by Beth Trissel
The other warriors fell in behind them as he pulled her along. They rounded a bend in the trail and nearly collided with Wicomechee's rapid approach. He stepped back, not fully concealing his amazement upon seeing her in the chief's grasp.
"Charity? Muga said he lost you on the trail."
Outhowwa brought her to a halt. Most of his words were lost on her, but she recognized memequilah ‘run’ and saw the responsive anger in Wicomechee's face. Nor did the exchange between them lessen his cold fury.
Then Outhowwa held up his hand. “Will you take this woman to wife?"
Wicomechee gave a terse nod as though he would wed her, and then kill her.
"She will have you for her husband. Is this not so, girl?” Outhowwa prompted with vise-like pressure on her arm.
Charity bit her lip. “Yes."
Wicomechee watched her as he might a wild horse that might spring away at any moment, and this was how she felt.
"She needs Shawnee name,” the chief said.
Wicomechee replied without hesitation. “Penashe Pocoun,"
A faint smile crossed Outhowwa's mouth and he took her chin in his hand commanding her attention. “You are English no longer, Penashe Pocoun. Be an obedient wife to Wicomechee. Bear him many sons to grow into warriors, fight for Shawnee.” He placed her chilled fingers into Wicomechee's warm grasp. “Care for this woman, Wicomechee. Teach her our ways."
With that, Outhowwa turned on his heel and headed back down the trail toward camp. The rest of the assembly drifted off in his wake. Chaka stood unmoving for a few beats, and his face might have been carved from stone, then he spun away.
Charity stared after them. What on earth had she done?
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Chapter Ten
Wicomechee lowered his stare from the departing chief to Charity's dazed eyes. Damp hair spilled to her waist and the shift concealed little of her feminine form. She'd never looked more inviting, and it infuriated him all the more to think of Chaka ogling her, if that were the worst of it. He didn't seem averse to breaking every moral code they had.
Releasing her cold fingers, Wicomechee swept his hand at her. “Where are your clothes? Did Chaka tear them from you?"
A jumble of words tumbled out, almost as if English were her second language. Her explanation so astonished him, it took a moment to sink in. “So you go about like this?"
"I had a towel—Chaka took it,” she stammered.
Anger flared in Wicomechee. “You made it easy for him to take all. Your breasts show beneath this cloth. More."
With sudden self-awareness, she wrapped one arm over her chest. “Now you hide from your husband?"
Abandoning her attempt at modesty, she reached unsteadily to him for reassurance, but he wasn't inclined to offer any.
She dropped her arms. “Chaka only asked me to wed him."
"Outhowwa said. He also told me you tried to run away."
"I didn't. Will you listen to me or to him?"
The sting of betrayal sharpened Wicomechee's ire. “Why should I hear you?"
"Because I don't lie."
"You lie now. Chaka found you going away from camp."
"I had good reason—"
Wicomechee cut her off. “Enough."
He'd said all he intended to and propped his musket against a tree. She watched in marked uneasiness as he grasped her wrists in one hand and pulled a buckskin cord from the pouch at his waist with the other.
"What are you doing?” she gulped.
"Teaching you not to run."
"Don't!” she cried, trying to wrench away from him.
He whipped the cord around her wrists and knotted it.
"Dear God. Would you bind your wife?"
He frowned down at her. “I have none if she runs."
"I wasn't. Only thinking what I should do."
"You did more than think."
She pressed her cheek against his sleeve and the warmth of her body along one side, all he'd allow her to reach of him. “Don't be harsh. I beg you. Chaka stayed his hand."
A river of want flowed hotly through Wicomechee, but he was determined to resist her appeal. “I am fortunate not to find you claimed by him already."
"It wasn't like that. He was gentler this time."
"Chaka, gentle?” Those two words did not fit together and Wicomechee scrutinized her. Why must she be so fair, so frightened, confused? He badly wanted to gather her in his arms. And yet, this captivating girl had betrayed him as surely as though she'd twisted a knife in his back.
"Mechee, please. I'll not wander again."
"No. You will not,” he said, his voice harsh with hurt. “I will never trust you again."
Tears filled her eyes. “Give me a chance to explain."
He pulled her along the trail. “What will you speak? It is still in your head to run back to the English."
"'Tisn't my wish."
She seemed so sincere, but Outhowwa's revelation still burned in his mind. “You said you cared for me."
"I do."
"How do you show this? By running? I was a fool to believe you."
"No. Stop. You must hear me."
"There is nothing you can say."
"There is,” she choked out. “But you'll think me mad."
"I think you a traitor."
"Mechee—listen. I saw Craig."
He stopped in his tracks, eyes riveted on her. “What?"
Tears spilled down her earnest face. “If you'd let me, I could point to the spot."
He shook his head as if to clear it and to be certain he'd heard her right. “You told me your brother was dead."
"For two years."
"You saw his spirit?"
She inhaled shakily. “Only a glimpse, but Craig summoned me. I was seeking him when Chaka came. Do you believe me?"
Wicomechee didn't answer at once. He imagined her sighting someone, possibly Chaka, in the forest gloom. Given her longing for this lost brother, she'd mistaken him for her beloved relation. It wouldn't be the first time the shadows had misled someone. “I believe you think you saw Craig."
Her brow puckered. “I did. Will you punish me for this?"
He softened his tone. “I despise to bind you, but you were straying already. Why were you here, alone?"
"I was troubled and asking Craig what to do when he appeared. I saw him last year, by the river."
"If you see him again, will you follow?"
"I didn't mean to. Craig wanted me to come."
She said it so simply. Maybe she really had seen this spirit. Sometimes when loved ones were lost, those left behind sought them until they achieved that union, in the beyond. A warning, like a chilled hand, wrapped icy fingers around Wicomechee's heart. “Does Craig wish you to join him in death? You cannot live long in these mountains alone."
She startled. “Craig would never wish me harm."
"So badly you want this brother. I will not lose you to a spirit, real or imagined.” Wicomechee caught her up in his arms, crushing her to him.
She gasped in his near fierce embrace. He eased his hold, but possessiveness still raged in him like a wolf claiming its mate. “Promise me never again to follow Craig."
Her voice quavered as she asked, “How will I know for certain if he's there, if I do not?"
Everything in Wicomechee warned him not to back down. He refused to relent. “Give me your word, Charity. Now."
"You ask a great deal."
He fought for control. He mustn't frighten her away. “I know. For me, will you do this?"
"For you,” she agreed in a small voice.
"I will care for you, sweet one. You do not need Craig."
Still they stood as they were. She sagged against his chest. “Are you no longer angry?"
"You try me sorely, but my anger is flown.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the fresh scent. “You said you will have me for your husband. Did you mean your words?"
The apprehension he sense
d in her swelled and she whispered, “Yes."
"So fearful you are. Did I force you to wed me? Did Outhowwa?"
"No. But he urged me to choose between you and Chaka."
Wicomechee smiled faintly. The old fox had trapped her.
"I know nothing of being wed, and I scarcely know you."
"Would you like to learn more?” he coaxed.
"Yes...but not too much. Papa and Craig wouldn't approve of my marrying you. They would never forgive me."
"What of your merciful God? Do you pray to him?"
"I prayed for God's aid the morning you took me captive."
"Perhaps he gave you into my care,” Wicomechee suggested.
She lifted her head and looked hard at him. “Surely Papa and Craig would not dispute God?"
"You are meant to be mine, Penashe Pocoun."
"What does that strange name mean?"
"Red Bird. I know not where you will fly, what song you will sing. We shall see if you fly from me."
"I don't want to.” She tried ineffectually to close her arms around his neck. “I'm still bound."
"Yes."
"Surely you do not intend leaving me like this?"
He couldn't resist teasing her a little. “It is easier for me to keep you."
"But I'm your wife."
He weighed her tremulous declaration. “Are you?"
"I gave you my consent."
"Will you give me your pledge?"
She took a steadying breath. “As God is my witness, you have my pledge, Wicomechee. Is that your whole name?"
"Enough of it. You also have my pledge, Penashe Pocoun."
"That sounds so odd. Could you speak it in English?"
"If you wish.” He unknotted the cord at her wrists. “Shawnee warriors do not bind their wives."
She swallowed in evident relief then stiffened again. “What do they do?"
"I will teach you. More than words are needed for you to be mine. I will take you to myself."
Her eyes opened wide. “Now?"
He dropped the cord in his pouch. “No. We must return to camp. The others watch for us."
She regarded him as one awaiting torture. “Tonight?"
"Calm down. Do not distress yourself. My love is not punishment."
The word seemed to catch her. “Do you really love me?"
"My heart, kitehi, is yours."
She was silent, searching, her eyes wistful, yet guarded.
"Have you no love to speak?"
"Telling you what is in my heart is difficult,” she faltered. “You are a warrior."
Again, that sharp sting bit at him. “Charity, if you deny my heart, you deny your own."
Raw silence hung between them like a wound as Charity trudged behind Wicomechee along the darkening trail toward camp. He'd lent her his shirt and his bare back was just visible in the last of the light. His unique scent enveloped her and the garment swallowed her down to her knees.
Ahead through the trees a series of campfires lit the dusky sky. Breezes carried the comforting fragrance of wood smoke and the mouth-watering aroma of roasting venison.
"Do you no longer fear smoke will attract the militia?” she asked.
"All food taken on the raid is gone. We must eat."
"Did you shoot the deer?"
"I killed peshikthe, returned to find you gone."
Remorse kindled in her. She quickened her step to match his and walked at his side. “I won't go from you again."
"Like the child you run. I fear to let you from my sight."
She held out her hand to him. “I'm sorry."
His warm fingers enfolded hers and sent little prickles up her arm. Why did he inflame her the way he did, she wondered, baffled by her opposing emotions.
Hand in hand, they walked to the fire where Colin and James sat in a circle of warriors. The little boy leapt up and dashed over to them, Weshe darting just behind. “Like this, you run,” Wicomechee said. “The dog also."
James interrupted any further comparisons. “Charity! Did you run off? Chaka said you did.” Not awaiting a reply, he squinted up at Wicomechee. “Did you punish her?"
"No, small one."
"Good,” James said, with touching relief. “She's wearing your shirt. I told her she weren't decent."
Wicomechee smiled at the boy. “Go find her cloak."
James and the dog scampered off and Colin waved them over. He patted the empty spot beside him, evidently reserved for her. The usual humor was absent from his demeanor. “Sit, dear heart. I have a bit to say. You've caused quite a stir."
Seated braves eyed her over their pipes and talk buzzed through the gathering as she settled beside him. Sympathy softened Colin's firm expression. “Poor girl. My brother's brought you in like a lost puppy. Still, you don't appear to have suffered any. Chaka was certain he would beat you."
Wicomechee glared at the sullen warrior sitting at a distance from the others. “It is him I should punish. He tried to make her his wife."
"Best leave him to lick his wounds,” Colin advised.
Wicomechee shrugged, apparently willing to bide his time.
"I will get meat.” He strode to where the spitted venison roasted over glowing coals. His amiable comrades hailed him, some plying him with what seemed to be questions.
Colin tossed a stick into the fire and a shower of sparks sizzled up against the night sky. “What on earth have you been up to? I hear you've a husband now and a Shawnee name."
Her head swimming, Charity stared into the flames and tried to grasp her altered state. “I'm not certain. It all happened so quickly."
"So I gather. You've had quite an evening."
"And it's not over. What am I to do with a husband?"
"Don't fret. Wicomechee will guide you."
"But I don't feel ready for whatever it is husbands do."
James swooped down on them, her cloak flapping in his hands. “Charity's got a husband?"
"She has,” Colin said matter-of-factly. “Wicomechee."
"Is that ‘cause she ran off?"
Colin wrapped the cloak around her. “No, lad. She needed him anyway."
"Ain't it a sin to wed a warrior?"
Charity groaned, and buried her face in her hands.
"No. It's not. Stop pestering her and go tell Emma she's safely returned."
Charity peered through her fingers as James ran toward Emma's blanketed shape lying on the far side of their campfire. Lily was tucked by her side. “How is she?"
"Resting, or trying to. She's been fretting over you."
"I didn't mean to worry her, or any of you."
"It can't be helped with your knack for trouble. Chin up, little sister. You'll adjust to life among the Shawnee and being wed. Wicomechee's a fine fellow."
"But he's not English."
"Even so, I'd trust him with my life, and there are many Englishmen who would gladly put me in my grave."
"I suppose I trust him, too, at least when he's not furious with me. It's just—he's a man."
Colin chuckled. “Husbands normally are."
Answering laughter resounded behind them and she turned to find Wicomechee, a blanket over his shoulders, holding a trencher of streaming meat. His eyes danced with mirth. “You must give her more pity than this, Waupee."
"Your turn now. I must rescue Emma from James."
"Won't you eat with us first?” Charity invited.
Colin stood. “I already have, thanks to Wicomechee. He alone was successful in the hunt. Best shot I know. He can fire from a greater distance than anyone and strike his mark."
She swiveled her head to gaze admiringly at Wicomechee. “Craig was good with a musket, but not that good."
The firelight reflected his pleasure in her praise. “I have greater skill than your brother?"
"Yes. You're full of secrets."
"Perhaps a few.” He took Colin's place beside her.
He'd quoted her own words, she realized.
 
; "More than that, I'll wager."
He shrugged and stuck his knife into a slice of venison then held it out to her. She took the buckskin-wrapped wooden handle and bit into the smoky meat, chewing hungrily. “This is good. I've missed venison."
He nodded. They ate in silence, but men's voices hummed around them. The same word repeated in their conversation.
"What does wanisaka mean?” she asked in between bites.
Wicomechee's lips twitched. “Crazy, foolish."
She flushed. “They're talking about me, aren't they?"
He set his empty trencher aside. “You listen well. They also say you are beautiful."
He circled his arm around her and warmth washed through her in a pulsing wave. His lips hovered at her ear, and he spoke in a voice only she could hear. “Do not be frightened. You fear what you do not understand."
"Why is it everyone seems to know of love making except me?” she whispered. “Were you born knowing this?"
"All must learn."
"How did you?"
"How else? From a woman."
An unfamiliar emotion swelled in Charity that could only be defined as jealousy. “Who was she?"
"My wife."
She reeled in shock as that newly sprung sensation ripped through her. “You never spoke of a wife."
"No. I did not have Mequana for long,” he said, a sad note in his low voice.
Chastened, Charity asked, “Did you love her, very much?"
"For her, my heart was full."
"But I thought—” she broke off. How could she tell him that she'd believed herself to be his first and only love, and earnestly desired his undying devotion to belong to her alone? “What happened?” she asked instead.
"She died of white man's sickness. Many die from this.” He pointed at the sky. “See that long white path?"
The cloudy luminescence arched across the vast black vault of the sky among glittering stars. “The Milky Way."
"That is the road to heaven. Mequana has traveled this."
"You believe in heaven?"
"Manito guides us there if we do good. If not, we go with Matchimanitoh, the evil one, to punishment."
"Forever?"
"No punishment lasts forever. That is not just,” he said, speaking her unvoiced sentiment.
"We also pray for forgiveness, so there's a way out."