. Conserving precious cloth wasn't a concern given the abundance used, and they displayed a great deal more bosom than she was accustomed to.

  Powdered wigs covered many heads, though some men wore their own hair pulled back and tied at the neck with black ribbons as Colin had when Charity first met him. Ladies piled their tresses high on their heads, tendrils at their cheeks. Jewels winked at their white throats. Rings shone on the men's fingers as they assisted the women to their seats.

  An impressive figure stood at the head of the table, his muscular build evident beneath his stylish clothes. A smile creased his weathered features and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. Still in his prime, he would be about the same age as her father if he'd lived and bore some resemblance to him, including red hair. But so many years had passed since her father's death that she couldn't be certain of his appearance.

  "A toast!” the man called out.

  The glad assembly raised their glasses.

  She sidled nearer the jovial host, but he continued as if he hadn't seen her. No one at the table took any more notice of her than if she were a ghost. She lifted a pastry from the sideboard and bit into the meat filling. Savoring the delicacy, she eyed the fir boughs and holly decorating the wide mantle. Was it Christmas? Their servant, Hannah, had spoken of lavish parties given in the great homes at Yuletide.

  Lilting music summoned Charity from the fireside. She glimpsed a spacious hall through the open doorway. Musicians seated in a candle-lit corner plied bows to their fiddles. Others blew flutes. One man sat before what she guessed was a harpsichord. They played while the merry company ate.

  Then the music changed in tempo and swelled to a jig. Laughing couples rose from the table. Arm in arm, they entered the hall and formed two columns, gentlemen on one side and ladies on the other. Partners joined hands, circling and promenading up and down. The couples separated to step and turn with others in the figure, yet always finding each other again. Some of the steps Charity knew, while others were far more complex. Her tapping feet longed to join in.

  "Dance with me,” a low voice invited.

  She turned to see a tall young man behind her. When had he arrived? She hadn't noticed him among the company.

  He held out his hand. “Come."

  She reached out hesitantly. “I don't know the steps."

  "I will teach you."

  She looked closely. His handsome face was familiar, but he was dressed as she'd never thought to see him. “Mechee?"

  Charity awoke to cold gray light. Divergent emotions churned inside her, leaving more questions than answers in the bewildering flood. Her heart behaved like an unruly child who must be restrained. She was at a loss to face Wicomechee, or the day. Maybe she could escape into oblivion a bit longer—

  "Wake up!” James bounded at her like an exuberant dog.

  She sat up, gripping the wool wrap. “Give me a minute."

  "I did. Lots.” He pounced on Lily, asleep beside her.

  "Easy.” Charity would like to give him a sound shake.

  He ignored her and heaved the bleary-eyed child to her feet. “Get a move on, Charity!” he called over his shoulder, and propelled Lily in the direction of the stream.

  "Who put you in charge of me?"

  "I sent him to wake you,” Wicomechee said from behind her and slipped his fingers over her disheveled hair.

  A host of sensations swelled in her that she didn't begin to know what to do with. “I'm weary, Mechee."

  He stepped around her and held out grapes, nuts, and cornmeal. “This will give you strength."

  "Megwich.” She'd have preferred corn mush, sizzling bacon and hot tea, but her empty stomach wouldn't complain.

  He sat beside her as she wolfed down his offering.

  "I dreamed I ate a delicious pastry. You were there too in a great house and dressed as a gentleman."

  His brow furrowed. “Are you making me English?"

  "I don't understand the meaning of the dream. But you asked me to dance."

  "I know some English dancing."

  She almost choked on her grapes. “How?"

  He smiled. “Waupee taught me. He drank too much rum and sang very loud. We danced in my grandfather's wickon."

  She tried to imagine the two men dancing around an Indian lodge and smiled despite herself. “Did you also drink rum?"

  "A little.” He slid his fingers over her cheek with enticing ease. “You tremble."

  Every time he touched her. “I'm cold."

  "Were you chilled in the night?"

  "Yes.” She refused to concede any more than that.

  "Stay by my side tonight. I will warm you well."

  "I cannot."

  "Or will not?” he pressed.

  "Both. I don't intend to be alone with you again."

  He shrugged, but she sensed a reserve in his manner not present before. “We shall see."

  "No. Please. Let me stay with Emma and Colin."

  He frowned at her. “You are my captive, Charity."

  "Couldn't I be his?"

  "You wish to belong to Waupee?"

  "I feel safe with him."

  "Not with me?"

  Dropping her eyes from the chill in Wicomechee's, she shook her head.

  "Go then. Journey with my brother. Sleep by his side."

  Charity twisted to ease the crick in her back. Her fingers were numb and chafed from picking through burs for those still containing nuts. Animals and warriors had scoured the chestnuts closest to camp. “I can't find anymore here."

  "Me either,” James grunted. Droplets beaded the blanket wrapping him from head to foot. His cheeks were rosy from the wind and the damp cold reddened the tip of his freckled nose.

  "Oh, for a warm blaze and a fat goose roasting over it."

  He brightened. “Wicomechee and Posetha promised to take me hunting when we have a fire."

  She stood, using her cloak as a basket for their find. “Likely those two are off together now.” Posetha had avoided her since his humiliation by Outhowwa and Wicomechee disappeared after their curt exchange this morning.

  James straightened. “I dunno where they are."

  Charity swiveled her head at the foggy trees, her spirits as bleak as the gray clouds cloaking the ridges. “If Mechee doesn't want to be found, he won't be,” s
he said with a sigh.

  "Are you sad?"

  "Just tired and hungry. Come on. It'll be dark soon."

  They tracked back along the soggy path. His liveliness dampened by the long day, James lagged behind and Weshe followed, tail drooping. Emma and Lily were as they'd left them, slumped together against the silvery trunk of a yellow maple. Emma's hood covered most of her face and her cloak also enclosed the child. Fatigue was plain in the way they slouched together, but they needed to eat. Charity ducked under the branches and emptied her nuts into Emma's lap.

  She roused. “Thank you. Sorry I'm so useless."

  "James and I can manage."

  "Yep.” He opened the skin of a chestnut with a sharp rock and handed the peeled nut to Emma, then plopped down beside his sister and set to work on the rest of the pile.

  Lily woke and took the nutmeat he offered. Emma chewed hers without enthusiasm. “Chestnuts are far better roasted."

  Charity blew on her cold fingers. “I'll go and see what else I can find."

  "You've already been. Colin and Wicomechee will have something."

  "Colin will be a while yet.” Charity glimpsed him through the hazy foliage, rubbing down Stuart's flanks.

  Emma's lips pursed. “Sometimes, I think he cares more for that horse than he does for me."

  "Nonsense. You and Lily would never manage on foot. Besides, when Colin looks at you, his eyes are so tender."

  "I suppose so,” Emma said, her demeanor mellowing. “Wait on Wicomechee, then. He should be along soon."

  "Heaven knows where he is. I haven't seen him all day."

  "That's strange. Won't he be joining us with food?"

  "He might not, after what I said this morning."

  Creases lined Emma's smooth brow. “Oh my. It won't be easy to manage without him. Colin can only do so much."

  "I know, but what am I to do? Marriage is out of the question."

  Emma's expression grew thoughtful. “Wicomechee is attractive and clever, and he speaks well for—"

  "Not you, too,” Charity broke in.

  "We're stuck out here, Charity. Each day takes us farther and farther away from the life we knew. Besides, you care for him."

  "Not so much."

  "More than a little,” Emma countered.

  Charity evaded her scrutiny and watched a brown rabbit hop past the tree. “That doesn't mean I want to be his wife."