by Beth Trissel
"Are you mad?” Captain Buchanan barked. “If the Shawnee don't kill you, I'll report any survivors on my return."
"Who's to say we're the ones the savages will go for? Bind Dickson, Runyon.” A large man with greasy blond hair and stained buckskins emerged from the pack. Unwinding a length of leather cord, he walked toward Colin.
"No!” Choking sobs shook Emma.
Charity raced to Colin and threw her arms around his chest. Breathless with emotion, she said, “I'll not let you take him."
"Have you an army hidden beneath your shift? None that I saw, though I don't mind the curves,” Paxton guffawed.
His coarse laughter grated on her ears. For a moment she was torn between clinging to Colin and clawing Paxton. “You slimy toad-faced weasel. The Shawnee will fell you."
"Hush, little sister. We don't want a fight here,” Colin said pointedly. “Don't weep, Emma. Have courage."
Runyon yanked Charity from Colin and shoved her aside. Pleasure gleamed in his sweaty face as he bound Colin's wrists, giving a cruel tug to the cord. “That'll hold you."
"Bully!” she cried, helpless with fury.
Paxton seized her shoulders. “Never fear, Miss. This ain't the last you'll see of him. You're coming with us."
She kicked at his legs. “Let go of me!"
He spun her around, ensnaring her from behind with his arm. “Can't oblige you, gal. You may prove real useful."
"Charity!” Emma rose up on one elbow, then her eyes rolled back to the whites and she slumped to the ground. The tiny baby slipped, wailing, to her side.
Colin surged toward Paxton. “You'll pay dearly for this,” he snarled. Runyon jerked him back.
"Are you an utter heathen, man?” Captain Buchanan fought to reach Charity, but the leveled muskets kept him and the others at bay. “How dare you."
"Oh, I dare more than this.” Paxton drew the wide knife affixed to a handle made from an antler, and held it to Charity's throat. “Hey!” he yelled, dragging her away from the evergreens out into full view. “Any of you bastards give us trouble and I cut her throat! Translate, Dickson."
"No need. They understood you perfectly,” Colin said with menacing calm. “I advise you to let her go, Paxton. The warriors are excellent shots, especially the one that fancies her. You'll be his first target."
"They can't fire at me without putting her at risk,” Paxton scoffed. “Stay close, boys. If we catch any of you following us, Captain, she's wolf fodder."
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Chapter Twelve
Seething with more anger than he thought possible, Wicomechee watched the traitorous Long Knives from leafy shadows. Despite their leader's bravado before Captain Buchanan, the man he'd heard called Paxton used Charity to hide behind, both arms pinned to her sides, the menacing blade poised beneath her chin. Keeping to the center of his men, he forced her back over the trail toward the spring. Beyond that, the path wound down the ridge to their waiting mounts.
Whether intentional or not, an ill-placed nick from that sharp blade could open an artery in her throat. He suspected as soon as Paxton had no more use for her, it would be intentional. A man who had defied his own leader would stop at nothing to silence witnesses.
And Wicomechee couldn't come to her aid. Not yet. He dared not take a shot at her captor with the risk of striking her. Not only that, the man who jerked his brother along was positioned closely to Waupee. If Wicomechee fired into the party and struck a man further back, Charity or Waupee could be killed in vengeance before he fought them free. And Waupee was the one they most wanted.
He imagined his brother's anguish at leaving his wife and the tiny baby lying in blood and birth water. The fresh scent would attract predators. With the militia still by her side, she would be protected. What was to become of those men afterwards, Wicomechee didn't know or care. If the militia escaped Shawnee wrath, Paxton and his band would likely pick them off, but only if they survived.
Wicomechee focused his narrow gaze on the vile Long Knife. The attack must be timed just right or Charity or Waupee might fall with them. Lurking braves waited further back for his signal, as did Outhowwa. The life of his precious wife and beloved brother rested on his skill to be unseen and unheard.
He didn't need to see Paxton and his men to know where they were. The noxious scent told him.
"You're squeezing me too hard!” Charity gasped out, sending red-hot fire scorching through Wicomechee.
"Don't want you squirming away,” Paxton growled at her.
"I can scarcely breathe."
"You've breath enough to yap at me,” he grunted, and thrust her roughly over a fallen bough blocking the path.
She banged her shin against the furrowed bark. Burning with fury and frustration, Wicomechee held himself back in the hope that this impulsive girl would do the same.
The sudden pain must have unraveled any last self-preserving rein on her voice. “You great hulking coward!” she yelled up at her captor.
Paxton crushed his meaty arm across her chest. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, Miss. Or I'll cut it out."
Wicomechee wanted to cut off his offending limb.
"Calm down, Charity. It'll be all right,” Waupee urged from behind her.
Listen to him, Red Bird, Wicomechee silently pleaded. If she kept still awhile longer, he'd find an opportunity to strike.
"Lord. No,” she gasped out.
"Ouishi catoui!” Waupee called out, as if to her, the Shawnee phrase for be strong.
Wicomechee hadn't yet taught this phrase to Charity but it was the verbal signal he and Waupee had agreed to use when either of them were in trouble and scheming a way out.
"Shut up! No more damn Injun talk!” Paxton snapped.
No more was needed.
Colin's strange encouragement was lost on Charity. She only prayed it reached knowing ears, though she couldn't imagine what Wicomechee could do to free her from Paxton.
She despised everything about the lout, from the bush of a beard scratching the back of her head to his all-pervasive stench, as pungent as a polecat's, or worse. The sunlight pouring through the breaks in the forest canopy only magnified his stink and her thirst. She was sweltering in her cloak and his sweaty bulk further cooked her like a mutton stew boiled over the coals.
A wave of queasiness washed over her in a swelling tide. God help her. If she were to be sick, she'd find scant patience from this appalling excuse for a man.
Of a sudden, it seemed to her that the trees bending high overhead were closing in on her. The morning was calm, yet the branches tossed in a circle. The red and gold whirling leaves melded together and faded into shadows, then...nothing.
A rude hand yanked her head back. “Don't swoon on me."
For a confused moment she couldn't remember why this brute grasped her. Then she felt a sting across the skin of her throat and cried out in a rush of awareness. Paxton must have slashed her with his knife.
"For Christ's sake! If you kill her, she'll be of no use to you!” Colin shouted from behind them.
"Only a scratch. Stupid chit slumped against the blade."
A warm trail ran down Charity's neck—blood. Despite the heat, she shook all over.
"Lower that knife! She's likely to go down a second time!” Colin yelled. When Paxton pulled the blade a scant inch from her throat, he shouted, “More, you idiot!"
"Will someone kindly shut Dickson up?"
She cringed as Runyon's obliging fist smacked into what must be Colin's face.
"Knock me out, Paxton, and the warriors will think we're both dead and blow your fool heads off."
"Ohhhh—I feel giddy.” Taking the hint from Colin, she let her eyes roll back into her head and went limp, pretending a deep faint. She didn't need to fake the twitching of her muscles; she trembled from head to toe, but if Paxton feared losing both prisoners, it might give them a much-needed edge.
"Leave Dickson be,” he ordered. “One down is enough. Damn chit. No
w I'll have to haul her."
"What do you expect? You've frightened the poor girl senseless,” Colin tossed back.
"Blasted nuisance,” Paxton muttered, lifting her.
Charity fluttered her fingers at Colin as the big man shifted her in his arms like an unwieldy sack.
"She looks in quite a swoon,” Colin observed.
Paxton jabbed a finger at her shoulder. “Wake up, gal."
Charity ignored his prodding and lay like the dead.
"No use, Paxton. She's out cold,” Colin said.
He spat. “What a weakling. How in blazes has she survived a trek in the mountains with bloodthirsty savages?"
"They never cut her throat. Fancy this beauty alive, you see. Particularly the warrior I mentioned."
"That bastard better not give me any trouble if he wants her to stay that way."
"I don't know if he can tell she lives now."
"Balls. She's breathing right enough,” Paxton argued.
"Not discernable from a distance. I wouldn't wonder if he thinks her lost to him. Excellent shot, that one. Never misses his mark,” Colin added.
"Quiet, damn you, Dickson. I'll have you gagged."
"Try it, and you'll be hauling me too. I'll look so dead the warriors won't hesitate to fire. Miss Edmondson and I are all that's holding them back."
"Only if your stinking friends are out there. I'm not certain of that."
"No? The trees have eyes and ears."
"And teeth, I suppose,” Paxton mocked, but Charity sensed the hesitation behind his ridicule.
"She really does look gone,” Colin said. “How far did that blade go in?"
"Not far.” Paxton dug his fingers into Charity's shoulder then gave her a teeth-rattling shake. “Wake up."
Eyes closed, she allowed a low moan to escape her.
"Girl's starting to come round. See?"
"Only just,” Colin countered. “She ought to have a drink. Water revives women wondrously well."
"Thought they needed some sort of salts for that."
"Water will serve. The spring's across this meadow."
"A quick drink,” Paxton agreed grudgingly. “Stay close, boys. Runyon, bring Dickson."
Charity badly needed a drink, but she suspected Colin had something more in mind than that. She felt the sun fully on her face as Paxton carried her out from beneath the trees and strode into the field. Scattering bobwhite called and the scent of grass rose around her. Just a few happy hours ago, she and Wicomechee had raced to each other across this meadow. It seemed far longer now. How she yearned for that silver light and his arms around her again.
Paxton stood her upright at the end of the spring they'd arrived at first, the deep end. “Make it quick."
"I can barely stand.” She stepped unsteadily between the stones and knelt on a grassy patch beside the water.
He hovered over her, gripping her shoulder. “Watch yourself. I can't pull you out if you fall in."
Runyon and Colin stood behind them. “Quite deep, Charity,” Colin agreed. “I wouldn't want you to tumble in."
Why was he cautioning her? He knew she could swim.
Cupping water to her mouth, she glanced up at him. ‘Jump,’ he mouthed.
It took her dizzied senses a moment to understand his reason. Giving a slight nod, she bent back to the water.
Paxton nudged her. “We ain't got all day."
"I'll just splash my face first. I'm so weak."
"A lot of good this did, Dickson,” he said gruffly.
"It takes a bit. Say, is that the gleam of metal?"
Paxton swiveled his head. “Where?"
"Over there. By that chestnut. I thought I saw the sun reflecting off a musket barrel."
An uneasy murmur ran through the men and all eyes riveted on the great tree. Paxton raked at the tangled mass of hair falling past his shoulders. “You're just trying to spook me."
"No. I think it's some sort of signal."
"Aw—"
Snatching up a stone large enough to make an impact, Charity smashed it down onto Paxton's boot.
Bellowing like a bull, he released her and grabbed at his injured foot while hopping around on the other. She seized that instant to jump out into the spring.
"Damn bitch!” rang in her ears.
The mineralized water stung the cut on her neck and her heavy cloak and shoes dragged her down, but she had to remain in the deep. Struggling to stay afloat, she paddled around to face the shore. Paxton ceased gyrating and sat like a petulant oversized boy on the grassy patch near the water, cradling his foot in his hands, narrowed eyes boring into her.
"What in hell are you playing at?” he ground out.
She scrabbled at her shoes and kicked them off. “You want me back? Come here,” she challenged, and untied the sodden cloak. It sank into the greenish depths.
He waved at Runyon. “Get in after her!"
The big man shrugged massive shoulders. “I can't swim."
Paxton clambered to his feet, looking wildly around. “Who can bloody well swim?"
"I can.” Colin slammed bound fists up under Paxton's chin.
His teeth snapped together with a crack and he staggered back, blood running from his mouth. Then Colin kicked out and caught Runyon hard in his ample stomach, knocking the wind out of the bounty hunter. He reeled into Paxton. The force of their collision toppled them both to the ground. Runyon gashed his cheek on a stone as he fell. Scarlet ran into his lank blond hair and dripped onto his much stained buckskins.
"Get up, you big ox,” Paxton grunted, shoving Runyon off.
The other men stood staring like stunned sheep while Paxton surged to his feet and lunged at Colin. He ducked his outstretched arms. Dropping to the ground, he rolled between large rocks and leapt up. He whirled around. Dashing back, he kicked out at Paxton and hurled him into a boulder.
"What are you lot gaping at?” he roared. “Get the bastard!"
Runyon scrambled back up. Jerked from their shock, the men charged at Colin. He dodged their punches and spun away.
Doggedly treading water, Charity watched in amazement. Where had he learned to fight like that, from Wicomechee?
Colin burst ahead of his pursuers and ran into the trees. All the men, except Paxton, galloped after him, stampeding through the trunks and leafy brush. They shoved aside any branches in their path, snapping weaker limbs in half.
Charity glimpsed Colin out in front. He tore into the meadow. If Paxton went too, she could climb from the spring and bolt for cover. Likely that was Colin's plan.
Paxton remained stubbornly behind. “Are you boys bloody useless? Teach the fine gentleman some manners!” he bawled, and dashed to the edge of the spring. “Come to me, gal."
"No!” Charity wished the deep end were wider, but the pond narrowed as the bottom fell away. Paddling more slowly now, her arms and legs weary, she fought against a strong southerly wind that had blown up seemingly out of nowhere. The relentless breeze pushed her toward Paxton.
He dropped onto his knees, beckoning to her with grimy fingers. Perspiration oiled his bruised, bloodied features. “I can see you're tiring. I'll turn you loose once I'm away."
"I'd rather drown!"
"Come now. That'd be a shame.” He flopped down onto his belly and reached to her.
Musket fire checked his wheedling. He clapped a hand to his shoulder with a howl. Crimson spouted between his fingers, and he half-dove, half-fell behind the boulder Colin had shoved him into.
More explosions erupted.
Charity swam toward the side, straining to see through the leaves. Fallen men were strewn across the grassy clearing. Some lay unmoving. Others writhed, their tortured cries rising with the hopelessness of the doomed. She covered her mouth at the sight of the nearest man sprawled beneath a tree at the edge of the meadow. He twisted like an eel on a line while those still able to run scattered for cover.
Two figures threw themselves behind jutting rocks in the field. Another fled
to the charred remains of a trunk, little more than a scorched stump. Long barrels protruded from the stones and stump. Musket reports rang out as they fired back at their foe. But how could they hit what they couldn't see?
Then she spotted Runyon obstinately chasing after Colin. Why was he still pursuing him with Indians attacking?
Shrill whoops rent the air above the screams of the wounded. As if heedless of the danger, Runyon overtook the Englishman and bore him to the ground. He swung his fist again and again, punching Colin once, twice in the face.
Colin bucked the bigger man off and rolled away, but Runyon pulled his knife and came at him. Had thirst for revenge made him mad?
"Colin!” Charity cried, and climbed from the water. Hair and shift dripping over the stones, she ran. Her stocking-clad feet slipped. She fell forward, scraping her palms on the small rocks underfoot. “Help Waupee!” she sobbed out to the warriors pouring through the trees.
"Who's gonna help you, girl?"
Paxton! In her terror for Colin she'd forgotten the menace still crouched behind the stone.
He peered around the boulder, ashen-faced, but very much alive. In his hands, he held a musket. The barrel was aimed at her. “Get over here or I'll blow your fool head off."
She struggled to stand. “Go ahead. Shoot."
"Stupid chit.” He slid the musket strap over his sound shoulder.
Moving far faster than she'd expected for an injured man, he sprang at her and snagged her around the waist. She shrieked. “Are you crazy? Warriors are all around!"
He jerked her close to his bloody shirt and drew his knife with a debilitated arm. A strip of stained linen torn from the ragged hem bound the oozing wound. “If they shoot at me, maybe they'll hit you."
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the horses and beyond."
Wicomechee drew on his rigorous training to keep a clear head as he crept through the undergrowth and dodged from trunk to trunk. His well-aimed shot had only winged Paxton who'd suddenly dropped onto his belly. Now he clutched Charity again. And Wicomechee spotted his English brother, still bound, in a desperate fight for his life. Much as he wanted to hack Waupee's tormentor to pieces, he couldn't leave Charity for a moment. Posetha and Muga must do the deed.
